Of Personal Injury

COPYRIGHT NOTICE Of Personal Injury by E. A. Graham Copyright © 1998, 2002 by E. A. Graham This electronic document is for online personal use only and not for reformatting, resale, or distribution, by electronic means or otherwise, without explicit written permission from the author. This copyright notice and accompanying work must remain intact and unedited, with this notice appearing as the opening text on all electronic copies of this document. Users must refrain from reformatting, printing, or otherwise duplicating the document by any means, except as a pointer to the www.eagraham.com copy of the this document, without explicit written permission from the author, E. A. Graham.

Of Personal Injury by E. A. Graham

E. A. Graham www.eagraham.com

© 1998,2002 E. A. Graham All Rights Reserved.

E. A. Graham

Of Personal Injury - 1

1

The ten o’clock curfew passed as the tired woman waited patiently for her fifteen-year-old son, gently wringing her worn hands. She feared he would not survive the age, never accepting that misfortune haunted his crowd; brethren she knew would bring pain. Her pleas ignored, this night, again, she worried the fears of a mother. Her breath shallow, she watched the small clock hanging on the aging wall across the room, waiting for Gabriel, anguished. It was a poor, bleeding town, Indio, where Gabriel lived. A town resting as the farthest border of a desert that was home to some of the most exclusive communities available to the rich and powerful. Minutes down the road from the dilapidated homes of his neighborhood, Gabriel could enter Palm Springs, the town of movie stars, or Palm Desert, the town of found wealth, or Rancho Mirage, the address of excess. The towns were a distant universe, each enclave surrounding itself with roving security and six-foot cinderblock walls. The two extremes, laborers from the fields and those who devoured financial success, meet in the blazing towns of the California desert. Gabriel, this night, had crossed the threshold, but not by invitation. He was a trespasser. Gabriel sat in the front passenger seat of an old green car, replete with primer gray spots. He and his friend, Jose, were using the conspicuous transport to crash a party Jose had heard about at his new job. They were not directly invited, but coworkers let Jose know he would be welcome if he

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arrived. It was a new world for Jose, who was working in an office of a local nursery as assistant manager, no longer required to help in his father’s gardening business. He was proud of the direction his life was heading, having put the six-month’s of prison behind. Jose was a good kid, coming from a disciplined family. His father slapped him repeatedly when he was arrested, accepting no excuse of ignorance, and supported him fully in becoming the adult expected when he returned home a year ago. He and his young friend were going to visit opportunity this evening - a world he was determined to use to broaden horizons, and prospects. Jose knew it was one of two houses. The thrashed car loudly entered the neighborhood of their first hope, but did not see a party stirring among the large new homes. They found the house where they had hoped the celebration would be in full swing, but it was quiet, and a knock on the door was left without answer. Gabriel heard the distant feint, thumping beat of music he thought was whispering from the backyard, so he quickly traversed the home’s fence to investigate. Jose’s eyes darted as he waited, afraid someone might have seen Gabriel jump the fence. The well-manicured, large, open backyard was empty. The party rhythm came from another house. Gabriel stood in silent awe and stared for a moment at the enormity of the yard and house. He turned and started to jog toward the street, but frightfully crashed against the house’s sharp stucco, heart ablaze with pounding fear as he froze before reaching the fence. A large dog in a neighbor’s backyard had viciously charged the common fence and roared a hoarse bark, striking the motion from Gabriel’s lean body. Resurrecting himself, and assured the drooling, angry animal could not cross the property line or break the bending fence, he gathered the strength, jumped the fence to the street and approached his laughing friend’s soft smile.

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Jose sat on the car hood and pointed out the damage the fall against the house had done. Gabriel looked at his torn shirt, cussed and spit back toward the house. The blood and torn flesh were only at the surface. They looked at one another, smiled, laughed and shrugged, before taking their respective seats in the car. With a turn of a key, the car began to rumble out of the neighborhood where its aged condition did not belong, unless it was that of a worker, gardener or laborer, under the spotlight of the day’s sun. Gabriel needed a new shirt, so a trip home appeared to be their current destination, but after not more than two hundred yards Jose sensed trouble. “Fuck, man, there’s a cop behind me!” Jose whined, beginning to sweat, body stiff. “What’s wrong? You ain’t done shit! They can’t touch you.” Gabriel waved Jose’s fears off with the brave words of youth, while Jose reacted from experience, a silent terror he would not unveil. Jose continued to drive to the letter of the law he now knew too well, but this time, as times before, the actions of honest intent did not prevail. Red and blue lights began to flash in the black of the night sky, and bounce around inside their car. Jose’s heart began to accelerate violently. He reached up and pulled off the sunglasses he had been wearing in the dark of night and clutched them tight in his hand as he pulled over to the side of the quiet, exclusive road. Gabriel was unfazed, talking bravado of belief. “Man, these fucks can’t do shit! This is bullshit, man, fuckin’ bullshit. We weren’t doin’ nothin’, man, nothin’!” “Shut up, Gabe!” Jose wanted to put this encounter with the law quickly behind. He was nineteen, ending probation for receiving stolen property, which he did not know was stolen when he bought it from a neighbor. This stop was not a page for reminiscing among his friends, but something real. His father

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let it be known that if he fucked up again, he would wish he were dead, and he knew his father meant a lonely discipline. “Step out of the car!” they both heard screech from the police car’s loudspeaker. With the flashing colored lights on top of the police car and the blinding bright headlights from the front, neither Jose nor Gabriel could see what was going on around them. Jose desperately wished to comply. Gabriel was not going to stand for the insult to his heritage, the reason for the stop he presumed to know. “Fuck you!” he shouted out the half open window of the car, as they both prepared to step out into the hot summer night’s hostility. Jose hesitated in anger at Gabriel, giving a warning, a threat of his own. “Just shut up and do what they say, stupid punk” “Fuck you, too!” Gabriel said quietly to his older friend. The two gently stepped out of the car, facing the blinding police lights. Before them they could see only the outline of two police officers, guns drawn. Jose’s heart was beating feverishly in fright, while Gabriel laughed at the officer’s seriousness. “Shoot ‘em,” Gabriel mused to the officers sarcastically, amused at their need to draw guns for a traffic stop. Before he could finish a chuckle at the two simple sarcastic words, Gabriel heard the crack of a loud piercing sound at least eight times. The booming, flashing explosion of gunfire coming from the officers caused Gabriel to freeze in dread, while his friend wilted to the ground, having received fatal shots to the chest area, gift of Gabriel’s sarcastic words, and the fact that he was holding an object the officers could not identify. When Jose’s limp body slumped to the ground, the sunglasses fell from his hand, scratching the lenses on the jagged asphalt. Gabriel said nothing, frozen, heart stopped in a terror of fear and disbelief.

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The police officers’ guns were now turned toward Gabriel. The instant of silence appeared an eternity as the officers waited for Gabriel to move, and he waited to live. No one moved in the eternal moment. The police officers passed the moment of panic. One officer turned his head toward his shoulder and began to shout orders, request for an ambulance, notice of gunfire. A controlled panic of taught steps. The other officer began to shout at Gabriel. “Down! On the ground! Down, now!!” The voice broke in command and fear. The officers continued to glance over at the limp body. Gabriel fixated on the approaching officer’s fiery eyes. He looked above the blonde mustache and below the blonde hair and saw steel blue eyes of anger. He was afraid to move, but held the eyes as he followed the officer’s commands. He wanted to cry, but was too scared. “I’m getting down. Hands in the air. Hands in the air. I’m on my knees.” Gabriel’s voice was soft and pleading, as he took position on the hard asphalt, face down. The officer continued to approach, gun pointing directly at Gabriel’s paled light brown face. “Shut up! Put your hands behind your back!” The officer’s shouts were now only for Gabriel’s ears. The hard, coarse asphalt pressed against the young man’s fresh face. He felt pain, unexpectedly amplified as the officer shoved his knee into the suspect’s back. His face began to bleed, flesh slowly ripping from the head as it was shoved into the asphalt. The hands were cuffed tightly in cold, polished steel. Pain was shooting from Gabriel’s wrists, from the torn flesh of his face, but nothing hurt as the moments of fear continued. Gabriel knew only that he was alive, wishing to continue possession of the gift. The officer stood and stepped back carefully, holstering his solid black pistol. Gabriel looked across, under the car, and saw his friend. The body lay

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motionless, no one helping, attempting revival. Next to the body he could see the gleam of shiny black boots standing over the limp, bleeding body. The boots took a step back as the puddle of dark blood grew and approached their tip. Gabriel tilted his bloodied face up toward his captor. “Please, help him. Come on.” The voice was cracking, soft, genuine and pleading, but the officer lifted a large boot and brutally shoved Gabriel’s head back onto the asphalt, imbedding gravel deep into the skin. “Don’t move!” the officer shouted, grinding his foot. The officer’s raspy smoker voice ordered again as a promised threat, “Don’t move!” Gabriel heard a slight chuckle, as he listened to the officer’s muting words. “He’s dead. Don’t worry about him, son, you’d better watch your ass, ‘cuz you’re in big trouble. You are going down on murder, boy. You are goin’ down.” Gabriel heard a grin in the voice, and felt a pleasure in his body as the boot was lifted from his head, and the expanding facial tears bled clean. A crowd was gathering. The sirens of ambulance and police could be heard quickly approaching. Voices and shrieks were all around, but to Gabriel it was sound unheard. He closed his eyes, hoping it was only a nightmare in dream, yet knowing he would have to awake again to the reality. His eyes were closed, but the pain was real, growing. The calm warm puddle grew under his face.

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2

Don stumbled around the metal table in the center of the small hot room, as his brother sat and listened, but the conversation had been stagnant during its twenty-minute life. Of the four children, Don usually had the least to say, but when his father died in an auto accident two years ago, it was his role, as the eldest son, to take over paternal responsibilities, which he found required constant verbiage. The one who sat listening was known for his sarcastic mouthful motion. Today the youngest and oldest of the siblings, separated by more than years, clashed in one of life’s defining moments. Paused in front of the narrow prison window, looking at the raging hot desert sun, Don wished to be free of the prison and into the one-hundredeighteen-degree heat outside the concrete room. He loosened the tie of his dark suited wardrobe. The eighty-four degree indoor temperature was an escape from the day’s blaze, but the room’s heat was stiflingly real. The cloth worn to hide the stress was drenched, delivering the moisture that cooled the flesh covered nerves. Don closed his eyes in a moment’s pause to bring him back inside, ran his hand through his straight black strands and turned to his brother. “You have to make a choice,” Don requested in a final moment of calm. Gabriel did not look up from the table that held his folded hands. He had been uncharacteristically silent since his arrest, a burden too heavy. “I didn’t kill him,” he whispered.

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“What?” Don demanded loudly, as he headed toward his brother. “What was that shit! Speak up so I can hear you, this martyr crap bullshit isn’t gonna get you anywhere!” “Fuck you,” Gabriel calmly continued in whisper. The small uncomfortable chair, chained to the table as to avoid its use as a weapon, was visited by the trembling angry sensations of Don, who did not know how to help his uncooperative brother. “What is your fuckin’ problem? You like it in this fuckin’ oven? You like being held in a juvenile detention facility with a bunch of fuck-ups and criminals? They want to put you in the big leagues! This is what you want with your life?!” Don placed the fingers of his left hand on Gabriel’s forehead, pushed, and looked into the angry, empty eyes for an answer. “Don’t touch me.” The voice was stern, challenging. Don exploded. In one quick motion he reached across the table with his right hand, grabbed his little brother’s hair, moved around the table to his brother’s side, pulled him up from the chair then down to the floor. He stepped back and watched the tensed body begin to stand in fight. “Get the fuck down,” the trembling voice boomed, as Gabriel was forcefully shoved back to the ground. The routine quickly repeated itself. “You don’t want to stand up!” Don challenged Gabriel as he began to stand again, this time slower. “If you’re gonna stand, you’d better be prepared to fight!” Gabriel stood and looked into the eyes that had been trying to help him and saw himself, stubborn, angry, afraid. “I’m not fightin’ you,” he said quietly in respect, and reality. His brother was not just older, but at six foot, one hundred-eighty pounds, much larger and stronger, not to mention a former amateur boxer. Don leaned forward, placing his eyes less than two inches from his

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brother’s. “I didn’t mean me,” he challenged. “Don’t get up unless you want to fight for yourself. Don’t get up if you want to be stepped on, walked on, used. Don’t get up if you want to be one of society’s rejects. Fifteen may seem an early age to become a man, but it’s now or never.” The words were forceful. Don softened the tone for his final sentence; “I love you, Gabriel. Will you let me help you?” Neither consciously knew the offer was final, and the recipient beyond desperate. Don looked into the sad brown eyes and saw a defiant answer. He reached out, wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him tight. Gabriel began to cry. “I want dad,” Don heard scratch through his brother’s tears. Gabriel was thirteen when he pushed his family aside after his father abandoned him in death, but he was in need of their help, not yet having enough parental guidance to face society’s harsh touch. They held each other close, Don welcoming Gabe back to the family who loved him unconditionally, and thinking of the want he shared with his brother. Gabriel’s tears began to cease their waking flow. Don looked to his watch. He whispered in his brother’s ear, “We have to finish, I’ve only got another fifteen minutes.” He helped the skinny sibling back into the chair, and again took the seat across the worn metal table. Gabriel instinctively folded his hands on the table and looked into them for answers, holding back a renegade tear. Don placed his hands over his brother’s, and asked the question that had to be considered again, without further delay. “What do you want to do?” he whispered in plea. “I don’t know,” Gabriel answered, shaking his head from left to right while staring into his hands. The spirit seeped from his life in consideration of the question. He raised his head and looked into his brother’s eyes in confession. The renegade tears began to gather strength. “I didn’t kill him. I

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didn’t mean for him to die. It’s not my fault,” he begged. “I know,” Don whispered, rubbing his brother’s shivering hands of fear. “I know, but they didn’t know you were a smart-ass, and they were frightened,” Don paused for a moment and added what Gabe needed to hear, “and stupid. They didn’t know Jose had sunglasses in his hand. You were all idiots.” Gabriel looked down to hide the tears from his brother, his voice cracking with strain and desperation. “But they didn’t have to kill him.” He looked up again to his brother for answers. “Why did they have to kill him? Why did they even pull us over? Why didn’t they shoot me?” At five foot seven, one hundred twenty-five pounds, Gabriel looked frail and sick, dilapidated, empty. There were no answers to his questions. He did not eat, and felt forever lost. Gone were his life and dreams. He wished his brother could provide an answer, an inspiration. He wanted hope. “Mom would say it’s the lord’s way. That it will work out.” The brothers grinned. “Dad would have said to count yourself lucky and move on.” The eyes again closed in pause, as Don thought of the father they missed and needed. “I don’t know, Gabe. I don’t know, but whatever the reasons, we’re lucky you’re here today, so let’s figure out how to get you outta here, okay?” Gabe thought of his mother and how her curt answers allowed no question or further consideration. He smiled at her warm eyes and welcoming smile as they wandered his lonely mind. He thought of freedom, of escape from this home, the incarceration of the last month. “What are my choices, again?” Don smiled a hope, wishing his brother’s spirit to return. “Since you’re only fifteen, with no prior record and exceptional comments from your teachers, you should get a light sentence if convicted, with your records sealed when you’re eighteen, but there is a problem, according to your attorney, who you have refused to talk with. She says your case has been

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assigned to an asshole rookie prosecutor who wants a career in politics. He has one of those names, Mark J. Andersen the third, and his father is a judge.” “So what are my choices,” Gabe quietly demanded, as the heat of the morning began to draw its sweat from his motionless life. “She says their case is really weak, so we can plea bargain, if you talk to her. But you might have to go to trial, ‘cause this guy apparently wants to make a name with you. He’s been on the news all the time, talkin’ about how he is going to save the world from young evils such as yourself.” Don laughed at the thought, but was hurt by the pain and fear hiding in his brother’s narrowing eyes. “It’ll be okay, Gabe. We’ll beat this thing.” He rubbed his brothers folded hands again. “Can I tell the attorney you’ll see her tomorrow?” Gabriel nodded acceptance, before mouthing the concerns he held present. “How long will I be here? What about the cops who killed Jose? What’s gonna’ happen to them?” His eyes closed at the thought of Jose. “I… I don’t know.” The words were slow and heavy, but lifted in honesty, as Don did not want his brother to be led astray and abandoned. He needed escape. “Are they teaching you in here? Is their any kind of school?” he asked. Gabriel quickly grasped the change of subject. “Yeah, but it’s pretty much voluntary during the summer. It’s basically remedial English an’ shit.” “What do you do all day?” “Watch television. Read magazines. Learn how to lie, steal and cheat.” He almost laughed. “Talk shit. Play basketball, since it’s too fuckin’ hot to go outside the building in this fuckin’ heat.” Gabriel looked toward the blinding white light coming in through the thin window. “I’m gettin’ the fuck

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outta this town. I don’t know why you haven’t left yet.” “I’ve got a family here, and one of ‘em’s locked up. It’s not so bad. The nights are beautiful, and eight month’s out of the year are fantastic,” he told himself aloud. “Do they have a library here?” “No,” was answered in disgust. “But I can get any kind of porn you can imagine.” The two laughed quietly together, for the first time in many months. “You need to keep learning. Dad expected all of us to go to college. He always said that education was the most powerful tool you could ever own. Will you read some books if I bring them to you? It’ll help the days pass.” “Yeah, sure, if they’re interesting,” Gabriel smiled. “Would you read biographies, books about people, if I brought them? Perhaps about someone who’d spent some time in prison for being a lot more than a smart-ass?” Don smiled. “That’s fine, anything, but I’d really like a radio. Can you get me a small radio?” “I’ll have the lawyer bring one tomorrow.” The door opened to announce the end of their visit. They stood and stepped toward each other to embrace. “Anything else?” Don asked. Gabriel held his brother tightly, not wanting to let go. He remembered the days when big brother coached his baseball team, and how he was the coach other kids wanted. He felt safe when his brother was around, and in answer to all, he did not want to let go. The voice cracked and a mutinous tear was squelched. “Tell mom I love her, and ask everyone to write.” He thought of where he must now return and wiped his nose on the lapel of his brother’s suit jacket before releasing his embrace of freedom. “I’m sorry, Don. Tell mom I’m sorry. Tell ‘em all I’m sorry. Jose was good people.” “You’ll be okay,” Don promised in hope, as they exited the room together

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each going their separate ways, neither knowing where the truths and deceptions lie in the words of strength and courage they spoke and heard. They parted in fear, in hope and love, but also in war. As family, they would not accept defeat. Where the battle was to be fought was a question which would not be asked or answered, but awaited. Don was dutiful, and would report the events to the family over dinner, but not until after a long day of peaceful, numbing work. He needed time to come to terms with a reality he had yet to share, but had been warned of its existence: Gabriel would be lucky if he were to get out in five years. The day’s conclusion was not high on Don’s agenda, but the paternal role he inherited would not allow him to forfeit the responsibility.

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3

“No way! No! No! No! No! No!” Mary loudly protested, her long dark hair swinging side to side as she defiantly twisted her head in denial. “There’s no way! They’re not going to keep him for no five years, no way!” Only two years Gabriel’s senior, she and her brother were very close, attending the same school, with her to enter her senior year in the fall. She looked through her glasses with tears momentarily abated. The bloodshot eyes rested on those of her mother’s across the table, and then to her brother’s, sitting to her left. The answers she sought were not forthcoming. “There has to be another answer. They can’t do this to him! He didn’t shoot nobody! He’s only fifteen!” she pleaded. Don moved around behind his mother, then approached his sister. He knelt to the side of her on one knee and stroked the white blouse covering her tender back. “I’m sorry, Mary. I am sorry. This is the best lawyer I could afford, and I am going into debt for her. I don’t know what else to do. Maybe he won’t have to spend any time in prison. I don’t know for sure.” The voice was soft and soothing, but did not carry the words of deed Mary needed. “He’s there now,” Mary whispered, the thought causing tears to gently release from their restrain. Don reached around and hugged her, hoping to console. “I just want him to come home,” she whispered. “He’s not bad. I just want him to come home.”

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“We all do,” Don offered. “Who’s this guy you talk about who want’s to make a name for himself?” The question came without notice, their mother having said little this evening. She sat in their father’s old wooden rocking chair, now hers for comfort at the head of the table. “What’s putting Gabriel in prison going to do for him?” she continued. Don took a chair at the dinner table, and tried to explain the little he knew the best he could. “I can only tell you from what Janine, our lawyer, told me.” He looked to both for acknowledgment, an understanding it was hearsay. He placed his hands close together, as if he were to pray, and began to tap the tips of the five fingers together. Looking into the nervous habit, he continued. “This case was supposed to be a fairly simple juvenile matter, the district attorney understanding there was enough culpability to go around, so it was assigned to their newest staff member. He was supposed to get his feet wet, with some staff support, but instead went right to the press, talking about how Gabe would be severely punished, having caused the death of Jose and jeopardizing the reputation of the police department. This punk told the press the case would send a message to the youth of the desert. The district attorney’s office felt pushed against the wall by their employee’s comments, so decided to press the case as strongly as possible. Any questions?” Don looked to each, then saw his mother begin to hesitate. “What?” he asked, prodding. “Why didn’t they just get rid of this guy?” she wondered aloud. “His father’s a judge, and the district attorney’s office doesn’t want to upset one of the judges they may have to go before.” Don shrugged his shoulders. He looked away to answer, “Janine told me he was younger than me,

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had just passed the bar and was supposed to walk the case through, not play the Lone Ranger. He’s an asshole,” Don slipped. “You do not talk like that in my house, do you understand?!” Their mother was nearing sixty, but was still young with vibrancy. She raised her children to be respectful and polite, and in her house and presence they would be so, as all knew. “Sorry.” Don smirked at the silliness he saw in her remarks, considering the gravity of the situation. Mary saw her mother about to reprimand Don for his smirk, but brought the train of thought back to its track of dangerous reality with a question she deemed important: “This is the guy from TV, Mark Anders?” “Yeah. Mark J. Andersen the third, to be precise,” Don answered. “Is he single? Married?” she requested from her brother in a thoughtful manner. Don laughed at the question. “Why, are you gonna marry him to get Gabe off?” Don continued to chuckle. “You’ll have to get mom’s permission, you’re only seventeen.” Don was so desperate for levitation and escape, he could not stop the laughter he was using as cover from the seriousness of the questions he could not answer, yet was responsible for knowing. “Fuck you!” Mary stated clearly, as she stood from the table and went down the short hallway to her bedroom. Her mother did not reprimand her only daughter, but instead began to berate her oldest son for the manner in which he had disrespected his sister, her thoughts and her questions. Don continued to laugh. Don’s laugh turned to apology to console his mother, and to quiet her verbal barrage. Mary stepped out of her room, only a few feet back down the yellowing hallway, and headed for the front door, eyeglasses replaced by

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contacts. As she reached for the handle, the door was pushed open from the outside, and an assaulting hot breeze swept into the cooled small house. Mary took a step back to allow her other brother into the abode, which would be quickly overwhelmed by the desert night’s ninety degrees, taking many hours to again reach a point of comfort. The door was closed by reflex and Mary stepped forward to give her brother a hug. She wrapped her arms around his large muscular body, kissed him on the cheek and said, “Bye.” “Where are you goin’ at this hour?” Frank asked, with both Don and her mother also awaiting an answer. “I’m going for a walk. Will you be here when I get back?” “It’s not safe out at night!” her mother interrupted. “Then move us to a safer neighborhood,” Mary offered as solution. She looked to her newly arrived brother, waiting for an answer. “Yeah. Sorry I’m late, but I couldn’t get off the base early, and the drive took a good eighty-five minutes with the traffic slowed by some garbage truck accident.” Frank walked over to his mother and gave her a kiss, still dressed in the daily wear of a twenty-one year old enlisted marine. “How’s Gabe? Is everything gonna be okay?” Frank looked to his sister for answers. “Ask Don, he’ll give you…” She stopped and pointed to her oldest brother without completing the sentence. “I’ll be back in a little while,” Mary finished. Shutting out the noise behind her, she left the cool of the small house behind. Past the chain link fence of the tidy green yard her mother kept surrounded by blossoming plants, Mary walked out onto the sidewalk of her neighborhood. She stood in front of the house, looked at the black wrought iron bars covering the windows, then looked above the lone giant tree in the front yard. She saw a full moon and magically mysterious clouds. She heard a

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dog howl and a cat hiss, causing a chill to run her spine and give her goose bumps in the sweltering August night. The full moon always gave her the spooks. She had been taught it was when the crazies ride, but this night she had a destination. Her sandals slapping against the soles of the feet carrying her red painted toenails, shorts that left her long slender dark legs bare and a thin blouse covering her blossoming body, she tried to stay cool in the night heat by moving. She walked slowly, arms self-consciously across her chest as if there was a chill, and looked in the windows of the old houses on her street. She looked in the windows and saw families watching television. She said “Hi” to the people sitting on their porches. She looked away when she went by the drug dealer’s house. She stopped to talk to a friend who was working on his old car in the street, but could not chat long, she had a destination. Mary walked the full length of her street, thinking for a fleeting moment of how she had always heard the word minority, but on this street - her world - in this town, the meaning had flip flopped. She smiled in thought as she continued. Her street ended, and she turned right. She walked down a busy main street for another three or four minutes and the massive concrete building came into view. She walked a few more steps and sat on the lawn of a church, across the street diagonally from the colorless concrete building, surrounded by a high chain-linked fence, topped with barbed wire. Everyone in her neighborhood knew someone who had stayed in the building, but never had a member of her family been a tenant. But this night, like too many recent hot summer nights, her brother was barricaded within the coarse, solid walls, locked quietly in a small room, to somehow protect the world from a fifteen year old she would gladly do most anything to rescue. Mary sat on the soft

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cool lawn of the church, cars passing before her in oblivion, watching over her little brother, wishing he could see her, knowing he could feel her presence. She would take care of him. It was not this night, but a similar hot summer night a few evenings later when Mary looked away from the building for a few moments to lay back on the grass and look up into the stars. She noticed the clouds had disappeared, and was greeted by a thought, an answer unexpected, yet miraculous in nature. Mary thought of a way she could help free her brother. Risky, perhaps, but it was her little brother. Wrong was not in question, as she could make it right. She watched the stars, the moon, the empty sky, the cold concrete building, the chain link fence, the quiet church behind her and smiled. It was a mischievous, hopeful smile.

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4

Energy high and confidence wide, he decided to take the plunge feared and avoided each day this week. The clock moved cautiously toward the lunch hour. Through the office’s glass wall he could see the watched woman on the bench across the street. Her lines were straight, sitting properly and eating in the shade of a scorching summer day. He had passed her numerous times, and she had smiled invitingly, but he feared rejection, a confirmation that he was out of her league. This morning he received numerous accolades for the reputation he was quickly garnering, and thought he was now ready for a real challenge. He pulled a lunch packed for the occasion from his standard issue desk and headed out of the building, ignoring his coworkers and all as he gasped for courage. Mark Andersen was becoming the golden boy of the district attorney’s office. He had expected, and had been expected, to handle the most mundane of cases while getting his feet wet, but he was always looking for opportunity. His father had opened many a door for him, and he long ago learned risks were minimal with his father’s power, any errors could be swiftly repaired, but as he hustled his way through life, the twenty-five year old learned quickly and was in need of rescue from recklessness rarely. His present prosecution of a fifteen-year-old charged with murder did not take him from the bottom of the pyramid in his office, but let all know he was in motion and in what direction

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he was swiftly headed. He had stepped out of bounds in pressing the case, but his boss found it easier to go along with the popular ride than reprimand the driver. This day he had been told by his boss the prospects of a rapid rise in the office were good, but he would not get to the top unless he conferred with his superiors in the future. All Mark heard was the boss’ acknowledgment of the direction he was going, and that there would be no attempt to keep him from getting there quickly. A future political career looked promising, and his testosterone raged with power. His infectious smile said all, and now he was to cap the morning with a conquest of lust. For the last week, under the blazing summer heat, sat a young woman on a bench in the open courtyard built around a bubbling stone fountain. Cooling the yard was a system of misters that sprayed tiny droplets of water into the air. It was still too hot for most, but this one young lady sat out and ate her lunch each day in a dress so tight one could see the taut muscles move under the sheer silk fabric. She was patient and poised. Her hair was big, full and wide, bold blonde and wild like a lion’s mane. Her skin was white and soft, a contrast to the leathered tans so often marking the stolen beauty of the desert sun. Her lips were bright red, thin and wide, when spread showing a grin of invitation, and teeth so straight and pearl polished few believed they were nature’s beauty. Her fingers were like her legs and arms and torso, long, slender, smooth, inviting admiration. With all of her attributes, it was her eyes that drew men. They were bluish green, full and slightly narrowed, not defined Asian or European, but international in flair. They smiled, welcomed and danced of life. Today she sat in an all white skirt that ended somewhere between her round hips and smooth knees. She reached over to take a delicate bite of her dripping fruit salad. Mark exited the building and focused his target across the street. She

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had been friendly when he had found reason to wander her direction days previous, but now he was going to join her for lunch. He was pumped, raging with desirous adrenaline. He wanted to sprint across the street in front of oncoming traffic to expedite the meeting and conquer fear, but did his best to look casual as he scurried to the crosswalk. He looked over at her numerous times, trying ineffectively not to appear obvious. He did not know that he never left her smiling watchful eyes. Within a couple of long minutes he had managed to arrive at the splashing fountain, only a few feet away from the prey. He turned away from her for a moment to adjust and tighten his tie, then walked toward her bench. Each movement closer was a battle with fear, but the magnet grew stronger as each step brought beauty more stunning than he had imagined. He stood before her, waiting for acknowledgement of his presence. She hesitated, then looked up into his waiting hollow eyes and flashed a welcoming grin. He stuttered for a moment before catching his mouth up to his mind. “May I join you for lunch?” he begged in chivalry and smile. She grinned and nodded, pulling her food closer to make room for her guest. The answer said much, and Mark’s heart stopped, then skipped. He sat and began to unpack and eat his lunch, wondering what words he could offer to capture her admiration. She spoke, breaking the silence before his wit arrived. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Mark quickly chewed the food he had in his mouth and swallowed, to offer wit in answer, but “Yeah” was the only wisdom that escaped his parched lips. It was one hundred twelve degrees and he was beginning to sweat, but when she said it was a nice day in a voice so heavenly it sang, it was a beautiful day. He watched every motion her body offered, when he could capture a look without staring, without being caught. The beauty in detail was

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unbearable. He forced himself to speak, offering his name and hand, in hope of a touch in greeting. “My name’s Mark.” “Nice to meet you, Mark,” she answered, taking his hand ever so gently. She reached up and loosened his overly tight tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt without looking in his eyes. She then pressed her fork into the remaining bits of her fruit salad, and placed them seductively upon her lips and into her mouth as she watched the fountain spew high in the air. Heart racing from her attention, Mark stared at her turned face, hoping she would offer her name. She turned toward him and offered more. “Isn’t that fountain beautiful? I love the way the water cascades back on itself. I guess it’s a little sexual though. What do you think?” “Sexual! Did she say sexual?” screamed through his overheated mind. With the combination of heat, beauty, lust and a seductive voice, Mark feared he would succumb to spontaneous eruption. “I guess so, now that you mention it,” he eeked. The desires were too strong for him not to ask what he needed to know to fuel his fantasy of desire. “What is your name?” he blurted in need. “Susan,” she giggled in answer, properly placing her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I thought I introduced myself. How rude of me.” She extended her hand as he had earlier. He quickly grasped it, holding a bit too long. “My friends call me…” She hesitated and shone a big smile. He was not yet to know what her friends called her, but she would offer something less formal. “Sue,” she finished, taking her hand back to her lap. He stared at her legs, again for a moment too long. She smiled at his amateur status and looked at the gold watch on her wrist. “I have to be going,” she apologized, slowly standing in full splendor before his drooling desires. She was a statuette in motion. Mark quickly stood, in his most gentlemanly fashion. “I’m sorry… I don’t

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know you, but can we do this again tomorrow, or maybe I can take you too lunch?” The words escaped quickly, without him having given them too much thought or restraint, the only way they could have been said, in a moment of desperation. “If you don’t mind,” he added, as he watched her adjust the fine clothe that only accentuated her glamour. She looked up at him and smiled a knowing grin. He smiled back helplessly. “Sorry, I may have to go out of town.” He began to mumble at the rejection, but was saved by the safety net of her lagging words. “I’m free for dinner tonight?” she offered. His heart pounded so hard it was all he could hear - he hoped she could not. His voice thundered a “Yes!” With consideration, he added, “Where do I pick you up?” “I’ll meet you here at six.” “Okay,” he thanked as she walked away. He knew little about her, except what he saw and imagined - unparalleled beauty, mysterious possibilities. He did not care, he would dine with her tonight. “The possibilities,” he thought as he watched her glide away in commanding poise. The possibilities. Mark stood dazed, oblivious to the sweltering heat. He placed his hand on the tie loosened around his neck and smiled while pulling it tight again. *** The evening arrived. His anticipation brought him fifteen minutes early, and now she was fifteen minutes late. Standing aside the fountain, he tried to catch a wisp of moisture in the extremely arid heat. Looking to his wrist for the againth time, he loosened his tie as she had earlier and prepared to walk away from the embarrassment of fooled rejection. He noticed the late heat was taking its toll, the body perspiring profusely under the day’s wear, and a half hour of anxiety. He turned his head in hopeful scan one last time. He

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monitored the road in front of him, but saw only unstopping traffic blend in rush. He hoped she had not played him for the fool earlier in the day, but feared she unveiled the self-doubts he saw in the mirror each morning, and tried defiantly to mask. With a sour taste gurgling up into his mouth, he would wait no longer. Mark walked away from the bench where he had met the woman of fantasy earlier in the day, accepting defeat this day. He brushed aside the possibility of anger and bitterness and forced a smile to his charming face. He stepped toward the street and removed his jacket and tie, waiting for the crosswalk to give its permission of entry. He crossed the walk in a daze, remembering her beauty as his mind tried to touch the fantasy that had been so close. He made his way to the parking lot behind the austere reddish brown office building that confined his talents, and entered his escape vehicle. The car was started, but he sat for a moment to let the air-conditioning bring his body down to a manageable temperature. The stereo was turned on and music began to blare, the beat hard, fast and loud, a private vice he used to separate himself from the proper world he expressed in attire to love. The day’s dreary from pursuit of ambition began to drain from his manicured fingers and the energy of life flowed in return. He unbuttoned a couple more buttons from the top of his shirt, pulled the shirttails from their tucked position and rolled up his sleeves. The day was done. The six-month-old Mercedes, a graduation gift from his father, was thrown into reverse and quickly backed out of the reserved parking space. The tires screeched to a halt, but as he prepared to put the car into drive he felt his head slam back, the airbag on the steering wheel inflated and he heard a loud crunch come from the rear. He instinctively grabbed his neck to rub away the pain. Looking into his rear view mirror, his pain began to grin.

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With smile of victory and conquest foreseen, he stepped from his vehicle and stretched his bent body. The driver of the assaulting vehicle exited and approached. “I’m so sorry,” he heard the seductress’ voice plea. She ran up to him, pushed aside the hand he was using to rub his neck and began an experienced deep muscle massage. “Are you okay?” she asked with her sweetest promise. Mark laughed, the resonance of her tasty voice sent the pain aflight. “What were you doing? What are you doing here?” he asked, keeping his back to her talented hands, so the neck, something, would continue to feel her soft touch. “I thought it was too hot, so I waited here in the garage for you, in my car. When you started to leave I was going to tap the rear of your car to get your attention, but…” she hesitated “but as I rolled up to you I missed the brake and hit the accelerator. I’ve only had the car a couple of months. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Her fingers continued to work the muscles of his neck, with a hand occasionally slipping down to massage, caress, a muscular shoulder. Her anguish brought him pleasure at the power of his now influential position in the game of seduction. Looking to the small white sports car he personally could not afford, Mark smiled in wonder, turned to face his prey and was caught by the warm pull of her bluish green eyes, and the crooked smile across her thin rounded lips. For a forgotten moment, the words poised for flight lost their way, but he blinked and quickly remembered the position fate had gifted. He gathered the eloquence of tongue for a quick checkmate: “Do you like Chinese food?” She nodded her head in affirmation. “How about if we pick up some Chinese food and go back to my place, so I can put some ice on my neck and we can still have dinner?”

