SOMETIMES THINGS JUST HAPPEN

 By Jesse L. Aaron

She put the tacky novel down in her lap, sighed, and looked out the plane window.  This hadn’t made sense when she’d booked the flights.  It hadn’t made sense when she’d got on the plane.  It made even less sense the more she thought about it.

Leaning back in the seat with her eyes closed, she let her thoughts go back over the last twenty years.  One unfinished college education.  One unwanted child aborted.  One unwanted husband divorced.  Nothing to get excited about, but she had a great job and three weeks paid vacation, taken all at once this year.  Why?  To go home.  Why?  Answer unknown.  She’d left home twenty years ago because the weather was miserable, the people were miserable, the job market was miserable; and she’d had no intention of returning – ever.

Something, however, had moved her in early March to call a travel agency and book a flight to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, leaving May 1 and returning May 20.  Next she’d called home and told her mother when she was coming.  On Monday, before clocking in, she entered her boss’s office and asked for those three weeks off.  He’d said it would be difficult without her, but they’d get by if she felt she needed the time.  She’d said she did and thanked him.  Throughout March and April she continued to wonder why she’d done such a ridiculous, impulsive thing.  She was utterly practical.  So . . . why this trip?  Why back to BFE, Pennsylvania?  Why not the Bahamas?  She had the money and the time.  She had an extra savings account with “Bahamas” written on its file folder, properly filed in her file cabinet in her home den.  Nothing special was happening at home.  Her mother kept in touch,  a couple of phone calls a month and letters.

As she lay there considering these things, still unsure of a motive, she drifted into a restless sleep broken when the stewardess touched her shoulder and requested that she buckle up.  They were on approach to O’Hare International, Chicago, where she’d have to suffer through a three and one half hour layover with Hare Krishnas soliciting and crowds of weary, irritable travelers with wearier and more irritable kids.

On the connecting flight into Pittsburgh, she lay back again and tried not to think about the whole situation.  Growing up in that small town with relatives not worth knowing and friends not worth having was just too painful to mull over.  She’d spent her first eighteen years in that town with those people, dealing with the backstabbing and jealousy day in and day out.  Everyone thought they knew your business and had plenty to say about it.  Leaving the state to go to college had been the first totally right thing she’d done.  Not going back had been the second.  She still had no explanation for making that phone call to the travel agency.  It was as if she’d had no control over it.

The two nicest people in the world (who had no business still living in the hole in the wall) met her at the end of the tunnel from the plane – her parents.  She’d spent years trying to figure out how they had stayed so wonderful amidst all the crap that went on in their two families and that town, but somehow they’d managed to rise above it all year after tiring year.  The only conclusion she could draw was that they had each other, and that seemed to be all they needed.  They had discussed retiring to Phoenix or Tucson or Las Vegas someday, but someday hadn’t arrived yet and probably wouldn’t for another five or six years.  Mom and Dad were just barely into their sixties, and Dad had a lot of good years left to keep working, which he planned on doing.  She, like her father, was a work-aholic and couldn’t blame him for wanting to stay busy as long as possible.

They exchanged hugs and kisses, got her luggage, and began the two-hour drive to “home”.  The drive was quiet but not uncomfortable.  The miles and years between them hadn’t eroded the relationship.  Barbara and her parents had always been close, forced into it by the predominant nature of the town.  Since they spoke to each other so often by phone, there was no catching up to do.  The three of them knew what was going on in each other’s lives constantly, and lines of communication had always been open and three-way.  However, about three miles before the interstate exit to home, her mother asked, “I hate to bring this up, but why have you come home?  We never expected you to, and we understand your feelings.  You were miserable here.  Honey, what’s up?”

“Mom, I’ve been trying to figure it out since I called you in March.  I have absolutely no idea.  Something, I don’t know what, made me call and book the flights.  That’s all the explanation I’ve got.  How about we just enjoy ourselves, and maybe something will happen to fill in the details.  Stranger things have happened.”

She knew her mother and father would understand that comment.  All their lives had been full of odd coincidences and decisions that seemed to come out of nowhere.  They had all learned a long time ago to trust their instincts.  That was how her father had acquired his part-time business that was more lucrative than his regular job.  That had been how she’d chosen a college and her job that gave her a more than comfortable living while college graduates couldn’t find work.  That had been how her parents had chosen the home they still lived in and loved even though they’d had no idea how they were going to keep up with the payments when they’d bought it years ago.  Sometimes things just happen.

The first few days were uneventful – shopping in the old familiar places and some new ones, eating out and becoming reacquainted with old streets.  On the fourth day she went to the neighborhood grocery store to pick up a few things for that night’s dinner.  She’d requested that her mother take it easy and let her cook.  Daddy was a meat and potatoes man, but she’d spent enough time in the southwest to learn quite a bit about Mexican cooking and wanted to make some specialties which required food items never found in Mom’s kitchen.  She found the store easily, but some of the necessary ingredients were hidden well in a store that catered to a community completely devoid of Hispanic people.  She pulled her cart up to the checkout counter and emptied it onto the belt.  Without looking up she moved up alongside the cashier and pulled her wallet from her purse.  When the cashier voiced the total, Barb’s head snapped up.  She was standing two feet away from one of her closest friends from high school.

“That’s $25.78, ma’ame,” she repeated.  Barbara handed Debbie a twenty and a ten and said nothing.

“Eighty, ninety, twenty-six and four makes thirty.”  Debbie counted.

“Thanks.” Barbara murmured.  She stood and watched as Debbie bagged the tortillas, chilies, corn meal, salsa and the rest. 

Debbie still showed no sign of recognition and handed the bags to her.  “Good bye and have a nice afternoon.”

“Yeah.”  She walked out into the muggy afternoon – not hot, but uncomfortable compared to the climate she’d chosen.  She was aware that people changed over the years – she certainly had.  Maturity had been good to her.  As a girl she’d been pretty.  As a woman she was stunning, some called her striking.  But not even a spark, not a second look, a maybe-I-know-her flash – NOTHING.

She got back in the ’56 T-bird (one of Daddy’s toys) and checked her map for the location of the errand she was running for him – an auto parts store.  After a couple of wrong turns and some backtracking she found it.  It was in an area of town that was undergoing redevelopment when she’d left.  Tear down the old and build up the new – the American way – let’s confuse everyone.  She parked and went inside, carrying her list close to her heart.  She knew nothing about cars and was completely reliant on the part names and numbers her father had given her.  The counter was full of people so she wandered up and down a couple of aisles, poked at a few things; and, as she was about to take her place in line, a deep voice behind her asked, “May I help you find something?”

She turned around and looked square into the eyes of . . . do you remember how your heart tries to jump out of your chest every time you see someone special when the relationship is young?  Your hands get clammy, and your throat constricts?  That’s what happened.  The boy (man, now) she’d last dated seriously in high school stood staring at her.  Neither one spoke – both were regaining composure.  He cleared his throat and said breathlessly, “Barb!”  She opened her mouth, but he gave her no time to speak.  “Where’ve you been?  It’s been twenty years.  I can’t believe you’re here.  Are you free for lunch?  Just a minute, I’ll be right back.”

His words fell out one on top of the other, and he was gone.  Barb still hadn’t uttered a sound and still couldn’t.  A minute later he was taking her by the arm and leading her out the door, letting her into his car and driving away.

“Am I allowed to ask were we’re going?”  she managed to summon up the where-with-all to say.

“Lunch.”

She settled into the bucket seat of his old Barracuda (was this the same car he’d had in high school?).  They said nothing for the six or seven block drive to the “downtown” greasy spoon – not to be confused with the east-, west-, south-, or north-side greasy spoons.  He parked the car and led her into the joint and to a booth in a back corner.  He slid in beside her, pushing her against the wall – she had expected to sit alone.  As she opened her mouth to begin small talk, the waitress popped up at the end of the table.

“Same as always, Andy?” the waitress virtually panted in his face.

“No thanks, I’m not very hungry.  Just a large Coke, Laura.  Barb?”

Barb looked up into another familiar face as she said, “Coke, too, please.”

“OK, ma’ame.”

“Laura, for hell’s sake.  This is Barbara Jordan.”  He turned slowly to look at Barb.  “It is still Jordan?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes, it is.  Hi, Laura – it’s been a long time.  How’re you doing?” Barb said, with no enthusiasm in her voice.

Laura was standing with her mouth open, staring at Barb as if all the skin had just fallen off her face.

“Well, Laura, lost the power of speech?” Andy asked cynically.

Laura had hated Barb openly throughout all of junior and senior high.  Barb was too pretty, too smart and too talented in too many areas.  Laura was the homecoming queen/head cheerleader type – all looks, no brain, no sense.  Barb hadn’t known ‘til just this moment that Andy had known how Laura’d felt (how most of the town had felt) about Barb. 

“I’m sorry,” she stuttered, “I didn’t recognize you.  You’ve changed.”  The cattiness in her voice was unhidden.  She hated Barb more.  Barb had changed for the better.  Not so for Laura.  Twenty or so (heavy on the “or so”) pounds, gray hair showing through the bad bleach job, a few dozen wrinkles in the paper-dry skin – haggard and frayed more than at the edges.  “I’m not bad, Barb, how are you?”

“Doing great, thanks.”  Barb figured that ought to end the conversation.  She wasn’t willing to get into any details of her life with anyone like Laura.  Barb was sure Laura was still ringleader of gossip-central.  It was bad enough she’d shown up here on Andy’s arm.  If he were married (which she was sure he was since there wasn’t much else to do in Nowhere, PA), this little incident was bound to cause a flurry.

It worked.  Laura turned without a word and went to get the Cokes.  Andy slid his arm along the top of the booth, rested his hand on her shoulder (surprising her a little) and turned in the booth to see her face more clearly.  “Barb,” his voice husky and barely audible, “it’s really great to see you.  Laura’s right.  You have changed.  I’ll bet she can’t stand it.  You look wonderful – feel real good too.”  He was caressing her right shoulder.  “I learned something since you left.  I should have told you then how I felt.  It might not have changed things, but I wouldn’t have spent all this time wishing you knew.  It’s probably stupid to bring it up, but I’ve got nothing to lose that hasn’t been gone for most of my life.”

Laura showed up in the nick of time, plunked the glasses down on the table and waited to see if anything was being said that she could profitably repeat.  Andy didn’t move.  He just stared into those big, brown eyes he’d missed since he was eighteen.  Barb, shocked by what Andy’d just said, ignored Laura’s presence and stared back, waiting for Andy to continue.

Andy was waiting too – for Laura to leave.  “Are you going to leave us alone?  I don’t intend to hand you your newest piece of tripe.  You’ll have to work to get it.”  He didn’t turn away from Barb’s beautiful face.  Laura spun on one heel and went back behind the counter, wishing there were a microphone at that table.

“Barb, I’ve loved you since I met you.”

All of a sudden she was back in high school.  “Why, then, did you stop calling me?  It was right before that Christmas dance.  I already had a dress – my mom was pissed.  Or did you think I wouldn’t remember?”

“The dance had nothing to do with it.  I was getting more involved than I knew how to handle.  All my friends were nagging me about spending all my time with you.  I knew you were going away to school.  My father couldn’t afford to send me to college here, let alone somewhere where I’d need to pay room and board.  Barb, I could see August coming, you going, me staying, and my heart breaking.  I know it was stupid, but my decision was to stay away from you to avoid the inevitable pain.  I’m sorry.”

Barb looked down at her hands.  “You should have said something.  It’s not worth much now, but you broke my heart.”

“You cared that much?  I never knew.  You were kind of shy.”

“Andy, I loved you too.  Still do I guess.  Want to feel my clammy hands?  They’ve been that way since I saw your face in Simon’s.  Which reminds me, I need your help finding some parts for my dad’s car.”

“You love me?” Andy said more to himself than to her.

“I said `I guess’.  Look, this is ridiculous.  We haven’t seen each other in twenty years.  Neither of us is the person we were.  Why don’t we try to do this the right way and get reacquainted.  I’m making Mexican food for dinner tonight.  Why don’t you join us.  We can find something to do after, even if it’s just to go for a ride.  I remember that you made rides pretty romantic – one kiss for a stop sign, two for a red light.  Oh God!  I’m sorry.  I wasn’t thinking.  You’re probably married, and I’m making an ass of myself.”

“No you’re not, and no I’m not.  Do you think I could find someone to replace you?  I tried – over and over again.  No one ever measured up.  I’d love to come for dinner.  Laura’s right again.  You really have changed.  Not shy anymore.”

“Had to outgrow that to survive.  Life’s tough enough without letting your own shortcomings trip you up.  I’m not the little girl who left this dump behind to find better things.”

Glancing at this watch, “Look, I’ve got to get back to the store.  What time’s dinner?”

“Seven would work for us.”

“OK.  Your parents still live at the same place?”  She nodded.  “Let’s go.”  He dropped four ones on the table.  As they walked past the front counter he looked over at Laura who was glaring at them.  “Make sure you tell your little friends about this.” And he wrapped both arms around Barb’s waist and kissed her hard.  “Don’t leave out any of the details.  Oh, and make up anything – keep it juicy.  I don’t plan on letting Barb out of my sight for as long as she’s in town.  You have my permission to spark as much of a panic as you’d like.”  And he waved goodbye.

Barb was laughing, hanging on to Andy’s arm to stay standing.  Something in her had wanted to lash out at Laura and her ditsy friends for years – Andy had just taken care of the craving.

Andy had been, and apparently still was, the best-looking guy in town.  Even though there wasn’t much competition there, he could have won contests across the country.  Without conscious thought, Barb had compared every man she’d dated to him.  Since he’d never married, the local ladies had been giving him a rough time for years.  Most had given up, discussing his probable homosexuality behind his back.  What other explanation could there possible be for this major hunk not choosing a mate from among them?  What Barb didn’t know was that he’d become The Most Eligible Bachelor about seven years before her visit.  He’d collected old cars, classics, from people who didn’t know their value.  While working at Simon’s and getting parts at cost, he’d reconditioned them and resold them at 3000% or more profit and plopped all the proceeds in savings accounts and CD’s.  Seven years ago he’d bought Simon’s from the original, retiring owner and had since opened twenty-four more Simon’s all over western Pennsylvania and eastern Ohio.  Thus, he was also one of the wealthiest men in the state.