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Susan grinned the fisherman’s catch and winked at the premise of his invitation. Mark’s heart skipped with excitement of closing possibility, and the sight of her knowing acceptance. She rubbed her hands together, then spoke to his dream. “Okay, but write down your address in case you lose me on the way over. Also, do you want my insurance information now or later?” “Don’t worry about it.” He pointed a finger in sorrow at the front of her damaged toy. “I think you have more damage than me. You take care of yours and I’ll take care of mine.” A thought struck Mark and he began to smile. The pause was an unseen instant in which the lips spread. He pointed a finger at the lengthy figure before him. “You pay for dinner, and we’ll call it even.” Susan laughed and nodded her head. Mark wrote his address on the back of his business card, proud of his successful negotiation. He smiled again at another clever thought: He would report his car damaged to his insurance company, a hit and run he would claim, while he reaped the real benefits of the injury this evening. They entered their respective sports cars. Mark called in the take-out order from his cell phone as he drove the palm lined roads, then motioned to Susan to call him, demonstrating the phone number with his fingers. She understood, and they became acquainted in conversation as they drove at challenging high speeds through the unsuspecting traffic to Mark’s humble abode, for dinner and dessert. *** They sat at a large glass table in the spacious dining room. To one side, running the length of the table was a fireplace, flameless in the highly air-conditioned home. Running the other side of the table’s length was a glass wall, overlooking the fifth fairway. They sat at the long table, not facing one another but looking west as the sun began to set behind the farthest

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mountain range. The evening had been entertaining. The Chinese was hot, spicy, a little greasy and very good. The flavors enhanced the senses and inhibitions drifted as they shared a bottle of chilled champagne over chopstick stabs into the white boxed dinner. They laughed and learned, and now sat together watching the full clouds emblazoned with the hues of red, pink, orange, purple and fire. The magic of an Indian summer night danced beyond the fairway’s lush trees on the distant mountains. It was around eight, and the day was giving way to night in a fashion none who saw could ignore or forget. This night they were alive, vibrant. Opportunity was seized. He pointed to the hot tub outside the window in the backyard, and began rubbing his neck with his other hand. “Would you like to go watch the sunset outside? The warm night air is peaceful and relaxing, and I would like to get in the hot tub to relax my neck, if you don’t mind?” “Go ahead. We can sit outside. You can sit in the hot tub.” She stood and picked up her champagne. Mark did not want to pressure her into feeling compelled to choose between exit or capitulation, deciding to hope she would see his relaxation and join. He opened the door for his guest, set the bottle of champagne and his glass on the table next to the chair she chose and returned to the house. He returned a few minutes later covered with but a simple thick white cotton swim robe. She did not look back to observe as he unrobed and slipped into the warm water. The sun had disappeared, but the sky had continued its wondrous color parade for Susan alone. They each watched the beauty they saw - she the sky, he her thigh. Susan took a sip of champagne and returned the glass to the table. She looked over to her host and smiled. He smiled back in wanting hope, without

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daring to say a simple syllable. Susan stood on her bare white feet and walked to the edge of the bubbling hot tub. Mark looked at her pink toenail polish, then up the length of her legs to the tight, firm curves of her body. His mind could see what he imagined under her tantalizing attire. She stood five foot ten, the same height as Mark, but as he looked up at her and the full mane of hair she wore as cat, he saw a statuette of exquisite creation larger than the life he had ever imagined. Worldly and intelligent were added dimensions, and he felt proper at her pedestal. Under the bubbling surface, he was truly aroused. Susan smiled down at Mark’s desperately hopeful face and returned to the table where her champagne glass was waiting. She picked up the glass, toasted the beauty of the heavens bidding farewell, closed her eyes and took a drink of the bubbling freedom. After a minute of smiling, she opened her eyes with courage and returned to the edge of the hot tub. Mark looked up in prayer request, was about to speak, but hesitated when he saw her hands move. In an instant the silk cloth hid little no more. She kicked the flimsy white material behind her and grew a crooked smile at Mark’s stare. He saw the body more detailed in beauty than anything imagined. Wearing matching white lace panty and bra, Mark could see the curves and their perfect pert proportions elevated above him. He offered a hand to help in the step to hot moisture. “Thank you,” she whispered, taking a seat close to his desires. The two sat quietly. Susan stared above into the popping stars that began to show themselves around the bright moon, while Mark stared at Susan. His mind touched the smoothness of her soft high cheeks, round faint nose and the warm inviting lips. His mind touched her hair, caressing its wildness, then grasping the mane in control. The mind was engaged in a sensual orgy. Mark wanted to bring her along.

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His heart raced, the fear and excitement of possibility. He would not stop himself, hoping she would not stop him. He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek gently. She turned toward him and smiled. He leaned forward again, closed his eyes and hoped her lips would be there when he arrived. His heart raced, passion afire, as he tasted the soft sweet moist lips of fantasy actualized. The action began desperate, fast, as Mark pressed for quick advancement, fearing she would shun his attempts at any moment. She placed a hand on his muscular chest and pushed him back gently. She unhooked her bra, and guided Mark’s head to the foreplay she expected, and required. She now controlled the pace and actions. Within minutes she had pulled him out of the water and led him to the center of the living room floor, where she slowly removed her remaining garment. It was all too perfect. Mark felt a fear that he would explode at any moment. Susan continued to lead, and the demanding foreplay advanced, sending every sense of their body into overload. She usually would have stopped to give her partner a condom at this point, but the special effect would have been ruined. Mark usually wore a condom himself, but was afraid to fall out of grace during an event he feared only happened once in a lifetime. He let her lay him on his back, where she began to kiss and lick every inch of his body, with the warmth of her moist lips and tongue, preparing him for spectacular conclusion. The end was signaled by a scream he fought not to voice, but it was an ecstasy he could not contain. As noise began, she released his tongue from her mouth and bit his lip, drawing blood and mixing pain and pleasure in a fashion he had never imagined. Her pleasure would come later, though she found going over his physique that she would have liked to take it now. She rolled off the

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top of him, stretched her long soft proportions and reminded herself birth control pills were affective. He tried to catch his breath. As Mark lay stunned, Susan erected her gravity defying body and quietly went outside to retrieve her dress. She put it on, picked up her shoes from under the glass kitchen table and quietly slipped out of the comfortable home. Mark’s senses did not return until it was too late. She had left, and he was in love. Susan drove toward her scheduled destination. Her heart now began to race, as doubt overwhelmed her senses. Wrong and right were lost, forgotten, as she headed to the hospital to report her rape.

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5

The hour neared two in the dark of morning. Mark Andersen’s tan nude body slept a smiling peaceful slumber on the plush white carpet of the living room floor. Gabriel Zapata slept restlessly, tossing and turning on the thin soft mattress of a small bed, held cold in the confines of harsh narrow brick walls, the stench of urine having become an accepted breath. Susan Deane sat in her new sports car in disappointment, with Mary Zapata sitting in the passenger’s seat trying to console a friend in tears. The windows were up to muffle the sounds. The night’s end lingered toward dawn. “It’s over. I’m sorry. I told you not to do it if you didn’t want to.” Mary’s voice was sympathetic, but understanding was absent. Sue choked back the tears. “He’s not a bad guy. He’s got real aspirations, and this could ruin his life,” she sniffled. “What about Gabe? He’s only fifteen. What is Mr. Nice Guy going to do to my brother? It’s up to you. Do you want my brother in prison for a quarter of his life? Do you think that’s fair?” Mary was angry. “Nice guy? Yeah, right.” “I didn’t tell them who it was at the hospital. I told them I was afraid, that he was too powerful. They made me call my mom to pick me up, hoping she could talk me into telling them.” Sue laughed through a tear. “I snuck out the window of my room as soon as we got home. She’s probably scared to death for me right now.” She lifted her teared face and looked Mary in the

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eyes. “This isn’t right. I never should have done this. I wish I hadn’t.” Mary’s face was panicked and angered, she wanted her little brother free. “Are you goin’ to the police? You’ve got to go to the police!” Mary pleaded. “If we don’t get him removed from the case Gabe ‘ll be in there for years. We’ve got to get him off the case.” Her plea began to shrill, an angry whine. “You said you could do this. If you aren’t going to do it let me know…” The tears had stopped, replaced by a growing coldness toward Mary’s terse, desperate demands. Sue turned off the stereo, which had been filling the background noise with notes of escape, and raised her soft voice. “It took me a week to hook and reel this guy in. I said I’d do it, I have and I’ll finish,” she blurted in submission, eyes closed and fists clenched. “I just don’t want to go to the police, his career will be destroyed.” She looked into Mary’s desperate eyes, and decided it might be time to try no. “I don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “I don’t care about his career!” Mary screamed. “I just want my brother to get a fair shot, and this fuckin’ asshole won’t give it to him!” Sue was shaking her head from side-to-side, wild blonde locks flowing in front of her face. “Don’t you yell at me, I’m doing this for you. I said I’d do it and I have, I just don’t want to ruin his life too, if I don’t have too. Your brother’s in there for his own fuck-up, that smart-ass mouth of his, and now we’re, I’m, going to send this guy to jail for doing his job. As soon as I go to the police, his entire life is destroyed. Everything!” Sue looked out the front window of her car, seeing nothing but an empty street the world had forgotten. Mary was perplexed. Sue had used men since her first sexual experience at age twelve. She had dated men old enough to be this guy’s father, had been kept by more than one man at a time, and never gave a moment’s thought about

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them. Mary could not comprehend how this was any different, unless it was a tie of emotion. “Do you like this guy?” she smirked, sarcastically. “He’s okay. Why?” Sue could not see the relevance of her friends question. “He’s a guy,” she added defiantly. “You never cared about any of the guys before, what makes him different?” The question was a challenge. Mary was sure she had struck a hidden truth. Sue blinked her eyes for a long moment, shook her head again, looked at Mary with contempt, turned the stereo back on low and looked ahead through the window, before explaining to one who did not know the burden of another’s lost fate. “Those were different. They took care of me, and I took care of them. Nobody gets hurt and we all have a good time.” She turned her head to Mary. “This is different. This time I hold the fate of someone’s life in my hands. The key to the life he chose or the destruction I choose. How can you compare the two? On one hand we all have a good time, while on the other hand someone gets destroyed.” Sue looked away and turned the stereo up slightly. It was not a conscious thought, but somewhere hidden inside, Sue knew she could not destroy Mark without destroying much of herself also. She did not wish for her friend’s consoling anymore. “I’ve got to get home and get some rest,” she lied. Mary understood the message and began to exit the car as Sue started the engine. “Are you going to the police?” Mary asked in hope. Sue would not face her. “I said I’d take care of it. Don’t worry about it.” She turned to Mary, her eyes burning a scar into Mary’s soul. “I’ve gone this far. I’ve promised by best friend.” She paused and stared, disappointed at the options she gave herself. “He’ll be off the case, I promise.” “Thanks Sush.” Mary waited briefly for the acknowledgment that did not

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come. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she offered before closing the door. Sue drove her new car under the old covering of shade trees, past the rows of dilapidated houses and headed back to the gated community where she lived with her family. It was the first time she thought about not liking the looks of the houses she was driving past, the distrusting appearance of the neighborhood, the lively fear. She returned to her side of the walls, not a mile away, but a world apart. To visit her best friend she had always been an interloper, now she saw a world she had allowed herself to ignore. *** The high-pitched shrieking of the early morning bell scratched the nerves of all, as usual. Gabriel forced the heavy of his tired eyes open, then rolled out of bed to stand erect, with a slight slump of dread. Clothes from the day before lay at the foot of the bed. He looked over at the pile of books stacked on his small desk, still untouched, with hopes he would not have time to read them, yet untouched they had waited for weeks. He put on the clothes he wore the day before and prepared to force himself through another early morning meal with variety of court jester to entertain. The electric door loudly snapped its release. Gabriel exited the concrete, small drab space quickly. He spoke to no one, wanting, idle headedly expecting, to be released at any moment. The blazing sun continued its daily routine of rise, bringing the temperature of the early September morn quickly into the nineties. The birds danced among the full trees in the stillness of the hot air. A roadrunner zipped over a fence and ran across the golf course. Susan lay in her bed looking out the window into the blue sky, highlighted by a lofty white cloud and wished the morning had not yet come. She turned away from her window onto her side and closed her eyes. The visions she saw forced her to bolt upright

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and move, to escape from the lonely terror she had placed in her mind. She loafed the morning away, until the hour arrived when she had to again prepare herself as lunch bait. The thought was deadening this day, but it was a pattern that gave her comfort and known escape. Slightly before lunchtime, Susan stood before her full length bedroom mirror and viewed her clingy, sultry red dress. The hair was primped and prepared. She looked out her window and saw the daunting heat, forcefully preparing to venture forward. She had seen herself look this magnificent many times before, always proud and assured, today she felt used, ugly, cheap. Today, for the first time, she wore beauty as a mask, hoping it would take away a sprouting pain and hate. She left her house to snap the trap. The day had passed slowly for Mark, memory of the fantasy life the night before was all he let enter his mind. He had planned on doing some research for his cases, but after the evening with his visitor work lost priority of consideration. The day before was draped with accolades, while this day he caught insults from his shocked boss, wondering what the hell he was doing when he knew how important it was to be prepared for his societal responsibility. After the intellectual assaults, Mark returned to his desk to research the stack of books and catch-up on his work. Not a single character that passed on the pages before his eyes was retained, he was too busy looking out his window, across the street to the bench where his emotions were venturing. Like clockwork, as the days before indicated, he saw his vision arrive in bright red glory. Mark pulled open his desk, reached into the deep sparse drawer and grabbed a rose and bag lunch. He left the building without the slightest concern or acknowledgment of those he knew, and quickly headed toward the spot near the fountain where his heart pounded most viciously. He arrived at his

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destination on instinct. Mark approached Susan quietly from behind, smelled the deep dark red rose in his hand then placed it before her patient eyes. She forced a smile through guilt and surprise. “Thank you,” she whispered. Mark moved around and sat to her side, wanting to give her a quick gentle kiss, but still afraid of the rejection she controlled. His eyes swallowed her beauty before he set his voice free. “Last night was incredible,” he paused. “Thank you.” Susan ached as she turned her soft eyes to look into his glowing face. She reached up, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. “It’s too hot,” she answered without looking directly into the beckoning eyes. She knew what she was honor bound to say and do, but the words and manner of assault would not come to her. “Thank you,” she offered, as she forced herself a quick look into joyous eyes. “Can we have dinner again, tonight?” Overwhelmed by the testosterone raging through his body in remembrance of the last night’s conquest, he hoped for the possibility of a repeat performance, a touch of the soft, supple flesh hidden beneath alluring cloth. Susan knew what she had to say, to threaten. His excitement and joy brought her crooked smile to bear. Words of destiny were about to be flung at his alter, causing her to think of escape. The quietness of his house. The privacy, intimacy of isolation. The words she had carried as soldier would be offered more appropriately this eve. “I have to go,” she said, looking down at the soft full lips of his mouth. She stood and looked away. “I have to meet someone for lunch,” she lied in escape. “What about dinner?” he hoped in a diminishing voice.

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She put on her sunglasses, and looked away from his now desperate face. “I’m sorry. Yes, dinner tonight will be fine. At your place again.” She felt a thorn from the rose prick her finger, a small pain. “I’ll see you tonight around six, okay?” she asked, seeing a drop of blood form on her hand. “Yeah!” he shouted overzealously. Susan leaned and gave Mark a soft quick kiss on the cheek. Under her glasses a single tear gathered strength. Without saying another word she turned and walked away, the single tear falling from her eye, finding its way down the cheek, past the veil of the sunglasses. She walked away. He stood and watched a beauty in motion, an admiration of nature’s creation in a manner he had never considered so perfect. *** Mark checked the settings on the table, switched the knife and fork, grabbed the champagne from the refrigerator and moved it to the table before answering the fingernail tap at the door. His heart raced at the possibilities of experience as he reached for the handle to pull the door open. It was a surprise. He took a step back at a change in beauty. Mark had never seen Susan in any attire except the most seductive, mature, fashionable and expensive. Before him stood a young girl, braless in a clingy white tank top, small tight faded blue denim shorts, brown sandals and a ponytail. There was no make-up, only the glowing aura of a pure and innocent beauty. His heart raced violently, the beauty now so innocent he felt in violation of nature. He smiled and invited her into his waiting trap. Susan entered the house, closed the door behind her, stepped up to the man of her height, looked into his frightened eyes with a crooked smile and pressed her soft wet lips against his eyelids. Mark’s body automatically responded and the arousal was frightfully powerful, overwhelming. She led him

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back to the floor, pulled her hair from the ponytail and began to undress her victim. This house, this time, she was to enjoy herself at his pleasure. The intimacy continued passionately, aggressively, not concluding in final exhilarating ecstasy until the champagne waiting on the kitchen table had long warmed and lost its fizzle. Together they lay naked ten feet from the door, both glowing fulfilled. Susan climbed back onto his sticky body, resting her smooth creamy arms and chin on his tanned chest. Her smile grew as she looked into his peaceful brown eyes. “Thank you,” she giggled. She was so comfortable having surrendered herself to him, she let the words wander as they may. “How long will Gabriel Zapata have to be in jail?” she asked, catching Mark completely off guard with the unusual after sex conversation. “You saw me on TV?” he asked, bewildered. “No,” she whispered, still smiling. He assumed she had read about him in the paper. “A long time,” he boasted proudly, pulling his hands from behind his head to massage, touch, the flawless teasing flesh of her back and shoulders. “What’s a long time?” she pressed. “I don’t know, maybe five years, or so, at least. Why?” “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh for a fifteen year old who didn’t really do much of anything wrong?” “What do you know about him, about what he did? He broke the law, and he has to pay.” Mark knew the laws, the rules that made up his society, his life of black and white. “You break the rules, you go to jail?” Susan asked, removing her touch from his, positioning to sit beside her prey. “Yeah,” Mark answered defensively, noting Susan pulling away.

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“Any possibility the people who pulled the trigger bear any responsibility for killing Jose because he had a pair of sunglasses and a smart-ass friend?” Susan’s smile grew as she questioned. Mark was concerned, she used the names with such familiarity. “Do you know these guys?” he asked, fearful. “Yeah,” she answered, waiting for his response. Mark sat up quickly. They sat shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions, the naked souls and bodies picked up the pace of their conversation. “What do you think we should do when someone breaks the law?” he challenged. Susan laughed, and shrugged her shoulders. “We have too many laws, I think.” The answer was naive, and angered Mark. His father had taught him that rules, enforced rules, were necessary to keep people in line, to keep people from blurring the boundaries between right and wrong. “They are the foundation of society,” he was taught. “We have too many criminals,” he countered. “Including you,” she offered, with a bewitching smile. Mark’s heart was pounding, racing again, but this time in confusion, fear and frustration. “What do you mean?” he demanded, summoning a mask of bravery. She looked deep into his brown eyes, stared for a moment’s pause, and pressed her matter, as his posturing was beginning to annoy. “I enjoyed today, but,” she hesitated, reaching her arm across his naked body and pulling herself closer, “I want you to do me a favor.” Whatever his emotions, the touch and smell of her flesh began to arouse him again. “What?” he quivered, thinking of the next moment’s magic touches.

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She leaned toward his bowed neck and whispered to the waiting ear. “Gabe can’t spend time in jail, he’s a good kid. Let him go,” she pleaded. A chill went through his body, he was frightened. Where did the authority for such a request originate? How could she challenge, question his authority, his actions, his life. He dropped his head in a moment of gathering thought, then stood with indignity, looking down at her. He backed a step away. “I won’t do anything of the sort. He’s going to pay.” Susan turned her head away from his glare, and smiled to herself. He was losing composure losing. “What makes you think I would do that? How can you ask me to do such a thing? There’s no way I’m going to do that.” He heard her chuckle, and stepped forcefully toward her. Standing close behind her. “What’s so funny?!” he demanded bitterly. She stood and looked at his angered nude body. Wearing only her smile as defense, she walked toward his backing form and touched his clammy flesh. She began to touch every erogenous spot imaginable, and his anger quickly evaporated in the heat she generated. Without notice, she pulled his hair and bit his ear. He let out a startled shout, but the sound was muffled as she placed her lips over his wanting mouth. Her motions stopped as she held herself close to his hungry body, having sent his being on an emotional roller coaster. She whispered in his ear, gently rubbing aroused areas of his form. “You help Gabe, and I’ll help you,” she whispered. The words did not register in his mind. She continued. “I guarantee he’s a good kid, and if you let him go, they won’t arrest you.” He shoved her away violently, in frustrated fear. “What are you talking about!” he shouted, his mind swimming in anger and desire. “You raped me last night.” She looked away, knowing her words were daggers in his soul. “You raped me,” she whispered in shame.

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Stepping backwards, he tripped over a coffee table, but quickly stood again to fight. “What are you talking about? You came on to me, you let me… you… I did no such thing and you know it!” he defended in a queasy voice, hoping the world at large would not hear the conversation. Susan continued to look away, the shame of destruction growing. “That’s not what the hospital thinks. They have a sample of your blood, from when I bit you to keep you away. They have a sample of your semen. They’ve got more than a fingerprint.” The words were soft, but the damage explosive. “Oh, shit,” Mark gasped in desperation, defeat, falling into the sofa next to him. He pressed his hands against his head, trying to challenge the possibility he was conscious. He quickly turned a finger toward her. “I’ll tell them you set me up. I’ll tell them how. You came to my house!” he shouted. “I came to your house because you asked me to follow you home after I accidentally hit your car. You said you were concerned about your neck. You tricked me here.” Her voice was calm. She stepped around the coffee table and approached the end of the couch where he was wrestling with his defense. “When they realize you are a friend of Zapata’s they’ll know you set me up! You’re in trouble!” he promised, pointing a panicked finger. “So I wanted to talk to you about him, and you raped me,” she laughed. “Don’t worry about me, I’m never in trouble,” she promised. He looked down into his lap, noticing his nudity. “Last night was so incredible, how could you ruin it?” “It doesn’t have to be ruined. I never gave them your name. I told them I was too scared, that the man who did it was too powerful.” She laughed aloud. “They love a helpless little girl as victim, it makes them feel so strong.”

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“He broke the law,” Mark said to no one’s ear. Susan slid next to his defeated spirit and put her arm around his shoulder. Her warm touch felt good, which angered her victim even more. “You did too,” she challenged. “When? What are you talking about now?” “Besides rape?” “I didn’t do that.” “Did you have a good time last night?” He nodded yes. She moved slowly, closer to his ear. “Did you have a good time working up your sweat a few minutes ago?” He felt the moist breath from her words warm his ear. “Yeah,” he whispered in weakness. Susan began wetting his ear with her mouth, then whispered ever so quietly, “I’m only seventeen.” She paused just long enough for the words to be understood, and added, “That’s illegal, and definitely immoral enough to ruin your career.” Frozen in shock the world he knew as black and white suddenly turned tumultuous gray. Was what he had done wrong? She was in her mid-twenties easily, he had assured himself. He felt the moisture on his ear, and looked down at his uncontrolled, growing excitement. “Was it wrong to still want to do it again?” he asked himself. The questions, decisions, possibilities raged violently in his head like a pounding hurricane. He felt her moist lips moving to his neck and thought no longer. He turned toward her and engaged a raging passion unknown until twenty-four hours before. Right and wrong were no longer issues, just lost ideals of two souls now mixed in a passion of sympathy, anger, lust, beauty, love, life. The sweat

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grew, as did the biting, scratching, touching, tasting, licking and feeling. It mixed and brought them to a boiling point, and the world of tomorrow would have to wait for the primal rush to end, and end again, and again, and…

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6

Near a week passed. Susan had not heard from a soul. She entered a world of isolation stolen as respite. She thought of Mark, the night of violating passion. She thought of her call to Mary the morning after, answering only that she presented Gabe’s lawyer with no alternative, without intimating she would not, could not, carry out the plan’s perverted climax if required. It weighed heavy, knowing Mary had the knowledge and will to bring the worst conclusion to bear. Susan’s world became silent, forbidding, and for the past week safe in shrinking. The soap opera’s of the daily television helped the hours pass into oblivion. She did not know what would signify the end of the tempest she had stirred, but waited patiently for its sign. She hoped time might pass her by if she stood still long enough. *** “Mark, get in here!” was heard shouted across the office. Mark knew the shrill voice to be his boss, but the tone was that usually reserved for moments of panic. Mark rose from his desk, tucked in his shirt and adjusted his tie and jacket, knowing his boss had a visitor. He walked across the office tentatively, nervous, while succeeding in appearing to look calm to those sharing the cubicled work domain. He was unsure if the bomb he had designed would implode or explode, but was now going to face the consequences of its

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detonation. Arriving, he stepped across the threshold, entering the office of size that comes with position. All chairs were plush and comfortable, and this day arranged around a visitor sitting relaxed before Mark’s boss, who sat on the edge of his valued desk, arms folded angrily across his chest. “What’s the problem Mr. Block?” Mark asked without acknowledging the guest. “Close the door,” Mr. Block frowned. The stress wrinkles on his forehead grew, while the few strands of hair left on his balding head prepared to depart. “This is Mr. Franks, Stewart Franks.” Mark turned to shake the elderly gentleman’s liver spotted frail hand. “I think you’d better listen to what he has to say about Zapata.” “The Zapata case? I’m preparing to take it to trial.” Mark looked to his supervisor in contrived confusion, then turned to the tanned sagging face of Stewart Franks, dressed in green plaid golf attire. “How can I help you, Mr. Franks?” Mark politely requested. Mr. Franks looked up to Mark’s souring boss. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want to repeat myself again, let me just tell it to the person in charge of the case,” the feisty old man insisted, not wanting to waste a fading breath. “This is it,” was answered with a sigh. Mark turned to his boss and gave him a glare for the vote of no confidence in tone, then turned his attention back to the newcomer. “What is it you’d like to tell me, Mr. Franks?” Mark offered his most charming smile of insincerity. Stewart Franks shook his head, disapproving of the inexperience before him. He did not hesitate long, wanting to get to the driving range for a little distance practice after a particularly bad early morning golf game. “All right, but I’m only going to say this once more, so you’d better write it down or record it or something.”

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Mark looked to his boss, who nodded the usual office recording was running. “Go ahead Mr. Franks,” Mark pressed, pulling a chair in front of the guest and sitting in patience of the words to be offered. Stewart Franks folded his hands in his lap, reclined in the large leather executive chair, and began to speak, enjoying the center of attention. The words were many superfluous, but the underlying content carried the weight of affect. After twenty minutes of patiently waiting while the minute details painted a gloriously accurate picture, Mark took the liberty of concluding the thoughts in summary: “What you’re saying is that the officer’s shot Jose Martinez knowing he was unarmed?” The old man smiled his sun-etched face and nodded in agreement. “And, again, why hasn’t Mr. Zapata told us about this?” Mark pushed, leaning forward in his chair, trying to hear the words clearly. “I said I wasn’t going to repeat myself, I just told you, I’m too old.” the groggy voice boomed as Stewart Franks began to stand. “I’m sorry Mr. Franks, we’d just like you to make it a little more clear for us.” Hearing the boss’s words from behind, Mark began to grow an anger. It was his situation, and he demanded respect for his position. “Please, Mr. Franks, just that last detail,” Mark politely requested, helping the elder gentleman stand. “Like I said young man, I heard one of the officer’s threaten the skinny Mexican boy. They said they would clean him too if he considered getting out of line.” “What does that mean?” Mark pleaded, as the man walked with effort toward the door. Stewart Franks placed his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t know, but I

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know the boy was scared, and the paper says he’s not a bad boy. The officers made a mistake, and I’m sorry for that other boy, but you guys have to give the kid a fair shake.” He twisted the doorknob. “I won’t testify against the officers, and I don’t want to go into court. I don’t want to go to the media, but I will if I have too.” He pulled the door open, as the two lawyers stood around him. “You boys do the right thing and it’ll save us all a lot of headache.” Stewart Franks shuffled out of the office, closing the door behind him and leaving the lawyers face to face. “What do you want to do now, hot shot?!” Hank Block, career public servant demanded loudly. “This should have been a quick and dirty plea bargain, but you had to make a big fuckin’ deal about it! What are going to do now?” The question was asked while the boss backstepped away from Mark, taking a secure position behind his desk. Mark was silent, walking to the front of the large status desk. “What do you want me to do?” he asked sheepishly, looking down on the table that was destined to one day be his. Hank Block fell into his chair, sneering at the young man he had been forced into praising only days before. “Do what you should have done the first time, handle it quietly and quickly. Bargain this shit away. You know there is truth to all sides, and it wasn’t the kid who pulled the trigger,” Hank Block answered, looking away in disgust. “What if the old man’s wrong?” Mark challenged in a loud voice, unable to look his boss in the face. “What if he’s right? Do you want to prosecute the officers?” the boss shouted with contempt. “Your fuckin’ career is going to be over before it starts if this is the way you think. Which is it, brilliant office political skills or a ‘by the book’ fool?” The attempt to stare into his underling’s

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eyes did not evoke an answer to the challenge. “What about the press? What should I tell them?” Mark asked quietly looking down toward his feet, thoughts a mile away on another day. Hank Block stood and began to shout. “You brought the press into this fucking thing, now you get out of it anyway you see fit. Tell them nothing, tell them everything, but do not make this office look bad,” he shouted, pointing his index finger into the table. “You fuck this up and I’ll feed you to the lions personally. It’s a worthless media around in this valley anyway, so if you can’t pull this off, you can’t pull shit off!” Mark still had his head down, now in thought current. “Was this not the man who was heaping praise? Was this not the man wanting to bask in the glow of a comet? Was this not the man who made allowance for parentage? This is the leader in battle? Is this where I want to be?” he wondered, shutting out the malice before him. He turned away, exiting and heading toward his desk without looking back, without listening to any further barrage. He took seat at his desk, and felt something missing inside. The coworkers around him began to vanish. He noted the clock approached noon. He looked across the street, through the rising heat to the spewing fountain. A mirage he knew, but his mind still gave image to a beauty he had known. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, his mind creating images and senses he remembered, and coveted, knowing they were a technical violation of the law, but willing to do it all again, without hesitation. He hoped. *** Two more days passed under the heavens, and Mark was waiting in the glass walled conference room. The adversary was late, but the anxieties that attacked were of a different spirit. He looked across the street. The view to the fountain was hindered by a sprouting palm tree, but the mind filled in the

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details. He turned his attention to work again when he heard a briefcase put to rest on the conference table. He stood in smile and extended a hand. The player was reticent in accepting the hand of an opponent she knew in bitter fashion. She accepted his gentlemanly touch, but was taken aback by the smile offered in his stand. “He must have more against Gabriel,” her mind warned in distrust. She took the seat he offered through the simplest polite hand gesture. He did not seat himself again until she had seated. Janine Pierce was a proud woman. She stood five foot five inches on a stout frame of one hundred fifty-five pounds. Image was important to the lawyer of night school elucidation, making jewels, make-up, clothes and hairstyle part of the official calling card. She had traveled to the desert of Southern California to escape the Los Angeles basin’s smog, though in recent years it too had escaped confines and joined her on occasion in the desert heat. She had worked ferociously to establish her practice and reputation as a good defense lawyer. Her breed had become rare in a profession used as a stepping stone to careers in politics and less. Justice was her interest. She felt she understood the misunderstood Gabriel Zapata, the boy who had never fired a gun but was now being tried for murder. Her patience for anyone trying to use him as a political launching pad was short, and if there was a way to castrate the man sitting smugly in smile across the table, she would gladly make the cut quickly, but Gabe was her concern this moment. Perhaps she would get the chance to end this mannequin’s career later, she hoped. Opening the black leather briefcase, she reached in and placed the recorder in the middle of the table. “What did you want to see me about, Mr. Andersen?” she asked, leaning forward in her thick, padded chair. Mark’s smile continued in silence, as he leaned forward to turn her machine off. “The name is Mark, and this does not need to be for the record.”

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Janine looked away, then turned her cranberry lips in forced smile toward the young man she saw as boy. “Okay, Mr. Andersen, no recorder. What did you want to see me about?” “The name is Mark.” “Okay, but please hurry, you know I’m preparing for our upcoming trial.” Her forced smile continued to glare. “The name is Mark,” he said slowly, leaning his body against the edge of the table. His smile was real. “I said okay, now let’s get on with it. What do you want,” she demanded in quiet sternness. “The name is Mark, Janine.” The smile grew to his eyes as he looked into her hard green eyes. He saw a break, and her eyes joined the cranberry red lips in smile, now real. Janine chuckled to herself at the stupidity of the game they were now playing. “Okay, you win. Now let’s get on with it,” she said, looking away from his stripping stare. “The name is Mark,” he whispered in his lowest tone, leaning forward just a bit more. Her patience wore first. “Okay, Mark, can we get this over with?” she answered without smile. She had lost the battle of cordiality, but her focus was the war? “You never got back to me on the last offer, five years, off in three with good behavior and a permanent record.” He leaned back in his chair, waiting for her response. She looked at him through a contorted face of confusion and disdain. “This is why you wanted to meet? I told you before I left last time it was not even going to be considered.” She reached across to the recorder and placed it

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back in the briefcase. “What do you want?” he wondered aloud. “What do you care?” she challenged, slamming the case shut and locking the brass clasps. “We’ve had this conversation before. I am going right now to prepare to get what I want for my client from the judge. If not, then from the jury.” She looked into his eyes with a bitter anger. “I want absolution,” she demanded, waiting for a motion, gesture or inflection as hint of such possibility. Mark gave a quick soft guttural burst of laughter. “Not a chance.” “Yes there is, and I will get it from a jury,” she barked in defiance. Mark looked away and smirked to himself, before remembering this was a game he was supposed to lose. “We have a lot of work lined up, and I don’t want to see this kid go to jail for any great deal of time. Let’s work something out for his sake. We’re walking in a gray area anyway.” Mark did not mean for the last sentence to be said aloud. The stiff tension began to run from Janine’s body, as she relaxed for a moment. The unexpected words were a gift, a hope that gave Gabriel a future. She waited for Mark’s attention, but his stare was into another dimension, thoughts astray. “What do you offer?” Janine queried, trying to pull his attention gently back. “Your real offer?” Mark was lost in thought of challenge. He was, for the first time, wrestling with the fact he knew he did not know what was right and what was wrong. He knew the kid did not pull the trigger, never even fired a gun. He knew the police officers in the community were not accountable for actions of violence unbecoming a law enforcement officer, a human being. He knew he was supposed to ruin this kid’s life because someone else’s life had been lost. He also knew that not much more than a week ago he was planning on using this kid

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as a step in his career. “What makes me God? How can I ever know for sure when I should ruin someone’s life, or cut them slack. Do I think he’s a criminal because he’s poor? What the fuck am I doing here?” his mind demanded. The questions could not be answered, so he came back to the world he understood and worked by rote. “I’ll make one offer, no negotiation.” He sat erect in his chair and held up a tanned index finger, smile distant. He looked to his opponent in hope of understanding. Her cranberry red lipstick smirked, as she reached toward her ear to nervously touch a large dangling gold earring. She pushed back a piece of her stiff hairdo, touched the earring and waited for his next words. He waited for acknowledgment. She folded her hand, then understood after a long pause. “Yeah, okay, one offer. What is it?” she beckoned. Mark looked into her eyes and stared a warning. He grabbed a pen and pad of paper to his left and quickly began writing. He read the words that flowed from his pen. Reading the words brought minor satisfaction, but that was derived from the thought of conclusion. He passed the pad across the table to her waiting manicured hands. He reclined in his chair and turned away to look out the window. Her long nails slipped under the pad and she read the few words. Her heart dropped then raced. She forced herself to smile, not knowing what to do, to say. She believed Gabriel should serve no time, it could ruin a valuable young life, but she could not guarantee such results in front of a jury. She looked up at the dapper tan young man sitting across from her, looking away. She thought about a sadness, a fear in his face she had not seen before. Perhaps she could beat him, the venomous conviction was missing. He was vulnerable, but the offer. The offer was good, and he could be in jail nearly

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that long if it went to trail. “How would Gabriel be best served, by trial of bias or by compromise of justice?” Her mind struggled with the question Gabriel’s question. She tore the yellow piece of paper from the pad and quickly shoved it into the briefcase. “All right,” she forced herself to say boldly. “You’ve got a deal.” She stood, offered her hand and waited for his touch. The shake was lifeless. She was right, something was wrong. “Why the change of heart?” she asked as she prepared to leave. He fell back in the chair and again looked away. “I forgot, this offer’s only good if there’s no press, either side. It has to be quiet.” “Don’t want anyone to look bad, huh?” Her words were in honest tease, but were not acknowledged. “Okay,” she agreed, “but tell me, why the change of heart?” “The original request was too harsh, five years as a plea bargain for being insolent?” He spoke looking away, not wanting to think about where he was or what he was doing. “Not that. On the paper you wrote two years with record sealed at eighteen, and then changed it to one year. Why the change of heart then?” Her proper presentation stood in question as she waited for an answer from a man she thought she knew and knew she did not want to know. She heard him laugh quietly. Mark turned toward his guest, stood, gathered the pen and pad on the table and prepared to exit. He walked around the table and offered a more lively handshake to a bewildered opponent. “I’m not sure one year isn’t too harsh,” he offered with a sympathetic smile, then left the conference room to return to his desk. Janine stood in silence for a moment before following his lead out of the room and out of the building.

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Sitting at the desk, across the street from the fountain, he thought about the sentence he had just agreed too. He wondered if it would pacify Susan, yet feeling it was more right than if he had followed the original path of ambition. He could have fought Susan, but instead learned about himself, about shades of gray, about what he did not let himself know. He wanted to thank her, to escape his present cage of predictable aspiration. He thought, then reached for the phone, smiling at the realization of his heart’s now nervous pounding. *** He understood what his brother had said, what the compromise meant, but did not know how he would make it through the perversion and ignorance of his surroundings. He had less than ten months to go, but was already tired of the constant television and gang hustling of the juvenile facility. Gabe was beginning to lose sight of who he was, what he was. He lay on his bed and wished he could sleep for another ten months, but when he closed his eyes, his mind raced and would not rest. He opened his eyes when the thoughts turned to the image of a night he could not escape. Gabe scanned the room, hearing the noise of so many gathered down the hall to watch television. He stood to go and join them in killing time, but noticed the pile of books his brother had been bringing. Hesitating, he stepped to the small desk in the corner and picked up the paperback on top. The dark clouds on the cover caught his attention. He thumbed through the pages, but stopped when he came to a paper clipped page. A note from his brother was clipped to page 173:

Gabe,

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Walls, bars and doors can hold your body prisoner, but you can set your mind free. The world of the mind is far more vast than the world of the body, travel.