That evening promptly at seven, he knocked on the front door.  Dinner began at 7:34.  The conversation leaned toward cars almost immediately.  Ray, Barb’s father, also reconditioned classic and antique cars – the part-time business that had kept Ray and Louise on easy street for most of their adult lives.  This was how Ray had paid for Barb’s college almost-education.  This was how he planned to retire in the southwest sun in another five or six years with no financial worries.  Ray and Andy compared notes of year, make and model of nearly all the most popular autos of the last forty years.  Louise and Barb listened at first, but finally tuned them out and discussed the decline in the real estate market.  At nine, Barb interrupted the car talk, currently centering on the shortcomings of certain models’ transmissions, to ask Andy if he still wanted to go out.

“You ready?” he asked, putting his glass down on the table.

“You bet.”

Barb kissed Mom and Dad goodbye, said she might be pretty late.  They went outside.  He opened the door of a 1992 silver Jaguar.  Barb stopped and looked from him to the car and back.  “This doesn’t look like a piece of junk classic you’re restoring.”

“No, this is my car.  Do you think I want to park it at Simon’s and have doors banged into it all day?”

“I suppose not.”  She was feeling a little lightheaded.

Andy was from a blue-collar family that lived in a tract home in a pretty lousy section of town.  His mother had died of cancer when he was in junior high; and his father, not able to get over losing her, had made a career out of scotch and water.  Andy had already mentioned not going to college.  This vehicle didn’t seem sensible to her, but she’d learned to keep her opinions to herself and not to dig into other people’s business.  She let it go, figuring if he had anything to say about it he would do it of his own volition.

They started the drive to Youngstown uncomfortably.  After a few miles Andy said, “You’re wondering how I can afford this, aren’t you?”

“Frankly, yes.  Seems a little ostentatious for a car parts clerk.”

“I’m not a clerk.”  He stated quietly.  He hadn’t taken any offense.  He didn’t think she would have known the truth.  He wasn’t sure what to say next.  He’d spent most of the day trying to decide how to get Barb to marry him, but he didn’t want to play any trump cards, as most men would have done, and mention his financial situation.  He hadn’t even thought about explaining the car.  It was habit.  Go to work in one of the cars he was working on.  Drive the Jag for pleasure.  He knew she expected he’d carried on the town tradition of staying broke, but he found he couldn’t lie to her.  “Barb, I own Simon’s, and Simon’s has a few other locations, too.  I’m doing pretty well.  Sorry I didn’t warn you.  I feel kind of funny.  Like I’m bragging.  I don’t mean to.”

“That’s OK.”  She calculated this new information along with what he’d told her that afternoon and added it to what she’d known when she was eighteen.  Love + Devotion + Personality + Looks + Money = something she wasn’t sure she wanted to consider.  He seemed to be weighing how much he told her at one time, and she wasn’t sure why.  He’d had no trouble throwing down the Love card.  He must have become cynical over the years too and calculating – they had more in common.

“Barb, are you angry?”

“No, just thinking.”  She hesitated, then, “Seems like you’re being overly careful about what you tell me.”

“I am.  I told you I’ve always loved you.  Maybe I should have taken more time to tell you, but I’m thirty-eight and a little scared.  You won’t be here very long – two weeks?”

“Three.”

“See.  I don’t want to carry this out five years through the mail and on the phone just to find out I’ve wasted five more years.  OK.  What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what this is leading up to.”

He bit his lip, looked at her out of the corner of his eye and said, “That depends on a couple of things.”

Barb had always been intuitive.  This occasion was no exception.  “I don’t think so.  I think you have a very clear picture of what you’re after.  I think you always do.  Let’s just say you could have exactly what you want.  What would that be?”

“Alright.  You asked for it.  I want you to marry me.  I want us to be together forever, and I want you to be happy with that arrangement.”

“There now.  That wasn’t so hard, but something’s bothering me.  Do you think your income has a bearing on my decision?”

“I sure do.  I watched my parents argue about money.  I watched my mother die, and she might not have if we’d had more money.  I watched my father commit a long, slow suicide because he couldn’t save my mother.  I know money in and of itself doesn’t make people happy, but it can stop suffering.  I had nothing to offer you twenty years ago.  Now I have a big house, the ability to get you almost anything and take you wherever you want to go.  Our future together would be secure.  I didn’t buy Simon’s to buy you.  I had nothing else to do, no one to do it with, and the opportunity arose when I had the assets to take advantage of it.  Actually, I didn’t want you to know at this point.  It was accidental.  I really wanted to know how you felt about me, just me.  Do you understand?”

“I guess so.”  She hesitated, not sure she wanted to ask the next obvious question.  “So . . . what do you propose?  Poor choice of words.  What do you think we should do next?”

“It would be stupid to run off and get married just to find that we can’t stand each other later.  We’re both pulling on cobwebbed memories.  I guess I could ask you to stay here longer than you’d planned – a couple of months maybe – and spend as much time together as possible to see if this might work.  Would you have a job to go back to if things didn’t go well, and you decided to go back to New Mexico?”

“I don’t know.  In all honesty, you’re rushing this.  Keep in mind that all these years you’ve known how you felt – I haven’t.  When you dropped yourself out of my life, I thought is was over, as in , for good.  I haven’t been miserable because I didn’t have you.  You’ve had loads more time – twenty years of it – to think over the possibilities.  Come to think of it, you could have tried to get in touch with me.  You knew where my parents lived and could have asked them for my phone number.”

“Barb, honey, I’ve driven past that house a million times but could never find the guts to go knock on the door.  I was pretty sure you hated me.  I didn’t break off our relationship very gracefully.  When you looked at me this afternoon after you recognized me, your face lit up, your eyes gleamed, and you smiled at me.  Then I knew I should have tried to find you.  Your reaction to me was the only thing that let me know that it was OK to tell you I still love you.”  He reached over and took her hand, squeezed it a little and pulled her toward him.  He pulled the car off the road and stopped, put it in park and turned to face her.  “I love you.  Will you give us a chance to have a life together?” and he leaned over to kiss her.  She put both arms around his neck and pressed her lips firmly on his.  They stayed in that loving embrace for many minutes.

Barb still felt pressured and thought maybe it was because she’d been on her own so long that having anyone involved in making a decision besides herself was frightening.  While Andy was simply enjoying being close to her, she was trying to make a decision that would change her life forever.

“Andy,” she pulled away and looked at him, noticed the tears on his cheeks but didn’t acknowledge their presence, “I need more time.”

“Honey, I didn’t expect you to answer me now.  After all, I’ve waited this long.  All I want you to do is think about it – that’s the best I could expect.”  He repositioned himself behind the wheel and took a deep breath, staring ahead for a few moments and trying to get his mind and glands back to normal.  He wasn’t used to the exhilaration he’d felt when holding her.  “Do you still want to go dancing?  I feel like I ruined your evening.”  Andy was and sounded dejected.  “I’m sorry.  I should have kept this all to myself.”

Barb sighed, “No, it’s OK.  I’d rather you were honest.  It’s a point in your favor, no matter how disturbing that honesty is.  Let’s go dancing.  We’ll have a nice evening.”

They did.  Barb nearly forgot about the episode at the side of the road – until they were driving back.  “Andy, we’ll talk about our futures more.  What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I need to go to the store in the morning.  I should be done by noon.”

“Is the Old Mill still there?”  He answered in the affirmative.  “What would you say to a picnic and a hike?”

“You’re on. Shall I pick you up?”

She smiled.  “Please.”

“I’ll call when I leave the store.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence.  When they pulled in the driveway, Andy reached over and took her hand.  “I do love you, Barb.”  She squeezed his hand, smiled and relaxed.

When she woke late the next morning, rain was pouring.  It was 45 degrees outside.  She dragged herself to the kitchen, not being used to late hours and poured a mugful of coffee.  Louise walked in from the den, “Andy called and asked if you’d call him back.”  The look on her face told Barb that she was curious. 

“OK, Mom.  I now know why I had to come home.”

“I thought you might.”  She and her mother had always been tuned in to the same channel.

“Andy asked me to move back here.  He wants us to pick up our relationship where it left off.”

Her mother snorted softly.  “Just like that.  Is he nuts?”

“Not really, but I guess I’ll need to think this through.  I can’t deny that my feelings for him haven’t changed.”

“Honey, you know the job market stinks here.  You can, of course, stay with us; but you won’t be happy sitting around.”

“According to Andy, I can if I want to.  Do you know what he does for a living?”

“Something with car parts.”

“`Something’ equals owning Simon’s.”

“Excuse me?”

“He owns Simon’s – all of them.”

“You’re kidding . . . you’re not.  Then he’s doing well.  I read in the paper not long ago that it’s in the top fifteen businesses in the state – the only one still owned by an individual who also lives here in state.  From that angle I guess you could sit and watch soaps for the rest of your life, although it doesn’t sound very fulfilling.  What else have you considered?”

“He’s honest.”

“That’s good.”

“Sensitive and understanding.”

“Good and good.”

“Maybe I’d better call him.  We made plans for a picnic at Old Mill today, and it doesn’t look like that will work.”

Louise touched Barb’s arm as she walked past her to get to the phone, “Why did you change the subject, dear?”

“I might talk myself into marrying him if I keep this up.”  Her mother watched her pick up the phone.  She wasn’t sure whether to feel happy or sad.  She didn’t like the fact that her daughter lived alone or that she might spend the rest of her life alone, but she didn’t want her to make any hasty decisions either.  There was a friend of hers who might have a job Barb would enjoy.  “You remember Ruth, don’t you?”  Barb nodded.  “She’s got a small business as a liaison between importers and retailers.  Do you want me to call her and see if she could use an assistant?”

“Thanks, yes.  If she does, make an appointment for me to see her on Monday.  I love you, Mom.  Thanks again.”

Barb and Andy decided on a picnic in his living room.  Barb showered, took some Tylenol, put on jeans and a sweatshirt.  She went to the kitchen and kissed her mother goodbye and gave her a big hug.  She wasn’t used to anyone doing favors for her.  “I’m going to go wait in the living room for Andy.”

“Goodbye, dear.”  Louise could tell that Barb needed  to be alone, so she had already decided to get herself ready for her interesting afternoon of doing bookkeeping for her husband.  How delightful.  “I take it you’ll be home late?”

“Probably.”  She went to the living room, looked out the window and sat down in Dad’s favorite chair to wait.  Dad didn’t know it, but it was her favorite chair too.  It smelled like him.  It reminded her of being a little girl and jumping up on his lap after her bath to watch TV with him.  Their favorite shows were about cowboys – Cheyenne, The Rifleman, Sugarfoot.  Handsome cowboys to fantasize about when you’re in kindergarten were wonderful things.  She thought back to childhood and how good she’d felt on those evenings with her head leaning against his strong shoulder and his arms wrapped around her.  She usually fell asleep there.  Things had been so simple.

She heard the car pull into the driveway and sat up to see out the window.  It was Andy.  Her heart doubled in size in her chest as she jumped out of the chair, threw on her jacket and gathered up her purse.  “Bye, Mom!”

“Bye dear.  Have a good time and quit thinking so hard,” her mother yelled back at her.

Barb smiled and opened the door.  Andy was on the porch, hand poised ready to ring the doorbell.  She dropped her purse, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.  “I’m so glad to see you.”  They kept holding on to each other.

“I didn’t expect this,” he sighed into her hair.

“Neither did I.  Sometimes things just happen.”  Her mind clicked, filed the information and, taking her mother’s advice, decided to think about it later.

They got in the car and pulled out of the driveway.

Still feeling uncomfortable, Andy tried to keep the subject light, “Anything special you want to eat?”

“You know what they say about bread, cheese, wine and thou.  `Thou’ is the important part.  I’m really not in the least bit hungry.”

“Have you had a change of heart since last night?”  Andy felt confused and hopeful all at once.

“No, I’m just not thinking today.  I’ve decided not to analyze for awhile.”

“Thanks,” Andy smiled at her, “the rain’s bad enough.  I don’t want you cloudy too.”

“Why don’t we rent some movies?”

“OK, we have to stop at the grocery store anyway.  I don’t eat at home much.  My cooking’s lousy.”

“Oh, so now I’m cooking too?”

“If that’s alright.”

“Boy, they say `marry me’ and think that turns you into The Happy Homemaker.  I’ve got to give men credit for their attempts at the power of positive thinking.”  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and smiled.  He hadn’t realized her speech was full of sarcasm ‘til he saw the smile and the gleam in her eyes.  He relaxed and smiled back.  She continued, “I’d love to cook your dinner, but I’m not washing your socks, at least not yet.”

They picked up four movies, recent releases since neither of them went to theatres very often.  Barb noted that this was another common factor.  They stopped at the A&P and picked up some goodies for dinner – lobster tails, potatoes and salad items along with a few munchies and beer.  As they pulled into the driveway to Andy’s place, Barb remembered that these had all been  vacant lots when she left town.  “How much land do you have?”  She had also noted that nothing but plant life existed on either side of what must be his driveway since it was a single lane that they’d been driving down for quite some time.  There was also a sign at the entrance about a mile back that said, “Private Drive – Do Not Enter”.

“Forty some acres – all woods and hillsides.  I keep a couple of horses in a stable up behind the house.  I can ride on my own land and not bother or be bothered by anyone.”

“I didn’t know you were into horses.”

“I wasn’t ‘til you made me go riding with you way back when.  We can ride tomorrow if the sky quits leaking.”

“Sounds nice.”

They finally came up on a garage door which Andy opened using a keypad on a remote in the car.  He parked the Jag next to an old Rolls, and they started to get the groceries out of the trunk.

“What year’s the Rolls?”

“Forty-seven, Silver Wraith – needs paint, huh?”

She saw the love in his eyes for that car.  It was an admirable piece of machinery.  “She’s my baby.”

“What makes you think it’s a she?”  They had put the bags back down in the trunk and were walking slowly around the Rolls which he patted lovingly every once in awhile.

“Cars are female.”

“I don’t think so.  Not all the time,” she said coyly.

“OK.  They’re not,”  He smiled at her not wanting to get into any heavy discussions..

“No really.  My dad calls them bastards and rotten sons of bitches when they give him trouble.  Those terms hold male connotations.  Haven’t you noticed that they’re female only when they purr like kittens and look sleek and sexy, but they’re male when they don’t run right and are being a pain in the ass?”

He laughed, “You’re right.”  He reached toward her, then pulled his arm back.

“What’s wrong?”  She took a step closer to him, liking the quiet, confidential tone they’d been using.