We love you, Don

Gabe pushed aside the scribbled paper and noticed a few sentences of the tattered page discolored by a yellow highlighter:

Let me tell you something: from then until I left that prison, in every free moment I had, if I was not reading in the library, I was reading on my bunk. You couldn’t have gotten me out of books with a wedge. Between Mr. Muhammad’s teachings, my correspondence, my visitors…and my reading of books, months passed without my even thinking about being imprisoned. In fact, up to then, I never had been so truly free in my life.

Gabe read the passage again and again, standing before the pile of books, the escape to freedom his brother had provided. He gently rolled the book to the first page and began to read The Autobiography of Malcolm X. By instinct, in his small room, without raising his head from the pages, he walked back to his bunk and lay down, reading the words, the salvation to wake another night’s day. *** The weather had cooled its vengeance in the late of September, but the

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night’s still gave a warm and welcoming glory. Back propped against the churchyard tree, Mary sat watching, not the fiery sunset ricocheting off of the painted clouds above, but the cold concrete building surrounded by an ominous fence. The cars passed on the road before the churches lush green lawn without notice, not even the occasional catcall was heard. Mary stared and watched, waited. “Not much more than nine months,” she told herself, as she waited time’s steady tick.

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7

The heat began to swarm. A moment under the blistering sun was an accepted pain. The worst of summer was not yet to arrive, but on this day the assaulting heat was welcomed with open arms. Today Gabe was to be free. Mary looked into the full-length mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door. She stared at her nude body and was struck by the thought of Susan. Her relationship with Susan dissipated into the ether of life, yet Mary knew it was she who had let Susan go. She had not respected what Susan had done, yet she was the one who requested, demanded, Susan carry out the deed of courage, of honor, of deceit. Looking into the mirror, she realized someone else had sacrificed for her brother, a sacrifice she now realized she would not have been able to make. She turned her head quickly, fighting back the pain of a discarded friend, and began to dress. A thin colorful cotton dress, chaotic in patterns of bright flowers, blew gently in the unexpected breeze of the simmering hot morn, as Mary walked toward her destination. She thought about how long she had waited for this day, and how, at this moment, she dreaded its arrival. She thought of her mother, not wanting to jeopardize her position as Operations Manager for the bank. She thought of her oldest brother, working the grindstone, pushing the soft lead pencil to keep the tax records of his clients up-to-date, trying to grow his business to pay the ever-increasing financial responsibilities. She

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thought of her brother Frank, who had just learned that the career he had chosen would not be available, he would have to leave the Marines next year, only five years after joining. She thought of her little brother, wondering how he had changed. She walked her well-worn path and turned the corner to see her destination. A strong gust of wind blew the desert’s sand in her face and lifted her dress, exposing her black underwear. She quickly pushed the dress down in humility and held it to her side, ignoring the gritty pelting of her flesh for a moment. The dust blowing under her glasses forced her to look down, not ahead at the ominous destination. Familiar distance passed under her feet. She came to the lawn of the church, and instinctively routed to her place under the tree. She stood and waited for the wind to rest, taking refuge from the heat of the mid-day sun. Wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her soft hand, she looked across to the concrete structure that had not changed in a year, wondering who it was she was going to free. How had her brother changed? Would she still know him? Would he know her? Was his life forever lost to despair? She looked toward the concrete sidewalk holding the sun, wiped her brow for a fresh start and took a step into the cooking waves of the heat. It was only a few more minutes before Mary arrived in front of the glass doors of the lobby. She hesitated, embarrassed she was alone, but felt the exhilaration pending of freedom, and moved. Grabbing a deep gulp of the dirty air around the pampered premises, she stepped toward the doors, which parted in expectation as she approached. Into the bureaucratic calm, she wandered to the counter to complete the paperwork necessary to ensure her brother’s quick release. It had been arranged that she would be able to receive him, herself being of legal age

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now. When the form filling was complete, Mary took seat in the comfortable lobby while the correction officers sent for inmate ZG-4328197. Gabe knew it was his last day, so he spent the morning distributing his meager and once precious belongings. His wish now was to take nothing from the home of the forgotten that would stir a memory. His belongings, mostly books, were given to those he thought, hoped, would read, those who hoped for things greater than the walls of a more prestigious penal institution of higher learning. He now lay on the cot in his dingy room and waited, wishing he could also leave the memories behind. Staring at the ceiling, looking into every crack and texture with which he had become acquainted, he heard his door unlock, and listened for permission. “Let’s go, Zapata. Your number’s up,” he heard the gruff voice of a rugged female bark. Gabe laughed as he thought of the rumors inmates spread about this guard - how she liked guarding the boys so she could take a bite of the young studs. “Truth was what we create for escape inside these cold walls,” Gabe thought with a smile. He stood, grabbed the stack of envelopes from the small corner desk and followed the lead of her oversized cottage cheese butt out and down the hallway, past boxed young and restless souls. As the two walked, Gabe’s leader followed the guard’s oath of seeing little but what was passing under her feet. Gabe conjured without fondness as he walked and saw the memories the walls held. He passed a room on the left where he witnessed a kid years younger than him raped. He saw a room up on the right that reminded him of a frail black/asian boy who was almost beaten to death for calling someone a nigger in jest. He saw another room ahead on the right and remembered the two who were always seen together in sexual lock. He

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closed his eyes for a moment and tried to forget, as he followed in escape, but by the pungent stale odor of bleach trying to clean the prevailing urine was too distinct. He could not forget. He passed the room where most sat and watched television during the hot summer days, and saw them sitting again, watching a soap opera, pacified for the moment. Gabe nodded back to the few who managed to lift their eyes from the screen and bid him farewell with a nod. Guardian and ward made their final turn, preparing to exit the prison his body had known. With the sound of an invisible clang, the reinforced door opened, and Gabe entered, wincing in hesitation, fearing the outside world he once knew, now defined by those caged within. He was prepared to brave the ugly new world, wondering if there was a place in it for him, wondering who he would become. Mary was impatient. She had been monitoring the clock closely, and it had been twenty minutes since signing with redundancy. For the third time she approached the clerk. “Is everything okay? When will he be here?” she asked, wringing her hands. “In a few minutes,” she heard answered, the head behind the glass barrier not showing the respectful courtesy of looking up, annoyed at the continual question. Mary walked away and paced the government’s newly carpeted floor. She looked at the clock. Twenty-two minutes. She escaped for a brief moment to the restroom, fearing he would be released with no one to greet. She looked up at the clock upon return. Twenty-four minutes. She walked to the new sofa and sat, eyes darting in anxiety. She heard the faint noise of a door opening, and stood again. The clock said it was now twenty-nine minutes, then she saw her little

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brother pass through the door. She noticed his eyes, glazed with a feared hard edge unbecoming a sixteen-year-old innocent. Her eyes began to glaze with the moisture of tear. Fearful, frozen, she waited nervously as he walked the few steps to her smile and gave a desperate hug. Tears sprinkled her soft cheeks like a warm summer’s rain. Gabe held his teared sister, the bouquet fragrance of her shampoo catching him off guard. He noticed the long flows of her dark hair, and the strength and stand of a blossoming woman. He also noticed she seemed to be shrinking. A year of incarceration had changed Gabe’s physical structure, as well as his mental. Nature had worked its wonders inside the cold walls, stretching his frame a full six inches, which made him a full inch taller than his oldest brother’s six feet. Always thin, lithe of limb, and at one hundred sixty pounds remained so. The body had continued its journey of destiny, unrestrained by surroundings. Gabe was caught by remembrance, while noting his growth as he held the one family member escorting him to freedom. The memory was of many nights before, but vivid in thought. He closed his eyes. Late, one unseasonably chilly February night, about eight months into his sentence, he had been reading by the light of the full moon. He placed the small paperback on his chest and looking out the slit window to the night’s light. Eyes embracing the moon, he thought about all of the nutrition his jailers tried to provide, about the athletic equipment they made available, about how they encouraged the body in health and strength. He wondered this in contrast, thinking it absurd that they would not try to feed the young, hungry, pliable minds enthusiastically. Why did they make it difficult for him to learn? Why by the light of the moon? He remembered his brother Frank, who

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would come home from the gym, pound his chest and shout, “Look at my temple!” Temple for the mind, Gabe now understood. “Why did the jailers not know this obvious?” he asked, staring at the moon. He read no further that night, instead watching the moon and stars, wondering how to take his mind beyond the cold wall without the body. This memory often visited. “Are you ready?” Mary asked through tears, reluctantly pulling away from her brother’s strong grasp. Gabe was jolted from memory to consciousness. He smiled at her wet face, mascara running down her cheeks, and nodded yes. She took his hand and pulled him through the lobby to exit. He could not believe he was allowed to walk outside. Gabe held tightly his sister’s gentle hand, as she led. She hesitated briefly before entering the gusts that had kicked up outside. “Let’s go,” she whispered, defiantly leading her brother into the swirls of the pelting sandstorm. Stepping outside, they ran from the clean building and primped bushes to the sidewalk beyond the parking lot. Gabe turned to look back. He saw the concrete box he had known since he was a kid, and now knew from the inside. He still was not sure how he ended up inside, but knew he could not go back. He also knew he would take the place with him for the rest of his days, but hoping the memories would fade. Mary grimaced from the pain and uncomfort of the sand slapping against her bare legs, and the futile attempt to hold her dress down with one hand, not wanting to let go of her brother’s hand. She tugged at his arm after he had taken a long view, dragging him along as she had done when he was a small child. She wanted to get away quickly, before they found they made a mistake and took her little brother back.

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Gabe stumbled as they began to leave. He felt an emptiness, not knowing what he was taking with him and what he had left of himself within the walls. He felt the strength and warmth of his sister’s pulling hand and quickly came to her side. The sand in his face beyond the fence let him know he was free, and the touch of his sister’s hand let him know he was alive. He thought of his family, and the warmth they would give, the warmth he would need, the warmth he had lost. *** The small living room was filled with tentative affection. Gabe sat relaxed at unease in the center of the tattered old sofa. His oldest brother sat in the brown recliner chair at the far end of the sofa. Mary sat next to her little brother, hands folded gently in her lap. An awkward silence was visiting their grins and conversation. Gabe closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, tasting the spicy delicacies being prepared in the kitchen. Mary watched the smile of hunger grow and was touched by the sadness of what else he had missed. Don watched the smile and joined in pleasure, the simple pleasure of aroused taste. Gabe’s stomach began to growl. “I missed that,” Gabe said, chasing the silence. “What?” Mary grabbed quickly. “The cookin’,” Gabe answered, pointing toward the kitchen. “You don’t look like you ate much in there,” Don jested in smile. “How much do you weigh now, sixty or seventy pounds?” “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Three meals a day, served up on a tray. No cleanup. No dishes. It ain’t so bad, and no one says anything if you talk with your mouth full.” “Yeah, then why do you look like you’re a little kid wearing dad’s

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clothes?” Don grinned. Sitting still, watching over her brother, Mary’s heart began to pound when her father was mentioned. Gabe had been the perfect young man, until his father died. They were extremely close, with father having more time to spend with the youngest child. Mary remembered seeing her father’s death attack Gabe and send him into sudden outrage. A tear quietly came to her soft eyes, fearing the emotion memories would spark. She turned her head to burn a fierce look into her oldest brother, the one who should have known better. Don caught the glance, and gave it little thought as he turned his attention back to his little brother. “The food tastes like shit, that’s the problem,” Gabe laughed. Mary let out a silent sigh of relief. Don smiled, and Gabe spoke the thoughts that were entering his mind, to the surprise of all. “I miss dad.” Gabe’s words took both siblings by surprise. They looked at each other in strain, not sure what this awkward honesty entailed. Mary turned to her little brother, gave him a hug and whispered “I do too.” Don felt a swelling roll up his chest, emotions he had valiantly suppressed were trying to escape. With all of his mental might, he swallowed hard and pushed the emotions back down, deep inside the recesses of his wounded soul. He was the man of the house, and would therefore be the manliest. He forced himself to spew words he did not believe. “That was a long time ago. He’s gone now.” The dark hurt eyes of Gabe pierced Don’s soul, but it would just be added to the eldest’s burden. Gabe saw a paleness come over his brother, a fearful sight. “Let’s go to the grave?” Mary asked to the surprise of all.

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Gabe looked at his sister and smiled, then turned toward his bother and waited for an answer. The wait was interrupted by a call from the kitchen a few feet away. “Get to the table!” was shouted with the scratchy voice of their mother. The words were not acknowledged, time and space were no longer in motion as they waited for Don’s inevitable approval. The holding stares made Don uncomfortable, so he looked down at the floor as he rolled forward out of the reclining chair. The moment stolen away from their glare did not discourage their focus. They did not move, forcing Don’s response. “Okay. Alright. Let’s go eat,” he finished in escape. Gabe pulled him back with another word of demand. “T’night?” he requested. Don turned away from the beckoning sweet warm aromas his mother created and saw the demand on his brother’s face and the glee on his sister’s. He was more comfortable with the issue buried deep, but had no other answer to the request except “Fine.” Quickly traversing the short steps to the kitchen table, Don took his seat at the head. Overcome by an angst he did not know, he began to pile mounds of the delicacies onto his plate, oblivious to those who were joining. He was awoken from his introspective confusion by his mother. “Did you hear me?” she repeated. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Don queried. “I said, ‘Where is your brother, and why aren’t you waiting for the rest of us?’ Don’t you eat anything at home?” “I’m eating fine. Frank said he’d be here by eight.” “It’s eight-thirty,” Mary worried aloud.

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“I’m sure he’s fine, he probably had to pull some extra duty or something,” Don answered, as he continued to bury his plate, tuning out those around him while trying to think of anything but his father. The dinner of celebration was peacefully quiet. Gabe noticed his mother was looking tired. He wondered if her job at the bank was getting to her. He shrugged off her look, thinking it must have something to do with the long day at work and the long evening over the stove. “She would be sixty soon, so she must be tired,” he assumed. He noticed how she rocked ever so slightly in the rocking chair she still used at her end of the table. He knew she was looking for a comfortable moment. The feast of Gabe’s favorite dishes was an orgy for the taste buds that offered such patience. Gabe had lost all manners, eating like a starving soldier. The family talked little to allow him to gorge, with all taking random moments to stare at the noise that seemed to be eating alone. His mother was about to open her mouth and remind of the manners she so diligently imposed, but was stopped by an angry look from her daughter. Gabe continued to use the dull stainless steel to shovel the spicy delicacies into the salivating summons. After Gabe had vanquished his third helping, he rested the dull fork against the chipped white porcelain plate in exhaustion. He leaned back in his chair and patted his thin stomach, having greatly pushed it to its meager limits. He looked to his sister, who offered smile. He looked to his brother, who offered a smirk of brotherly deference. He looked to his mother and prepared to offer his thanks, but was taken aback by her glare. Teresa Zapata had been a single parent for three years. She went to church every weekend, and at times every day, in hope of receiving some of the strength her husband offered throughout his life in divine form. She did not

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know how to be a father to her sons. She did not know how to be single. She did not know how to be alone. There were moments she wished she could join her husband in his eternal peace, but she knew her children were not yet ready to take flight. Gabriel was her biggest disappointment, while once her greatest hope. As a mother, she feared for her youngest son. She felt emotionally safe when he was locked in a building less than a mile away. She knew he would be home for dinner. She knew he would be fed. She knew he would go to school. She knew he would live. But now Gabriel was free, back in a world that decided they would be better off with him locked away. Back with the world that sent him there. She knew he was the brightest of her children. The most like his father, she thought, brilliant, brave, unpredictable and proud. She wondered in her heart if he would be safer inside the guarded walls until he was old enough to escape. She wondered what they had turned him into. Her look was angry and disapproving, the wrinkles on her face frowning in exclamation. “What’s wrong?” Gabriel asked in surprise. “Who taught you to eat like that?” she demanded, ignoring the plea of refrain Mary’s face offered. “Like what?” Gabriel challenged meekly, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Like you have no home. Like you have no manners. Is that how they taught you to eat in there?” “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” “You want to eat in my house, then you eat like your father and I taught you.” She was now pointing a crooked finger at her son. “You taught me mom. Dad didn’t teach me shit ‘bout eatin’. He didn’t care how I ate.” Teresa Zapata leaned forward in her rocking chair, reached her worked

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fingers and slapped her son squarely on the cheek. “You don’t talk like that in my house, you hear me? You don’t talk like that in my house!” Her voice rose as she tried to bring back the signs she read as good parentage. Gabriel turned to his siblings and laughed. They did not join his sign of disrespect, a message he recognized. He turned back toward his mom and dropped his head in humble respect. “Sorry. I was jus’ goin’ ta tell ya’ how good the food was.” “Thank you, but you need to get your act together, young man. You’re doing the dishes tonight,” she commanded, rocking back in her chair with her hands now folded comfortably on her soft tummy. She would not give him a smile. Gabriel felt cold, alone, as he felt locked in the small, hot concrete room. “I’ll do them,” Mary quickly volunteered. “Are you Gabriel? Did I ask you? Since you would like something to do, you can mop the floor when he’s finished.” Mary turned her head away in anger. In her mind, she heard her voice yell “bitch!” She turned toward Don, as he plopped his glass on the table to announce a proclamation. “I’ll make sure they do it. Now, why don’t you go rest.” Don worried about his mother, her burden was beginning to pull her down. Their mother pushed away a half eaten plate and began to stand, the words her son suddenly spoke froze her for a moments eternity. “Did you want to come with us to see dad?” Gabriel asked in compassion of love and innocence. His two siblings looked at him dumbfounded, as all knew subject of husband was not discussed. Teresa continued her exit from the chair and stared back at her son. She

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entered his eyes with all her sadness, about to speak words she did not believe. “What for, to tell him what you’ve been doing with your life,” she whispered in remorse. “Do you want to tell him you didn’t do it. Do you want to tell him you are innocent? Do you want to tell him you are sorry? What are you going to tell him?” she challenged in soft, bitter voice. “You know how proud of you he was, and how much he expected of you.” She turned her dark brown eyes down toward the table. “I often wonder if he was called to heaven to be spared the anguish you would have brought him. Perhaps he is better off dead.” She turned to walk away from her children, all struck with pained shock, afraid to look at their brother. “I’m sorry, mother,” Gabriel whispered. “I want to see my father because I miss him,” he said quietly to himself. “She didn’t mean it,” Mary whispered quickly to her brother, when she was sure her mother would not hear. “You know she doesn’t talk about dad’s death. You know what that does to her.” “He’s my father!” Gabriel shouted. “How do you think I feel?! He’s gone now, but in me he is still alive. I think about him with every moment’s breath, and to me he will never die. Mom, and you guys,” Gabriel added, pointing, “try to bury him in the past, like he never existed. I know he is alive in me, and you! He is a part of us and I don’t want to pretend he doesn’t exist anymore.” “You think we don’t think about him, little brother? You think he isn’t in our thoughts each day? We’re no different, we just have a little more respect for your mother than you do. You’re too young to understand.” Don’s words were angry condescension. “Fuck you! You’re just a coward. You’re like mom, afraid. She tried to forget I was alive while I was gone, but I’m not! I’m here and I’ll talk about

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dad or anything else I wish.” Gabriel raised his voice and pointed up. “He knows. He knows I didn’t do shit! He knows.” Gabriel looked at Mary, who was doing all she could to keep her quaking nerves under control. Mary looked to Don, and Gabriel’s eyes followed. The brothers looked at one another with anger and demand for respect and understanding. Gabriel gave his brother a chance. “Who’s going with me to see dad?” Gabriel asked the question glaring into his brother’s angry eyes. Don turned away from his brother without answering and went to the kitchen to do the dishes. Gabriel let out a sigh of disgust and quickly headed out the front door. Mary’s nerves danced on end while she forced herself to follow her desires. She jumped up, ran the short steps across the small living room where Don’s car keys were sitting on a table. She picked up the keys and ran out the door after her little brother, afraid to look back. *** The moon danced high on the horizon of the warm summer night’s breeze, peeking through the leaves of the towering cottonwood trees. Legs folded tight, a body sat hunched, head resting on open palms, elbows resting on knees. The body sat motionless before the cold granite stone. Not fifty feet away, and twenty feet above, another body sat without motion. This body was rigid, eyes peering through the branches, like the owl that usually stood among the leaves. This body was not looking within, but fixated on that resting on the ground below. The bodies held their position, afraid to change the moment in time. The body sitting hunched in front of the carved granite stone began to make small noises, noises of whimper and pain. In the tree above, the sounds below were buried by the whispering leaves, but the eyes that watched felt a

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beckoning of the soul. Quietly from the tree, an agile descent was made to the warm ground below, freeing the tree for the return of an owl. The noises could now be heard, and it was clearly a sound of pain. The sharp blades of the warm grass brushed the bottom of the feet as they glided toward the injured soul. Standing erect, a woman stood tall and motionless, her long hair dancing with the wind, only inches away at her feet was the young man she wished to reach. The two held their positions until the wind changed direction and passed the perfume scent under the nose of the sitting boy, who turned in startle and looked up. Recognizing the gentle eyes, he returned his head to the palms of his hands, but tried to hide the tears he allowed to escape. She took a step forward and sat next to him, pulling herself close enough to put a comforting arm around his shoulder. She wanted to offer him words of comfort, and searched the recesses of her mind for the faintest wisdom, but knew not of what specific pain he ached, so she deemed each offering inappropriate before the words could be spoken. Hesitantly, she resisted words and gave herself to the scratchy silence, to the listening of her brother’s pain. Time passed, and what seemed like hours were only very long minutes of quandary. An owl “whooed” overhead, causing Gabriel to look up, then into his sister’s waiting eyes. “When I close my eyes, I can see his face and hear his voice. But now, when I ask him questions, there’s no answer.” Gabriel’s eyes began to swell again as he spoke. Mary’s hand gently rubbed her brother’s back. She thought again for the proper words, but they did not come. What visited her thoughts were her own feelings of emptiness.

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“I miss him, too,” she pained in reflection. “Sometimes, especially when you were gone and it was just me and mom, I would find mom out in the backyard sitting in the swing he made, staring at the stars. She would get this vacant look on her face as she rocked, but every once in a while she would stop and this big huge smile would start to glow, and I would get really sad.” Gabriel turned his eyes toward his sister, in question, confusion. “You know, sad for mom,” Mary answered. “Her and dad were so much in love. They were like one person, and when he died…” Mary paused and looked toward the stars above, wondering if what she was about to say to her brother should be said. “When he died, I sometimes think she wished she could go with him.” “Why?” Gabriel asked. “Because so much of her died with him,” Mary ventured. Mary took her hands and folded them in her lap, while Gabe leaned back to lay on the ground and watch the sky above, with his hands gently folded under his head. Mary waited, because she could see her brother had something to say - he was clicking his tongue. “I think she hates me,” Gabe said, without looking to his sister. Mary began to laugh, first gently, as she tried to suppress it, then loudly in glorious fashion. Gabe looked to her confused and angry - this was not a laughing matter. “You’re such an idiot. We all think you are her favorite, and dad’s too.” Mary laughed again. “And you think she hates you? Idiot.” “What? You callin’ me an idiot, bitch?” Gabe asked defensively, as his back tensed. “What the fuck is that shit for?” he demanded. “While you were in prison, there were days, weeks at a time, when mom would go to church every single night. She wouldn’t talk about it, about you

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or dad. She just prayed.” “Then how come she didn’t visit me? Why does she talk like tonight, like I did something wrong to her,” Gabe demanded angrily, hoping his sister had an answer that would mend his wounded need. Mary reached out and took her brother’s hands, feeling their softness. “She’s afraid, Gabe. She’s afraid what might happen to you. I once heard…” Mary hesitated, realizing the words she was about to offer in comfort may not be understood as such. “I overheard her often praying to dad about you,” she continued. “That was not what you were about to say,” Gabe said angrily as he pulled his hand away. Mary looked down at the moonlit grass beneath the knees she held together. She hoped the question would not formalize, that the silence would make it vanish. “What were you going to say?” “Nothing,” she whispered, unable to look him in the face. “Tell me Mare.” “You wouldn’t understand,” she stalled, pulling her long dark hair behind her ears. “Try me, big sister. I’m not a little kid, tell me!” “She prayed to dad,” Mary hesitated, looking for the words that would convey her mother’s concern. “She prayed to dad,” she turned to watch her brother’s waiting eyes, “because she was worried what would happen if you started running around with them again, that you would stay locked away, where she knew you were safe.” Mary was startled by the change in her brother’s eyes. “Camp Snoopy?!” Gabe laughed, falling back to roll on the ground and

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grin at the stars. “She prayed they would keep me in Camp Snoopy?” Gabe grinned to the stars above, then his sister. Mary did not know how to respond, so she answered his laughter with a grin, accepting his laughter in leu of the feared anger. “That place is a joke, Mare. It’s like being at a bad summer camp at a violent Y, where they have too many rules, too many kids and too many adults, but I must admit we had it easy, too easy, as long as you knew the game.” “It wasn’t tough enough? You’re complaining?” Mary asked dumbfounded. “Mare, the place accomplished, at best, nothing except providing some pretty expensive daycare. There were kids in there ten years old and shit. What do you think it did for them, anything? I’ll tell you what it did, it made them angry and bitter against their parents and authority, but what they were supposed to do was respect authority. What you learn in there is that they can’t do shit. No matter how much you fuck up, all they can do is put you up in a place that’s better than it is at home for a lot of them. “The only thing missing for a lot of these kids was affection, what the little ones died for, but they learned they could survive without it. They were taught to expect to get by without it. You learn an awful lot about yourself in there, and you become cold and strong, too strong!” Gabe shouted, thrusting his fist in the air. Mary’s eyes were timid, not having seen her brother with such relaxed defiance before. “I thought you might be mad at mom,” she whispered, self amused. Gabe rolled his head to look at the moonlight shining in his sister’s hair. “I understand she doesn’t know. How is she supposed to know what it’s like in there, or out here for that matter? I’m as safe outside as I am inside, actually safer. I couldn’t be pissed at mom for that.”

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“For that? You say it like you’re mad about something?” Gabe sat up. He cupped his hands over her cheeks, not wanting the words to escape his control. “I’m angry because she believes Jose’s death was my fault, that I pulled the gun, that I did something wrong,” he whispered, then sat back to watch his sister begin the defense. “She wants to believe, Gabe. She has to believe that you did something wrong, or she has to fight something too big, too far beyond her control. If she believes you are somehow responsible, that you somehow made a mistake, then she can accept what happens to you, no matter what the pain. But if she believes everyone else is wrong and you are right, who is she going to fight? How is she going to fight?” “I’m her son,” Gabe whispered in pain. “If I’m not worth fighting for then…” “Gabe,” Mary interrupted, again taking his hand into hers, “she doesn’t know how to fight without dad. Not that kind of fight. She does battle every day to keep the lights on in the house and food in the frig. Don’t you think it pains her what to do?” Gabe answered the affirmative with the nodding of his head hung in sadness. “She loves you Gabe. She doesn’t know what to do.” “But I’m her son,” he pleaded quietly in his mind, words not escaping to his sister. Gabe’s thought of parent took an unexpected turn when the picture of Jose’s father entered his mind’s eye. “What about,” he stuttered, afraid to know the answer. “What about Mr. Martinez?” He looked into his sister’s eyes with sadness and sorrow. “Jose’s dad?” She looked to the grass she was sitting on and began to

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pluck single blades. She felt bad for Jose’s father, never knowing how to act around him, how to apologize. “I’ve avoided him,” she embarrassingly admitted. “Mom and Frank seem to run into him all the time. Even Don has talked to him a few times. He seems to be doing okay.” “He must really hate me?” Mary turned toward her brother’s wait and smiled. “It’s weird. I thought the same thing, but everyone says he’s okay with you. He doesn’t blame you.” She watched her brother take a deep relaxing breath, then continued. “Mom told me he wants to see you.” “What?!” Gabe shouted in start, heart pounding in fear. “She said that whenever they talk about you he tells her to send you over when you come home.” “What does she say?” Gabe demanded in interruption. “You know mom, she says she will.” Mary watched with amusement her brother’s panic. “You’re kidding,” Gabe said laughing, but silence and panic returned again when Mary began to shake her head from side-to-side in negative response. “Why does he want to see me?!” Gabe whined. “You owe him that, Gabe.” Gabe did not answer, but turned his view again toward the stars above. Mary turned her head also, just in time to catch a brilliant bright blue light flash through the sky. Together the siblings smiled, and silence was held for many minutes, until Gabe decided to open conversation again, this time on a different topic. “Give me a ride home,” he demanded as he stood. “My legs are still sore from the run over here.” “Yes, boss,” Mary answered as she forced her body from the ground and

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swiped away the blades of grass. “When are you going to learn how to drive?” “I know how to drive, but I can’t get my license until I’m 19.” In answer to his sister’s confused look, he added. “Part of my sentence, don’t you know?” “No. I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, but I don’t make the rules.” Gabe turned to the headstone of his father. Tears began to swell in his eyes. “I know you know the truth, and I promise I’ll do my best. I just wish you were here. I love you.” Mary could not hear the words her brother was whispering to himself, but the sight of the tombstone they were about to leave brought a flood of memory and a rush of tears. Gabe turned and began to walk toward the car in the heat of a sweltering summer night’s very gentle breeze. Mary turned and ran up to her brother and grabbed his hand. Gabe gently pulled his hand free and put his arm around her shoulder. She rested her head on him as they left the cemetery to end a long emotional day. Gabe looked back over his shoulder toward the headstone and saw an image of his father, which made him smile. He leaned his head on his sister’s head as they walked. He, they, had a family. *** Gabe turned restlessly on the couch after a nightmarish night’s attempt at sleep. He kept his eyes shut in the dark of morning in hopes that sleep would visit, but his mind would not rest. A click in the kitchen called him to move. It was a traditional routine for Teresa, rising before the sun to begin her daily rituals of work before work. Her energy had been low as of late, so she pushed herself a little harder, only knowing how to try and overcome her

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pain. This morning, as she leaned against the handle of the mop she was using to clean the spotless white and brown-checkered linoleum, she studied herself from a sudden attack of pain somewhere in her abdomen. She closed her eyes and grimaced, telling herself the pain she recognized from two weeks before was indigestion. Her eyes cracked open when she felt a touch on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, mom?” Gabe whispered. His mother leaned the faded yellow handle of the mop against the oven and wrapped her arms around her son. He saw her smile and held her tightly in his arms. Words were not necessary. Gabe walked his mother to the brown reclining chair of the dark living room. He kissed his mother on her aging cheek, turned on a light and returned to the kitchen. She wanted to go to the kitchen and take the mop from her son’s hands, but was too tired. She needed to rest her eyes. Gabe had tossed and turned his first night home, partially because he worried about what he would do with the upcoming day. Now, as he wrung the soiled water into the bucket, he thought of what he could do to make his mom’s life a little easier. He remembered what his sister had said, and knew his mother loved him. He pushed the mop across the floor and tried to remember if she had looked that tired before he went away. The work passed quickly and the floor shined, as wandering thought probed his mind. “I finished the kitchen. Anything else I can do for you?” Gabe whispered into his mother’s sleep. Teresa heard the distant voice of her son calling her from sleep. “I didn’t sleep, I’m getting ready for work,” she told herself. She came to consciousness, forcing her eyes open to the light of the living room. She rolled her head on the reclining chair’s headrest and smiled at her son. “Anything else?” “Thank you,” his mother answered quietly, taking his hand in hers with a

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simple warm smile. “What’s wrong?” Gabe begged in whisper. His mother smiled again a little wider and kissed her son’s hand, before answering “Everything’s fine. I have to get ready for work now.” Gabe helped his mother from the chair. When she stood full, she put her arms around her youngest son and quietly offered reassurance. “I’m sorry about last night. I miss your father, too.” Gabe held his mom tight, holding the closest bond he knew. His eyes swelled, but he was not going to release a tear in front of his mother. He felt the need to free his soul, so said the words he once thought he could hide. “I’m sorry, mom. I’m sorry about everything. Please forgive me.” “There’s nothing to forgive you for. Just do your best.” Her words were not what Gabe had hoped to hear, but he understood her meaning. His father had always said what was on his mind, any emotion, any feeling, any time. It was good for the family, with each knowing they could share with their father anything, but it also caused raucous waves at times, especially with family and friends who were uncomfortable with such open honesty. Their mother offered a balance by always staying in control, sharing only what was necessary to communicate what she felt was important to convey, whether she believed the words or not. She wanted to raise her children, her family, the right way. With their father gone, the children missed an open love that was expressed, but they understood their mother and her undying devotion to provide them with the necessities to succeed in life on their own. “I love you, mom,” Gabe said as she released her embrace. These were words he had not said in years, but the death of Jose, the memory of his father and the life he saw in prison made him afraid not to say what he felt.

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He feared regrets more than uncomfortable feeling of expressing an emotion he had tried to hide. “I love you,” Teresa Zapata answered, hoping he would someday understand how much. Gabe stood there as his mom went to prepare herself for work. He watched her tired legs take the few steps down the hall, then took her place on the brown reclining chair and closed his eyes. Spike, the family’s brown and white Chihuahua jumped on his lap and curled into a ball. Gabe stroked its short hair, again closing his eyes, thinking about what he had to do this first full free day. Gabe knew the task would have to be undertaken before Mary had said it had been requested, but today it was a reality. He had known Jose’s father for a long time, and greatly respected him. Mr. Martinez was a hard working, serious, disciplined man. Most of Jose’s friends feared him as Jose had, but Gabe respected him. His honesty and integrity reminded him of his father, and he had been one of his father’s closest friends. But this day he planned to see the man who had lost his only son, and for this Gabe felt responsible, and prepared himself for his true punishment. The house was quiet, with only the sound of water running through the old pipes to the shower. The first rays of the morning sun cracked through a small tear in the drapes and shone on Gabe’s face. He felt the warmth and opened his eyes. He smiled to himself when he noticed the bars over the windows, but this time they were to keep people out, and the door next to them he could use at any time. He was free, but his mind knew the day’s journey and the chant of “He will not kill me” kept repeating in his mind. He would convince himself, he must convince himself, because he could not be free until the captor of his mind, guilt, set him free.

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“Fuck ‘im. He won’t do shit,” Gabe mumbled aloud as he stood from the chair to begin his life anew.

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8

The desert’s sun was headed for the nearby mountains. Gabriel sat, watching the heat while resting on a fire hydrant. He had been waiting there most of the day, not wanting to go to the front door of the Martinez house. He was prepared for Mr. Martinez to try and kill him, but would not face Mrs. Martinez. He waited around the corner, out of sight of the neat small house, still able to see the driveway. Whenever he heard a car approaching his heart began to pound rapidly, and as the day wore it thumped harder. With the sun nearing the mountains he considered going home, running home, but not yet. The sun slipped behind the jagged mountains surrounding the valley, and the moon began to glow bright in the sky. Gabriel’s mouth was dry, and his throat felt as if there was a walnut stuck behind his Adam’s apple. He kept trying to swallow it away. His heart was growing weary of the continual acceleration, and his mind and body were exhausted by the stress. “Perhaps he won’t be home tonight,” Gabriel told himself. With a quick look to the empty Martinez driveway, he stepped off the fire hydrant to walk back down the street in exit. After a couple of steps, Gabriel heard an engine approach. The rumble shook loose a memory of familiarity and he began to panic like a deer caught in headlights. He wanted to run, but his feet were planted firmly on the ground, anchored like concrete blocks. He froze. He looked up at the stars, spotted a plane and tracked it with his eyes, unable to look toward

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the headlights. He thought the moment could somehow pass, safely. The engine slowed, coming closer, abruptly stopping behind Gabriel. Another moment’s wait, and Gabriel knew he had to turn and face his fear, or run like a sprinter and never return. Sweat swelled his pores and began to run down his jaw. “What the fuck am I doin’ here?!” his mind shouted. His feet could not be lifted, so turn he did. “Gabe? Is that you, Gabe?” the woman’s voice asked. Gabe’s heart slowed. He took a deep breath, dropped his head in a motion’s sigh and walked toward the familiar car, but his mind kept shouting, “Get out! Get the fuck outta here now!!” He wrapped his arms around the young woman who bounced from the car. “I see you’re still drivin’ in style,” Gabe smiled. “Of course, what else is there but style? When did you get out, I mean home?” she corrected herself, adding apologetic eyes. Gabe had always lusted after Susan, and her stunning beauty had not diminished in the year’s blossom. When the scent of her perfume caught his nose, the powerful emotion of fear was crushed by a desire to spend a few moments in the embrace of this woman - the embrace of fantasy. “God, you’re beautiful Sush. Want to get together?” Gabe was surprised by what he had said, that he had said it out loud. Susan stepped back, looked Gabe in the eyes and smiled. “You’ve sure changed.” She had never heard such words from him before, but had always noticed and flirted with his distant, watching desires. “Don’t you think you’re a little young?” “You’re only a couple years older, and…” “And I’m seeing someone,” Susan confessed, surprised herself that she found Gabe’s offer so enticing. “Promise to ask me again?”