“I’m . . . not sure.  Let’s go in the house,” and he turned fast and went to the Jag’s trunk to get the groceries.

She easily let the subject drop, not wanting to get into any heavy discussions today either.  They got the food and movies and went into the house – mansion was the first word that came to Barb’s mind as she looked around.  All the rooms were huge and open and airy and cold – not by temperature but by lack of being lived in.  A showplace only, it was gorgeous, well decorated, extremely neat (too neat), not a home.

“Nice house,” she said, not knowing exactly what to say, given what she was thinking.

“Thank you.”  He sounded distant or distracted; she couldn’t tell which.  They went to the kitchen and put away the food for dinner, fixed a tray with cheese, croissants, jam and a few cut up apples and went into what Barb guessed one could call a rec room.  The oak wide-screen TV and eggshell leather twelve-piece conversation pit were dwarfed by the size of the room.  Andy placed the wine bottle and glasses on the coffee table and went to the stone fireplace, turned on the gas jet and lit it, waited a few minutes ‘til the logs caught and turned off the jet.  He turned to Barb who had seated herself and was checking through the movies to see what to watch first.

“How about . . .” her voice trailed off as she looked up and saw the expression on Andy’s face.

“I feel very uncomfortable.”

“It’s your house.  I don’t understand.”

“I know if I get close to you, I’ll do something that will upset you.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she’d caught his drift.  “My mother may not approve, but how do you know how I’d feel about it?”

“All I can gauge by is that in high school you were one of the `good girls’.”  He was looking at the floor.

Barb grinned.  “I’m still good, thank you very much, in fact, maybe I’m better.”

“Sounds like you’re adjusting Mae West.”

She curled her legs up next to her on the couch, smiled coyly, and said, “I am.”

“Don’t you think we’d be moving too fast for you?”  There was a bite in his tone.

“That depends on how you view a biological function.”

“Is that all making love is to you?”  His tone didn’t change.

“No.  I care about you.  I want to be close to you.  Just because I don’t want to marry you tomorrow doesn’t mean . . .”  He’d seated himself next to her on the edge of the couch.  As she was making her point known to him, he put both arms around her, placed his lips on hers and slid his tongue into her mouth, leaving her sentence unfinished.  She didn’t feel compelled to complete it verbally and allowed her body to show him instead.  The videos and snacks lay on the table for three hours unwatched, untouched and unthought-of.  Pieces of clothing littered the area around the conversation pit, having been thrown randomly, lying where they may.

“You sure know how to warm up a room.”  She was cuddled into his side with her cheek pressed against his muscular chest, enjoying the aroma of his cologne mixed with the more pungent scent of his sweat.

“Stay where you are, my love.”  He sat up, opened the wine with the corkscrew, poured two glasses, cut two pieces of cheese with the knife, picked up the corkscrew again.  He eyed it for several seconds.

She lay in the pool if her own blood, the cheese knife sitting jauntily above the frayed and dripping remnants of her left breast, the corkscrew dangling languidly over her right hip bone, still attacked to the piece of her small intestine in which it had become tangled.  There wasn’t enough left of her face to know if she’d been aware of how she’d spent her final moments of life.  Andy sat on the edge of the leather cushion closest to the coffee table, sipping wine, chewing cheese, thinking, “Sometimes things just happen.”

THE END

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My Child Naked

By Jesse L. Aaron

 A two year nightmare was over.  The future would hold what it held; but, for this evening, she sat holding her baby girl, rocking her as she had every night for four years until it had begun.

Her “baby” was seven now and more beautiful than she’d remembered.  Her thoughts drifted over the hundreds of nights and days filled with loneliness, despair, fear and all those tears.  For the moment, at least, she was content just to touch her and to look at her thin face.  Her older daughter was on the floor by the chair, holding her sleeping little sister’s hand.  She, too, was thinking about those days, wondering if she’d ever be able to forget . . . forget the looks on her mother’s face, the strain, the sense of loss, the pain, when it hit her fourteen-year-old mind, “Mom,” her voice cracked as she spoke, “what’s going to happen now?  Is Donna going to be alright?”

“Honey, only time will tell.  I’m sure we’ll need to get some help – for all of us, I imagine.  For right now, just be thankful she’s back with us.  I won’t tell you that the worst is over because it may not be.  Donna’s been through more than you or I can imagine.  Lord knows what she’ll be like after almost three years in that place.”

That Place.  Every time she thought those words she could hear her heart pound, feel her pulse race, as rage streamed through every fiber of her body. Those beasts!  No, that word was too good for them.  They’d locked her baby away from her.  She’d felt the child’s cries every day and night for so long it seemed that every second of those thirty months lasted a year.  Her beautiful, beautiful baby.  She closed her eyes tight to try to block out the anger and the visions of what must have happened.  She took a deep breath to calm her voice. 

“Laura, let’s try to get some sleep.  Come on, honey, I want you both next to me tonight.”  She rose from the chair awkwardly, trying not to disturb her sleeping child, but the movement caused an outburst from the emaciated body in her arms that caused her to fall backward into the rocker.

Donna’s arms and legs flailed, her face distorted in pain and screams of seismographic intensity filled the silence of the home saddened so long by her absence.  Miriam suffered several bruises from the pummeling of small fists, but she didn’t notice until the next morning when she was brushing her teeth and realized her lip was swollen.

It had taken thirty eight minutes to quiet Donna.  No one slept in their small house that night.  The three of them sat huddled together on the couch, eyes open, staring from one to another, silently wondering what the next moment might bring.

Miriam put down the toothbrush without finishing, swallowed the toothpaste, and wiped her lips on the back of her hand as she walked resolutely to the phone.  She picked up the yellow pages and opened to the psychiatrist section, closed her eyes, put her finger down on the page.  She dialed the number she’d chosen with her blind finger and made an appointment with the receptionist who answered the phone – and the nightmare repeated itself and repeated itself and repeated itself.

The Beginning

Miriam was feeling a little extra proud.  She was on her way to the Gifted Children Evaluation Center, recommended to her by a woman with whom she worked.  The whole thing had come as quite a surprise.  The woman, Nancy Riggs, was not her favorite person by any means.  Nancy lived with her nose in the stratosphere.  She would date only doctors and lawyers, would shop at only the most expensive stores (though no one could figure out how she afforded it), would pass judgment on anyone whose standards didn’t meet hers.  Her enemies amounted to at least ninety percent of her acquaintances, but she never realized how poorly she hid her feelings toward the people she met and/or worked with.  Nancy was the best brown-noser and back-stabber in the insurance office where she and Miriam worked.  Women who’d been there longer, had much more experience and knowledge, and had larger client bases had been passed over for promotions to Nancy’s benefit several times.  Nancy, of all people, had told Miriam that her most recent doctor friend, a pediatrician, had mentioned the Center and its work with overly-bright kids.  Nancy had thought it might be a way for Miriam, who had very little money since her husband had left her with two children and all the bills a few years ago, to get Donna involved in programs geared to the over-achieving child without any monetary out-lay.  Miriam had jumped on the chance, asking for the phone number and immediately placing a call for an appointment to have her bright four-year-old tested.

The morning of Donna’s day to shine was crisp and exhilarating.  Miriam had dressed Donna in a special occasion outfit, packed her Shrek lunch box with her favorite lunch (ham and cheese sandwich; a cored, sliced apple; two Suddenly S’Mores; milk and a note to tell her that Mom loved her very much – Donna could already read at a sixth-grade level) as instructed by the Center, put both kids in the car and after dropping Laura at her elementary school, drove to the Center in Midvale and took Donna in to meet the doctors and college students who would be testing her that day.  She kissed Donna and gave her an especially long hug, whispering that she was proud of her and to have fun.  Donna, a naturally out-going child who looked at everything in life as a new and exciting adventure, took the hand of the closest person she’d just met and said, “Shall we get started?”

Miriam watched her little girl walk down the hall, smiled and waved though the child didn’t see her, felt proud all over again, and went back to her car to drive to work.  The whole day she resisted the temptation to call the Center and check on Donna’s progress.  She did not want to be perceived as either overly protective or overly anxious.  At five o’clock she hastily cleaned up her desk, drove to the day care that normally tended both her children, picked up Laura and drove as fast as possible to Midvale to be at the Center by six.  Donna’s testing was to be completed by four; more observations made of her at play would be over at five-thirty.  Miriam pulled into the parking lot at five forty-seven.  She and Laura, both excited, ran in the building and stopped at the front desk.

“Miss,” Miriam addressed the receptionist, “where would I find Donna Butler?”

The pleasant young woman smiled and looked down at her log.  “I’m sorry; Donna was picked up at eleven-thirty.”  She looked up at Miriam’s confused expression. 

“No.  I’m Donna’s mother.  She was here for the Accelerated Testing Program.”

“I’m sorry, but Dr. Schmidt signed her out at eleven-thirty.”

“Signed her out to whom?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then would you ask him, please?  Donna was supposed to be here all day, and I’d like to know where she is and why she left.  She’s only four years old.  She didn’t just walk out your front door alone.  She knows better, and I would think you do too.”

The woman picked up her phone, hit a button and waited.  “I’m sorry, there’s no answer in Dr. Schmidt’s office.”

Miriam leaned over the counter and put her face two inches from the woman’s nose, “WHERE’S MY DAUGHTER?”

The woman cowered under her, “I don’t know.”

“Then you’d better find someone who does!”  The rage in Miriam’s voice was intense.  Laura backed away from her, never having heard her mother sound like that.  A door opened across the hall and a man in jeans and a western shirt emerged.  “May I help you with something?”

“Maybe.  Where’s Donna Butler?”

“I was testing her this morning, and she didn’t return after lunch.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd that a four-year-old just didn’t `return after lunch’ and disappeared from your facility?”

“No.  Dr. Schmidt told me that she’d been picked up and would return at a later date.”

“PICKED UP BY WHOM, AND WHO IN GOD’S NAME IS DR. SCHMIDT?”

“This is the craziest thing!” she grumbled as she drove toward Nancy’s house.  “Where could she be?  Laura, I’m really worried.”  Laura, age eleven, might not have been as brilliant as Donna; but she was no dummy.  She’d also been her mother’s friend and confidante since her father’d deserted them three years before, making her mature well beyond the average adolescent.

“Me too.  Donna wouldn’t leave there on her own.  She knew we were coming to get her.  Someone’s lying.”

They drove in angry, confused silence the rest of the way to Nancy’s house.  After pulling in the driveway, Miriam marched to the door and knocked ‘til it shook in the casing.  Nancy’s voice could barely be heard over her hammering,  “Coming, COMING, for shit sake!  What do you . . . “ she opened the door and her voice failed.

“What have you done with my daughter?” Miriam screamed in Nancy’s face. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”  She stammered, trying to grasp control of herself.  She hadn’t expected Miriam to come so close to the answer so fast.

“You’re the one who thought this up.  You must know something.  Now WHAT do you know?”  Miriam was backing Nancy down the foyer and into the kitchen.  Laura was right behind Miriam.

“Miriam, calm down and tell me what you’re talking about.”  Her control was returning, but not fast enough for Miriam to miss the blush rising on Nancy’s cheeks, the changing pitch of her voice and the darting of her eyes.

“I think you know exactly what I’m referring to.  In fact I think you know everything!  Now, where’s Donna?”  She spit out the words between clenched teeth.

“Dear, tell me what happened.”

“Don’t `dear’ me.  I went to pick up Donna from the Center, but there’s no Donna to pick up.  `Someone’ picked her up earlier today.  `Someone’ I don’t know.  `Someone’ with no permission from anyone, anywhere to pick her up.  Are you grasping this?”

“Sit down.  You’re overwrought.  I’ll get some tea.”  She turned her back under the auspices of putting the water on to boil so she could hide her sigh and a deep breath to calm down the rest of the way.

“I don’t want tea.  I WANT DONNA!”  Miriam was behind Nancy with her hands ready to circle Nancy’s throat, ready to squeeze as hard as she could, when her eyes picked up a familiar sight – Donna’s Shrek lunch box – the edge was visible from behind an oak breadbox on the counter.  She put her hands down before Nancy even knew they were there.

“Nance,” Miriam whispered so close behind Nancy that it startled her. 

“How did she get so close to me so fast?”  Nancy thought.  She froze, not sure how to proceed. 

“I could use a cold, wet washcloth.” Miriam hissed.

“OK, I’ll get you one.”  Nancy left to go to the bathroom for it, thanking her lucky stars as she went.  She needed a minute to regain her composure, and Miriam had given her one.  Miriam seemed to be calming down and believing that Nancy didn’t know what was going on. 

In the kitchen, Miriam pulled the lunch box from behind the breadbox, grabbed Laura’s arm and ran both of them to the car.  They went to the nearest police station.  Back at Nancy’s, she heard the screened door slam shut, ran to see Miriam’s car roaring out the driveway, and immediately placed a call to Dr. Schmidt.

The sergeant listened to Miriam’s story and started typing up a report.

“Wait a minute.  Aren’t you going to go to Nancy’s house and get her?  She’ll know I have the lunch box.  Do you think she’s just sitting there waiting for you to drag her in for questioning?”

“All in good time, all in good time, madame,” was the response she got.

When the police arrived at Nancy’s house five hours later, she was gone along with most of her clothes and personal items.  When the police called on the Center the following day, all they could find out was that, “Yesterday was Dr. Schmidt’s last day,” and that he was going to another clinic, but no one remembered its name.  The signature on the sign out sheet showing the last known location of Donna was illegible.

Miriam and Laura spent sleepless nights and distracted days from then on.  They were angry together; they cried together; they sought help from every known source together; but no one could find Donna – not a trace.  Miriam called the police station six and seven times a day at first, asking if they’d found or heard anything.  Their answers all amounted to the same thing – “You’ll be the first to know if we do.”

Miriam, although she hadn’t suspected her ex-husband but had to be sure by his reaction to the news, contacted Jim by phone and told him that Donna was missing.  At first he’d thought she was trying to get money out of him, so he hung up on her.  He called the West Valley City Police from his home in Castle Rock, Colorado; and, finding that her story was true, called her back, apologized and offered his help.  He took a leave of absence and flew to Salt Lake City the next morning.  He and Miriam hired a private detective who was able to add nothing to the minimal amount of information the police had gathered.  After taking Miriam’s ex-husband’s money for five months and getting nowhere, he refused to take more.  He couldn’t watch the physical deterioration of the mother and sister of the pretty, little girl for whom he was searching and continue to be paid for finding nothing over and over again.  He kept working the case, and eventually he was the person who lead to Donna’s return home.