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“Guaranteed!” Gabe shouted. “Goin’ to see my sister?” he asked. “No, we haven’t spent much time together since you left. She didn’t want to do much while you were gone, and we had a…” She stopped herself, not knowing what Gabe did or did not know. “Actually, I was going to see Frank. Want a ride down the street? You can drive?” she winked. “You love me, I know you love me. You never let anyone drive this thing, but I can’t,” he winced. “You’re special, come on.” “I’ll take a ride,” Gabe answered as he skipped around the hood of the white Corvette to get in the passenger’s door. “I can’t drive. I don’t have a license, and I don’t want to get into any more trouble.” Susan flashed her smile in understanding and stepped back into the car. Her brilliant white smile and twinkling teeth sent Gabe reeling. “She wants me,” his mind echoed. “You’re not dating Frank, are you?” Gabe feared aloud as they drove the short distance to his house. He was relieved when he saw the laughter in her face. “No, I…” “Stop the car,” Gabe shouted as a truck passed them going the other way. Susan hit the brakes and the car stopped instantly. “What’s wrong?” she asked startled. “That was Mr. Martinez. I have to talk to him.” Before Susan could say another word, Gabe was out of the car, jogging down the street trying to catch Mr. Martinez. As he neared the house his heart began to pound viciously, ripping at his chest, but he knew what he had to do, and he knew there would be no other time. He stopped behind the truck as Mr. Martinez pulled himself out of the driver’s seat. Mr. Martinez stood, shocked.

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His face went pale. Gabe had been warned by the more learned inmates that when the blood left the face, be prepared for a fight to the death, or be wise and take flight. “What are… Why… Do you…” Mr. Martinez stumbled over his words. He pulled the straw hat off his head and threw it in the back of the truck. He stopped trying to speak to Gabriel and pierced a stare into the boy’s soul. Gabriel took a step back in fear, respect. “I, uh,” Gabriel started to mumble, looking away, aware of his sweating hands and vibrating chest. He wanted the moment to pass quickly, yet time seemed to be hesitating. He forced himself to walk toward Mr. Martinez. The steps were tentative, but firm. He offered his hand. “I’m sorry about, you know, I mean, I’m sorry for…” “Put your hand down, son,” Mr. Martinez glared, his voice grumbling in anger. “Tell me what you have to be sorry for?” he demanded. “Jose,” Gabriel managed to blurt, dropping his head in shame as he looked to his shoes, wondering what was to happen next. “Did you shoot Jose!?” Mr. Martinez shouted, stepping into Gabriel’s face. “No,” Gabriel whispered. “What were you doing there?!” the childless father shouted. “Looking for a party,” Gabriel sheepishly whispered, unable to look Mr. Martinez in the eyes. “Speak up, what were you doing over there? The truth! You don’t set off alarms looking for a party. What were you doing there?!” The voice was louder, harsher. “They were full of… They were lying, sir. We were just looking for a party.” Gabriel began to wring his hands nervously, looking at the ground to

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his left and right, in case a run had to be made. “They never charged me with robbery, because they couldn’t prove any of that. I jumped over the fence of a house because I thought they were partying in back. I swear.” Gabriel paused and lifted his head to glance near Mr. Martinez’s eyes. “I swear, we were just looking for a party.” Gabriel saw the doubt in Jose’s father’s face. “They said you two were tryin’ to break into a house?” The voice was softer, but the anger was evident. Mr. Martinez pushed his hand through his thick, dark hair and look down, searching for questions that might give answer to his pain. “You know Jose would never do anything like that, never. Man, he was so psyched about his new job. He was looking forward to things.” Gabriel looked into Mr. Martinez’s eyes, watching them grow a little softer and wax with tear. “He had his shi… He had his stuff together, sir. I’m sorry Mr. Martinez,” Gabriel again offered, extending a hand. The hand was accepted with a firm, inviting shake. Tears ran down Mr. Martinez’s dark, leathered cheeks as Gabriel looked to his feet, again to avoid the awkwardness of the moment’s possibilities. “Then you are not the one who should apologize.” The hands separated, and Mr. Martinez dried his sun-drenched face with the long sleeves of his dirty shirt. “When did you get home?” he forced himself to ask. “Yesterday.” Gabriel welcomed the escape to small talk. “I’m surprised you came here. So quickly too.” Mr. Martinez broke a small smile. “You’re a lot like your father.” “Thank you, sir.” Gabriel stopped wringing his hands, and felt his heart return to a calm beat. He noticed Mrs. Martinez looking out the window, having no idea how long she had been watching and listening. A gentle breeze rustled the tree leaves in the heat of the night. They both listened.

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“When do you go back to school?” “I’m not going back.” “What?” Mr. Martinez asked in blunt anger, knowing how important education was to Gabriel’s father. “I took the equivalency test,” Gabriel quickly retorted. “So you’re done with your education?” a worried elder demanded. “No, I thought I’d take some classes at the college.” Gabriel felt his heart begin to pound again. He started to rub his hands. Mr. Martinez was serious about these questions, and the roles of father and son were automatically assumed. “Your father wanted you to go to a university!” Mr. Martinez ordered loudly. “I can go here for a couple of years, then someplace else. It will be a lot cheaper this way.” Gabriel threw his hands out. “You know money ain’t easy to come by.” “You have a job?” “Not yet.” “Need a job?” was barked. Gabriel was stunned by the question, and the sudden movement of the drapery made him realize Mrs. Martinez could watch no further. She probably would not approve. He felt he should do whatever Mr. Martinez wanted, and he did need a job. “Sure,” Gabriel assumingly accepted. Mr. Martinez smiled. “I think my brother could use some help down at his place, I’ll ask and see.” “Uh, I, uh…” Gabriel was embarrassed. Mr. Martinez smiled as he watched the young man wring his hands and

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shuffle his feet. The boy avoided looking him in the eyes, and started to move slowly backwards. “Thanks Mr. Martinez, I’ve got to get home and…” Gabriel was turning to leave. “Gabriel!” Mr. Martinez shouted in clear command, stopping the boy in his tracks. “Gabriel, I think your idea is best. Meet me here tomorrow morning at 6.” “Okay,” Gabriel smiled. “That’s six A.M.. Think you can make it?” he chuckled. “No problem.” “Go home and take care of your mother, she needs the rest.” “Good idea,” Gabriel shouted, then turned to run down the street from where he came. He liked being free again. Mr. Martinez smiled for a moment as he watched the buoyant youth spring down the street, but the smile did not last long as he remembered his son. He pulled his pants up, straightened his shirt, ran a hand through his coarse hair and looked up to the stars. “We’ll make it right, son. I promise,” he whispered to the stars above. He inhaled deeply of the night’s warm air and turned to enter his quiet home. *** “Susan! Susan! Do I look like a bank?” “But I…” “Susan,” Frank said calmly as he rolled his eyes, “do I look like a bank?” “No, Frank,” she dutifully answered, looking away in frustration. “You know you need to pay if you want the goods.” “All right, forget it. I’ll come back later.” Susan turned to leave the

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small, tidy room as she spoke. “Go ahead, if you want to be like that. I was going to let you have it, but if you want to act like that, fine,” Frank shrugged sarcastically. Susan turned, extending her hand to accept the baggy. “Thank you, Frank. Thanks for trusting me. Like I’m going to rip you off,” Susan retorted with slow frustrated sarcasm, hoping to get the simple business deal over with. Frank pulled the clear plastic baggy back from her waiting hand and flashed a big grin. “Oh, so this is how your going to act?” “Come on, Frank, I’ve got to get going. You know I’ll bring you the money, I just forgot my purse. Please?” Susan’s voice broke into a fullfledged whine, something she knew Frank hated. “Take it,” he finished, throwing the bag into her expecting soft hand. Susan flashed Frank a big grin, looking at the beer poster with skimpily clad women on the wall above his bed. Frank returned to his reclined position on the bed and turned the sound up on the television. It was sports time, and when the sound went up, he took a long hard deep breath with a joynt at his lips. As far as he was concerned, Susan was gone, and as Susan left the room, she knew he was gone, again. Susan put the plastic baggy in her shirt pocket, entered the tiny hallway and closed the door behind her. She took two steps down the hallway and came to the brown reclining chair in the living room. “Do you know when Mary will be home?” Susan asked. “No,” Mary’s mother answered with contempt. She did not like what went on in her house, but did not know what to do with her second son. She had always thought Susan was a smart girl, a good influence for her only daughter. Now she assumed she was just another fader. Susan did not want to press the issue. Her acceptance had been strained

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since her and Mary became estranged, and she had become a customer of Frank’s. She quietly headed for the front door. “Good night,” she offered politely. “Night,” Mrs. Zapata answered as the young woman left the house. Mrs. Zapata sat and worried, as she stroked Spike, who was comfortably curled in her lap. She was tired and wanted to go to bed. She felt she had no control over her family, and its foundation was crumbling. She often felt this way after a long day, but always perked up when Don came around to help see her orders of obedience carried out in the best interest of the children. Tonight, Don was not expected. Susan’s long rolling blonde hair flowed naturally as she bounced down the driveway, passed the chain link fence to her beloved car. She refrained from getting into the car when she heard a familiar voice shout her name. She turned her inviting smile and waited for Gabe to take a few last running steps. “What was so important that you had to jump out of a moving car?” she asked, smiling in fun. “Nothing, I just had to see someone.” Gabe bent over and rested his hands on his knees, surprised at how winded and out of shape he was. “Whew, they musta made this street longer while I was gone.” “Maybe your legs got shorter?” she laughed. “Nope, I grew all over,” he tossed, standing, trying to breathe more relaxed. “What did you have to see Frank for?” Gabe remembered how Frank and Susan never seemed to have much interest in one another. “Not my type,” he remembered them both saying. “We’re having a party and I needed something to loosen everyone up.” Gabe looked at Susan with a confused look she did not understand. He

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nodded his head a couple of times, urging her to continue, but she just smiled and looked toward her breast pocket. Gabe noticed the tip of the baggy sticking out, reached across and pulled out the plastic bag. His face contorted, grasping in confusion. “Weed? You bought weed from Frank?” he squeaked. “Yeah, why?” Susan asked, quietly, awkwardly ashamed by the tone of his questions. Gabe put the baggy back in her pocket, turned and walked toward the house like a mindless zombie. His thought was lost in understanding. This wasn’t the brother he knew. “Bye?” Susan called in bitter, hurt sarcasm. Gabe waved his hand in the air dismissively, without glancing, and went to the door. He entered the house, leaving Susan feeling as if she had done something terribly wrong. Her mind wanted Gabe’s approval, but she did not know why. Mrs. Zapata smiled as her son approached her to give her a kiss. He looked pale, but he was home safe. “Thank you for doing the laundry this morning. How was your day today?” “Weird,” Gabe whispered to himself aloud. He pointed down the hallway to the room he shared with his brother before Frank had joined the Marines. “I haven’t seen Frank yet,” Gabe explained as he walked quietly down the hall, toward the room that was blaring with the sound of television echo. “I’ll make you something to eat,” Mrs. Zapata answered, walking into the kitchen. The hand placed firmly on the door handle, Gabe hesitated before turning the knob. He knew his brother. He knew his goals, his ambition. Something was wrong. “I don’t understand?” he asked himself, remembering the baggy he held

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in his hand was real. He twisted the doorknob and released the full blaring sound before stepping into the room. “Holy shit,” Gabe blurted before he could think about what he was saying. His brother had changed. Two twin beds had been kept in the room, as they were when they shared the room before Frank had gone into the Marines four years prior. Frank lay propped up in front of the television as he often had when he came home to visit. What Gabe was not prepared for was his brother laying on the bed in his fatigues at least forty solid pounds heavier than he had last seen him. Frank had never been to prison, the usual route for the neighborhood musclemen. “Gabe! Your home!” Frank shouted, but did not attempt to stand. He laid the joynt he was holding between his callused fingers in the overflowing, clear glass ashtray resting on his massive chest. “Yeah. What the fuck happened to you?” “Sorry, man, but I couldn’t go into that place. Every time I thought about going into that place, I…” Frank finished by shaking his head in a shiver, looking back to the television. “No, not that, that?” Gabe asked, pointing to Frank’s body. “I’ve been working out, six times a week, once or twice a day.” “You’re fuckin’ huge!” “Six foot three, two hundred thirty-five pounds, but you ain’t seen shit. I’m goin’ for two-fifty, with twenty inch bis,” Frank answered, taking a deep breath and throwing out his chest with a proud smile. “What for?” Gabe asked in wonder. “So I don’t look like you, little brother. You look like you got taller and skinnier, noodle boy.” Frank forced a laugh, then took a long, slow hit from his joynt.

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“I thought you were careerin’ it in the Marines?” “Fuck ‘em!” Frank whispered, his face going sour as he turned his attention back to the television. He stared at the game as he tried to expand his answer. “Haven’t you read the paper? Cutbacks, bro. They’re getting rid of a whole bunch of us, so when my time’s up next year I’m out. They don’t need my type.” Frank reached for his lighter, bringing the smoke to his lips for another hit. “I thought you were a specialist?” “Combat specialist, and they don’t plan on havin’ dirty wars no more. Fuck ‘em!” “When you start getting high like that?” Gabe asked, stepping into the room to close the door, out of respect for his mother. “Did you fuck mom?” “What?” Gabe asked, face askew in stunned disbelief at his brother’s question. “You heard me. Did you fuck mom?” “You’ve lost it.” “If you didn’t fuck mom you aren’t my father, so don’t worry about it.” “Shouldn’t you get back to the base,” Gabe asked, hoping to get his brother out of the house, out of his room. “Tomorrow’s my day off, so I’ll be kickin’ back here,” Frank answered, never lifting his eyes from the blaring television. Frank put the glowing joynt into the ashtray, picked up the ashtray and extended it toward his brother in an offering gesture. “No thanks,” Gabe quickly answered. He had nothing against getting high, but his brother appeared to have taken it to a frightening extreme. A friendly high? Perhaps. High as a way of life? Gabe had too many dreams.

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Reaching for the handle of the bedroom door, Gabe jerked it open and exited to escape. He closed the door quickly behind him and wondered if he could nail it shut. On the kitchen table was a full plate of food, mother’s good food. He noticed a twinkle of sadness and happiness in his mother’s eyes at once. Words did not need to pass. She pulled back her rocking chair so he could sit in it as he ate. She would stay in the kitchen, supplying food until he was sated. They talked about Mary and Don, but Frank was not mentioned. Gabe was not sure what else had changed, but wondered, and worried.

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9

Bent over the cold white porcelain toilet, Teresa tried to catch her breath, hoping the vomit she was spewing would cease. She never knew when she would not be able to keep her food down. She had oriented her diet to that of a bland vegetable nature, which seemed to help some. “Ulcers,” she had been trying to convince herself, afraid a doctor might provide another diagnosis. She reached out and touched the gold plated toilet handle to flush. Standing full, she adjusted her clothes and took a deep breath. A pain pierced her abdomen. She shut her eyes and waited. The pain passed, and she adjusted her clothes one more time. She walked over to the purse sitting on the marble sink and took out the breath freshening gum she saved for these occasions, events she held constant in the back of her mind. “A milkshake,” she thought. “That I could keep down,” she hoped in smile. She picked up her bag and left the ladies room, erect in fully controlled grace. “Everything all right?” Teresa heard the southern accent, and knew it was Cassandra. “I’m fine,” she grimaced in answer. “If you need some time off, just let me know.” Cassandra had noticed Teresa’s change, and had thought little of it, until she realized some of Teresa’s fighting spirit had gone. Cassandra had been an effective Branch

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Manager for the bank long enough to know when a key employee was fading. Her southern roots did not allow her to transgress the protocol of respect for elders, and Teresa was much older. It had been a difficult path for Cassandra, which made her take the job very seriously. Her southern accent, and southern belle demeanor, made it difficult for her to be taken too seriously, but her nuances of grace and flair caused customers to seek her out. The kind polite nature that so attracted customers forced management to notice and promote her - she did very profitable business. After fifteen years of dues paying she was made branch manager, and now operated the bank’s most successful and profitable branch. She always acknowledged that her success was only possible because of those who worked the branch, and the person responsible for running day-to-day operations was Teresa, the iron willed, hard working woman who did anything asked. Cassandra was concerned for the woman she respected and cared about, and saw getting weaker as the weeks passed. Though they worked well together, Teresa never allowed anyone to enter her personal barrier, and this is what Cassandra had always wanted to do, but was never allowed. Teresa was much too proud, so Cassandra watched and worried from a distance. “I’m going to get an ice cream. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Teresa quietly told all as she headed toward the exit. The door opened automatically as she approached to step outside. The crispy fresh December air hit her face. She stepped into the sun and looked at the rare wispy clouds resting high above. “This is why people come here for the winter,” she thought and smiled. The weather was a perfect seventy-four degrees, and the birds were singing. Past the adorned shops she walked slowly, taking the time to look in the

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windows and admire the Christmas decorations, something she did not usually allow herself to do during work time. She heard a mechanical Santa singing “We wish you a Merry Christmas,” listened and began to hum the tune in her head. She took a few more steps to the ice cream shop and stepped inside its open door. The young man behind the counter recognized her from the bank, but had not known her to frequent the shop. He was surprised at her smile and glow. When he saw her in the bank she was always a bit dour, and all business. “You look nice, today,” he blurted, which caught her by surprise while scanning the overhead menu. “Thank you,” she blushed. “What can I get for you today?” the young man asked, beaming with joy. “I’ll have a strawberry shake,” she answered. As he began to put the pink, white and red ice cream into the mixing can, she added, “Extra thick, please.” “Yes, ma’am,” he smiled. Teresa took a seat by the window, and watched the people. She just watched, not thinking of her son who had been out of prison for six months; her son who was to be discharged from the service and was selling drugs; her daughter away at college; or, her workaholic eldest child. She did not even think about the husband she missed so dearly, but wondered about the strangers who passed her view, as she sat behind the glass and noted a world going about wondrous frenzy. “Here it is.” Startled from her observation, she turned and nodded thanks to the young man. She sipped the thick, creamy, sweet strawberry shake and smiled, returning to her happy view. The perfection of strangers broke as a familiar

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face entered the window’s frame. Dressed in a properly snug, tailored suit, Cassandra entered the ice cream shop. “Hello, Miss Johnson,” the young man dutifully announced. Teresa looked up and smiled, while Cassandra stood next to her table, waiting patiently. “Do you mind if I join you?” she asked, uncomfortable with Teresa’s lack of offer. “No, sit,” Teresa offered, taking another suck through her straw. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Teresa said aloud, returning her eyes to the world outside. “It sure is,” Cassandra answered in her thickest accent, without looking outside. She stared at her most diligent employee, searching for the words she had to say, not knowing what they were. The silence grew, as she watched Teresa suck her straw and watch the world outside. “Perhaps she’s all right,” Cassandra thought. But the thought could not hold, so she had to speak. “I hope you don’t mind me askin’, but you all right?” Cassandra asked in her thickest southern sincerity. Teresa smiled, recognizing the tone. “I’m just fine. How can you not be on a beautiful day like this?” She took another sip on her straw, enjoying the freshness of a winter strawberry. “I don’t know, but you seem to look awfully peaked lately, and,” Cassandra paused, trying to be shy, “and I’ve heard you,” Cassandra rolled her eyes away. “You know, in the ladies room. I think something might be wrong. Have you been to a doctor?” Teresa shook her head no, trying to ignore her uninvited guest and what she was saying. She had thought about a doctor, but convinced herself there

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was not good reason to visit. “God will take care of me,” she told herself. She was at peace, and did not wish to explain herself, and something inside her said she didn’t have to explain herself, explain anything. It was okay to just look out the window and love the look of strangers. This she did, providing a slight to the southern belle that had not transpired before. “I can make you take time off,” Cassandra threatened. “I can’t have an employee who is sick, and could jeopardize the health of the whole staff,” she drawled. Teresa looked to her and smiled. She slurped the last bit of milkshake, a noise that brought back childhood memories fifty years past, the last time she remembered slurping a shake. “It was strawberry, too,” she said to herself aloud as she slowly stood. “What?” Cassandra asked, caught off guard by the comment, not understanding its meaning. She was not used to Teresa not paying her the respect she so liked. She could not believe she was actually being ignored. She knew something must be really wrong, but as Teresa began to move from the table, the young man working the counter brought Cassandra her regular chocolate delight. She stayed to finish in a quandary, as she watched Teresa walk out and toward the bank. Teresa looked into the eyes of every stranger she passed, offering smile and joy. The youngest child knew what she meant, and the bitterest old man felt loved for a fleeting moment. Teresa felt perfect. Everyone was beautiful. When she stepped into the branch of the bank, she looked the place over and saw the familiar faces, but they were different. Her eyes seemed to pull away the masks of their expressions and she saw their joy. She knew no pain. *** “Mom, I saw Cassandra today. She said you haven’t been feeling well. Is

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everything alright?” Don asked from the phone in his office. “Come by the house and see me and you will know,” Teresa answered with a joust Don had not seen from his mother. His father, yes, but not his mother. “You sound good. I’m sorry I haven’t been by, but I’ve been really busy trying to get some of the work done for the end of the year close for clients. It makes it a lot easier when the calendar rolls,” he excused. “Really, though, are you feeling alright?” “I feel fine, but I would like you to come by.” “I will, I promise. Christmas is around the corner, and the whole family will be together then.” “Don’t wait, Don,” she whispered, and hung up the phone. Don heard the click, thought about going to see her that moment, then noticed the piles on his desk. Teresa went to the kitchen and began cooking. She enjoyed cooking, but she did not know how to cook for any less than eight people. There were usually enough leftovers to last a week, unless Frank was around, but no one could predict his presence. She knew Gabriel would be there to eat. As mother knows child, she had finished cooking when Gabriel returned home from his day of work. He washed and sat at the table, knowing how his mother liked serving him dinner. As usual, he waited for her to sit in her chair and say grace before he began to eat. They ate together most every night, except the twice a week he went to night school at the local community college. “What’s the special occasion?” Gabriel asked his mother as he began to fork the feast. “I just wanted to thank you for all the help you’ve been since you’ve been home. I wanted to let you know how good a job you’re doing, working for

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Mr. Martinez every day, going to school, reading all the time and staying out of trouble. I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you.” Gabriel was caught off guard by his mother’s word, and when he looked to her face she seemed to have a loving glow that he had long forgotten, a look she had when he was very young and their lives seemed to be perfect, complete. “She’s getting better,” Gabriel thought. “You look like you’re feelin’ better?” Gabe asked in answer. “I feel wonderful,” she smiled, rocking in her chair at the head of the table. Gabriel continued to eat, looking over to warm himself in his mother’s glow every few moments. Something seemed amiss, but she seemed so happy, and so right, Gabriel was thrilled. His sister would be happy to see this when she came home. “Aren’t you goin’ to eat?” he asked, getting a hearty second helping of the spicy entrees for himself. “Too spicy,” she answered, not wanting to encourage a bout like that encountered earlier in the day. She was enjoying the life of her son. She was comfortable that he would be well, that his father was watching over. Dinner complete, growing Gabriel began to clean the dishes, as he had taken over most of the chores of the house. His mother came up behind him and took her son’s hand. She looked at how big it had become, holding it up to hers. She smiled at him and led him out to the front porch, where they kept a tattered old sofa. The night was beginning to chill. Gabriel sat next to his mother, wondering why she wanted to sit out this night, but allowing for her decision without question. Perhaps it was the brilliance of the lights adoring the homes in Christmas glee, he thought, but when he heard the music, and saw the

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smile grow on his mother’s face, he knew why - Ernesto. “This neighborhood’s a special place,” Teresa told her son. “Don’t let anyone ever convince you different. How many other streets do you know that have their own wandering minstrel?” They both smiled as the watched him come into view. No one really knew how old he was, because he always gave a different answer when asked, and he had been in the neighborhood longer than anyone else. Little was really known about Ernesto, except that he liked to drink, tell stories and sing and play his music. He drank alone, most assumed, since he was rarely seen drinking, and it was rarer to see him sober. His stories were wonderful, and delighted everyone. They were about everyone, and everything, and everyone knew most every word was probably a lie, but they were weaved together so fantastically all listened, even though he probably was not the astronaut, cowboy, millionaire businessman, football star, politician, boxer, professor, policeman, convict, poet and more he claimed though poet he was. His specialty, as all must have a specialty, was singing and playing his guitar. He walked up and down the street offering song for hours at a time some days, while other days he seemed to get no more than a few feet, when he would spot someone who needed a story. The blacks in the neighborhood said he was black. The Mexicans said he was Mexican. He said he was a bald Indian, Chinese, black, white, Mexican and anything else he wanted. He was everything, and everyone made fun of him, but everyone wished for him. Gabriel’s mother listened to his wild lyrics and melodious strings, until he spotted the two Zapata’s sitting on the sofa. He stopped playing and stumbled to the spot on the sidewalk that would be center stage. “And to wha’ do I owe thi’ plezure,” he slowly mumbled, offering a polite bow to Teresa Zapata.

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“We didn’t want to miss you tonight. But I know your game, Ernesto. You’re not fooling me. I know you, Ernesto,” Teresa laughed, pointing her finger. “Ma’am,” Ernesto answered in his most drunk muttering. “Ma’am, I dunno wha’ ya mean, but I play sometin specil for ya,” he promised ever so slowly. Teresa smiled and nodded her head. Ernesto winked and began to play his guitar. He began by singing a love ballad to Gabriel’s mother. Gabriel elbowed her in jest, and the two laughed. Ernesto then began singing stories about the Zapata family, and their many happy moments. He finished by singing another love ballad, all songs Ernesto originals, and the faces of the two Zapata’s were in pain from all of their laughing as Ernesto wandered out of view. They sat in smile, quietly looking up at the coming of the stars, Gabriel holding his mother, keeping her warm. She fell asleep in his arms, glowing in the joy of memory Ernesto brought, and the warmth her youngest son provided. *** It had been two days since her strawberry milkshake, but Teresa was thinking another might be good, perhaps it would relieve the constant stinging pain. She had not really eaten much since that shake, afraid it would not stay down, but today she was feeling particularly weak. With Christmas less than a week away, and her daughter coming home in a few hours, she had to get stronger. She went to Cassandra. “We can’t do that,” Cassandra said sternly into the phone. “No. No. I don’t think so.” She did not notice the pale employee sitting before her, until Teresa coughed. This caused Cassandra to speak in a quieter whisper and spin the chair so her back was facing Teresa.

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“We can’t do that. I understand. Yeah, I know, but… We can’t… I know… I know, but… No, I… Okay. Alright. Fine.” Cassandra’s conversion had left her near as pale as Teresa, and a bit more panicky. “Did you hear that?” Cassandra asked, hoping no one had heard. “No,” Teresa answered in earnest, not giving the phone conversation a moment’s thought. “What do you want?” Cassandra demanded, in an impoliteness out of character. “I’m going to go home. I need some rest,” Teresa whispered in a weak voice. “I need you here now,” Cassandra denied, though she could see the pain being endured on Teresa’s face. “I’m going home now,” Teresa stated. “Wait here a minute,” Cassandra ordered, and left her desk for a minute. The pain in Teresa’s body did not seem to be coming from one spot, but from the whole. She wanted to bend in the fetal position, but would not allow herself. Cassandra returned in three minutes, but to Teresa it seemed to be days. “Sign these, then you can go.” Teresa looked at the blank forms in front of her. “They’re blank. You know I can’t sign them,” she told Cassandra, though the pain was reaching the point she was willing to do most anything to leave. “Look, either sign them now, or stay here while I find all the information I need to fill them out, which could take a couple of hours.” Teresa shook her head no, then the pain bit her deep inside the right temple. “No,” she said to the pain and Cassandra. Cassandra sat on her desk and looked out the window. She knew what was

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right, that Teresa was right, but she needed an out - now. “Teresa, you know how we’ve worked together. You know how I go by the book, but I have to have this account information completed today. I just want you to sign it so you can go home,” she promised in plead. “Ask Lisa to come here,” Teresa whispered looking down, seeing nothing. Cassandra was about to succumb to Teresa, but thought to call Lisa over. Witnessing pain and panic from a distance, Lisa arrived promptly. “Lisa, you are my witness that I am signing these blank forms. I’ve been asked to sign these papers before I can leave, and you are my witness they are blank. Okay?” Teresa begged quickly in pain. Lisa nodded yes, without offering a word in the awkward moment. Cassandra was caught off guard. She was going to get the papers signed as she wished, but she did not want this witness. She saw no way of offering dispute, so offered silence, as she watched Teresa’s shaking hand sign all of the papers piled before her. Lisa smiled to Teresa, who looked to her in thanks. Teresa forced her pain to stand and embarked on a journey home. Lisa offered assistance, but Cassandra demanded she stay behind. Teresa smiled in thanks and walked away. She had to get home to rest. *** The clock neared ten, and Mary broke through the door. Gabe held a finger in front of his lips to gesture her quiet. He set down the book he was reading and stood to embrace his sister. She was uncomfortable with the silence in the house. Something was wrong, she was sure. “Where’s mom,” were the first words out of her mouth. “Shhhh. She’s lying down,” Gabe whispered. “Is she alright?”

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“She looks pretty sick. She looked great a couple of days ago, but she doesn’t look so hot t’day. She said she jus’ needed a little rest.” Mary looked into her brother’s somber face and went straight to her mother’s room. She opened the door and was surprise by the stale odor of the air, and the rooms complete darkness. “Mom? Mom?” she whispered. There was no answer, so she walked quietly to the nightstand next to her mother’s bed and turned on the light. She had not seen her mother for months, and was in no way prepared for what she saw. She immediately began to cry, going to her mother’s side. The eyes were open and smiling at her daughter, but when Mary touched the flesh it was cold and clammy. Teresa Zapata was prone in the fetal position, clutching the last picture of her husband and children taken before his death. She had waited for her daughter, but was now unable to talk. The words were in her mind, but her mouth would not move. She hoped her daughter could read the thoughts behind the eyes. Mary held her mother in tears, pleading, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” not knowing her mother had no way of answering. She gathered composure long enough to look calmly into her mother’s eyes, kiss her on the cheek and say “I love you”, she noticed her mother blink at the words. “I’m going to call a doctor,” she whispered as she left the room, trying not to look desperate. Mary walked Gabe standing in the doorway, and pulled him near the phone, where his mother could not hear and she could call an ambulance. “Why didn’t you take her to the hospital, or call an ambulance?” Mary reprimanded. Gabe shrugged without answer. “She’s really sick. Can’t you see that?” “She said she didn’t want any…” Gabe started to answer, but was

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interrupted when Mary started talking to the emergency operator. Gabe headed toward his mother’s room, fear and trepidation growing heavier with motion. He managed to work his way to the side of her bed and clasp her hand. She opened her eyes at his touch, but only for a moment. He was surprised at their cold, moist touch. He had a lump in his throat that felt like he had pointed his chin high and someone took a baseball bat and smashed his throat with all their might. He could not cry. He could not breathe. He just looked to his mother, having so much he wanted to say. His mind raced a million miles an hour, but how do you say thank you for everything, in every way, and say it now. The lump in his throat would not allow him to speak, so he leaned forward to his mother, whispered in her ear and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He hoped it would set her free. Behind him, Mary came into the room. She quietly told Gabe to wait out front for the ambulance then went to take her mother’s hand. Gabe looked back and saw the two women sitting there, and knew they were one. “She’s not dying, she’s giving life,” he thought, smiling as he walked out front to wait for what was not necessary.

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10

It had been a week since Teresa Zapata joined her husband in spirit, and but a few days since she was laid in the ground next to his decayed body. The children she left behind were going through the motions, coming together for an evening of celebration in the small home. It was Christmas eve. Three worked in the kitchen cooking their regular festive meal, while Frank sat in the reclining chair in the small living room drinking his beer. “Why did she die so suddenly? I thought when you had cancer you took a long time to die?” Mary asked as she basted the turkey browning in the oven. “I think she was sick for a long time, she jus’ didn’t want anyone to know. I’m pretty sure she’s been sick since I got home,” Gabe offered, remembering the pain he witnessed in his mother as she cleaned the floor the morning after he returned. “I’m sure she was sick before that.” “She seemed to get pretty weak when you were gone, but I thought it was ‘cause she felt bad about where you were. I did tell her to see a doctor, but she never trusted them. She was strong.” Mary looked to her older brother, who was trying his hand at fixing the vegetables. “Didn’t she look weak when Gabe was gone?” “She seemed alright,” Don answered, not wanting to admit to his siblings, or himself, that he had been too busy trying to get his business growing and worrying about his little brother to really notice his mother. The

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image in the forefront of his mind about her was the telephone conversation days before she died, when she asked him to come see her, but he was too busy. It was the last time he spoke to her, a thought he wished to forget. “Turn the TV down!” he yelled to Frank in the other room, who had managed to find a football game. “How’s that, okay?” Frank shouted back, taking a swig of his light beer after remoting the volume down one imperceptible notch. “Fine,” Don answered, not really noticing as he snapped string beans in half and threw them in a pan. Gabe moved around the small kitchen doing whatever task he could to keep himself helpful and busy as Mary cooked and Don abused produce. “She wanted to die,” Gabe blurted, catching everyone off guard, even Frank, who had wandered from his chair far enough to get to the refrigerator for another beer. “Sure,” Frank swiped contemptuously, walking back to his chair, shaking his head in disgust. “How can you say that?” Mary asked in terror. Silently in pain, Don looked to his brother and tried to speak, but nothing escaped his lips. It was a truth that was too horrible for him to hear, but one he could not find the words to refute. “Why do you say that?” Mary again demanded, hoping for some kind of explanation. “You’ve been away at school, and Don’s been working all the time. Frank’s fucked up whenever he’s here, so I’ve been the only one she’s been able to talk to.” “So, she told you this?” Mary pushed, leaning against the counter with her hands folded across her chest. Don too wished an answer. “No, we didn’t talk about death, we talked about life. She jus’ told me

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how we were all doing good now, and that this made her feel alright, like, that if anything happened, we’d be able to take care of ourselves. She was just saying a lot of things that make me think she was getting ready.” “What things?” Don uttered restlessly, hoping to understand. “You know… She was reminiscing a lot, telling stories dad used to tell and saying how important the four of us are to each other, and how we don’t need her anymore, and how lucky she was that we all turned out pretty good.” Gabe looked at the naked eyes in stare and answered, “I’m not saying she wanted to die, or anything, I’m just saying that what she was talking about makes me think she thought it would be alright, er, that we’d survive if she did.” Gabe could see the remorse on their reluctant faces, and he did not want them to feel the guilt. “She was sick for a pretty long time, so I just think she was preparing herself.” Gabe finished placing the dishes on the table. He avoided their eyes, thought about his mother and smiled. “She was so strong. Sick like she was, but she kept working and never complained.” Gabe shook his head in amazement, then looked to his brother and asked, “What did they say, again?” “Who?” Don answered, lost in fear. “You know, the doctor.” “You mean the coroner, from the autopsy?” “Yeah.” “He said he didn’t know how she was able to function at such a high level, since her insides were practically eaten away,” Mary answered before her brother could gather his thought. “Yeah, and he also said he was surprised she survived so long, Gabe. She didn’t want to go, not mom,” Don challenged. “I’m not sayin’ she wanted to go, I just said she was prepared, that’s

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all. I saw her pain, and I’m glad she’s not sufferin’ anymore.” The minds were silent, lost in turmoil of thought. No one knew what to say, what they were supposed to say. Gabe grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sat on the couch to watch a little football with his brother, assuming he needed a little company. The timer on the stove began to beep, and Mary pulled the heavy turkey out of the oven, slamming the pan on the stovetop in a loud crash that no one heard. Don threw his vegetables in a boiling pan, and stirred the instant mashed potato mix in another. He grabbed two beers from the refrigerator, gave one to Mary and went to sit on the sofa. Mary stood in the kitchen alone. “He’s glad she’s dead?” Mary kept repeating in her mind, till the voice screamed so loud she had to have an answer. She went to the center of the faded, dingy old living room and confronted her brother. “You’re glad she’s dead?” she yelled. “You’re glad mom’s dead?” Before Gabe could answer, Frank raised his hand as if to silence the room, and muttered “Quiet,” after he swallowed a gulp of beer. “Fuck you!” Mary shouted, then looked back to Gabe for the answer she demanded. “No,” Gabe smiled, as he stood to give his sister a hug. “I’m glad she’s not suffering anymore. I think she held on as long as she could, and that now she is in a better place.” “Don’t give me that Heaven crap,” Mary shouted. “She’s not in a better place, she’s dead.” “Could you guys take this outside?” Frank interrupted, not taking his eyes from the screen. The brothers ignored him, but Mary had no fear of his massive strength and intimidating factor. “Fuck you, ya fuckin’ bum. What do you care if mom is dead, you’re too

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fuckin’ high to notice anyway!” Frank slowly stood and snarled at his sister. She pushed Gabe back onto the sofa and met Frank’s stand face to face. Frank shook his head from sideto-side, raised his clenched fist in feign of hitting her. “Hit me, fuckin’ coward!” Don and Gabe looked at each other in surprise, then watched the middle children conflict. Neither thought Frank would hit her, but they could see Mary was pushing the buttons to push him over the brink. “Pshhhh,” Frank mumbled, and sat back in his chair. “Just shut up and argue someplace else, so I can watch my game. I didn’t come interrupt you in the kitchen.” Mary had a better idea, and with all her might threw her beer into the center of the television. Each reacted and covered themselves from the shattering impact, except Frank, who didn’t flinch. “Maybe now you can be a part of this family too!” she challenged. Frank shook his head from side to side in disapproval, stood from his chair and headed for his bedroom, stopping on the way to grab a couple of beers from the refrigerator. He never said a word, and when the door closed behind him, the muffled sound of the football game emanated from the room. Shattered in pieces before her, Mary looked at what she had done to the television and felt no remorse. She looked at the warm empty seat Frank had been sitting in and took his place, feeling a bit sad about his vacancy. She looked to her two brothers, who both gave her a crazy eye, till she laughed. It was infectious enough to bring them smile, as they still tried to comprehend what they just witnessed. Don’s smile lasted for a bit, as he began to gather the pieces of his sister’s mess for proper disposal. Gabe shook his head in disbelief and went to the kitchen to finish the meal, while Mary

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looked to nowhere and smiled. The room was quieter, and her head had stopped screaming. Time flowed quietly, and the three managed to get a neatly trimmed table arranged for the annual Christmas eve feast with not more than the necessary casual comment. This was the meal they expected, an honored tradition, replete with tortillas, and they conceded the motions as they prepared to sit at an empty table. There was no father, no mother, and they grasped for some semblance of family remembrance. Mary and Don took their seats, which forced Gabe to volunteer. “I guess I’ll get him,” he offered, and went to retrieve Frank. The trip down the short hallway was but a few steps, Gabe took them tentatively. He had seen his brother explode without reason, and now he seemed to have excuse, but as Gabe approached the door, he could not remember his brother ever exploding at any of them, at the family. With that recall, he approached the noisy door a little easier. He took a sigh, turned the knob, and quietly made his entrance into the room he was supposed to share with his brother, but had surrendered. The opening door gave way to the smoke’s escape. Clear ashtray on his chest, filled with the buds of his trademark thick joynts, Frank was asleep. Near empty beer bottles sat on the night stand next to the remote, but Gabe changed his mind about picking it up and turning the television off, or down, thinking, perhaps it might be better if Frank was left undisturbed. Gabe backed out of the room, and gently closed to door. They would save him some food. *** It was on the other end of the desert, but the tradition of Christmas eve dinner was alive and well. A well-attired family sat at a large mahogany

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table in the comfortable dining room. Each place-setting was perfectly matched, and the crystal was arranged for all of the possible beverages. They sat talking amongst each other as they waited to be served. The neat black and white attired servant brought out a plate of steaming hot moist towels to be distributed to each from the grasp of her polished silver tongs. First she offered a towel to the head of the household, who properly motioned that his wife be served first, a ritual the long-standing servant knew well. After Maria gave the refreshing towel to Mrs. Andersen Sarah to only the most intimate - she distributed them around the table to Charles Andersen, their thirty-four year old son who still went by the school name of Skip; Clarice Andersen, Skip’s wife of four years; Mr. Andersen, preferring to be referred to by the title Judge; Mark Andersen, their twentyseven year old political prospect; and, Suzanne Deane, his slut girlfriend, by their regard. When Maria completed her circle of distribution, she circled the table again to retrieve the towels with her tongs. To them it was proper etiquette, but to Maria it was a way of making sure none of their unseemly filth touched her. The small talk amongst them fizzled, until Maria returned to fill the wine glasses. When the crystal around had been filled to the precise levels, Judge Andersen cleared his throat with a deliberate grunt, and picked up his glass. He drew their attention, and as Maria brought the food she had worked long to prepare, a toast began. “Before we say grace and taste the fineries of this meal, I’d like to offer a little toast,” Judge gestured with a twinkle in his eye. “How unusual,” Skip whispered under his breath in disarming smile. His father flashed him a glare of disapproval. “It has been another banner year for the family,” Judge began.