Nancy and Schmidt were never found.  Miriam found out from a friend with connections that the Midvale Police were refusing to cooperate with the West Valley Police and hadn’t run an investigation on the Gifted Children Evaluation Center.  She contacted the State Attorney General and reported the matter – the Center issue was handled.  No connection to any other incident of this sort was found.  It was found that Schmidt had given false information on his employment application and resume.  The Center received a hand-slapping for not being conscientious about checking the backgrounds of their employees.  No other leads concerning his identity or location ever surfaced.  He’d been there only three months and had given a two week notice showing he’d accepted a position in a fictitious clinic in Georgia.  Nancy had also used an alias.  She’d been in town only ten months – where she’d come from remained as mysterious as where she’d gone.  The initial position she’d taken with the insurance company had not required a background check, so the fact that the real Nancy Riggs had been deceased for six years surfaced only after the police investigation had taken place.  That investigation was shelved after the first few months due to lack of evidence.

For Miriam and Laura day and night, month and year, became indistinguishable.  Work days went by, Miriam was running on automatic.  She knew her job.  She knew how to approach new clients and how to please existing clients.  Her warm, helpful smile had been one of her best assets; and it continued to pay off, covering for the pain she felt every minute.  Laura did reasonably well at school after the first few weeks of fear and disorientation.  She was enough like her mother to gather the necessary strength each morning to continue through each day until her mother came to get her at the day-care center.  Their rides home, as both of them relaxed and allowed themselves to feel again, were lonely, too quiet, and too reminiscent of old rides home with Donna, the vivacious one of the  three, monopolizing the conversation.  By the time they got home Monday through Friday all they managed to do for the first hour was sit on the couch and hold each other, sobbing quietly or crying convulsively. 

And then one night . . .

The phone rang only a few minutes after they’d begun their ritualistic observations of the empty chair at the dinner table.  Miriam went to the kitchen, sniffled, composed herself and picked up the phone.  “Hello?”

“Mrs. Butler?”

“Yes.”

“This is Scott Rivera.”

Pausing for a moment in disbelief, not lack of recognition, “Oh, Scott.  I’m surprised to hear from you.  I’d thought you’d forgotten about us.”

“No.  I couldn’t forget you or your daughters.  I know it’s been a long time.”

“It certainly has.  Almost two years.”  She then realized that he’d have no reason to call unless he had some kind of news on the whereabouts of Donna.  Private detectives whom you hadn’t heard from for extended periods of time didn’t just call to shoot the shit.  Her excitement was evident in her voice, “What’s happened?”

“Please don’t get your hopes up, but I think I may have a lead.  May I come to see you tonight?”

“Certainly.”

“I’ll be there in a half hour.  You still live at the same place?”

“We do.”

He hung up  Miriam stared at the phone a moment before placing it in the cradle.  After all this time, what could he have?  She talked incessantly until he arrived.  Laura sat and listened to her mother hypothesize for the entire half hour.  Both of them were breathing too fast when Scott Rivera pulled in to the driveway.  They met him at the door with sparks of hope showing through their dark-circled eyes.  He noticed that Laura looked too thin.  She’d grown about four inches since he’d seen her last but didn’t seem to have put on an ounce of weight.  Miriam, who was an exceptionally pretty woman, had streaks of gray through her jet black hair and the wrinkles of a sixty-year-old in her forehead and around her eyes and mouth.

“Mrs. Butler, I came across something I think you should see.  I don’t think it’s a good idea for Laura to be with us though.”

“Mr. Rivera, Laura has been through every detail of this with me.  Her sister is as important to her as she is to me.   What is it that you have?”

“I’m . . . this makes me very uncomfortable, Mrs. Butler.”

“First of all I hate that name.  I’m Miriam.  Second, I’m very impatient.  What do you have?”

Scott took a deep breath.  Showing what he had to a fourteen-year-old girl would be one of the hardest things he’d done in his career.  “I came across this magazine while I was running an investigation for a client with a cheating husband.”  He pulled the rolled up rag from his pocket and opened it to a page he’d marked.  He noticed that both mother and daughter were so interested in what he was specifically going to show them that they hadn’t yet noticed the type of publication he was holding in his clammy, shaking hands.  He held the glossy pages open for them to see, stealing himself for their reaction.

Miriam and Laura were silent, mouths clamped shut, eyes wide.  No one in the living-room breathed.  Miriam’s hands clenched into fists.  Her nails dug into the heels of her hands making eight small slits.  Scott choked out, “Does this look like it could be Donna?”

“Yes,” she mouthed, no real sound came from her throat.

“I thought so.  I’ve already begun inquiries into the source of the photos, the location of publication, anything that might lead me to Donna.  Miriam, are you going to be alright?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you have someone who can come and stay with you?  I know you’ve had to deal with a lot.  I wasn’t sure how you’d take this kind of shock on top of it.”

“I’ve seen my child naked before, just not with some son of a bitch’s penis shoved in her mouth.”  Her voice became more shrill with each syllable she spoke.  Scott dropped the rumpled piece of rat shit, as he thought of it, on the carpet and leaned over to take Miriam by the shoulders.

“Miriam,” he yelled at her face, ”Miriam,” louder this time, “for Laura’s sake get a grip!”

Miriam closed her eyes, the picture of Donna burned into her brain.  She opened them again and, setting her jaw forward a bit, said, “Scott, get those fuckers.  We’ll be fine.”

For the next few weeks Scott pushed all other cases aside and concentrated exclusively on finding Donna.  The kiddy-porn magazine was sold in Europe and South America and also to an “elite” group of upper snobby Americans.  His secretary was able to access the mailing list on the internet.  The publisher’s address was, according to the New York City Police Department, an abandoned building in an industrial area – not too surprising.  The man who’d purchased the copy of the magazine that Scott had in his possession claimed he’d picked it up while on a business trip in London.  He wasn’t able to come up with any clue to Donna’s location, and this case was pissing him off.

During those same weeks Miriam and Laura slowly got over the shock but not the anger.  Miriam called the police and asked them to reopen the case based on the photograph that proved that Donna was still alive.  They told her to call the FBI since the photograph also proved that it was not a local issue.  She did and was told that they’d request the police file and get back to her but it would take at least six to eight weeks.  She wanted to scream, ”Yes, six or eight weeks more for those scum to do more unspeakable things to my baby girl,” but she knew that making enemies out of the authorities would not make them move any faster.

Four weeks later at three forty-eight AM, Miriam saw the flashing of red and blue emergency lights reflecting off the walls in the hall outside her bedroom.  Something told her to get up.  She grabbed her robe, got Laura up, she wasn’t sure why, and had her put her robe and shoes on too.  Although she’d never been one to run to see a building burn or slow down to see a car wreck, she and Laura went outside to see what all the flashing was about.  Outside of their circle, down the access street and west three houses was a roadblock of police cars and a lot of screaming and shouting.  Miriam and Laura crossed the circle and walked to the edge of the ruckus.  Three handcuffed men and a woman were being pushed, pulled or dragged through the house’s front door.  An officer carried a bundle wrapped in a blanket behind the last one.  Miriam ducked around the officer blocking the sidewalk with Laura running right after her.  Their hearts pounded as they both ran to see the bundle.  Two policemen ran up behind them to pull them back.  One of them snagged Laura’s arm, but Miriam’s hand pulled down the edge of the blanket just as the other officer grabbed her by the shoulder.  Miriam’s scream woke anyone who still happened to be sleeping in the neighborhood.  “DONNA!”  She pulled away from the hands on her shoulders and yanked the body of her child away from the man who was carrying her.  “YOU BASTARDS!  YOU SAID YOU’D GONE THROUGH ALL THE HOUSES HERE!  YOU SAID THERE WASN’T A SHRED OF EVIDENCE TO PROVE THAT MY BABY WAS STILL IN THE STATE.  YOU BASTARDS!

 Miriam and Laura walked home.  Not one officer moved to stop them.  Miriam’s cheek rested on the brown curly hair that had once smelled of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo.

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Thoughts on Modern Medicine

By Jesse L. Aaron

I am 50 years old and have been through very few medical procedures.  Some would consider me very lucky.  Some think that I’ve never had any physical problems with which to deal.  WRONG.  I just have a more metaphysical way of looking at things. 

A number of years ago (sometime in my late 20’s or early 30’s) I was diagnosed with Endometriosis.  This is a painful, messy, disgusting, debilitating disease.  Anyone who has had to deal with it knows that the tests to find out if that is what you have are bad enough.  The only known “cure” is surgery.  Since several organs are involved and since there may be cysts in the abdominal cavity as well, the surgery carries with it more pain and has a difficult recovery period.  My mother had a complete hysterectomy and cyst removal which involved the dissecting and re-secting of her small intestine along with the removal of pieces of several other organs besides the reproductive ones.  Although it takes an atom bomb to get her down, she was in sad shape for several months and has had repercussions during her later years.  Her surgery took place when I was 12.  I remember it well.

That, I think, was why when I heard that I had the same disease, I started seeking another solution.  I did a lot of reading and research.  I found one.  I stuck with it.  I have never had surgery.  I show no signs of Endometriosis.  I apologize right now to any readers who currently suffer from this nasty affliction, but since I do not want to endure the consequences of being sited for practicing medicine without a license; I can not tell you what I did.  I can give you some hints – read a good herbal book and search through some natural healing sources.  Go to a reputable health food store and ask questions of staff members who are knowledgeable.  Consult a good herbalist.  Diligently follow the program you find for several years and do not give up.  Read all the instructions concerning herbal ingestion.  Use at least 3 herbs in combination to kick the mess – one is NOT ENOUGH.  Follow your doctor’s orders, but refuse surgery unless you absolutely cannot stand the pain.  I didn’t listen to a thing my doctor said, but that was my choice.  I do not recommend it. [Disclaimer]

Since I had so much success with my first stab at nutritional and herbal healing, I have used my resource materials numerous times over the years to alleviate symptoms and improve my and my family’s quality of life.  Please visit Amazon.com [button here] and search “nutritional healing”.  They have numerous valuable books on the topic.  Also feel free to visit some of the sites we have listed in Choices and Resources [make this a link to the Herbal listings] to locate additional useful data.

I have a friend who has multiple physical problems.  The medications she takes fight each other.  One makes the other not work and vice versa.  She was so miserable.  The combination of medications made her black out but stay functioning.  She’d go to work during a black-out phase and then come to, not even remembering how she got to work 5 hours ago.  She never knew when these episodes might occur.  This had gone on for well over a year.  Anything her doctor recommended did nothing to improve her situation.  Since my dad had one of these conditions and Mom had the other, I called home to find out what supplements they were taking.  I looked up a few things in an herbal book, and she tried them.  By this point, she’d have eaten elephant shit if she thought it would help.  Within 6 months, both infirmities were improving.  She didn’t have to continually guess what and how much medication to take each day.  She was no longer blacking out.  Upon hearing about the improvement and looking at test results that substantiated the improvement, her doctor asked what she was doing so differently to cause such a development.  She felt that she had nothing to hide, so she told him about the 4 supplements she was taking.  His comment back to her was that if she wanted to use them as a crutch she could continue to do so, but that those were not the reason that she no longer had all the side-effects that she’d been suffering through.  After a rather lengthy battle with him, he refused to acknowledge that the natural substances she’d been ingesting (most of which are found in any Seasonings Section in your local grocery store) had any possible bearing on her partial recovery – but nothing else was different and the two problems she has have no cure and do not improve as time goes by.  She simply decided to not discuss it with him in the future and to continue with her regimen of herbs and minerals.

She is not the only person who has told me of similar experiences.  There are natural remedies that shrink tumors, heal skin disorders, reduce the need for insulin for diabetics, stabilize blood pressure, decrease the deterioration and pain of arthritis – the list is very long.  They also are much less expensive than their pharmaceutical counterparts (if they exist at all) and have few and mild or no side-effects.  Although the University of Arizona has courses in holistic study in it’s medical program and additional proof of the viability of natural substances such as garlic and other common spices as healing agents increases daily, the AMA and the FDA consistently do their utmost to disavow any knowledge of or give any credence to their effectiveness in treatments of many medical conditions.

It is sad that the closed-minded have so much power.  It is a sin that disease continues to go untreated when treatment is but a regular dose of tea away.  It is a crime that our populace continues to be plied with chemicals merely because the pharmaceutical companies pay doctors kickbacks in order to get them to prescribe their drugs – the ones you hear about on TV where the side-effects are worse than the disease.  It is travesty that there are people suffering for absolutely no reason other than the cure is too inexpensive and too readily available for a medical practitioner to find any advantage for recommending it – it won’t help him pay for his new Porsche.

Do I see doctors often?  Hell no – don’t much need to.  I read.

By the way, there’s been a cure for cancer for years. To learn more about it, go to Amazon.com and search Books for Ruth Montgomery. Threshold to Tomorrow tells the story of Sir Jason Winters.

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151 Days

By

Evelyn Tada

In the fall, he reached out to me and our fingers touched through the taps on a board that send messages afar like the ancient sound of drums.  He stood once within my aura and his shadow captured my spirit.  Then a calling came to him from the highest power in the land to undertake a task he was fitted for, which took him to the other side of midnight where the flow of timeless sand is the ocean.  I did not know then that the ninth day of the twelfth month was the beginning on my winter that would last 151 days.

The last time he spoke to me to wish me was, his voice was clear but already weary, which was the thirty-first day of the twelfth month of the year.   I later froze for a moment when remote became a reality.  I knew that if he could he would, then messages became few, brief and vague, then a periodical flash of his well-being.  Then on the ninth day of the New Year his message read “We start soon”, then all ceased.  When the butterflies consumed me, I knew then he would be within the curtains of silence and live the life of a seal in the ocean to defy the enemy for what would be infinity. 

Each day after the twentieth day of the third month was filled with images of the war, the unheralded loss of life and more of the unknown.  Our nation of the free became a nation of anxieties and terror, and I wept.  There were many nights of glare that I searched through windows for what I did not want to see, and what I did see, I could only guess.  My sleep would come only with the melodic sounds transmitted through the vastness of darkness that would shroud my uncertainties.  These sounds became my companion in solitude that would calm me, were trusted like we were PARTNERS IN CRIME*, and like a wall of BRICKS*, it was one CAUSE* of my strength that delivered me from one day to another for 151 days.

The unknown haunted