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“Every year is another banner year,” Skip whispered again, as he had the year before. And again, Mark chuckled to himself. Father cut them both glares of promise. “It has been another banner year. You have managed to keep your job at the bank, even managing to get a promotion to Executive something or other.” Mrs. Andersen looked down and placed her fine linen across her lap, holding up the glass in appearance of unity. “Perhaps now you two can give your mother and me a grandchild,” Judge continued, looking to Clarice’s pale white skin, then his wife, both who seemed hollow to his presence. “And you, Mark,” raising his glass a bit higher. “You have managed to actually make a go of that little ambulance chasing practice of yours. It’s going to make it a bit harder for you when you run for office, but you seem to be on the right track.” “Thanks, father,” Mark answered in his most sarcastic voice. He then took a look at Sush, smiled and turned back to the toasting progress. All heads had turned to Sarah Andersen, the matriarch. “Sarah, you have had another perfect year. Another year older and you haven’t aged a day since I met you,” he smiled to her empty stare. “Your charity has offered more to this world than all we could imagine, and has kept this family respectable,” he smiled across the table in practice. “We have a lot to thank God for, and to him I toast and ask in greed for more of the same.” Judge raised his glass to the heaven’s above, and took a sip of his wine. Skip guzzled, and Clarice set it on the table without putting her lips to the words. Mark looked to his friend and smiled, as they took a sip from one another’s eyes. Sarah saw this, and drank to their smile. Without notice, Mr. Andersen closed his eyes and began to say grace.

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In deference to their gods, Sarah and Clarice bowed their heads and saw their own grace. The boys looked to one another and shook their heads in contemptuous humor. Skip pointed to his brother, who waved off the opportunity, then pointed a finger at their father, making like he was firing a gun. They both found the thought entertaining, as they had numerous times before - it seemed to be their shared escape. Suzanne watched the scene of the family before her as an interloper, unsure of how Maria was able to go about her business of serving the bunch without laughing, sighing or blinking. In and out of the dining room, Maria came to help as needed. The pure silver was passed around the table, with abundance heaped onto the posturing plates. Suzanne was afraid to touch the arrangement before her, so precise and profiled, but noticed the others pecking slowly away with dainty forklifts and precisely proportioned bites. They did not make the food, nor the eating, look very enjoyable, which made her think of Fred, a chubby middle-aged man she had dated who loved food, and was a firm believer that it was to be enjoyed by all of the senses, including touch. “He was right,” she thought, as the fork gently pulled back from her cherry red lips. “So, are you two serious?” Clarice blurted. Surprised, Suzanne looked to Mark and smiled. He answered with smirk “It’s just a sexual thing right now. She’s too young.” Skip choked on his food as he started to laugh, and look to his father. “Too young? She looks old enough to me,” Skip quipped, egging on his brother after swallowing the food that did not fall from his mouth. Skip knew the age of Mark’s young playmate. Looking to Skip, Mark laughed, then turned to Sush and gave her a wink. She looked down to her plate, put a polite portion of turkey on her fork and said “I’m only nineteen,” before taking the bite.

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It took all of Skip’s might not to laugh hysterically when he watched his father lower his wine glass to the table, wipe his face with the linen and stare at his young namesake wordless. Clarice turned her attention to her food, mischievously ashamed of the awkwardness she had brought. Mark and his mother looked to Suzanne’s glowing beauty and smiled. She chewed with her mouth closed and smiled her wide grin to Mr. Andersen. “Maria!” Judge called. “Maria!” he commanded as she stepped in from the kitchen, “Take Ms. Deane’s wine glass, if you please.” Without hesitation of thought, Suzanne picked up her wine glass, took a long draining drink and handed the empty glass to Maria. She was sure she saw an encouraging smirk in Maria’s eyes. “Dear, tell us about the cases you’re hearing,” Mrs. Andersen dutifully asked her husband. He gave a stern look to his offspring, and began to talk as he approached his plate. In the middle of commentary on how the “Nigger boys” would have a better chance if they were in prison, Skip excused himself and wandered from the room, down vast, newly carpeted hallways to the farthest bathroom. In the bathroom, he locked the door behind him and took a seat on the tile surrounding the step-down bathtub. He took a black leather organizer from his jacket’s inside breast pocket, and laid it on his lap. He took his jacket off, folded it, set it next to him and proceeded to roll up his shirt sleeve, revealing a nasty array of scarred and marked pricks on the veins in the fold of his elbow. Opening the organizer, he flipped over the pages, turned an inside flap and withdrew a neatly placed needle. Within minutes, the needle was back in the pouch, and Skip’s mind and body felt full and free. He could now return to his family, and survive what he had to hear, but first he would enjoy a few more moments of the freeing rush, and feel the mind dance in

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peace, in open space. *** Miles away, the Zapata children were sitting sated at the small, offbalance dinner table reminiscing about their mother, their father, their childhood, their possibilities, their concerns. “What about Frank,” Mary asked in a small voice. “What do you mean?” Don asked. Mary was about to explain herself and her concerns further when she heard the door open to Frank’s room. Three steps later, Frank was standing next to the table, his full massive girth holding three neatly wrapped small boxes. The three looked at him in surprise as he handed each of them a gift. “I found these in mom’s stuff,” he offered. Each looked at their respective boxes, then one another. Don decided to open his in anxious anticipation. Ripping off the paper, he was presented with a simple white narrow rectangular box. Opening it he found a gold pen with the inscription “Share! I love you.” He understood, and felt empty. Mary tore away the paper covering her small square box, opened it and found a heart shaped charm hanging from a thick gold necklace. Cracking open the gold heart, Mary saw a picture of her as a child on one half and her mother when she was a child on the other. On the back it was inscribed, simply, “I love you.” With great reservation, Gabe held his package. He looked to his imposing brother as perhaps the only one of the three who knew their mother had not bought these gifts, as she had complained a couple days before she passed away that she had not had time to shop yet, and had asked Gabe to pick up something special for his brothers and sister. He looked back to the box, took a deep breath and opened the package. Inside, Gabe found an antique gold pocket

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watch. He smiled at the symbolism of the watch and read the inscription on the watch, “Make the best of your time, I love you.” Gabe looked to Frank and smiled. The three passed around the now cherished heirlooms. Mary looked to Frank, who was filling a plate with mountains of food, and asked, “What did she give you?” “I don’t know,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I haven’t opened it yet.” “I’ll get it,” Gabe announced, standing to leave the room. Frank was caught off guard, but sat down to eat without blinking. A few minutes later Gabe returned with a wrapped box, to Frank’s surprise, and set it on the table. “Open it,” Don requested. “Not now, I’m eating.” Frank heaped large portions onto his fork and continued to graze without looking toward his siblings. The three waited a few minutes, with Gabe finally insisting. He pushed the package toward his brother and said, “Open it, Frank.” With another mound to fill his mouth, Frank methodically took his bite and set his fork down. He looked at his little brother, then picked up the small package. He took off the paper, hesitated before opening the tie box, then neatly slipped the cover off. Inside the too large box was their father’s wedding band. Frank recognized it immediately, tried to put it on his ring finger, then slipped it over his pinky. He looked at it proud, with a smile. Don and Mary looked to one another with surprise, then looked to their brother with a forced smile. Frank looked to his little brother and flashed a grin, a salutation Gabe returned. “That’s okay,” Frank whispered to himself. He looked up to his siblings and decided to share a little secret with them. “Sheryce is pregnant, due in

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March,” Frank blurted. “Wow,” Mary managed to utter in surprise. “We’re gettin’ married in April, when I get out.” “That’s great,” Gabe placed proudly, offering his brother his hand. “Congratulations,” Don forced himself to speak, offering his hand in follow of his little brother’s gesture. “That’s fantastic!” Mary decided aloud, and went around the table to give her brother a kiss and a hug. The four began to talk with a closeness that had been three. The coming of life made the acceptance of death a bit more understandable. Gabe knew that Frank had bought the gifts that were proposed to be from their mother, and also knew Frank would never admit such a thing. They seemed quite pleased with all Frank brought to the table, without remembering their earlier acceptance of his absence.

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11

April is the time of year when the desert starts to silence to the sound of winter visitors. The snowbirds are leaving; the crops are bearing; the flowers are blooming; the weather most often warm and gentle; and, the birds are full of song. To some, it is just another month, in another year, in another life. “Look Cass, I don’t want to talk about this on the phone. She’s dead, her witness is gone and the records are the evidence,” Skip whispered angrily into the telephone, as he leaned back in his leather executive chair and put his feet on his desk. “I know… I know, but… That’s the way it is. This will lead back to you before it does me, so let’s just drop it. I’ll see you tonight. Alright… Bye.” Skip hung up the phone, hoping she was gone. He looked out the window, noticing nothing on the crystal clear day. At the other end of the disconnected telephone line sat Cassandra. She had always prided herself on the straight and narrow path of righteousness, but what she had done to Teresa Zapata haunted her every day. She knew it was not right to let the auditors believe Teresa had embezzled funds, but she kept telling herself it would be better than the alternative of letting them know her married lover had done it for little more than to pay for his drug habit. She had managed to get Lisa a job with a bank a couple of towns over, as she was Teresa’s only witness to the truth and another ghost in Cassandra’s

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conscience. These were not the matters that should be concerning a southern belle, she knew, but every attempt to tell her not to think about such matters made the burden of her lies grow. “Perhaps his attention isn’t worth it?” she asked herself. She felt Teresa’s presence with every reminder, but tried to chase it away when the lead auditor came into the office and pushed the subject. “The attorneys have talked with the FBI and they are going to see if they can get ahold of any other records. I just thought you’d like to know,” Shadi informed the pale branch manager. She had been an auditor for many years, but never did she have to investigate a fraud where the accused was dead, and where there was such little evidence. The papers seemed cut and dry, she forged a loan on an account that was not hers, but there was something more. Shadi had never had anyone do it only once, nor had she ever had anyone who had made such a career investment do it. She never had to investigate anyone who was unable to defend themselves. The thing that stuck as most unusual is that Mrs. Zapata did not appear to need the money, but if everything panned out the way it was headed, she would close the book on it in a matter of days. Something in her gut told her she was not wrong to question. “Why, again, did you sign off on those papers without reviewing the supporting documentation?” she asked Cassandra for the fourth time. “Like I said before, she often brought me stuff to sign like that. I trusted her, and she seemed to have all the paperwork when I was signing it,” Cassandra lied, and tried not to hear herself. “That means you will be held somewhat responsible,” Shadi insisted, arms folded across her white blazer. “I understand,” Cassandra answered, looking away. The least she could do was accept a reprimand from her boss, but that punishment would not suffice to

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chase the ghosts away. Forcing a smile to her lips, Shadi turned to leave, wondering what she was missing. Cassandra sat at her desk looking out onto the traffic, knowing what she missed - the honest good person she once believed she was. She tried to call Skip again, but the line was busy. Skip was on the phone with his brother’s young girlfriend, and if he was not fairly positive his brother would find out and kill him, he would be trying to setup a midnight rendezvous. The fantasy of the mind was properly shelved, as she was calling to ask a simple favor. “Yeah, I can pick you up,” he answered her into the mouthpiece. “No… No… Sure. Is that the only stop you need to make on the way? Okay, I’ll see you around seven. Bye.” After hanging up the phone, he closed his eyes and thought of her exotic face, flowing mane and succulent hard curves. Then he thought of her tender age and shuttered with desire. It was time for a trip to the executive toilet, for a quick fix. He checked his pocket to make sure his little black leather organizer was with him. *** Another long and tiresome workday was over for Gabriel. Mr. Martinez had him running crews, to the point where Gabriel was running almost everything. He was getting paid well for his service, and Mr. Martinez, in many small ways, had found the son he had lost. He had even given up his oath of vengeance and found his Catholic forgiveness. He was grateful for Gabriel’s efforts, and companionship. After pulling into Mr. Martinez’ driveway, Gabriel stepped from the pick-up, said “Good-night,” and started down the street home. “Now, you promise you’ll register for summer school?” Mr. Martinez

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shouted at Gabriel before he even made it out of the short driveway. “I hope,” Gabriel answered, smiling when he looked back as he walked. He stayed out of school since his mom died, not feeling much of a desire to attend those college night classes where he was the youngest. He hoped he would find an interest to go back soon, as it was important to his father and mother, though he continued educating himself by reading, debating and observing. He was surprised how much he was learning about everything while he gardened all day. There was something in those trees and plants he was sure was talking to him. “Good-night,” he offered again, and headed down the dry concrete driveway. Stepping past the familiar houses he did not notice, Gabe thought of the money he was saving. His arms were tired, his legs were full, his stomach was hungry and he did little but work, but he was saving his money, and soon he would be leaving. His dream was not a big one, with no great destination in mind, he just saved his money, and worked toward the date he had in his head when he would pack a bag, go to the bus station, buy a travel pass and hop on the next bus out of town. Total freedom, no longer confined to the prison he set for himself. The aches, pains and tired mind were okay, they meant he was a bit closer to his destination. Noticing a rose hanging over a chain link fence, Gabe stopped to take a whiff of the sweet scent. He often wished the landscape he tended to was allowed to be a bit more wild, like the rose that hung over the sidewalk. His enjoyment of the scent was startled by the sudden acceleration of his heart, his mind having reacted to the sound of someone quickly approaching. A bit of violence was always known in the neighborhood, so Gabe turned around to defend himself. Running down the middle of the street was Tony, tall and thin, running like a bat out of hell, his trademark dreadlocks flopping behind him.

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He was running scared, and as he ran past, Gabe looked back to see what he was running from, in case he should be running, chasing or hiding. Gabe spotted a muscular figure running down the street in his underwear carrying a baseball bat. It was Frank. “What are you doing?” Gabe shouted to Frank as he approached. “Shit!” Frank shouted, swinging the bat in the air while Tony looked back, still sprinting like the wind. “The crackhead is fast,” Frank answered, as he came to a stop in the middle of the street near his brother. “Why?” Gabe asked, pointing to the bat. “Fuckin’ nigger stiffed me!” Frank swore angrily, walking toward his brother. “I haven’t seen him around. I thought he was cracker?” Gabe asked, as the brothers walked toward the home they knew as children. “I didn’t ask him why he wanted it, ain’t none of my business. Know what I mean?” Frank asked, shrugging his shoulders. He looked to Gabe’s eyes for an answer, one he needed to complete the conversation. “Ain’t none of my business,” Gabe answered softly, noticing his brother’s eyes were bloodshot. “Why the bat, you gonna hit him?” “Fuck yeah! I scared the shit outta that little fuckin’ nigger.” “Scared the shit outta me,” Gabe said to his brother with a smirk on his face. Frank laughed, and said “He’s gonna pay me, or we won’t be seein’ his ass ‘round here anymore. Can’t go havin’ people think they can get away with that shit. Know what I mean?” Gabe nodded yes and laughed at, with, his brother. They reached the house, someone drove by at about three miles an hour in a low rider with the music so loud the street shook, and Gabe thought to himself “It’s crazy, but

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it’s alive.” “No respect,” Frank whispered, taking the few steps to the porch, not wanting to react to the strangers. No one was ever really sure how a stranger would react in the neighborhood. Following his brother into the house, he encountered a scene familiar, but never the less uncomfortable. The big screen television Frank bought to replace the one his sister destroyed was blaring. Frank was watching a basketball game. On the stand Frank had placed next to the reclining chair was his weed and a few beers, and rolled up in a blanket on the couch asleep was five week old Yolanda Zapata, Frank and his wife-to-be’s daughter. This was not the home he remembered. “Where’s Sheryce?” Gabe asked, trying to sound casual as he went into the kitchen to find food. “She went out with a friend for a while,” Frank answered, taking his reclining position before the television. “The bitch better get back though, before that baby starts to cry,” he added, bringing the ashtray and beer to his lap. After engaging the television for a moment, he shouted to his brother “Make sure you locked the door!” Gabe found cold, greasy thick crust pepperoni pizza in the refrigerator, took out a couple of slices and threw them on a semi-clean plate that was sitting on the counter. He grabbed a beer that Frank had been chilling in the freezer, picked up his pizza and locked the front door on the way to the couch. He usually sat on the couch where Yolanda was sleeping - at least he hoped she was sleeping - but let her have it to herself, so took a seat on the couch next to the front door. He tried to get into the game, hoping to tune out the home Frank had taken over. Gabe took about fifteen minutes to eat his pizza, and during that time

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Frank had two visitors he let into the house. He took their money and had them stand by the kitchen table. The first was a fidgety white haired old woman who chain-smoked, looked pretty sickly, and sounded that way also when she spewed a hacker’s cough. The last was a math teacher from the high school. They had known her from the neighborhood since they were kids, but she had moved a few blocks away to a more middle class neighborhood. She had once told Gabriel she did it during lunch, in order to handle the stress. Gabe had not asked why, and felt no need to comment. This night Gabe pretended they were not there, except for the replying “Hi,” Gabe stared at the television and the guests stood like ghosts next to the table. Other nights it was the mayor’s daughter, the gas station attendant, the businessman, the alcoholic gambler, the wife of the local Indian tribe’s chief, the gym rat… the list was long, and the traffic regular. They had talked the conversation before, so Gabe let Frank lead his life as he wished, it was not his to destroy, but he did wonder. In the lull of silence, Gabe asked, “How does it feel? You’ve been out of the military a whole day now.” Frank looked over to his little brother and smiled in answer, then lifted his beer bottle from between his legs in a gesture of a toast. “How much of a buyout did you get?” Gabe wondered. “What you going to do with it?” he added. “Enough,” Frank smiled, giving his usual non-answer. “Any plans?” “Don’t worry ‘bout it. You’re not dad, you’re my little brother.” Frank pointed toward Gabe with a joynt between his fingers. “What are you goin’ to do?” Frank asked. “That’s the question.” “I know what I’m going to do, I’m leaving town.” “When?” Frank wondered, looking at the muted basketball game.

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“Real soon.” “Where ya goin’?” Frank turned to his brother and waited for the answer. “Don’t know, just know I’m leaving.” “You don’t have a car. You don’t even have a license. How you leavin’ town.” “I don’t need a car, and I don’t need a license. On the day I decide to go, I’m walking to the bus station and taking the next bus out of town. I don’t even care where it’s going, but I’ll be on it.” Gabe did not care if Frank was even listening, he was telling himself now. It was his dream. “Sounds like a plan,” Frank offered in sarcasm, lifting his beer in toast with his ear-to-ear evil grin. Gabe decided to retreat to the peace of his mother’s room, since he had conceded his room to Frank after his mother’s death. When he stood to take the few steps down the yellowed hallway, a knock came at the door. Frank looked at Gabe and gestured his chin to the door as he put his ashtray inside the stand, out of sight. When it was out of view, Gabe opened the door, something he did not like to do. “Hi, Gabe!” was heard, and his eyes grew to fit his smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” Gabe unlocked the screen door and invited Susan inside. He was never able to understand how her beauty outshined his image of its perfection, but the glow was there again. So entranced by her beauty, Gabe gave little attention to the dark suit behind her. The hormones of a seventeen year old in need of escape from his created reality were ragging in desire, passion vigorous and primal. “I’ve got to change, then we can go out,” he said to his warm flesh of desire, hoping with a smile. “Not yet,” she whispered, giving him a kiss on the cheek as he walked

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into the house. Skip followed behind her, forcing a smile to Gabriel. “Gabe, this is Skip.” Gabe took the hand Skip offered, and gave a stiff shake, throwing in the street grasp for his own amusement. Gabe noticed how soft and gentle Skip’s hands were, almost sensuous like a woman’s. Skip noticed that Gabe’s hand was not so clean, and that the handshake tipped Gabe as a gang member. The two offered pained smiles, having made their first impressions. Susan had promised Skip she would be only a minute, Skip now wondered if he would survive that long. Gabe thought the elements were a unique enough mixture that he would stay a few. He took a seat back on the couch. Frank continued watching the basketball game - it seemed to be getting good, there was blood all over a couple of players. Susan bent over the side of his chair and whispered into his ear. He pulled his head away, but could not help the arousal his body thrust upon him when her long blonde strands brushed his face, and his nose picked up the scent of her bait. He hated that she was a tease because it worked, but Frank did not do business in front of strangers. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said boldly to her whisper, taking another hit of his beer. “Wanna beer?” he gestured to Skip. The nod in answer was no, so Gabe went into the kitchen to get him one. He brought one for Sush, also. “Thanks,” each offered, trying to pretend they were watching the game. Skip kept looking for Susan to look his way, so he could eye her out the door. She sat on the arm of Frank’s chair. He was watching the game. “Frank, lets go to…” Sush began. “Later,” Frank interrupted.

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“I just nee…” “Later.” “He’s my boyfriend’s brother. He’s…” “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” Frank blurted, ignoring the figure he felt so close, enjoying the leaning on his shoulder. Without notice, the baby some forgot, and others did not know about began to get restless and cry with the typical high-pitched infant screech. “Is this your baby?” Sush asked, as she instinctively went over to pick up the craving infant. “Yeah,” Frank answered. He went to grab it from her, but it seemed content, so he sat back again in the tattered chair. Susan looked at the baby, its wide eyes and curly hair. It had an innocent glow, looking up at Susan with the excited expression of “Who are you?” It looked so sweet and happy, arms flailing in grasp, Susan wondered and hoped. She remembered how she had heard the blacks in this neighborhood talk about the Mexicans, and how the Mexicans talked about the black, and wondered what happened to a child who was both and neither. She had been in places, and known people, where people were people, not colors, so she hoped, but worried - she knew the parents. “Where’s Sheryce?” she asked, rocking the cooing baby joyfully from side-to-side. “With a friend,” Frank answered in his ‘none of your fucking business’ voice. Frank could see his little girl was safe, so was again looking at the basketball game, pushing the Jump button on his remote to see if the scheduled hockey had started on another channel. Gabe fueled his fantasy, thinking the goddess would even make a good mother, and if only he could be cradled in her

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ample bosom. Skip thought he had fallen out of a taxi that had taken a detour, and wanted to get the hell out of this house, fearful the disease “Low Socioeconomic Class” was contagious. He knew it was deadly. “We’ve got to get going?” Skip said boldly, doing his best not to look afraid and awkward as he stood, though he seemed to be twitching and darting his eyes a little much. “Yeah,” Susan said, looking into the baby, then smiling at Gabe with her full bright invitation of kindness. She walked over and handed the baby to Gabe, then turned to Frank and said “Frank, please, I just need en…” “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said as if talking to himself, as he outstretched his arms so that Gabe would return his child. “What the…” “Not now,” Frank said, turning up the game. “Let’s go,” Skip leaned forward and tried to whisper. “Sit down,” Frank ordered Skip, then extended the baby to Susan. She took it and Frank disappeared into the back of the house. Susan smiled, confident Frank was done playing games, and was getting on with business. To the surprise of only Skip, a little white and brown Chihuahua came running out of Frank’s room as they waited and yelped his whiny bark at the visitors, then jumped on Skip’s lap when he heard Gabe snap. Gabe smiled as Skip leaned toward the arm of the couch, hoping the giant rat would miss, but it landed squarely on his lap. Skip jumped up in panic, took his coat off and shook it a few times, causing his keys to fall out, then began brushing something no one else could see from his pants. Gabe and Sush looked at each other and smiled, knowing smiles. “I’ll wait outside,” Skip offered, as he let himself out of the house. Spotting the car keys Skip had dropped, Gabe picked them up and followed

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him out the door. “You forgot these!” Gabe shouted, as the man approached the safety of his car. Gabe admired the new wheels and wondered what it was like to drive something that new, and that expensive. He wondered what it was like to drive, but a sadness came over him as he threw the keys to Skip. There was no way he would ever have the resources Sush found so attractive. A bit of guilty joy flashed when the keys skimmed across the expensive car’s roof. Skip opened his car and threw the coat in the back seat, then quickly slipped into the leather seat and locked the doors. He was glad to get back to a familiar world. Gabe went back in the house and stared at his glowing fantasy. “When we goin’ out?” he asked, only partly in jest, mostly in hope. “You’re not legal yet,” Sush smiled, taking her big blues off the baby just long enough to give Gabe a wink. “I’m old enough,” Gabe answered, swaggering to stand next to her. “You know I’m seeing someone,” she smirked. “See him, I don’t care, but see me too. I can hang with the competition, especially if it’s another one of those old men,” Gabe jested, not knowing the older men were memories Susan did not want to visit. “He’s twenty-seven,” she quickly answered in defense. She had often asked herself what the attraction was to older men, but never felt comfortable with the answers that came. She often thought Mark’s twenty-seven was too old, especially in those moments of violent reflection when she realized she was nineteen, living at home with her parents. Gabe was growing up, looking tall, lean and strong, but she was always concerned about the appearance of those around her when she dated, and what they said about her. Never had she wanted to be young, and having her first painful sexual experience at age twelve was a way for her to instantly grow up. She was afraid, as she still felt too

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young and did not seem to be getting older. Without notice, a question jumped to the forefront of her thoughts. She looked at Gabe and said, “Are you a virgin?” “Ppppppppppppppppppp,” Gabe answered, letting the air out of his lungs and his lips flap like the air escaping a balloon. He was not prepared for this question, and had long tried to live up to his parents’ premise of always telling the truth - always. “What do you think?” he fended. “I don’t know,” she answered, pretty sure he was not. The bit of hope and innocence she thought she had found escaped her, knowing how few in this neighborhood held on to their virginity. She looked to Gabe and smiled, remembering Mary was a virgin, thinking it was still possible. “Maybe,” she said to him in smile, the most promising he had yet seen. “If I am, I’m savin’ it for you.” “How’s Mary?” Sush asked, trying to change the subject. The hint was not so subtle, so Gabe went to sit again on the couch. “I guess she’s doing fine. I think she’s supposed to come home for a visit soon. I know she’ll be home for summer though, in a couple o’ months. She said school was alright.” “What’s she studying?” Sush asked, leaning back to look down the short hallway, not really listening, wondering what Skip was doing, and hoping Frank would hurry. “Hasn’t decided yet,” he answered, noting she did not seem to listen. “What really needs to happen is you an’ me goin’ out and havin’ some fun, don’t you think?” he added. “Yeah,” she answered from oblivion, till her mind tossed her some words caught in the subconscious. “What did you say?” she looked toward Gabe and squinted her sharp green eyes.

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Gabe noticed the wide crooked smile grow with the eyes. He pointed at her and said, “It’s not what I said, it’s what you said,” he laughed. “You agreed to go out with me.” Sush laughed, saying “First you…” “You guys goin’ out?” Frank egged, interrupting. He zipped up his pants and took his infant from the temporary caretakers arms, then found his seat in the recliner. “Get me a beer,” he ordered Sush. She went into the kitchen, brought back a beer, and gave it to the king of the small castle. “Where’s my stuff?” she asked. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” Frank answered, twisting the cap off the bottle. “He’s in the car,” she promised. Frank looked to Gabe, who nodded his head in confirmation. He looked back to the sports he was watching and said, “You know I don’t do business ‘round strangers.” “Sorry, Frank,” she pleaded. “I thought that’s what you went to get.” “Went to the bathroom.” “Come on, Frank. Why do we always have to go through this?” “Bye.” “Frank, let’s…” she began. “Bye,” Frank again answered, waving his hand over his head, staring at the television with this daughter in his lap. “Frank, I…” she tried again. “Bye,” he continued. Gabe watched, and would not interfere, he just stared and Sush’s long full hair, tight outfit, and inlets of firm flesh almost hidden. He hoped the argument would go on all night.

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“Bye,” she said, turning toward the door. She spotted Gabe’s drool and smiled. She went over to his waiting, bent over and gave him a soft, wet kiss on the lips. “Save it for me,” she whispered in his ear. Gabe felt the warmth of her silkiness, and took a good long look down her full top as she bent over to him. He wanted to touch desperately. He knew it would be soft, warm and gentle. He knew it was where he wanted to go. He did not know where the kiss came from, not how to make it happen again. She left the house, but her scent was still hanging in the air. Frank was laughing at his little brother, and snarling at his daughter, who was beginning to get really fussy in his lap. Gabe took a deep breath, and went to lay on his mother’s bed. The house was as quiet as it ever gets. *** An hour passed, and with the exception of the disappearance of infant Yolanda, who was whisked away by an angry mother - Frank never paid her much attention, was the usual complaint - little had changed. Frank was now watching a hockey game, drinking beer and smoking a joynt. He had found his happy place, and the visitor traffic of customers appeared to have ceased for the night. Gabe was in the back, in his mother’s room as she left it, reading a book he had picked up from the library, but he was unable to remember much of what he read, since his thoughts were still wandering to Sush and the arousal she caused. Every few minutes an advertisement went through his mind, “Get out, now!” he told himself. Frank started to nod off on the reclining chair, beer between his legs, ashtray on the chair’s arm. A firm, solid knock rapped on the door and startled him. He tried to shake his light head awake. He was not expecting anyone, so he placed his ashtray on a shelf inside the table next to his chair and picked up a can of arousal air freshener he kept next to his chair, and

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sprayed the room quickly. Still spraying the pervasive order, he shouted, “Who is it?” “Rick,” Frank heard shouted through the door. He knew a couple of Ricks, but none that sounded like this. “Rick who?” “Rick Brown.” Putting down the aerosol, Frank scanned the room to make sure everything illegal was out of sight. It seemed clean. He pulled his shirt to his nose and sniffed it, it reeked of pot, so he pulled it off and threw it into a corner. He was still drowsy, but his paranoia woke him up slightly. He opened the door. “Mr. Zapata?” Frank heard as soon as the door was open. He stared through the thick metal screen into a badge pressed against its mesh by Rick Brown, FBI. Behind him was a uniformed police officer, who offered a nod and an intimidating, yet fearful, smile. Waiting for acknowledgment, Rick Brown could not help but admire the muscularity of Frank’s chiseled physique. Frank’s size made him envious and nervous, as it had the police officer he had brought with him. White-collar crime, embezzlement, was what Rick Brown specialized in for most of his fourteen years with the FBI. He had once thought it would be exciting, but now found the drudgery boring. Each morning he woke up hoping something exciting would happen, reassuring his torture by reminding himself retirement was another day closer. Then he would start living, he constantly assured himself and his wife. This year he had started shaving his head bald, to avoid having to look at age’s progression. He still took pride in his job, though he questioned more and more of what he did each day. He did what the law required, and his superiors requested, he just wished white-collar crime

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was more than paper and numbers, but it was not, and it was his area of expertise. Sometimes he wished someone would shoot at, or just shoot him. He stood tall in his brown corduroy sports coat, with his close cropped sharp, jet-black mustache and empty brown eyes waiting for Frank’s answer. He thought for a minute Frank could be a con, being as big and ripped as he was, and the neighborhood he lived in, he fit the profile. Frank shook his head slightly to jar his distant mind awake, then nodded yes. “I have a search warrant here to search the residence of Teresa Zapata,” Mr. Brown stated in his robotic voice, without passion or interest, thrusting the paper he pulled from his pocket toward the screen. “This is Mrs. Zapata’s residence, correct?” “Yeah,” Frank whispered to himself, unlocking the screen door to look at the paper. “Please let us in, sir.” Mr. Brown requested forcefully. Frank was used to taking orders, so he stepped his massive physique back and tried to read the paper Mr. Brown handed him, but his mind was not able to focus. Mr. Brown scanned the tiny house, and instantly knew his only hope was her bedroom. “Where is her room?” Mr. Brown demanded. “Down the hall to the right,” Frank groaned, noting the size of the police officer. “Pussy,” he said under his breath. Mr. Brown started down the hall, while the attending officer stood poised by the front door, arms hanging loosely at his side. He had been taught this neighborhood was one of the few war zones in town, so this had to be enemy territory. His eyes constantly darted the room, preparing. Looking at the officer guarding the front door, Frank picked up the

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telephone, watching to see if his eyes made a comment. “Dick,” Frank whispered to himself, turning his attention toward the game after he dialed. He waited for an answer to the ring. “Don, you need to get over here. There’s some guy here from the FBI goin’ through mom’s shit.” “What?” Don screamed into the phone. “What are they doing?” “Going through her things.” “No, why?! Why are they going through them?” “Why you goin’ through her stuff?” Frank looked up from his reclining chair and asked the police officer, who just answered he did not know in shrug. “I don’t know,” he relayed to his brother. “Is Gabe there?” Don asked, not interested that the question devastated Frank’s ego, and sense of family inclusion. “Yeah,” Frank answered, and yelled back to his brother, “Gabe, pick up the phone.” Gabe picked up the telephone in his mother’s room, watching in shock as a stranger went through the belongings of their mother they had chosen to leave intact through neglect. “Yeah,” he answered quickly. “What’s going on?” Don asked, hearing Frank’s click when he hung up the other line after hearing the question. “The FBI is searching her stuff. He said they’re investigating embezzlement of funds from her work.” “They’re saying mom embezzled?!” Don shouted. “He’s not clear on that. He says it’s an investigation. You should just get over here.” “I’m leaving now,” Don promised. He hung up the telephone and laid his head across his folded arms. Under him sat a pile of tax returns. April

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fifteenth was only three days away, and he had to complete the tax returns for his clients on time. There were plenty of other independent CPAs in the area who were desperate for work in the weak economy. Don did not want to lift his head from the desk. He was working eighty hours a week. His fingers were tired and the tips numb from tapping numbers into the computer. Everything was needed yesterday, and now his mother was being investigated for embezzlement. He questioned not for a moment her innocence, but had dealt with the FBI and IRS on their investigations and hated dealing with their incompetence and slowness, especially when they needed to blame someone, someone unable to fend for self. Don stood from behind his large desk, and walked across his large plush office. He dreaded leaving, was enjoying the idea of escape and feared he would have to return to face the waiting burden, plus whatever work he was going to be offered.

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12

The party was winding down. Mark was saying “good-byes” to friends and associates. He had the events regularly, and they were always good for gossip and business. Tonight he worked out a verbal agreement with Dr. Freedman to cross-pollinate clients. Susan was standing on the patio, feeling the cool breeze roll across the fairway and against her face. She was thinking of the kiss she gave Gabe, and the possibility he might be a virgin. It made her smile. She also wondered what she was doing. Her surroundings were beautiful, the people, the homes, the cars, the image, but she did not feel welcome. She used to think it was her age, but after a while noticed that most of the people in Mark’s circle did not feel comfortable. They had a look in there eyes of brave fear clinging to a mask. She felt empty inside, but her beauty and grace stood tall and statuesque. Mark walked up behind her, admired the cut her pert figure swiped through the lights, and laughed inside. “It’s mine,” he told himself. He went to put his hands on her waist, and she jumped, startled, lost in her own world. “Sorry,” Mark apologized, as she turned to aggressor. “You scared the death out of me.” Her heart was beating wildly. She grabbed the back of his head, closed her eyes and brought his lips to hers.

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She tried to flame the passion of lust she had once known, but it seemed to be dampened. Seeing Gabe in such good spirits, and Mark in his prosperity had finally relinquished her guilt. She was the bond between the two, and neither really seemed to understand. “What was that for,” Mark purred with a smile, knowing the lengths of her devouring sensuality. “For a lovely evening,” she smiled. “I’m going home.” “Something wrong?” “No, just tired.” “Aren’t you going to stay here tonight?” he begged, pulling her closer. She gently pried his hands loose, and answered “Not tonight.” “Why?” he asked, coming off the high of a successful evening. “I just want to get some rest.” “Susan! Susan!” Skip interrupted, as he came out to the patio, looking like he had lost about twenty hours of sleep in the last few hours, with a bit of perspiration on his forehead. “Did you see my book, organizer? The black leather one?” “No. You asked me earlier. I haven’t seen it. I guess that means you still have not found it?” “What’s wrong,” Mark asked, taking a step toward his brother. “You look like shit. I think you’re coming down with something. You’d better get home,” Mark offered. “I’m fine,” Skip lied. “I’m calling Clarice.” Mark started to step toward the house to make the phone call, when his frail older brother snatched an arm with his bony, clammy fingers. “No! Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. I just want to find my case and get

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home.” “Did you leave it at Frank’s?” Susan asked, stepping forward, noticing symptoms she had seen before, and had suspected with Skip. “Who’s Frank?” Skip barked agitated. “You know, when you were with me earlier tonight.” “Oh, the gang guy. I don’t know, call him,” Skip demanded, as he put a hand on Susan shoulder and pushed her toward the house so she could make his call. “You don’t need to push her,” Mark insisted, following the two into the house. Susan placed the call, but the line was busy. “Busy,” she told the brothers. “I have an idea though. You give me a ride home, and we can stop by their house on the way. How does that sound?” “I’ll take you home,” Mark pleaded, hoping he could talk her into staying. “That sounds fine, but we’ve got to go now, because I’ve got to get home.” Skip headed for the door. Susan gave Mark a kiss on the cheek, and followed closely behind. The drive took about fifteen minutes, and the neighborhood Skip thought was bad during the day looked frightening to him at night. He saw kids running wild outside at the late hour. He saw cars driving slowly, and heard music playing loudly. He saw a bunch of blacks standing near a street corner - they yelled at his car when he drove by. He was intimidated by the unknown. “What were those guys doing back there?” he asked Susan, as they pulled up in front of the Zapata’s not sixty seconds later. “On the corner?” “Yeah. The black guys?”

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“Selling.” “Selling what, drugs?” “They’re not allowed to do it in your neighborhood, fortunately all there customers from your town have cars to drive here,” she pitched sarcastically, fairly sure Skip needed a fix for something. “What are you on?” she requested before stepping out of the car. Skip looked at her contemptuously, and defiantly. He had nothing in common with those people. “Nothing!” he snapped. “Yeah. Right.” She stepped out of the car and disappeared into the house in a matter of moments. Skip was alone, in need and uncomfortable for a slew of reasons. Don had opened the door for Susan, then went back to lie on the couch. The house was quiet, silent, empty. Don was still in his suit jacket, reminding Susan of one of them. She stood quietly. He placed an arm over his eyes, hoping his mind would take him to another world, or wake him up from this nightmare. “You okay?” she whispered. “No,” he muttered through the muffling of his arm. “What’s wrong,” she asked, knowing Don’s pride and poise. Sitting up, all he could offer in expression was a smile of irony through a tear of pain. She said nothing, but waited patiently. She could tell there was something very wrong. Don proceeded to tell her the story of the evening. Susan learned that while she was at a party of image divine, and substance opaque, the battle took place in the small home she had known so long. By the time Don arrived, the scope of events had gone far beyond what anyone had expected. Mr. Brown of the FBI decided to give the whole house a

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cursory search, so he would not have to come back again. While taking a quick look in Frank’s room, he opened the closet and found a few boxes of unopened electronics. Summoning the police officer, they speculated on the find. The officer decided to question Gabe, who was closest, and Gabe said he had no idea. Frank was not so casual, telling the officer it was none of his fucking business, and that he ought to get a real job, instead of the “rent-a-warrior crap.” One thing led to another with Frank and the policeman, to the point where the officer had pulled his baton in preparation of subduing Frank. By the time Don had arrived, Frank was in handcuffs, being held by the dwarfed police officer. Gabe was standing in the kitchen bewildered, and a stranger was going through the house. Susan did not understand. “Why did they arrest him?” she wondered aloud. “Did they get him for selling?” “Nope, for suspicion of receiving stolen property. How’s he supposed to know if it was stolen?” Don defended. “Where’s Gabe?” “He went to the cemetery. The reason the cops were here is because they are investigating mom for embezzlement.” “Your mom?!” she asked shocked. “Yeah, how convenient, she’s not here to defend herself.” Don quickly headed for the door, needing an escape from this reality in order to survive. “I’ve got to get back to work. Shit, I’ve got to get Frank. I’ve got to go,” he told Susan. “I’m sorry. A friend of mine lost a leather wallet or organizer or something. Black leather, have you seen it?” “No,” he answered quickly, wanting to begin the necessary in hopes that a moment of freedom would return to his being.

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“How ‘bout Frank or Gabriel?” “Don’t know.” “Can I take a quick look?” she hoped with a twinkle in her eye. “Hurry, I’ve got to get out of here.” Don, known for his politeness grew inpatient, being as polite as possible. Susan looked around the chair where they had been sitting, but had no luck. She wanted to search a bit more thoroughly, but Don’s patience was lost. “I’ve gotta go,” he stated, motioning toward the door. “Thanks,” was the last word said between the two. Don locked the door and began his errands. Susan returned to the junkie in fine trimmings. The moment Susan sat in the car, she wanted to get out. “What took you so long?” Skip shouted. “Did you get it?” he demanded angrily. “Calm down.” “Fuck you! Did you get it?” “It wasn’t in there.” “Bullshit! I know I lost it in there. It can’t be anywhere else. Go look again.” “I can’t, no one’s home.” “Come on, one of the guys customers just left with you. I need it, now!” he demanded, slapping the steering wheel and frightening Susan. “That was their brother. Frank’s in jail and Gabe’s out,” she answered quickly. “In jail? Maybe he has it with him. Is the house unlocked?” Skip’s paranoia was visiting full as his need for a fix grew. He was no longer concerned about needing his stimulant back, but was now worried about getting himself in trouble, as there were names, addresses, cards and other belongings in his organizer that would lead the police to him. He had to get it back now.

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“Do they just have that little dog? Can I get in from the back?” “I can walk home from here.” “Fine. Fine. I’ll take you home.” Nothing else was said between the two. The entrance to her gated community was not a mile away, much too close for Skip’s comfort. The security guard waved them through without requiring identification, not like the prior security needed in the neighborhood of his family, where the nearest high crime neighborhood is miles, walls and deserted lands away. When he dropped Susan off in front of her house, she muttered a sarcastic good-bye. Now alone, Skip drove back to house where he was sure his small leather case was resting, waiting. He wanted to stop, but needed a fix, so he picked up his cell phone and called his dealer, driving out of the neighborhood, past the street-corner-dealers to his destination. The answering machine picked up, but Skip was sure he was there, he was always there, tripping. Across the dark of the cooling desert, Skip drove from the town with neighborhoods where people lived, to the maze of cinderblocked security communities where his ilk lived. He came to the entrance of a country club in Indian Wells, one of the wealthiest cities in the country, a city where redevelopment funds are used to build golf courses, where he was properly interrogated by security. It was not his night. “Sorry, Mr. Andersen, but we can’t let you in,” the heavyset woman in gray polyester uniform apologized. “He didn’t leave your name with us, and no one answers the phone.” Her eyes were tired, her smile, practiced. “Shit!” Skip shouted, picking up his cell phone and calling again. This time he left a message, demanding that his call be returned immediately. He backed the car up and parked it to the side, fidgeting and sweating while he waited. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning his knuckles white.

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Additional security had been called, and they sat in the booth watching the sickly man. He was able to relax his grip five minutes later when the phone rang. “I’ve got to see you,” he shouted to the voice he expected on the other end of the phone. “Are you coming home?” Clarice asked her husband patiently, knowingly concerned. “Later!” he shouted, slamming the phone to the floor. He could wait no longer, so he started to head back to where he thought his habit rested. The trip back was shorter, as the speed was faster and the purpose desperate. He felt a cold sweat, aches in his head and eyes. He saw nothing before him, just the destination. He raced from the new to the old, past the jumping corner of entrepreneurs selling what he wanted and much more, and arrived in front of the small yellow house with the four-foot chain link fence. He did not know what to do, only what he needed to do. When he got out of the car he noticed nothing, then heard music coming up behind him. Turning he saw an old man flash him a smile while he walked down the street playing the guitar. Skip leaned against his car, trying to look casual in his coat and tie. When Ernesto was out of sight, he ran to the front door and twisted the knob. It was locked. He quickly looked to the window in panic, pausing at the bars covering the glass. He sprinted around the garage and hopped the fence into the backyard. He twisted the knob on the garage door. Locked. He wrenched on the knob of the back door. Locked. He looked over all the windows. Barred with wrought iron. The desperation accelerated with his heart. He spotted a barbecue on the patio and a large canister of lighter fluid sitting next to it. He ran to pick it up and began to spray the door. With the bottle half emptied on the door, he threw it in front of the door and picked up a can of

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gas he spotted sitting next to the lawn mower, quickly dowsing the door with its contents. He lit a match. He needed his fix. He needed that book. He needed the names. He needed his innocence, his deniability. He needed that leather case, or he could not be who he was. Within seconds the fire engulfed the door, then leapt to the awning. Skip put his shoulder down and prepared to make his entrance. He charged the burning solid door, and as his form began to emerge from the fire into the house, three ear-shattering cracks were heard. Gabe stood in the kitchen, looking down at the body that had tried to make its way into the house, feet still in the fire, and froze. He had just killed someone who was breaking into his home, who had set it on fire, who had made Gabe fear for his life. He had just killed a man whose face he recognized. A face he knew was afraid. He had just killed a stranger. He killed. This time, he had pulled the trigger.

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13

The room was loud, and somewhat wild. In the corner by the door stood a guard, watching, but seeing little. On the other side of the glass wall sat more security, not paying too close attention. In the corners near the ceiling swung cameras, ignored. The room was as close to freedom as inmates are allowed. Gabe sat at a metal table. It looked like a sterile park bench. His face looked toward the entry, the seat across from him waited empty. Scanning the room, he had already noticed one inmate getting a blow-job from a visitor, another getting a hand job, others playing with their kids, hoping they would not be affected by the goings on, some screaming at the visitors in a quiet tone, while a few just talked quietly, and a very few who stared at one another with a sad distant love. Sitting on the cold of the metal bench, Gabe’s eyes were glued to the door. Susan completed the worst part of her visit, the cavity strip search, and made her way to the visitor’s room, a trip she had been making every month for nearly four years. She wished she could come more often. She wished she did not have to come at all. She wished she did not have to undergo a cavity search. The door click remotely, and the guard allowed Susan to enter the room. A tinge of guilt, Gabe’s face beamed at his visitor. He no longer

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allowed himself to call her Sush, as it was to intimate for his mind to handle, but he did allow himself to smile at her beauty. When she came to him and gave him a hug, they held each other long and hard, as the ritual had become. He held her close, smelled her hair, touched her flesh, felt her curves pressed against him and close his eyes in disappointing strength. She held him tight in hopes of taking him away. She took a seat on the cold metal bench on the other side of the table, neither letting go of the other’s hand. “You don’t have to come,” Gabe started, as he had too many times before. “Please, let’s not waste our time talking about this,” she pleaded, flashing her sweet smile and white teeth. “You know I’m going to come.” “I can tell them I won’t see you.” Gabe had to have this conversation again, as he did not know why she was visiting, or at least not sure why. He also had to have these conversations because there was so little new for him to talk about. “You won’t,” she smirked with her crooked grin. She stared deep into the emptiness in his eyes and worried that he was already gone forever. “Two months,” she offered. “Two months?” “Yeah. Isn’t that when you can take parole?” Gabe’s eyes looked around the room, and smiled. He had no plans for leaving until his ten years were up. He shook his head from side-to-side, and muttered “Nope.” “No? I checked. Two months.” She took his hand in both of hers, caressing, arousing. “I told my lawyer that I don’t want parole. When I step out of this building, I have to be free, or I’ll just stay here till I am free. No. No parole for me.”

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“Why?” she wondered aloud, not sure he was serious. “When I get out of here, I am going home to get my money, my passport, say good-bye to Don and Mary and Frank and going to the airport. Then I’m catching a flight to some third world country and never coming back.” His eyes glazed over as he looked into his dream. “Like the bus trip?” Susan smiled. With a quick jerk, Gabe pulled his hand back. “If it weren’t for this place I’d have been gone long ago, but nooooo, I’m a danger to society again ‘cause I protected myself, so I’m locked up safe away in the pen.” He looked into her eyes violently. “I woulda been gone!” “Sorry. I was just kidding.” The two were silent for a few moments, but when they looked into each other’s eyes their fantasies danced. The silence was broken by words she thought possibly encouraging, and knew she had to speak. “He’s not going to fight it.” “What?” “Skip’s dad. The Judge. Mark told me he wasn’t going to fight it.” “You’re still seeing that cock?” “He’s a friend. It’s not his fault what his father did. He doesn’t think you should be here either, but it’s his father, and it was his brother, so…” “So I’m fucking here for ten years? Fuck that shit. He knows his father railroaded me. He knows all about his fuckin’ junkie brother. He knows what they fuckin’ did to me, and now I’m in here ‘cause he doesn’t want to hurt his dad’s fuckin’ feelings. I know why he fuckin’ wants me out. He knows if I get out and something else happens, I’m in for life. Three strikes you’re out, and we all know I’ve got two beautes against me. I’m fuckin’ safer in here.” Susan reached out to take his clenched fists. Her touch warmed their freeze and they began to open. She looked into his eyes and saw a fire, deep

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desire he tried to bury, since it could not be vented. Gabe took a deep breath, laughed to himself and leaned forward to whisper. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he smiled in a soft voice. “That old fuck’s wife visited me in prison.” “Who?” she interrupted. “The Judge.” “When?” “Couple a years ago, and you know what she did?” Susan shook her head no, and Gabe answered, “she apologized. The bitch fuckin’ apologized for what her husband had done.” Stunned, Susan asked, “What else did she say?” “She just said she knew what her husband had done, and that it wasn’t right that I had to be locked up. But, of course, she said she couldn’t do anything about it.” “What did you say?” “I told her not to say ‘couldn’t’. You should have seen the look on her face,” Gabe smiled. “She was shocked, so I said it again. Then I said ‘you should be sayin’ won’t,’ and looked her dead in the eyes.” “You sure it was Mrs. Andersen?” “Same lady in the trial every day sittin’ next to that withered old father of theirs. I felt bad for her though, ‘cause she looked… looked…” “Dead?” “Yeah, like there was nothing left.” “You changed that!” Susan began laughing. “What do you mean?” Gabe asked, forehead wrinkled, wanting to join her amusement. “That was about the time she told Mr. Andersen she wanted a divorce.”

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“She divorced him?” “Yup.” “She didn’t look like she belonged with that old shriveled up dick, but she still won’t do anything,” Gabe challenged. Susan was smiling at Gabe’s smile. She felt guilty for him being there, but was at least happy he was enjoying the moment. Her monthly visits sometimes more often, sometimes less often - were atonement. If it were not for her buying from Frank, Skip would never have come to their house. If Skip had never come to the house, he never would have thought he lost his drug pouch there - never knowing he dropped it on the street in front of his brother’s house - and Skip would not have been desperate and burned down Gabe’s door. And Skip would not have assumed no one was home if she had not told him that. She was convinced if it had not been for her dating Mark, Gabe would never have killed Skip, and if he had not killed the son of a prominent judge, Gabe would not have been convicted of manslaughter, possessing an unregistered weapon and a variety of other charges, and he surely would not have been sentenced to ten years. “If it weren’t for me…” her mind constantly rang. “If you take your parole, I have a surprise for you,” she teased. “I’m not takin’ it,” she stated. “What?” he added curiously. She stood, leaned across the table so he could take a long clear view of her ample cleavage and whispered into his ear, “Me.” “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Gabe said to himself. “You know I want out. You know I want out bad, but…” “You’ll turn this down?” she asked, standing in pose, smiling. Gabe’s mind saw it naked before him. “You are a goddess.” “You are a virgin,” she reminded.

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Gabe smiled. He thought about what had gone on his last four years of prison, the things he had seen, the things he had done, the things that had been done to him. He tried to erase the pain of the images as his eyes guzzled her beauty. He knew he had not been with a woman, except in his mind. “Guess so,” he laughed. “Then? You going to try for parole.” “Nope.” “Nooooo,” she whined. “Nope. I want to be free, not on a leash. I’m in here for crap, and if anything happens when I get out I’m gonna be in here forever, so when I get out I want to be free to flee. I’m not taking any chances.” “Not even for this?” she winked. “I’d kill for that,” he promised. “But I don’t want to touch it and find that I have to come back here and lived with nothing but memory, and men.” Susan sat down again, and took his hands. A serious look overcame her playful face, and she whispered, “We could get married.” Yanking back his hands, Gabe stood. “Gotta go,” he hurried. He did not look her in the eyes, but leaned forward for one more hug, touch, smell, and whispered into her ear “You’re a beautiful butterfly, be free.” Susan was stunned, at a complete loss for words. She was embarrassed, rejected and happy. She stood and watched Gabe leave the room. He did not look back, did not raise his eyes from the ground, but she knew where his thoughts were. *** The opulent office was stuffed with the luxuries and trappings of success. Paintings, statues, marble, leather, oak and more adorned the office display. A professional decorator had been hired, to ensure an eye-catching

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presentation when interviews were produced. Behind a desk too large to accomplish actual work sat Mark J. Andersen III reclining in his leather. Standing on the other side of the vast oak expanse was his again angry father. “What are you going to do about this?” he shouted, pointing emphatically to the paper he had placed on his son’s desk. “She’s telling him today,” Mark answered sheepishly, with sarcastic apology. “She doesn’t need to be involved in this. She could tell him the letter is affective, which would make it worse.” “She doesn’t know anything, dad. I haven’t said word one to her about the letter,” Mark promised, leaning forward in his chair to pick up the poisoned note. He read the words as his father moaned in disgust. Mark’s eyes acknowledged the final words of Gabriel Zapata’s letter, and whispered in sigh “Yeah,” heart heavy in guilt. “What?!” his dad shouted. “Nothing,” Mark whispered, awaked to his presence. He leaned back in his chair, stared at the paper he tossed back on his desk and asked “How many are out there?” “I don’t know,” he answered exasperated, silver hair turning white. “I contacted some people and they said he’s not sending them from prison.” “Then someone else is doing it?” “Yeah, but we don’t know who yet.” The Judge looked at his son, angry the situation was not yet controlled. Mark stood, feeling uneasy in the small zone of the hot seat. “If there are only a few out there, maybe we shouldn’t worry about it. Most people will throw it away, I’m sure.” Shaking his head from side-to-side, the Judge said “Use your mind. They

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appear to be sent randomly within the district, and if they start to mail more, your career is dead. I had the consultant look at it. He had a focus group done, and nearly everyone who read the letter said they would be uncomfortable voting for you after reading the goddamn thing! Forget it?! We’re not going to blow this, we’re too close.” “We could respond to it now, kind of a first response approach?” Mark was not sure what could be done, in a large part because much of what was in the letter he agreed with, and did not know how to answer. He felt guilty as a citizen that Gabriel was in prison, and guilty as a lawyer who helped put him there, and guilty as an Andersen who lied. In the deepest recesses of his mind, where the door to light was always closed, Mark hoped the letter would come out and he would get trounced in the election, but that door was slammed tight. “We need to kill it!” “What do you mean?” Mark asked his father hesitantly. “We can’t control him in there. We can’t do anything to him in there. He doesn’t fear us.” His voice rose. “We have to get him out of there!” It was the first time Mark heard his father say something that made him actually frightened for another. He would have to keep an eye on his father, because he appeared to be losing his grip on reality, or the reality he was creating was losing its grip on his son. *** Walking into the condominium, Lisa put her two-year-old son down. He scampered into his bedroom, climbed into his crib, put a pacifier in his mouth and began to chase dreamland. She wiped the sweat off her brow, relieved to be out of the sun’s heat. The house was dark, blinds shut to keep the place cool. She dropped her mail on the counter, as she went to the kitchen to get a tall

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glass of ice water. Drink in hand, she twisted the rod on her blinds to open them just enough to let in some light for reading. She took a big gulp to replenish and cool, and began to thumb through her mail. She was looking for a check, or an acceptance letter from a magazine, hoping another of her articles had been accepted, so she would be able to pay the bills and continue her demanding independence. She came across a letter that looked promising. It was in a plain white envelope, addressed to her with no return address - it offered hope. She put down the glass, tore open the back of the envelope, and smiled in possibility. She read the words unexpected:

Dear Neighbor:

I hope your trees and flowers and grass are doing well, but I have been out of town at your bequest and have not been able to offer my services. I would much rather offer my simple services, but you have decided to put me in prison. Why?

About four years ago, when I was seventeen, a man tried to break into my house. He was a drug user and decided he needed to get into my home, so he lit my house on fire. I called the police, but before they could arrive this man came crashing through my locked back door. Fearing for my life, I shot this intruder dead. Would you not have done the same?

The gun had been my fathers, who had passed away years before. I was charged for possession of an illegal weapon. I was charged additionally because I had a record. I was also charged with manslaughter for killing this man in defense of my person and property. Added to the list were numerous other charges, many of them redundant. Why did you find me guilty, and how is it a crime to defend myself? Or, did you send me here because the man who broke into my house was

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from a prominent family?

The drug user who broke into my house was Charles Andersen. His father, Mark Andersen II, is a judge of long standing. His brother, Mark Andersen III is a prominent attorney in the community, and a former member of the district attorney’s office who is now attempting to join congress by winning a seat in the House of Representatives. Mark Andersen II is also the man who charged me with murder when I was fifteen because a police officer shot and killed a friend of mine. Did you send me to prison for them?

I will be offered the opportunity for parole soon, and I will be turning it down. Why? Because you found me guilty of crimes I believe you too would commit in the defense of yourself and property, and the judge who represents you decided that I should spend ten years in prison. I will spend ten years, unless my sentence is commuted, but that is up to you. The system that represents you sent me hear, and you not only allow it, you support it. My question is why? Do you sleep better at night knowing I am in prison? Do you feel safer knowing these types of “Crimes” are punished? What would you do in my shoes?

I write you because I need to know. I can not sleep at night knowing this is where you want me to be, not understanding why. I was a seventeen year old gardener who was being attacked, and I am in prison. Please write and tell me why. I need to know why you put me here, I was your neighbor.

Patiently,

Gabriel Zapata

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Her mouth dropped open. She was embarrassed, aghast, defensive and angry. She was not responsible for him being there, but she understood, and as a writer she found the whole thing guiltily intriguing. But something familiar was awakening in the back of her mind - Gabriel Zapata, she knew the name. Lisa picked up her glass, motioning it in a circle so the ice would add a little chill. She stared at the paper, trying to jog her memory, drinking the coolness as her body adjusted to the more comfortable environment. She read the letter again, then the name Gabriel Zapata again, and again, and again, and again. Then she focused on the name Zapata. “Why does that seem so familiar?” she asked her mind to answer. Another drink was taken, and the water was finished, all that remained were the remnants of mostly melted ice cubes. She set the glass down, took another quick glance at the letter and set it on the counter. She shook her head, disappointed she could not recall. She returned her thoughts to the present moment, pushing the mail around, seeing if she missed anything. Nope, just bills and junk. She went to check on her son. Standing over two year old Bobby, she smiled. With a grin of purpose, she pulled off his shoes and covered his small body with a sheet for comfort. Her moment of pleasure was attacked by thump of pain that struck her soul and twisted her gut. She left her son’s side and went to her bed, taking a seat on its end. The mind remembered. It all came rushing back, in the memory of death. She knew a Zapata, Teresa Zapata, who had a son named Gabriel. But Teresa Zapata had died, unexpected. The last time she saw Teresa was when she asked her to witness the signing of blank documents, but she never really knew why, since she moved on to a better job with another financial institution shortly after. Now she was a writer so she could be home to support her son, and her imagination was

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vivid, but the pain in her gut twisted. She wanted to do something. She did not know what to do. She could not shake the memory of Teresa Zapata’s death, so perhaps she could do something. She thought about contacting Gabriel Zapata. She thought about writing an article on him, since it sounded saleable, and she could use the money. She wanted to do something. She wanted pain of doubt and guilt removed. She laid back, closed her eyes, and thought…

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14

The concrete cell was small. No windows, no television, no radio, no books, no magazine, no escape. There was a cot with a single sheet, a toilet, a small sink with only cold water and a single low watt bulb glowing high in the ceiling - the light was always on, no matter what the hour. The room was usually lonely, but there was a visitor without choice laying on the cot. He was in his prison grays, unchanged for near a week, and his face on one side was swollen black and blue. He felt a pain he was sure was a heart attack, but it was just a bunch of cracks in his ribs that caused his body to seize in pain with the slightest motion. The dingy room was thick with the smell of urine, and was still. Time passed slowly in solitary confinement. The only thing Gabriel had to look forward to was another surprise visit from guards wearing hoods who would beat him viciously with their polished hardwood black batons. He did not hear the thumps against his body as they struck him with all of their might, he just heard one of them repeat over and over in a monotone voice “No letters.” The words haunted without notice, but he tried to clear his mind by thoughts of escape. There were second thoughts as to whether or not the idea of taking parole and running might not be his only chance of survival. The hours Gabriel spent in the walls of his concrete coffin were supposed to destroy, but Gabriel had a mind, a special mind he had let take

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him on journeys. With the eyes closed, body relaxed with arms across the chest as if prepared for exhibit, Gabriel would begin to drift. Eyelids shut, he began to look, and see what he imagined, but the sensations were real. He could taste the breeze off the ocean, feel the warmth of the sun on his face and grit of sand between his toes. The trips were never alone. He was rarely alone in his mind, often encountering beautiful women he would always remember, as well as dinner with his mother and fishing with his father and many other journeys. It was a world he traveled more as the stench of the day’s wake grew longer. They were not dreams, but his reality he maintained while not living a nightmare. Upon entering this prison of body, Gabriel had little chance to read much of interest, he was too busy figuring out how to survive. Fortunately the reading he had done before had been fantastic food for the imagination. One phrase had always stuck out in his mind, something he had taken from an obscure conversation with one of the old men who used to putter around while Gabriel gardened the man’s home: “Reality is the acceptance of limitations,” the old man reminded constantly. The words made little sense, until they came alive inside the giant cold concrete rattrap. He had his mind, and he could have his reality, whatever he allowed it to be. He never discussed or talked about what he could do, partly because he assumed everyone took those trips, and partly because it was his reality and no one else need be verbally invited. When he returned from his trips, the memory was pure and real. His mind could remember the touches, the ejaculations, the laughter, the joy. His reality was elsewhere. His body was captive, but his mind was free. He was free. Looking down on the grin of the inmate, the guard struck him violently in the arm, bringing him back to his reality. “Get the fuck up!” he shouted.

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Gabriel reacted slowly, not wanting to return to the world of his body, but the pain called quickly, so he allowed himself to return - it was easier than never returning. He opened his eyes and looked up at the over-bulked guard standing above him with a stupid grin of sadistic power pleasure. Gabriel smiled through the pain, and his mind spoke. “My world’s better than yours!” echoed inside his head, only to be spoken through a smug grin. “What the fuck you laughin’ at, boy!” the guard shouted, cracking Gabriel on the knuckles with the end of the baton. “Get up, NOW!” First he slid his legs to the floor, prolonging the agony that would reverberate through his body when he moved his torso, and the muscles pulled on the cracked ribs, but he knew he would have to make the journey - his mind was not in the mood to withstand another good beating. “Aaaaaaahhhhh!” Gabriel groaned silently, gnashing his teeth mightily to hold back the sounds. A few grunts escaped, to which he offered no shame. He managed to stand. “You stink,” said the guard, pushing Gabriel back with the baton, while he reached to pinch his nose. “Out the door! In front!” he ordered. Gabriel complied without question and began to walk, being guided without words, but with not so gentle prods to the left or right side of his back. Without ever looking up or around, he watched his feet arrive before a door he had not before entered, so he prepared himself for the onslaught of another beating when he crossed the threshold. The door clicked free. The protector of the outside free gave a final jab with all of his casual might into the center of Gabriel’s back, causing Gabriel to fall into the door. It opened under his weight, and he stumbled inside. Startled at her brother’s entrance, Mary looked toward him, then the cameras near the ceiling in opposite corners of the room. “Was it alright to help?” she asked herself, then throwing aside the fear and trepidation she ran

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to her brother’s side. Catching the friendly eyes of his sister, Gabe’s body relaxed, hoping the promise of a moments rest was true. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, and he let her carry some of his weight. She took him to the end of the bed and sat him down. He held her close. They forgot everything, and were a family again, but for the blink of an eye. “You stink,” Mary laughed through tears. Fighting the urge to put him at arms length, she pulled him tighter. “You smell wonderful,” Gabe exchanged. In the corner, behind his sister, he noticed a shower and a new set of clothes. “How ‘bout I take a shower, before they put me back in hell?” he whispered. Gabe grunted with less inhibition, and walked toward the shower. Mary let him go, and went to sit back on the bed, wanting to looking away to give him privacy, but fixated on the strange man she knew as a boy. He was twentyone now, standing a bit over six foot two with a weight of one-hundred-eightysomething, looking slim and solidly muscular, yet he moved slowly, as though motion was a great effort, and the bruises covered his body and swelled his face. Hair was thickening around his face, having not been able to shave for some time. Before Mary stood a stranger washing a putrid stench from his body, and she had no idea how to help him, and knew of no one who could help her in the secure world she had created for herself elsewhere. Finishing a shower that allowed him to think this reality was not so bad, Gabe dressed, smelling the shampoo in his hair and the soap on his body. The clothes were clean, prison issued. He smiled at the possibilities and shuffled over to his sister, trying his best to seem sprite. He felt better in spirit. “What are you doin’ here?” he whispered in a low voice.

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“I got a message that you wanted to see me right away.” “No,” Gabe whispered to himself aloud. “I can’t believe this shit,” he said in frustration, unable to surmount any passion for the battle others waged against him. “They lied, Mare. I’m happy to see you, but…” “Why? I don’t un…~ “Why did they put us in a conjugal visit room?” he asked his startled sister as he looked up at the cameras. “They’re listening, too.” “I don’t know. Listening to what?” Mary asked, looking around the room. Wanting to play out of their hand, Gabe set his questions to a personal nature. “How’s little Gabriel?” “Fine. What’ going on, Gabe?” “How ‘bout the professor, he left his wife yet?” Embarrassed, Mary looked away and answered “No.” “Does his wife know he has a one-year-old boy named after a imprisoned felon? Does she know you exist?” “No, but he’s going to take care of it. He’s paying for everything for me and little Gabe right now, so I know he means it. He’s real responsible, Gabe. He doesn’t want to leave his wife and his other kids, but he wants me too, so it’s really hard for him.” “Sounds like a tough life, Mare. I’m sure glad I don’t have his problems,” Gabe answered sarcastically, looking hard into her hopeful eyes. “How come you wouldn’t see Sush in the last couple of months?” Mary hoped to change the subject. “Tell her I’ve been seeing her regularly, in my own world,” he smiled. “What?” Mary shook her long flowing brown locks confused. “She’s too beautiful to have to come inside these walls and grace the eyes of these psychos. You too, Mare,” he added with a wink.

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“She wants to see you. She seems a little obsessed.” Gabe pulled his hand from his sister’s caress and stood. “How’s Frank? You know I have not heard from him once since I’ve been here? I can understand him not visiting, but to not even write, or send a card, or a picture or something.” “You know Frank. He…” she began to excuse. “Bullshit. The illiterate asshole’s a… a… Bullshit!” A thought clicked in Gabe’s head, rising from the subconscious. “Why did they say I wanted to see you?” “They didn’t.” “What did they ask you, anything?” Gabe asked hurriedly, coming to his sister’s side, and allowing her to place a hand on his shoulder, to touch again. “Not much, except they wanted to know if I had been sending those letter’s for you. They’re making a big stink out there, you know. And, when I told them no, they asked me if I knew who was sending them. I told them I had no idea. That was about it, why?” “How much time did they spend askin’?” “Maybe five minutes at the most. Why?” Gabe leaned forward and whispered in his sister’s ear. “I don’t want to speak so they can hear me. I want to know why they sent for you. I’m afraid they are trying to threaten me using you.” Mary quickly pulled her head back, not wanting to hear what her brother spoke. Her startled eyes asked the questions. “I don’t know what’s going on, but the letters seem to have them really pissed off. They’ve been beating the shit outta me for the last week, trying to find out who. I’m afraid they asked you to come so they could threaten me with you.”

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Pulling her head away again, stunned, Mary whispered “What?” Before Gabe could answer, and raspy female voice came over the speaker in the ceiling of the room. “You don’t want to hear that again Miss Zapata. And you sure don’t know much about modern technology, do you inmate Zapata? I’ll clear up your paranoia. You’re being paroled today.” Silence covered the room like a cloud from a toxic oil fire - no one wanted to breathe, move or speak, hoping it was all just a nightmare. Gabe dropped his head, and began shaking it slowly from left to right. Mary knew her brother did not want to be released on parole, he wanted to be free, but she could not hide her joy, as she began to rub his back. Her eyes began to tear with water of joy, and grin could not be contained. The warmth in her heart heated the cold concrete confines with a few degrees of hope. She watched as her brother slid to the floor, crossed his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. “Gabe? Gabe?” she whispered to her brother, looking to see that the chest was still rising and ebbing with the flow of oxygen to his lungs. He looked like a corpse, except that a smile seemed to magically appear on his face and burst with joy. She sat on the bed and looked over him, watching, worrying, staring, wondering, waiting. Not much more than fifteen minutes passed, but to Mary it was an anxious time that tried her patience, having to fight the desire to shake her brother back to reality. The man was somewhat of a stranger, having spent five of the last six years growing up in prison, and the last four were nearly void of meaningful contact longer than a half hour a month as the two siblings grew there separate ways. She was relieved when Gabe began to slowly open his eyes. The smile was real, but its origin was another plane. Gabe had laid on the floor in hopes of finding an answer. He did not want to leave the prison

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until he was free, but it was a battle that he was sure would be futile. As his eyes opened, the pain returned to his body, but his mind tried to wipe it clean with a grimace as he began to stand. If their artificial freedom was to be forced upon him, he would take it under his terms, accepting the consequences, but he would do most anything to make sure they would not make him go to bat, since a third strike would mean he would be in their hell of the flesh until it began to rot. Mary reached to help her brother stand, giving him a hug of flowing tears as he managed to erect again. “It’ll be good,” she promised. “It’ll be fine,” Gabe whispered. “I won’t be their slave.” He wished to continue, but the words were contained by a smile. “It’ll be good,” Mary repeated, hoping the words would make it so, afraid the reality of Gabe’s tortured past would find him somehow again locked within a prison. Her mind wondered how he would adjust, how he would get a job, how he would. Hiding in the back of her mind was a truth she feared, he would not.

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15

The drive had gone another four hours since they had stopped to eat, a meal with flavor that Gabe wolfed down, food with actual taste. The hour of the night was reaching the moons apex. Mary drove, with her son sleeping in the back seat. Gabe wanted to offer to help drive, but, at twenty-three, he did not have a driver’s license. Four hours ago they stopped to eat a late dinner. Gabe ordered enough for three people, and ate it all, taking his first opportunity in years to taste, not just eat. He was awake and alert, wanting to soak up the world he had not seen and wanted to remember, but would not take the risk of touching the steering wheel. He tried to make small talk to help her stay awake, but he did not hear much of what she was saying. He could not believe he was free, yet still felt the need to escape. Time rolled under the tires gripping the asphalt. Mary’s head was throbbing with the desire to shutdown and visit the higher consciousness, the subconscious in sleep. She drove on with the window down, blowing the summer highway dust in her face. The sign above said Indio. Another mile to go, and she would have a place to rest her head. Gabe saw the same sign, but the emotions were different. After his stint at Camp Snoopy, Gabe was sure he had to leave town to find his freedom and identity. Many of the people whose yards he gardened would tell him about places they had been, or were going. Many destinations

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out of the country, Gabe was satisfied with hearing about out of town. The money was saved, and the exit was to be made, but a detour was arranged before the trip could begin. Approaching the off-ramp, he felt his gut sink, questioning why, even for a moment, he was returning to the place where he had been twice trapped. “Stop!” his mind shouted to Mary, but the words were contained in the twisting pain of his gut. “It would be a short stop,” he promised himself, hoping it was short enough. They took the first Indio exit, but backtracked into Bermuda Dunes, a significantly more affluent and smaller community. The car arrived at a country club gate, and Mary gave the proper answers to be admitted. Gabe noticed the walls, and the guard, thinking he was exchanging one prison for another. A couple more turns and the car was parked in the driveway of Don’s new home. Gabe’s soul was heavy. He did not belong. “Come on, we’re here,” Mary whispered in the late of night. All was still, except for the rustling of the wind and the swish of an opening door. “Gabe!” Don shouted running out to see his little brother. He embraced him tightly, face beaming with joy and life. “Gabe, it’s so good you’re home.” Silence was Gabe’s virtue of the moment. This was not home, and glad to be here he was not, he could sense the dangerous possibilities. The embrace hurt his ribs. He just smiled and accepted the excitement with an honest smile. The joy of Don, Mary and little Gabe did bring him a sense of hope, peace and possibility. “We’ll talk in the morning,” big brother belted, taking Gabe’s silence as a sign of exhaustion. Mary had already taken little Gabe to one of the bedrooms, and was setting him down to sleep. Before she could return to her brother’s, Don had shown Gabe a spare room where he could rest his head. Within an hour, the

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three were asleep. Don dreamt of the worries his business brought. Mary dreamt of desires she held for her and her son. Gabe visited another world, a reality of the mind that brought him peace. As the sun cracked the horizon a few hours later, Don’s wife of two years, Jennifer, was making breakfast in the kitchen. She had met Gabriel, but only in prison, and was quite weary of his past, having only heard admonitions of his innocence from his family. She poured the pancake batter onto the grill, and was startled from thought when her husband walked into the room and shook her anxiety. “Good morning,” Don whispered with a smile, giving his wife a kiss on her blushed cheek. Nervously looking over her husband’s shoulder, she asked, “Is he up?” “Haven’t seen him.” Don went over and took a seat at the breakfast table. A couple of minutes of small talk passed, and Jennifer brought Don a giant pancake. Mary and little Gabe came in and took seats at the table. Jennifer promptly served them also. All were wondering about Gabe, making small talk over breakfast in wait. In the room that held him freely, Gabe was still lying on the floor. He found the comfort of the mattress too unfamiliar, so took his attempt of sleep on the floor. He had been awake for hours, but did not want to intrude. With his fingers intertwined under his head, he stared at the ceiling and thought, wondering if he would be able to carry out the promise he had made to himself. The voices of breakfast were starting to make the fullness of the house known, which offered Gabe permission to join. Most were finishing their second pancake, when Gabe entered the room. Don was surprised, he had been wearing the same jeans and tee-shirt outfit he

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had remembered seeing Gabe wear the last time he was not held in a room of bars and sterile concrete. Don smiled at his brother. Mary jumped up to give her little brother a hug. Little Gabe smiled, and pointed to the chair next to him. Gabe took a seat at the table. “You remember Jen,” Don smiled proudly, as his wife served his brother a fresh pancake. “Hi, Jennifer,” Gabe smiled. “Thank you,” he added, picking up the fork next to the plate to taste a usual meal, something he had hoped to escape with his freedom. But, a smile pure and free beamed from his face, as he noticed the arrangement of fresh sweet smelling flowers sitting in the middle of the table, and the windows allowing the sun in around him, sans bars. “Thank you,” he repeated. Jennifer went back to the stove, smiling and hoping, but still very untrusting of the stranger. She took her time in preparing herself a pancake, hoping to avoid a seat at the family gathering. “What are you going to do with your first day?” Mary beamed. Gabe smiled in answer. “Mini golf?!” little Gabe asked. Gabe smiled, turned to his brother and asked, “How much do I have from the estate?” Everyone was a little surprised at his first proactive words. The room was ambushed by a stunned silence, then held by a knowing dread. Jennifer quietly smiled to herself, convinced Gabriel had just confirmed something. “Well, uh…” the eldest son hesitated, placing his orange juice glass back on the table. “You see, Gabe…” “We didn’t get anything,” Mary interrupted bitterly. The silence arose again, but Gabe’s inner rage could be felt. He put a

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piece of syrup soaked pancake on his fork, and forced himself to whisper the question, “Why?” Mary’s eyes turned to Don. Gabe’s fire followed. Don began a defense. “Remember when the FBI came? Before the fire?” Don asked, pushing his hands together in a position of prayer. Gabe nodded yes, forcing himself to continue eating. “Well, they said mom embezzled from the bank, and were going after all of her assets, even the disbursed inheritance, and threatening to tie everything up in court for a long time. We would all have to use our own money to fight it, and…” “Didn’t I have a say in it?” Gabe asked, staring coldly into his plate. Don looked to Mary, who shook her head no. “You signed over your power of attorney to me when you went in, and… and I thought it would just upset you, so I did it for you. You would have had to do it anyway,” Don pronounced in his defense. “I didn’t have to do anything.” He looked his older brother in the eyes, and stated slowly in monotone, “This is a beautiful, expensive house.” He paused, surveying the surroundings. “The way I see it, you owe me. You should have consulted me first, but you didn’t. Are you going to pay?” Next to the stove, Jennifer was eating her pancake, leaning against the counter. She kept her head down, smile hidden, not wanting them to know her delight of the family spectacle. A family she saw as devoid of effort, with the exception of Don, who struggled for his victory. Opening his praying hands, Don rested his left hand on the table as he leaned forward, and began tapping the tips of his fingers nervously. “We all lost. None of us got anything,” he promised. Gabe looked into his brother’s eyes with anger. “You think mom did it?”

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he demanded. “No! As a matter of fact, I have been in contact with someone who used to work with mom who can prove that she didn’t do it, and once that is done, I will get an attorney and sue for the estate’s value, plus!” Don confessed, to Mary’s amazement. “Wonderful. You give me my share now.” “I don’t have it.” “Take it out of your own money.” “I don’t have…” Don whispered to Jennifer’s surprise and chagrin. “Whatever, Don.” Gabe looked into his brother’s soul. “Are you going to give me mom’s money?” The tapping stopped. Don looked down and shook his head no in answer. Gabe rose from the table, brought his plate and glass to the kitchen sink, where he washed them out, thanked Jennifer again, and left the room. He heard the whispering voices begin to argue behind him. *** “Just make sure he’s out of the way until after the election, then we will lock him up for good,” the grumpy old voice demanded into the telephone. “He was just let out last night. Find him now, and stick with him. NOW!” the Judge shouted, slamming down the telephone without regard to what might be answered on the other end. He smiled at the telephone in conclusion, then picked it up to place another call. He pushed the 1 on his speed dial. “Hello?” “Hello, son. Just wanted to let you know your problem is taken care of,” he pronounced proudly, leaning back in the office’s high back chair. “What problem?” Mark asked in honesty. “I don’t remember asking you to take care of any problems.”

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“You know,” he hinted in pause. “You know, the letters,” he added bluntly. “What do you mean ‘You’ve taken care of it’?” Mark asked of his father, worried. “He’s not a problem anymore.” “He wasn’t a problem before.” “You know he was a problem. His letters were dramatically hurting your poll numbers, and I hear a reporter has been snooping around.” “The papers have already done articles on Gabriel Zapata, and you know my position,” his sentence trailed in whisper. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk from you. Skip was your brother. He was a good man, not some low life gardening wetback!” he shouted. “Think about your mother, and poor Clarice. If we don’t defend the family name, we’ll all be harmed, and the memory of your brother will be unfairly tainted!” the family patriarch railed. “Dad. Dad.” Mark nervously tried to interrupt. “The letters by that damn boy, and the articles in the paper and on the news nearly cost you the primary. All that nasty hate mail I got. I turned every one of those crazy’s over to the police, making accusations like that. How dare they, damn illiterate immigrants. That boy isn’t going to ruin another one of my boys.” “Aren’t the phones at the courthouse monitored?” “Some of them, but not the judges’ lines. What’s your point?” “Nothing.” Mark hesitated in his mind at the absurdity of the question he was left no choice but to ask. “Dad, you didn’t do anything to him, did you?” “No. I’m just having a couple of detectives keep an eye on him. They

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know what a threat he is to us, with all his letters and such. He screws up again in any way, and he’s back inside, this time for life! We just have to see if he’s less of a nuisance inside or out,” he offered, matter-of-factly. Mark’s voice cracked and sputtered through the telephone. He was concerned his dad had gone a bit whacko, and was beginning to abuse his position. In retrospect, he had felt guilty about what had happened to Gabriel the first time, was horrified what his silence allowed to happen the second time, and was frightened to action about what might be in the future for a third time. “Dad, leave him alone. If something happens to him, I would feel responsible to the point where I would, without a doubt, give up campaigning in order to defend him.” “He’s a ghetto criminal! You’re not going to throw away an opportunity to get in congress over this punk,” he ordered aloud. “I hope we never have to find out what I will do to help this man. All men are deserving of justice, and I can assure you this man has not received any. Don’t you think all men deserve justice, dad? Isn’t that what you taught me?” “Yes, son,” father answered dutifully, concerned his son might do something rash and irresponsible in the folly of his youthful vision. “You just keep up the campaigning.” “No problem. You just keep yourself healthy.” “Bye,” father answered bitterly, the excitement of the perceived control dissipated by his son’s lack of enthusiasm. He slowly returned the telephone to the receiver. Staring at the receiver, Mark’s head was a quandary of questions and fears. His questions were regarding his father’s sanity, which included his ability to sit on the bench. His fears were for a man who was a stranger, but

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whose life had become inextricable from his family. He stared into the receiver in distress, until a knock on the door of his office brought him back to his reality. *** “Who was that?” the officer asked her partner, as the two began to walk out of the small brick building. “The judge, again. He said to make sure this guy doesn’t get into any trouble. He says if it looks like there might be trouble, we’re supposed to stop it before it happens.” “This isn’t right, Stone. It’s not our job to be baby-sitting a con. If he’s a threat, they shouldn’t have released him,” eight-year detective Paula Jones insisted to her partner of four years. “You know how high profile this has been, and the Chief is a big supporter of Andersen. He thinks if he plays his cards right, the department might reap some big dividends,” Detective Joe Oberstone, thirteen year veteran, reminded her of the realities of the job - it was political. “It’s not right,” she insisted, allowing him the opportunity to drive the unmarked this day. “Yeah, you’re right, but we’re doin’ it,” he laughed, sliding behind the driving wheel of the best selling touring sedan, as to blend a bit better than the unmarked boxes they forced to cruise on leaner assignments. First the subject had to be located. The two officers drove to the house of Gabriel Zapata’s brother, Frank, to remind Gabriel that he had an appointment with his parole officer. Gabriel was not there. They proceeded to the only other local family member, Don Zapata. Gabriel was not there, but they determined he had been there earlier, so they decided to go and wait at the parole office, where he was due later that day.

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“Shouldn’t we search for him?” Detective Jones pressed. “We don’t know where he is, and in a few hours he’s got to check in, so we’ll let him come to us. You hungry? I need to get something to keep me goin’ through that mid-morning,” he told her for thousandth time in their partnership, as he pulled into the mini-market service station. “No, thank you.” “That’s how you keep that sharp figure, but I need something to keep me goin’.” He slammed the car in park, while it was moving, to lock it in the parking space. He reached back to the floor behind him and pulled out his forty-four ounce coffee mug. He was off for energy. “How ‘bout a pack of gum!” Paula shouted after him.

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16

Walking down the street under the assault of the early morning sun, Gabe wondered with a tinge of guilt if his good-byes were proper. He was sure they did not see them as good-byes, since, when asked, he said he was going on a walk. The heat of the asphalt rose through his shoes, but he took no notice. He thought of the hug he gave his brother, and the words he whispered, “Always your best.” He hoped his brother would reach for it again, but Gabe saw a path of uncomfortable compromise. A smile came to Gabe’s face when he thought of Jennifer. She had offered a handshake of welcome, but he forced a hugging embrace. He did not have much to say to her, but offered the simple words “It’s a beautiful life,” with a grin beaming across his face, while he fixated on the eyes that gave no clue to what he saw around her. Her innocent bliss gave him joy of irony. He thought of his sister, and the confusion she found herself embroiled, but remembered the choices were hers, as an ounce of guilt made his heart grow weary. He trudged along under blaze of the rising sun, questioning every step he plodded. Finally, the vision of the good-bye to little Gabriel, the vision he most wished to bury, was taking its turn. He stopped walking, turned around, and looked back toward the direction he had come. He looked down the long road, as the cars raced by. He looked to the grass on his right, leading to the shrubbery and cinderblock wall that was designed to keeps the likes of him out, the wall where his brother now lived.

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He did not want to see that innocent trapped behind those walls, trapped in his mother’s wait, trapped anywhere. He wanted the boy to have everything, the road under his feet, the sun beating down on his head, the grass and trees hiding the wall, the wall, the arid fresh air. He wanted the boy to have everything, without limitation. He wanted the boy to have what he could not remember - freedom. He dropped his head, turned and continued to force his journey. The sun rose higher, the ground grew hotter, working its way through the rubber soles of the shoes and into the blistering flesh of the foot. The pain was not considered as Gabe looked down at his feet, keeping his face from the sun, concentrating on not where he was going, but where he was - he knew he would arrive at his destination. Water seeping from his pores, he marched on, ignoring the weakness of dehydration. *** “Where’s Gabe!?” Mary shouted at her brother in the middle of the airconditioned living room’s comfort. “Calm down. He said he was going on a walk,” Don answered, not looking up from the financial magazine he was reading, seated in the comfort of an engulfing leather chair. “Watch Gabriel,” Mary demanded, as she stormed out of the house to look for her lost brother. Jennifer walked into the room, sweet with perfume in the comfort of a flowing summer dress. “What was that about?” she asked her husband, picking up a copy of the newspaper and pulling out the Style section. “I don’t know,” he lied, not wanting to be bothered in the middle of an interesting article on tax shelters. “Shouldn’t you be getting to work?”

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“Yeah. I don’t think I’ll be going in today, with Gabe getting home and all.” “You really think that’s a good idea. You’ve got to take care of business, whether your brother’s here or not.” Her voice was a bit highpitched, whiny and disapproving. Don continued reading his paper, ignoring his wife, then remembering she had said something, so shook his head to view reality of the moment. “What was that?” he paused. Before Jennifer could repeat herself, he answered, “It’s just a day, everything ‘ll be fine.” “If you say so.” Putting the thin glossy magazine in his lap, Don gave his wife full attention and stated directly, “If you want to go in and run the business today, it’s fine with me, but…” Before the words could be finished, the telephone rang. Don always gave the telephone his full attention, as if he could somehow be transferred to another world in escape through the wires. He did not say much in the conversation, but his face turned a bit sullen, and he closed the magazine and placed on the glass coffee table as he listened. As the conversation neared its end, Don was trying to reassure the telephone everything was fine, and that there was just an oversight, confusion in time, or other legitimate excuse. Putting the phone down, he looked at his wife with hate, not knowing why. “What’s wrong?” Jennifer asked looking into her magazine, trying to avoid a glare she would not see but knew to fear. “Gabriel missed an appointment with his parole officer this morning. If he doesn’t get in there by this afternoon, he’s going back.” Don began to walk toward the door in the kitchen that led to the garage.

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“It’s not your responsibility, he knows…” “Shut up!” he shouted in disgust, hand gripping the door handle to the garage. “If he calls, or comes back, tell him to stay put.” He pulled the garage door open, took a step in, then a step back. “And keep an eye on the kid!” he shouted, leaving to his car to find his brother. Jennifer was put off by the whole scenario. She had not married his family, and really wished the low-lifes would disappear, but they seemed to be growing. “Perhaps if this convict brother were put away forever,” she amused herself, then thought, “The kid?” and panicked. “Gabriel! Gabriel! Gabriel, where are you!?” she shouted the best she could, still trying to keep her manners and etiquette of pedigree. *** The unmarked car sat in queue, waiting to pick up the cheeseburger, fries and shake the passenger had ordered. “If he didn’t show for his appointment this morning, we can pick him up when we see him. If he’s not at Don’s, we should go and check out his other brother’s, Frank.” Paula drove the car fourteen inches, as her partner set up a place for his food and drink on the glove compartment door. “Sound’s good to me, but they said not to pick him up, until we get the word,” Joe answered without looking from his place setting. “That name’s familiar, Frank Zapata. Do you know who he is?” she asked, driving forward another six inches. “Yeah, real muscular guy. Small time weed dealer. Nothing to write home about.” “You arrest him before?” “No, I don’t think anyone’s ever taken him in before. He’s too small.” He looked forward, anxiously awaiting their arrival at the food window.

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“Look him up on the system,” Paula asked politely, wondering how this man was still alive, fairly sure his blood ran in clumps like chunky dated milk. Detective Oberstone pulled the keyboard toward him, seeing he had a few minutes before they would arrive at the food window twelve feet away. A few taps on the keyboard and flash of the screen and he had his answers. “One arrest on possession of stolen property, but charges were dropped. That’s it.” “Where does he live?” “Over in the Ranch. For that area, he’s one of the good guys.” The path cleared, and they were suddenly within a few feet of the food window. Detective Joe Oberstone’s heart began to race in salty fast food fantasy. “If he’s a dealer, he’s a dealer. This is going to be a banner day for my career. We’ll go there now,” she said, as the car took a final lunge toward the food window. *** Walking past a construction site, Gabe saw a running hose sitting next to a mound of dirt. It was a tiny desert oasis, and he went to it, picking it up and dousing his hot head and body. He then drank to replenish the sweat that had escaped to cool the flesh. A construction worker stood patiently next to the parched man and waited. Gabe noticed the smile and handed the man the hose. “You get enough?” the man asked with a twinkle in his peaceful blue eyes. “Yes, thank you,” he answered, smiling a grin he had long forgotten. It was an honest grin of thanks to an honest man, this each could tell.

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The two nodded toward one another and Gabe continued his journey, but not more than a hundred yards away, he saw an old man sitting under an old tree. He walked over to join him. “Hi,” Gabe offered, sitting down. The man was too hot and tired to speak, but he managed a smile, and a slight nod of the head. Gabe leaned back, feeling the bark of the thick trunk scratch. He smiled, closing his eyes to feel his back against the tree, the sharp blades of grass under his hands and the dusty gentle breeze blowing against his face. Looking over to the old man, Gabe smiled at the peacefulness of his apparent slumber. “Beautiful day,” Gabe commented to the stranger, who did not respond. He reached down to his shoes, taking them off. The breeze against his pungent sweaty socks felt good. He smiled, reaching to remove his socks. The warm breeze cooled his moist feet, giving Gabe a tinge of ecstasy. Eyes darting to absorb all he had missed, Gabe watched the cars buzz up and down what used to be a two-lane side road, but was now a five lane main road. He looked over at the large apartment complex, which had a sign hanging on their cinderblock wall advertising their vacancies. He looked to the construction site he had passed, amazed at the size of the structures being erected. He looked over at the old man, whose eyes were still shut, then looked up at the branches and leaves that were giving him shade. He was quickly rested, energized, closing his eyes to enjoy the moment. “I could sit here forever,” Gabe told himself. Instinctively, the thought caused him to reach toward his feet and put his shoes and socks back on. Within a quick moment, he was up and standing, ready to go. The old man was still against the tree, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap and his hair stuck to his forehead by the days accumulation of sweat. He

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looked peaceful and still. Gabe waved to say “good-bye,” and see if the old man needed help, but he assumed he just needed the rest, so thought it would be best not to disturb him. Gabe turned away, and began again the journey under the sun, taking the smile of an old man who would never open his eyes again with him. Marching along, no thought was given to where he was or how much longer it would take. He did not think his whole world was looking for him, and was not apt to be too concerned, he was more interested in surviving the moment, and feeding the growl that ached his stomach. He continued along the side of a road, remembering where he was not, trying to forget where he was. A harsh screeching sound screamed for his attention, taking him away from the world lost in the mind. The screech came from a car. The red brake lights glowed in the distant, and smoke rose from the burning tires as the car slid dangerously sideways. Gabe closed his eyes, recognizing the car, and seeing it was headed toward a fire hydrant. The instant passed, and the expected crash did not come. He allowed one eye to open wider and saw the car reversing toward him. He was relieved, and his heart picked up a beat with the excitement. The white Corvette pulled up next to him, forcing cars to swerve dangerously. Without looking through the window, he opened the car door and slid into the passenger’s seat. Closing the door quickly to contain the cool of the air-conditioning, he looked over at the driver. Susan looked as beautiful as he had ever remembered, and she was giving him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Susan had not been allowed to see Gabe for some time, because of his request, and she had been very angry. She had written, but had received no response. She knew he was back, and was looking for him, as she promised Mary

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she would. She wanted something for herself though, and leaned forward to give him the kiss she had dreamed about. He did not resist. She tasted the sweat on his lips, the tension of inexperience and fear on his mouth, and the gentleness of his soul. She was at peace in the moment. She had found what she was seeking. Never had Gabe been with a woman, though he had some limited experience in making out with the feline creatures. Until this moment he had never felt anything beyond pleasure, now he felt strength and an eerie sense of wholeness he could not comprehend. He sat startled, stunned and waiting. “Your sister called and asked me to help find you, she said you’re late for a meeting with your parole officer, and if you don’t get there right away they are going to send you back.” She looked over her shoulder, and in her mirrors to pull into traffic. It was very important to her that she get him to a place where he would be allowed to remain free. “Don’t worry, I’m not going back,” he quietly stated. “You know where Frank lives now?” “Yeah.” “Take me there,” he whispered with a smile, looking ahead. “But if you don’t get in, they’re going to send you back. We have…” she pleaded, following his direction. “When I signed myself out, I clearly stated, on tape, and wrote on the papers that I did not want to released from that building unless I was free. Free of any restrain or encumbrance. I have no appointment, they do.” “But if…” “I’m free,” he smiled with a look of acceptance that vanquished all of Susan’s fears. The two rode along, with conversation scarce. Susan worried about what

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was going to happen next. Gabriel absorbed everything around him, feeling the bumps in the road, smelling the engine oil and combusting fuel. The world had expanded beyond the reality he had created in his mind, and was ever more surprising, pleasant and interesting. Grasping quickly at every moment, Gabriel was alive in each blink, while Susan’s mind tended to the fears of the future, knowing now would pass. *** “Here comes another one. A bit nicer this time. Can you read the plate?” asked Detective Oberstone in his bloated voice, not trying to hide the rolling belch that followed the words. Detective Jones read out the plate number. Oberstone tapped it into the computer, watching the screen for answers, and the car for opportunity. “It’s registered to Susan…” he began, but was interrupted by his partner. “That’s him! Look!” she shouted, handing the binoculars to her partner quickly. “Your right, I think it is. We did it,” he humbled himself. “Let’s go get ‘im!” she perked, brown eyes full and wide, and thick lips pulled wide in a grin that showed her dangerous smile. Slouching back into the seat, he belched again, this time before he answered with “Just wait, you’ll get to use your gun later.” “We got ‘im! We’re ridin’ this one all the way!” she shouted. “Yeah,” Oberstone answered, closing his eyes, resting his head, and folding his hands across his growing belly. “Let me know if anything happens,” he whispered in comfort. “The car’s leaving!” Oberstone opened his eyes, and forced himself to lift his rounding head.

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“Zapata in the car?” “No.” He shook his head and took his position of relaxation once again. “Let me know when something happens to Zapata.” *** The two brothers were embracing. It was just a street over from where they used to live, and the house was much like their parents’, which may have been because Frank was home all of the time and was real particular about how he wanted the house. Gabe had felt as if he had come home again. “I missed you,” Frank shouted as Gabe broke the embrace. “Then you should have come and visited.” “You know, like I said, I can’t go in them places. You’re here now and I’m here now, right?” Frank excused with his infectious smile. “Yeah, we’re here,” Gabe smiled, taking his brother in embrace again. He noticed that his brother was not much bigger than him for the first time. “You stop working out, Frank?” “You know, takin’ care of business, taking care of the women, and the house. Don’t have as much time as I used to, you know.” Frank spoke as he guided his brother to a recliner in front of the giant television set. “This looks familiar,” Gabe said in his mind, not sure why Frank would want to recreate his life so complete when he moved. If the recliner had not been a different color, he would bet it was the old one. It even seemed to squeak the same, when Gabe sat back. “Maybe he had it reupholstered after the fire,” his mind conjured, but Gabe forced himself to dismiss the possibility. “Where are your women?” Gabe asked, picking up the remote control so Frank could not unmute the television. “Yolanda is at pre-school, and Sheryce is at work,” he answered reaching

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under the chair for his ashtray. “Where’s she working?” “You know, a little here, a little there,” Frank evaded, gesturing an offering of a joynt from his ashtray to his little brother. This was the Frank Gabe now remembered, getting high, alone, watching television, and evading questions. “You look comfortable,” Gabe offered. “I’m doin’ OK,” he answered proudly, leaning back into the tattered couch. “Can’t really do much today, though. Don’t know if those cops down the street are for me or for you.” “What cops?” Gabe asked startled, looking toward the drawn curtains that could reveal the street. “They haven’t been here too long, and Mary called and said they were looking for you ‘cause you missed some parole or something. They showed up a bit after she called, so I figured they might be for you, but I ain’t takin’ no chances,” Frank answered quietly, bringing alight and a fat cigar type joynt to his lips. “Shit,” Gabe whispered, first angry they were looking for him, then angry at himself that he was where they could find him, now angry that he allowed them to occupy any moment in his thought and space. “Got anything to eat?” You hungry? Let’s call a pizza.” “Sounds good to me.” Frank picked up the telephone and had the pizza ordered in quick seconds, his munchies were a regular customer. Gabe took off his shoes, and the two sat comfortably catching up on the recent years. Gabe really did not have much to offer of interest, but neither did Frank, so the two were able to share the mundane, and the humor. Frank was glad his little brother was back, and Gabe became so comfortable he almost

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forgot why he was there. “You got that pack I left you?” Gabe asked, as soon as the memory popped into his head. “Pack?” Frank wondered, scratching his head, putting out another joynt. “The green one I saved from the fire and you had for me?” Gabe encouraged, hoping. “Nope.” Frank answered curtly. “Nope?” Gabe panicked. “What do you mean no? Where is it? I need it.” “I was robbed, it was stolen.” “Fuck!” Gabe shouted, closing his eyes in hopes a little luck would go his way. “You know what was in that?” he whined. “Nope.” “Yeah, nope,” Gabe mimicked. “It was my money. It was what I’d saved to use to get me outta this fuckin’ mouse trap desert. Shit.” “I’ll loan you some money.” Initially Gabe’s hope erupted, then he remembered. “I won’t be able to pay you back.” “Fine, then I’ll give it to you.” “You have enough to get me out of here?” “I’m doin’ OK,” Frank answered defensively. “I get paid in cash, and most of this place was paid for from what I got from mom, so…” “What you got from mom? Don said we didn’t get anything, because it was signed over to the bank.” “That’s bullshit. I know mom wouldn’t do shit like that, so I wasn’t going to sign anything. No way. Don said they were threatening to hurt his reputation - destroy his business, he said - unless we agreed to turn it all over. I told them to take my ass to court, ‘cause I wasn’t signing shit, but

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that boy panicked. The way we worked it out was that he paid me my share, and I signed him power of attorney regarding my share of the estate. Why do you think he married that skinny ass white bitch?” Gabe shrugged his shoulders, waiting for Frank to continue. “He borrowed the money from her to pay me. Guess he thought it would be cheaper to marry her than pay her back. He hasn’t said much to me since.” “Fuck,” Gabe whispered to himself. “Yeah, he said he had talked to you, but I thought he was lying.” Leaning his head back in the reclining chair, Gabe closed his eyes in hopes the anger would escape, and his mind cold take him to another place, free of the crap. Frank pressed the Mute button on the television, and the sound returned to the room. Frank tried to keep quiet, so his little brother could get some sleep. He kept the television low enough where he hoped it would not bother Gabe, but still at a level where he could hear. He turned away his daughter and wife, telling them to go and visit grandma around the corner, Sheryce’s mom. He was short with his customers on the phone. He kept things under control, watching television, getting high, and looking over at his brother with heavy eyes, making sure he was there. Frank held no delusions that Gabe was there to stay. Moments turned into minutes, which turned into commercials, which turned into hours. The sun made its descent, and headed for a respite behind the horizon. Gabe had enjoyed a quickening slumber, and Frank had enjoyed a dutiful watch. *** Detective Jones was stretched out across the front seat, trying to get comfortable, a feat no detective had managed too well after hours sitting in the softening seat of a police sedan. Detective Oberstone had fared a little

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better, snoring stretched out across the back seat. His eyes were at rest, while she kept a corner of her sight on Frank Zapata’s house at all times. The scanner was always on, as regulation required, but as was usual for a detective, the noise was banished from the mind, picked up only as background noise unless something really important jolted the words into consciousness. Detective Jones thought she heard something, though it did not sound plausible, that screamed for her full attention. She sat up and scrutinized the rebroadcast. “Stone! Stone! Wake up! Listen!” she shouted, turning up the scanner so they could both hear the rebroadcast. She was stunned, the message was as she thought. “What?” she questioned herself quietly. “Awwwwwww,” Detective Oberstone stretched. “Fuck, whatdidya have to wake me up for? Listen to what?” he asked wearily, in an angry grumpy version of his deep passionless voice. She turned the speaker down. “It does not make any sense. You know the bank that was hit a couple of hours ago? Right before you began snoring like a pig?” she asked bitterly. “Yeah, why?” he asked, stepping out of the car to take his place in the front seat. “They just put out an APB for Zapata. Armed and dangerous,” she answered, forehead wrinkled. “Our Zapata?” “Our Gabriel Zapata, released yesterday.” “Then who the fuck ‘ave we been watching?” he asked, scratching his belly, preparing to tuck his shirt back in. “I’m sure we’ve been watching him. He hasn’t gone anywhere. He couldn’t have done it.” She shook her head in confusion, hoping an answer would rise to

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the surface. “Maybe he got in and out without us knowing?” She looked at her slovenly partner and wanted to reach out with her gun and pull the trigger. “He didn’t get out,” she stated firmly into his state of oblivion. “Then he’s in there. Let’s go get him.” Detective Jones paused, wondering why everything about the day and Gabriel Zapata had been so unusual. A quick thought flashed through her mind said he was being set up, but the possibility was not allowed. She grabbed the memory of what she had been told. Though it was by those above her, including her partner, who she did not always trust, it was easier for her to accept Gabriel as evil than the alternative. The only problem was that she had heard rumors about Judge Andersen, and she had read Gabriel Zapata’s letter. “He’s a criminal,” she told herself, then nodded an agreement to her partner. *** “No! No! No!” Mary screamed, throwing the telephone on the floor. Her son came running in the room, followed shortly by a desperate Don, then Jennifer. Immediately her son began to cry, seeing the fright on his mother’s face. Don grabbed his sister in a hug to calm her, then whispered, “What’s wrong?” He feared the worst, that his brother had been killed, or had committed suicide. “It, it, it was a reporter,” she wept. “The police are looking for Gabe. They say he robbed a bank.” Mary would now only speak through her tears. Jennifer’s face turned anemically pale. “He’s coming back, and we’re going to get hurt,” her fears screamed. ***

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Frank saw his sleeping brother’s picture on the television screen, and turned the sound up very loud quickly, so his brother could hear.

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17

The sleek figure ran, trying to find the darkness other men feared. Stuffed into his front pocket was the wad of cash his brother had given him before he made his break. Frank had also tried to give him a gun, but that was not a tool Gabe would take. He hoped for the darkness he knew was approaching quickly, but for now he took what he could find. He was not sure where he was heading, but he knew the direction - out of town, away from all of the small communities that made up the desert. He had made the break after his brother spotted two cops get out of an unmarked car. They were an odd couple, an attractive, muscular black woman and a waddling, aging gringo. Their over-clothed, suited attire in the unmarked car did not help in hiding their identification. Frank was to detain them as long as possible. Gabe did not look back to see who was behind him, or if the chase had truly begun, for he knew his future was in front of him, and looking back only served the ambition of the chasers. Gabe hopped a fence, cutting through backyards. A dog was not seen. Without thinking about where he was, he managed to scurry into the backyard of the house where he grew up. Standing in the corner of the yard, he stared at the abandoned lot. The trees, grass and plants had not been watered, and were now only hollow husks. The weeds were wandering out of control, and were almost high enough to mask the few remaining charred studs that reached

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desperately from the ground. When he blinked he saw it all differently, but this memory would be with him too, the memory of a place that only lived in his mind, left scorched in death to all who could not see through his eyes. *** “Judge Andersen.” “Dad! What the hell’s going on?” Mark shouted at his father through the telephone. The old judge started to laugh in his contemptuous, evil voice. Someone in the background joined in the laughter. “Nothing,” he lied with a laugh and a smile. “Zapata. What did you do with Zapata?” Mark pleaded, trying to maintain control over his emotions. He knew his father wanted to win an election more than he did, and any cost was considered a bargain, but Mark had not buried his spirit in the dark recesses of his mind, only to haunt him when he sleeps or drinks like his father had, but he saw the direction he was headed. He saw him becoming his father, in innocence. A line had been crossed, a line that, if crossed with his father, there would be no turning back. The pain of responsibility of something he sensed was so wrong shook in his body violently. He had to escape. “Zapata, Dad?” Mark whispered, his father’s laughter squeezing his heart. “Sure was lucky, son. Him going out and getting into trouble like this the first day out. He won’t be botherin’ your campaign again.” “Yeah, but wha… wait a second, I’ve got another call.” Mark put his father on hold, and answered “Hello.” “Hi!” Mark smiled at the joy coming over the line through his mother’s

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voice. “Hi,” he whispered, empty, holding onto the façade of a small smile. “I’ve got dad on the other line. I think he set up Gabriel Zapata.” “Again?” she cracked. “Yeah. He just got out of prison yesterday, and supposedly he robbed a bank. Only problem is, Susan was with him when he was supposed to be robbing the bank.” “How do you know that? Are you seeing that young girl again?” a mother asked with concern. “No, mom. We’re friends. Just friends,” Mark daydreamed for a brief moment. “You’ve got to do something. You’ve got to stop your father, he’s an evil man. You’ve got to do something,” the mother ordered. “Like you did? The stuff I know is bad enough, and the stuff I’m pretty sure about is horrible. What you must know must bring nightmares.” “You’re right, I should have done something,” she acknowledged, then paused. “You must do something,” she emphasized. “I’ve got to go, he’s on hold,” Mark answered, ungrateful for the responsibility left to him. “I’ll be in town next week, I…” “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” He cut his mother off, and took his father off hold. “Dad?” “Back now? Who was that?” he asked cheerfully. “Mom.” “Bitch,” Judge Andersen whispered. “You did it, didn’t you dad?” “Did what?”

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“Set up Zapata?” “Now, don’t be thinking like that. We don’t have to worry about him anymore. You’ve got the election free and clear.” “He was not at the bank. I know this to be a fact.” Judge Andersen chuckled at his son. “You only know what it’s best for you to know. And, sometimes what you know is not what you know. So, I don’t think you know much about that one-man crime spree. Did you know he car-jacked a seventy-six year old woman?” “What?” “Yeah. Did you know he held up Denny’s? I think he’s probably done more, if we look hard enough.” The chuckle began again. “You’re lying,” Mark stated, raising his voice slightly, as he lifted his head from its rest on his hand. “Listen. Gertrude Zapata is going to turn your ass into a god damn hero. People were thinking this guy was some poor victim, and know you are the victim of this madman. The sympathy vote alone will put you in office,” the Judge whispered possessively into the telephone. “Mom was right. You need to be stopped.” “Yeah? Well someone’s going to have to kill me if they’re going to stop us, and if someone does, from my grave I’ll make sure everyone knows Gladass Zapata did it, and you’ll be a hero.” The laughter returned, louder and fuller. “You’ve lost it, dad,” Mark answered in full voice, now sitting fully erect. Mark hung up the telephone, looked around the room at the campaign posters and bumper stickers and signs and any other paraphernalia they could conjure, and laughed a simple sigh. The laugh was for himself, at himself. He

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smiled in despair, and stood to leave the building. *** “He’s not here. Lets go,” Detective Oberstone told his partner, as he headed for the door. He was not supposed to find Gabriel Zapata, but his partner made him give the house a thorough search. Detective Jones watched with disgust, as her partner wobbled out the door, pulling his pants above his belly. She looked into the grinning bloodshot eyes of Frank Zapata, glanced back to make sure her partner was out of earshot, and whispered to him, “I know your brother was here today. If you don’t tell me where he is and that he’s been here we’re going to take him in, and you’ll likely be an accessory.” Frank smiled at his captor. He lifted his cuffed wrists, and asked “Do I get to keep the jewelry?” “Fine,” she answered, shrugging her head as she unlocked his handcuffs. She looked him in the eyes and warned him, “You had a chance to help him, now gone for good, and you might be joining him.” She stepped back toward the door to make her safe exit. “Another damn idiot,” she grumbled, looking into Frank’s smiling eyes. The only thing Frank knew to do was to keep the detectives with him as long as possible. Every moment gave Gabe three more steps to safety, but they were leaving now, and he did not know how to stop them. “Check under the sofa,” he shouted instinctively. His heart began to pound, and his smile ran to hide. He had said what he knew he had to say, but now he was going to have to pay the price. Detective Jones wrinkled her face. She knew Gabriel was not under the sofa, but she was going to check it anyway, noting how the challenging expression she had observed had changed. “Stone! Get in here,” she shouted.

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Detective Oberstone lumbered in, tugging on his pants. “Watch him, while I check under the sofa,” she requested, pointing to Frank with a steady finger. Oberstone shook his head, he did not care what was going on inside, so against all rules of protecting your partner, he shook his head and exited the house again. Jones was blind to the man standing across the room, as she was reaching under the sofa. The thought of kicking her did enter Frank’s mind, as well as the thought of fucking her - she reminded Frank of his wife when she was in shape. Frank stood still, and flashed her a smile when she turned back to him, holding an astray and baggy in her hands, and noticing her partner had left her vulnerable. She was enraged, threw the drugs and paraphernalia on the ground and stomped out the door. She stomped up to her partner, jabbed a sharp fingernail into his skin as she tapped his chest and threatened him in a controlled voice right below a scream. “You ever leave me blind like that again, and I’m gonna cut off your little dick!” Oberstone placed his hand at the top of his chest to protect the body from the sharp jabbing finger. “You were fine,” he bellowed, and walked away. “Asshole,” she shouted, then headed back toward the car, as her partner was heading. Oberstone held up a finger in response. Frank stood in the door and watched. He did not know where Gabe was, but could see the sky darkening, and hoped. He assumed the police show was over, so his heart began to beat normal again, and he stopped sweating profusely. He closed the front door, picked up his drugs and paraphernalia and put the drugs down the garbage disposal, then washed the ashtray and other items in the dishwasher. He had already buried his inventory in the backyard, and now he could not even use, at least until he was sure they would not be back. He went back to his reclining chair, took a seat and turned the television off. “How

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fuckin’ stupid am I?” he asked himself, trying to understand why he had just tried to turn himself in to give his brother a few extra minutes. *** “Let’s just cruise around the area for a while, see what we find,” the gruff voice grunted. Detective Oberstone had used his superiority to force his turn at the wheel. Detective Jones sat in silent protest, looking out the dusty windows into the growing darkness, looking for what she knew was out there. The unmarked obvious police car wandered up and down the streets of a neighborhood that did not invite it aimlessly. They were use to the gauntlet stares, and looked through them as they always had. Oberstone wanted to bash a couple of heads in, but instead reached for hunger. They turned right, near a vacant lot, quiet and aimless. “Bong, clink, crash.” The noise startled the two officers. Oberstone locked up the brakes and stopped the car only a few feet from where the broken bottle that had been thrown against their car had landed and shattered. Detective Jones found her hand instantly on her gun handle, as she lowered her head to safety. “What was that,” she shouted, heart beating in fright. “A bottle!” Oberstone shouted, stepping out of the running police car. Jones slowly lifted her head and looked around, spotting a group of teens gathered around a car. Leaving her hand comfortably on her gun, she cautiously stepped out and worked her way toward the group. Oberstone was already there, inflamed. “Who did it!? Which one of you pricks am I taking in today, or will it be all of you!?” He had his hands on his rolling hips, holding back his blazer to expose his gun. No one there cared. Jones came up a step behind him,

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staying a bit behind as backup. “Someone better start talkin’, NOW!” “Maaaan, wha’ chou wan’ with us? We din’t do chit,” answered the tall one, causing his group to chuckle, snicker and sneer - their favorite expressions. “Don’t give me that shit,” Oberstone shouted, poking the tall one in the chest as challenge. “Wha’ chou doin’?” the tall one whined, beer in hand. He pulled his arms back, looked down at his chest, and asked Oberstone, “I gotta talk button on my chest, maaan?” The whole group started busting up, even Detective Jones could not refrain from a self indulgent snicker. “You got any ID? You don’t look old enough to be drinkin’! I want to see ID from all of you.” “Supreme Court says we don’ ‘ave to,” the full figured young girl laying on the hood teased. Oberstone became infuriated. “Then tell them ‘No,’ I want to see ID now, or were all going in!” Oberstone’s face turned redder with every shout. Jones was watching the young group closely, catching every nuance. One of them seemed to be looking elsewhere, but every time she glanced back there was nothing. “Any of you seen Gabriel Zapata?” Oberstone asked, hoping to turn the situation into something positive. He knew they had to know Gabriel Zapata, being one of them. “Zapata. I know that dude, he was set up by you dudes and is doin’ hard time,” the fat one in the back who had been glancing in the distant answered. “No, maaaan. He’s the guy who was on the TV today, doin’ the crime spree an’ shit,” the short one leaning against the far side of the car corrected. “You guys, shut the fuck up,” the supreme court expert with the long

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black hair shouted from her perch on the hood. “He’s the guy who threw the bottle at you,” she snickered. Detective Jones was surprised by the young girls comments. She knew he might be in the area, but he was not going to call attention to himself. She stared at the women, trying to see her eyes or expression, to know if she was telling the truth. In that moment of focusing on the tale teller, she lost concentration on the whole group, and did not notice the fat guy nod his head at something behind the officers. “Screeeeeeeeeeeeech!” The sound came screaming from behind the officers. Jones pulled her gun as she spun around, Oberstone reached for his, but could not be as quick with his sludge pumping heart. The two froze as they watched their car almost crash into another as it turned the corner, then they noticed the laughter and cackle jeering behind them. Oberstone turned and pointed his gun at the group, bring the silence he so desperately commanded. “You laugh again, I shoot you. Who the fuck stole our car?” he demanded, pointing his gun in the tall ones face, who just shrugged in answer. “Stone,” Jones called, then motioned her head toward the fat one at the back of the car. “Who did it?” Oberstone demanded, pointing his gun at the large target. “I don’ know chit,” he whined, wrinkling his round face. He and Oberstone looked like they frequented the same eateries, and could be taken for brothers from a shapely distance. “He’s lyin’,” Jones whispered. Oberstone took a step toward the fat one, intimidating the youth into wanting to speak, but the boy feared more the repercussion of the group. “It was that guy, Zapata, from the TV,” a voice ventured from the hood. “Yeah, maaan. She said it, it was that guy you were lookin’ for, he took

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your car, maaaan,” the fat man squealed with a playful smile. Jones did not believe the teens, but she could see Oberstone had heard an answer he could bite into. She knew this was not the time or place to question Oberstone, and the possibility that it was Zapata did exist. She did not trust the girl, though. The girl on the hood was smart, too smart for Oberstone, but Jones came from these streets, and had been the girl on the hood. *** Gabriel was doing his best to stay out of sight. He had escaped the confines of his small neighborhood, and was sitting at the bus stop of a busy intersection. The intersection was familiar. He sat shivering with a chill of fear as he looked across the intersection and saw the cold concrete building where he had finished out his youth. It reminded him of where he was headed, of where he would not return. Cars quickly stopped and started, not noticing the darting eyes of defense sitting on the bench at the bus stop. The sheriff’s station was not 300 yards away, yet not even the officers noted the slim figure as they returned to clock out. The cars were unnoticed, as the shrubbery growing over the bench’s trellis, designed to block the desert sun, blocked the oncoming traffic lights. The headlights pointed to their destination, and Gabe stared ahead to his, one half mile ahead was a fence, a fence he was sure would bring safety, but the half mile was a dead zone, no place to hide. To the left of his travel would be the road, then camp snoopy. To the right was vacant field, bordered far to the right by a ten foot high cinderblock fence designed to keep the “wanna-haves” from the “have-nots.” Gabriel focused on his destination. ***

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“You go back and get us another car. I’m gonna find that piece o’ shit,” Detective Oberstone ordered, marching off and ignoring Detective Jones’ warnings they not be separated. He was focusing only on the hunger he used to mask his emotions. Ahead in the distance was the police station. To the left were the remnants of a gasping town trying to find a purpose. Detective Oberstone went to his right, not assuming that Gabriel Zapata was heading toward something, but sure he knew what to turn his back on. His heavy feet plodded as he marched toward quiet homes of the hiding. His small eyes darted to the left and right, expecting, hoping, to see a figure in the bushes. His stubby fingers continued to reach for the gun under his shoulder. He had to touch it every few seconds or all security was lost. Without notice, his eyes were drawn to the intersection ahead where he heard the terrored screech of a car skidding out of control to avoid hitting a pedestrian. It was in instinct and bond of nature that Detective Oberstone’s heart stopped in fear that the pedestrian would be hit. His face contorted, and he hoped simply in a moment’s prayer that the innocent be avoided. With the car screeching to a stop, missing the figure cut in shadows of the headlight, the face imagined, and his mind could conjure. “Was that Zapata?” he asked himself, reaching up under the drenched sweaty armpit of his stained polyblend shirt to touch the plastic handle of his courage. The heart began to pound, and the girth began to lumber. Sweat was raining, as Gabriel shook his hand trying to throw off the sting of the metal hood he just pounded in terror. It was his fault he did not care, he was angry. “No time,” he warned himself and continued his dash for freedom. Within steps, Gabriel was racing through the vacant land of dried

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tumbleweed, bordered by a busy street and the cinderblock wall of another neighborhood that tried to hide from itself. His eyes darted from left to right. He kept his center of gravity low, ready to hit the dirt without thought. The quarter mile dash ahead was clear, only one more road to cross and a fence to jump, and what foretold of his future he did not know, but for this moment it was the only path alive. Oberstone had seen the figure enter the field. He had told himself this was the man, the suspect - he did not have to question why he was chasing when instinct took over, it was his job. He lumbered across the street, making sure not to draw his gun from his sweat drenched holster until he was out of the headlights of the traffic he was interrupting, as causing commotion and drawing attention served no purpose in his heroics. He crouched low in the field, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the bare land. He saw a slim figure move, hopping from the cover of one small bush to another. Detective Oberstone gently pulled back on the trigger, reassuring himself the grasp was firm and ready to fire. Making his way through the dying tumbleweed, Oberstone slipped in the unevenness of the soft sand, and caught his polyester threads on the grabbing weeds. His mind cursed in anger as his head beaded with sweat. He pulled his choking tie open slightly as he rested, telling himself he had to find the suspect again. He saw a bush move, and forced his motion forward, hoping the rubbing of his thighs would not give him away. His heart was racing, maybe backup was no longer such a bid idea, but the chance to be a hero again, that was the call. He neared his destination, suspect no longer in sight. He heard the breaking of dry weeds behind him, and swung around in time to see a dried up piece of junk wood about to slam him in the face. The gun went off as he fell back to the ground.

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“You fuckin’ asshole!” Gabriel Zapata screamed in the dazed man’s face. He tried to pull the gun out of the clenched fat fingers, but Oberstone was not out enough to let go. Gabe bent over and picked up the clenching hand. He pressed the gun against the side of Oberstone’s head and bite a chunk out of the pudgy hand. The gun was freed and Oberstone was back in reality. “Aaaaaaaah!” Oberstone screamed as the blood poured. Gabe tucked the gun into his pocket and looked at the recoiled body lying before him. “So this is how it feels to take another man’s life? You’d think after being sent away by you guys twice for murder I’d have an idea, but I guess I gotta learn someday.” He reached down and slapped the face present. “You hear me! Open your eyes, fat boy! You hear me?” Who was before him made no difference. There were those who gave orders, and Gabe had always understood their pathetic quest for power, it was those who carried out their deeds without thought or question, the cogs in the wheel that angered Gabe, for if they did not exist injustice would have to stare him in the face directly. This wasted flesh represented what Gabe had nurtured to hate, and his mind began to fill with all of the horrible memories of all the years locked in a cage. The moon caught the eye by reflecting off a bottle next to Gabe, who accepted the bottles purpose for the moment. He smiled as he remembered in pain, grabbed the back of Oberstone’s pants and rolled him on his stomach with little struggle. The power of adrenaline rush made Gabe feel more alive than he could ever remember. He rammed his knee in the middle of the Detective’s back. “Uhg,” the detective gasped before surrendering completely. “Now you are going to know,” Gabe promised, rolling the bottle in one hand while working to pull down Oberstone’s pants with a rush of dominance and

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anger. “You’ll know now,” he shouted, ignoring the low shrill whine lying on the ground. “Now you’ll know prison sex,” Gabe whispered, having succeeded in baring the pale pink flesh. He kicked the detective’s ankles apart, and stood over the not so fearless cop. “You’ll know now,” he said to himself, voice barely perceptible over the wind. He looked at the bottle, and rolled it in his hand. His body clenched tightly as he remembered. “Fuck!” he shouted, and kicked the man in the balls, throwing the bottle as far as he could. Oberstone started working his body toward the fetal position, writhing in pain and fear, his heroism having vanished into Gabe’s pocket. He managed the courage to look out of the corner of his eye at the man he knew nothing about, except that he had a touch of compassion, or a weakness in spirit. The frightened eyes were not new to Gabe. He could feel what they were saying, but he could also feel their earlier intent. “What were you gonna do to me, shithead? Huh?” He slapped him, wishing he wasn’t there. “I can’t believe this shit. I guess you guys knew me better than I knew myself. I always thought it was you guys, that I was a good guy. I tried, but you are right. I guess I am a killer, ‘cause I got you here and we both know it’s either you or me.” Oberstone made a slight movement, rolling to his back. Gabe panicked, jumped on his chest and dug his fingers through the flesh of the neck to hold tightly the throat. He started to crush it in his hand. Oberstone’s fat face began to glow, and the eyes began to push out of his head with the veins growing a blazing red. Gabe could see he was going to kill the man, but he did not know how to stop, he feared too much for his own life, his own freedom. He was not going back, and he knew there was not justice. There was no choice, he knew the fear in those eyes, and he would not become what they had tried to make him, no matter how much he had hoped. He let go of the stranger.

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Standing next to the partly undressed mound of flesh, Gabe smiled a sadness and walked away, toward his destination. He was not hiding, but standing tall with his head down, afraid of who he was becoming. He wondered if he did the right thing. He heard the desperate gasps of air and knew he had. He looked back as he heard Oberstone try to stand, then stumble to the ground. He picked up his pace of escape. Dirt in his mouth, he would try to stand again, but it was more than his weight, his fear or his exhaustion that held him down. It was a pain he felt in his chest, a pain that masked the pain of a board to the head and the throat being pulled from the body. It was a pain that went away when he tried not to breathe. Without notice, all that went through his mind was that it had all been a mistake, and there would be no redemption. The pain stopped, as did the breath, the heart. A skip across the sparsely traveled five-lane road brought Gabriel to the perimeter of his destination. He had been eyeing the best place to go over, around or through the decaying, dried out wood fence, avoiding looking back, but ears attune to the screech or rumble of familiar authorities. He wanted off the road, but no easy route existed. The twelve-foot Oleander was dense, spread wide and tall with its spindly branches. Gabriel jumped in, penetrating the jabbing barbs of the branches as he forced his was to the fence. He heard a siren. Looking only ahead, he jumped the fence. Dogs started barking, but there did not appear to be any in the backyard he was haunting. He stayed close to the fence as he worked his was to the street, prepared to jump over the fence into the neighbors yard on attack, but the windows he watched did not brighten. “They’re gone?” he wondered, not trusting any good luck, but hoping. He made it to the entrance gate of their backyard, and jumped the fence, knowing he

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would not be able to pick the lock on the fence. He stood tall and walked to the street. Someone noticed, but no one cared. He walked up the street toward Sush’s house, seeing little, but hearing the barking and wailing of the dogs, and the sirens. Then he noticed he was walking in the middle of the street, standing tall, like he belonged. The headlights from the other end of the street were racing toward him, and her home was still three lots away. He dropped his head, considered running but instead touched the handle of the gun. He was afraid of what he would do if it were a cop. He was most afraid he would do nothing. A gasp of breath roared life back into Gabriel’s body when he recognized the car screeching beside him. “Get in the car, you idiot!” Suzy screamed in panic. He was over the hood, sitting low in the passenger’s seat before she had the chance to bark another word. “What are you doing here? There are cops everywhere looking for you. The even said to look for you on the radio and TV. What did you do? Why are they looking for you?” The questions came fast, as she drove fast. She knew a back way out of the dying gated community, and was making an escape. “Look at the bars over all the windows. And steel screen doors,” he pointed in surprise. “I was looking for you.” “This place has gone to shit. They rent the time-shares out now to families as subsidized housing, who have been robbing this place blind. I wish my parents would sell.” “What radio station?” “What?” she asked stunned, looking at Gabe’s pointing bony finger. “You know, what station were they looking for me on.” She shook her head from side to side, turned up the volume and concentrated on her driving. The back gate was only a couple of hundred feet

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away Across the hood in the distance, Gabriel thought he saw some figures moving in the night. He thought he made out the figure of a police car under the light of the stars. “Over there,” he whispered, slipping further down his seat. Glancing quickly to the left, to make sure it was what she thought, she tried to escape without drawing attention. “It’s a bunch of homeless. Ever since this place went into bankruptcy they started camping out in the area. They try to keep them away, but there are so many of them, and each day it must be getting worse out here, because there are more. Since the cops can’t seem to get rid of them, they hang around and harass them. Checking IDs, looking for drugs, taking someone off every once in a while who gives them shit and beat the hell out of them. They will not notice us, they’re too busy playing.” “They don’t look like pickers.” “You’ve been gone a long time,” Sush chuckled to herself. “There are more people in the desert now than ever before, but they only come in two extremes, the haves, and the have-nots. And the have-nots are starting to get real pissed ‘cause all the hotels, and restaurants and places are cutting back on what they pay.” “That’s bullshit,” Gabe whispered in understanding, with a picture of his mother visiting from nowhere. The mind flushed with memories. He could see her smiling face, then he envisioned the early mornings when she would dutifully get up to go across the desert to work. He thought of her death, not her peaceful passing but the tainted memory installed by those who accused her of theft. Seeing the vagrants and hearing the story of their struggle incited him to rage against the invisible hands that lived behind walls of a secret

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world. With nowhere to vent, he looked within, and saw death. “What’s wrong,” she whispered to break the silence of the radio chatter. “It’s that family,” Gabe told himself, seeing an apparition of knowledge. “It’s that fuckin’ family!” he shouted aloud bolting upright in his seat. He pulled the gun from his pocket, darting his eyes to find his prey. “Where are you going?” he shouted, noticing the time lost in thought had taken him down a new path. “What are you doing with that gun? Where’d you get that gun?” she pleaded in fear. “Some fat cop,” he answered quickly, then turned to her and asked in a deliberate slow voice, “Where are we going?” “I’m taking you out of town, where you’d be safe,” she answered a bit intimidated. “You hurt, er, uh, I mean, you robbed a cop.” “He’s alright, big fat ass passed out in that vacant field next to Oasis Street, you know.” Gabe answered, but he was not paying close attention. “You’ve got to take me the other way. I’ve got to find that guy’s dad.” “Who?” “You know, the guy I was supposed to have killed last, ‘cause he needed his drugs. I get it. This vision of my mom just made it clear. His wife even visited me in prison. It’s this old fuck Judge’s fault, and he is gonna be responsible for his actions.” His hand began to find a comfortable grip on the gun. She pulled over to the side of the road. Found a pen and a piece of scratch paper in her purse and wrote down an address. She handed it to Gabriel, and stepped out of the car. “What’s this.” “The old man’s address. I’ll wait here for you,” she smiled, stepping

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away backwards. “He’ll kill you. I’ve always loved you,” she mouthed with her full sad lips, and walked away. “Where are you going!?” “They put a sculpture park over there while you were gone. I’ll wait. Please come back for me,” she shouted in hope, then turned to run. Gabe moved to take the steering wheel, though driving was not his strong point, there was a will that would get him to the posh address on the scratch paper. As he drove the car forward a couple hundred feet to turn around, he saw the entrance sign for the sculpture park, in the middle of speculator land and grower’s fields. “Land for the sculptures, but forbid a man with no steady income from using what is vacant? I don’t understand these rules,” he pondered. His heart sank, as he turned to head toward a rendezvous with death. He could not remember the last time he prayed, but this time he hoped the prayer would be answered. “Please, God, let me get there to kill this man, then you can have me. Take me, but please let me get there.” He crossed his chest, opened his eyes and finished, “Amen.”

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18

The laugh was sinister, full of the evil found in the bile of the bitter. Its joy of destruction froze Gabriel at the door. “That is him,” he told himself, closing his eyes for a moment to gather the calm of the storm. To control himself was to control his freedom. He put his hand on the cold of the polished brass knob, rub the forefinger of his other hand up and down gently against the grooved steel of the trigger. This was the only escape he could fathom. “You lied! You fuckin’ lied! You fuckin’ asshole!” found its way through the slick hardwood door to Gabriel’s ears. He relaxed his grip around the slippery knob. “Get out of here before I call the police! I’m not telling you again!” was ordered. “Trespassing, obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting a fugitive, threatening a government official, conspiracy, the list goes on,” was laughed in taunting joy of promise. “I’ll get you. I will get…” Gabriel was sure he recognized the voice. He rammed open the door and burst into the room, gun held high, ready to fire in panic and purpose. He held the gun at the startled decaying man’s head, and scanned the room. He did not notice the large leather sofa, the District Judge of the Year award, the shower room, the almost dry wet bar, the cranberry red carpet, the

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smell of cologne used to hide the scent of the decay, the picture of the living son, nor the absence of the dead son’s image. He did not notice the tiny tape recorder and cameras hiding throughout the room, as they always are, but those no one was supposed to notice. He noticed little in the room, except a gentle glow of the woman across the room he was not sure he knew, but had always loved. “What are you doing here?” he whispered to his sister Mary in a gentle voice, not wanting to wake from the dream. The smile on Mary’s face was the warmest vision of a God Gabe had long countered. It was as if he was her miracle, and it was what she had just been praying for. “He told me he would let you out if I would sleep with him.” Gabriel cringed his eyes in question, and sorrow, feeling something was more wrong than he could ever fix. “I came to Jim to plead that he not try to keep you in longer, that he help get you out, and he told me he would. He lied!” she screamed, pointing her finger. “Let’s go, Gabriel. The man is evil! You should kill him, but he’s not worth it. We’d better go.” Gabriel caught little after comprehending the sex and lie, the use of his sister. This man was Satan, and whatever Mary was saying right now did not matter. The man had to die for his family to be free. Gritting his teeth, and bearing down on the sight of the gun, Gabriel aimed to fire. In his sight, beyond the tip of the gun, was a laughing man. Gabriel closed his eyes, his hands felt like they were holding lead balls, and his soul cried in pain. He thought of his mother, his father, his friends. He closed his eyes, and lowered the gun, knowing he would have to open his eyes to the chuckle of the evil clown, and look at its empty gaze, red and aglow with the stains of his

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poison, his legal poison. He realized he could never murder. “Shoot me, you idiot. This would make my boy the easy winner. He would get the sympathy vote; the tough on crime vote; the huge victim vote; the fearful vote; the racist vote; the anti-gun vote; he would get all the votes he would need, all the votes he needs, and all because of your sorry little ass. Come on boy, you can do it. Them little cameras in the wall will, make great commercials, and I don’t think your kind can shoot well enough to kill me, fuckin’ coward. Come on, boy,” he laughed. “So you can rape a cop and fuck him up the ass before you strangle him to death, but you can’t shoot little ol’ me? How ‘bout if I told you what a great fuck your little sister was?” he laughed in taunt. Gabriel looked upward and away, then toward his tortured, desperate sister, but not willing to look her wilting spirit in the eyes. “I am a coward,” he told himself, and turned his empty soul toward the door, hoping that someday his hollow shell would gain some substance. Killing this man was the only way he saw freedom, and now he had to leave the cackling despot behind. The door swung open, catching Gabriel on the side of the head, bringing back to the moment with a burst of pain. Mary looked to see who it was, and noticed the shimmer of a gun. Mark picked it up and walked over to his father. He shoved it in his father’s face, and trembled a sweat of terror, the old man no longer laughed. The memories flooded, and who he was came to his tremble. “You used this girl? You used his sister after what you did to him. You ruined his life and set him up to do it again because your son was a junkie loser and you wanted to save face! You fucked up this guy’s life? It was your son! You made him who he was, not these guys!” Mark shouted in anger. “And you made me take part in

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it, but I knew my brother, I knew the truth as well as you!” “He killed a cop tonight. You know Detective Oberstone, from Indio? He raped and killed Oberstone.” “I don’t believe a fuckin’ word you say. Mom told me about you all these years, and I always thought it was her, but it wasn’t, it was your sick, controlling, fucking, psycho shit. I don’t want to be a congressman. I didn’t want to be any of this shit, and I don’t want to be your son.” “Now, son, you…” the sentence was interrupted by two quick, instantaneous thundering bangs. Near the door, Mary and Gabriel stood in shock as they watched a boy and his father splattered in blood. They were not seen, as if they were not there. They slipped out the door. Mark moved around the room like a ghost, sure of what he did, and not wanting to be seen. “Christian, Christian, Christian, “ Mary said to herself as she ran down the hall. “I’ve got to call Christian.” Gabe shook his head and tried to drag her out the door by her flailing arm. Gabe tried to take her, but she had to make her call. “Hurry,” he shouted, “I’ll be waiting in the car.” *** A stranger seeing the young man sitting on the hood of a fancy sports car with hunched shoulders and a lifeless face would have assumed that the image was an icon of freedom - without a care in the world. They would have only been right because he no longer cared, which was the only freedom he had available. A look of panic struck Mary’s face when she ran into the parking lot and Gabe had not prepared for a speedy getaway. She feared the worse, seeing his still slumped body, but also enraged that he did not have his exit prepared.

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This was no longer just saving little brother’s lazy ass, but her big life as well. “Gabe!” she screamed in a whispering voice. It was another world Gabe’s mind had to return from, and everything was still moving in slow-motion. He heard the terrored shout in whisper, but cared not. He looked around at the green of the manicured trees, felt the heat of the warm hood, smelled the oil permeating the parking ground, the fuel of a wandering old car’s exhaust as it passed slowly in and out of view. He wished he could be in that beat up old car, and have had the lives they were leading with their own desperation. He grasped the keys tightly, squeezing until his hands began to bleed, noticing only that he had not had a chance to get keys of his own, and where he had been they were not necessary. Gabe did not want to go, but as his soul seeped from him slowly with the blood dripping into the keys. He knew his only path to freedom was to let go, to let go of everything, including the desire to take another. Each moment stole from Mary’s future, and she was in no way going to allow herself to get railroaded as her brother had. “We’re going,” she whispered in his face, snatching the keys from his hand and ripping at his ear. Gabe followed the tear of his flesh. It was on instinct, and the thoughts were as if it were not him. He noticed that he was observing himself. There was pain, he could feel it, but there was no hurt. It did not affect him, but it did get him to the passenger seat of the car, as was his sister’s goal. He sat wondering where the person’s body he was carrying was going next, as he knew from experience that he had no control. Safely on the road to an alibi, Mary turned to her brother and screamed, “What are you doing!? They’re going to throw you away again. Do you want to go back!?”

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It was a mighty lift for Gabe to get his slender shoulders to shrug for his sister. “Open your eyes! What is wrong with you? Where is Sush, she’ll hide you.” The eyelids were like the rest of the body, not worth lifting. “Some sculpture farm, field, ranch shit behind Indio somewhere,” he managed in whisper, wondering why he was in the car. “Don’t go loco on me. You’re acting weird, like when I picked you up. Are you on something? Have you started usin’?” A smirk came across his barren face, surprising both of them. He took a deep breath, and began. “When I was locked up this last time, a lot of shit happened.” Mary turned down the radio, afraid to ask her brother to raise his voice above a sighful whisper in fear that an answer would not come. She forced herself to watch the road, and waited while her brother kept his eyes closed and remembered. “A lot of shit,” he told himself in exorcise. “I’ve never done it, and I get in there and they held me down and fucking just… just rammed it fuckin’ in. The pain. My asshole throbs just thinking about it, and they did it again, and again, and again. The more I fought it, the more it hurt, and the worse it got. Then, when I stopped fighting and closed my eyes I escaped. I was free, my spirit left my body and my mind was clear. It was peaceful, ‘cause all this shit was going on, and it was like it wasn’t happening to me. But even that freedom was taken from me when they fucked me so hard it ripped my ass. Fuck, it burned like someone had just jammed me with a hot poker. I wanted to set myself free again, but I could not let go of the fuckin’ rage. I couldn’t let go of the rage.” Gabe’s voice trailed in fade, “I was nothing but the rage.”

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The car managed to continue toward its destination while the driver stared through her tear-swelled eyes, seeing nothing. She maneuvered from habit, waiting for his next words. She was glad his eyes were closed. A chuckle burped, “I was the rage. I managed to get one of my arms free and get ahold of the throat of one of the guys holding me down. I wrapped my hand around his throat like I was grabbing a baseball bat to beat them back.” Gabe’s voice rose slightly. “They stopped and began trying to get my hand from his throat. It had made them stop beating me, so I had the grip of a thousand of those fuckers and started to rip his throat out of his fuckin’ head. They couldn’t pull away my grip. My eyes were closed, ‘cause I did not want to watch what was coming next. There were blows to the head, punches to the ribs. I was even kicked in the nuts, but every bit of pain made me stronger, and I clenched so fuckin’ hard I was almost able to touch my fingers around his throat. I felt the life fall out of him.” He opened his eyes. “I felt all of his energy come into me,” he pronounced and closed his eyes again. “It was scary, ‘cause the rush of power that came into me from killing him was his power, and it enabled me to grab another. Then they all started to scatter, shouting ‘He’s dead! He’s dead! That crazy fuck just killed him!’ But I felt myself getting stronger as I drove my free fist into the face of the other guy I got ahold of. My eyes were still closed, and with every crunching crash of bone against bone I felt him grow weaker, and I grew stronger.” Gabe opened his eyes and turned to his sister, confessing, “I had never felt so strong and alive in my whole life.” He paused. “Then, then I opened my eyes.” The rain poured from Mary’s eyes. She did not know this stranger. “I saw his face,” he whispered, folding his hands in his lap in prayer, and closing his empty brown eyes. “I saw a man bloody, and I saw blood on my hand. I saw him gasping for his last breath, and saw my hand around his

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throat. I saw a dead man lying on the floor next to me, and I knew those were my purple finger marks left on his dead neck. I saw I had become them, and wanted to close my eyes, but I knew that if I didn’t get out of there then they would keep me in that place forever.” Gabriel managed a laugh, the added “it was the first time I had ever really had anything to do with murder, and I wasn’t even questioned. Life is a big fuckin’ joke.” “I, I’m…” Mary tried to speak through her tears, but was cut off, as Gabe closed his eyes to continue. “They left me alone after that, everyone left me alone. They all started calling me Psychrone,” Gabe smiled. “But after all of that I realized my body was just an anchor, like Don had told me a long time ago, but it was not books that could take me away it was my own mind. And then, I would close my eyes and let everything go, I mean everything, and I’d be fuckin’ free. And now I get out, and I see that was the freest I will ever be, and the freest anyone can be, and that the anchor is here to be abused by those that don’t want to be free, and that I don’t belong.” “Don’t belong?” she whimpered in anguish. “My life on this planet is one tragedy after another. First dad, then mom, which I kinda understand. But Jose and the Judge’s kid, and mom being called an embezzler, and me being an ex-con, and… and it sucked… and I’ve never been laid.” A laugh was a gift to Mary, who took the chance of drying her face with the back of her gentle hand. “And you know they are gonna charge me with this shit, and what’s that he said about me killing and raping Oberstone? He was alive when I left him, and I know I did not rape him - my eyes were open.” “Did… I mean, was…” Mary was angry, shocked, and confused. None of what

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he had just told her seemed real, but neither had what she had just witnessed. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, and gave the accelerator a bit more gas. She was again thinking of how to take care of her brother, and it was worse than she ever imagined. “There is a tape of what went on, both a video and sound, separate.” It was a nice, naive punchline, so Gabe laughed. “Do you have the tape?” he asked, leaning forward to see her face. “No, that’s why I called Christian. He works there as a security guard. He’ll get the tapes.” “You think so?” “Yeah, he wants to go out with me,” she smiled. “I see you have been able to separate your mind from your body too,” Gabe whispered with a critical sneer. “All women do,” she snapped back. The two were quiet for a few minutes, looking down the long barren desert road. The only light was a gift of the moon, and the shimmer of the stars above, and the headlights pointing to destination. Mary knew they were almost to the sculpture park. “You’ll haveta hide while I take care of this, you know.” “I won’t,” he whispered, closing his eyes for a long moment, but still not able to blink away the night. “You have to! I have to make sure to get the tape, then I’ll make sure he clears it up.” “He is his father’s son. He will do what he has to, and that means you, me and anyone else who needs to will carry their garbage. You sit around and fight it, but I will not, can not, anymore.” “You can’t turn yourself in?!”

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“I won’t. I’m gonna find a place where no one knows who I am and no one cares where I came from. I am going to find a place as close to the moon and as far from the city lights as possible, and I am going to lay down and stare at the stars” Mary stopped the car at the sculpture park and quickly turned off her headlights. “You have to fight!” “No I don’t, it’s their battle. I was a reluctant recruit, and they will always be looking to recruit me back, and I won’t go. I’m leaving, and I will find peace, even if it means death.” “This is crazy talk.” “See you, Mary,” he whispered as he leaned over and gave his sister a hug. “I love you.” They held the embrace, and their eyes began to glisten with tears again. Mary wanted to order him to stay and fight, but she could not summon the command. He pulled apart, smiling at her soft brown skin, full head of dancing curly dark hair and the hard brown eyes that always seemed to be in pain, but he blinked and remembered her as a child, the brown eyes turned into pools of promise and hope, and he left the car with the memory he wanted. Gabe walked toward the moon, across the field of steel balls welded to giant steel crescents, and colorful odd shapes welded together in hysteria. The art was not noticed as he walked toward the mountain under the moon, a path that took him to something he understood. Before him in his trek were three giant steel beams shooting violently from the ground in various angles, and each beam had several steel cables attached to them, all in support of a giant boulder suspended above the ground, only feet above where it would naturally lie. He smiled, climbed on top of the dusty rock and lay in its cradle under the stars.

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A gentle breeze blew across the land to cool his sweating body. The birds were chirping in the trees nearby, and occasionally the trees spoke with the rustle of the wind. The stars glimmered in hope, and the moon smiled a moment’s peace. He thought of nothing, and was finally free. As the birds sung, he felt the pain in his hand, and lifted it above his face. Under the smiling moon his blood looked black, and it was his, and it hurt. He was free and alive, and when he closed his eyes he did not want to go anywhere, just listen to where he was. He listened, and the grass spoke, “Someone is here.” “Hey, Sush,” he smiled without looking her way. Calling her Sush made him feel like a kid again. “Where have you been? I thought you would have split with my sister?” Realizing she might mistake his questions as a dismissal, he quickly continued. “Isn’t the night beautiful? I never got to see this behind those walls. What are you doing for the next couple of years?” He looked over and her grin reflecting in the smiling moon was an answer. He smiled. “There’s room up here, if you are interested.” She said nothing, just climbed up on the rock to see what he was seeing. She saw nothing, but she felt him, his warmth, and heard the gentleness of his breath as he closed his eyes and listened. She felt his wet hand take hers, and he felt his bloodied hand heal from the gentle touch of her long slim fingers. He was free, and wanted nothing more. She was true, and would give nothing less. The past he could not fathom. The future held too many possibilities to consider. He could feel now, the moment, and savor the nectar he could squeeze from its joy. Sush leaned over and kissed him on his eyelids with her full wet lips. She smiled in return of his glowing grin, then kissed him voraciously on the lips.

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THANK YOU NOTICE Thank you for taking the time to read my work. Please, tell your friends, neighbors, and strangers, and send them to my website where they can obtain a copy to read: www.eagraham.com Please continue to read, especially my work. You can join the ewrites mailing list at www.eagraham.com, and receive notification when new material becomes available. And, to make it easier to suggest writing to friends and strangers, the pages on the website contain a simple form to send someone who reads. Again, thank you. E. A. Graham P.S. Only have a few minutes? Read some of the caricatures on the site.