I don't like dogs much. I wasn't raised with them, found them dirty, covered in slob, and loud. They are high maintenance, have too much energy, and are just generally too much.

I know it. You know it, too: dogs are America's sweethearts. Say a single negative thing about them, and it's like saying someone's baby is ugly. You just don't do it, in polite company, and in this case, on the internet.

During the pandemic, I was lonely. Oh no: here it is, the Twist. Yes, I got a dog. He's a corgi, because I am (of course) that basic of a b*tch. And to top off the basicness, I got him at two months old. Because, puppies. Need I say more? Not if you're also an American. I submitted.

Ernest was a terrible puppy: loud, dirty, and requiring massive amounts of training. But here's the thing: I was raised to believe that if someone who depends on you needs something, that person can be labeled Needy and can be told to F Off. It took many months for me to realize: this corgi puppy needs me to be Present for him. In a big way. It's taken almost three years, but I've come to realize (I think - oh no, here it is again, a Twist) that having a puppy is like being an actual mom.

I used to think people who referred to themselves as their dog's "mom" were obnoxious - and here's the thing! I still do. I refer to myself as the dog's "lady." Lady would like for Ernest to go outside. Lady would like Ernest to fetch the toy, etc. etc. Maybe I'm phobic to "motherhood", but actually, raising a dog, for me, has been like a catharsis: I'm a parent now, however I label it or don't label it. I have someone depending on me for everything. And that, initially, was quite terrifying. Especially for someone who was raised to believe that having "needs" (being loud, being dirty, etc.) were the equivalent of using a siren to wake you up at 3 o'clock in the morning. Unnecessary, wasteful, ugly.

Ernest has taught me how to be a mom - totally. I had to learn selflessness. I had to learn that just because Ernest is muddy, and loud, doesn't mean he has a personal vendetta against me. He doesn't want me to be angry. He's just a dog. I think of children in the same vein: they don't mean to make you angry, they're just being kids. Ernest ate my book once, the one I was almost finished with, and I got mad - but here's the thing (again) - it's not his fault. He's a dog. It's a beautiful thing, when you realize you don't have to hate everything that requires effort and time.

I love Ernest (full name: Ernest Hope Hemingway) to the moon and back. I kiss him constantly, give him belly rubs (which he loves), and, I think most importantly for both of us: I laugh at him, and his antics. When he eats the paper towels, I initially feel resentment, sure, but then - I laugh.

It's really fun, actually, being a dog parent. I proudly wear the title of Lady to Ernest. He's chill, and we have fun. It wasn't always like that when he was a puppy, but it is now, and I can also proudly say I've got some parenting experience (?) under my belt.

Once there was only nothing

but even in nothingness there exists

a being, infinite, incomprehensible

and Hope He calls himself

and He is the First of things

the beginning of every tale

but His story starts in forever

and never does it end

yet with Him dwelled His nemesis

and He named it Loneliness

a creature born of despair

everything that Hope is not

but they were twins immiscible

yet equally inseparable;

they fought to the edge of time

but no one ever had won

until Hope had found a way

to part with Loneliness eternally

anything springs from Hope

so from Himself He molded a man

and so came forth the Third of them

thus was there divide;

the man serving as a wall

Hope can't ever be alone

but Loneliness could touch the wall

and lonely man became

so Hope molded more from Him;

men dotted the universe

and stars began to shine

then the world of rock and water

became the home of Hope made flesh

light splintered to colors

and colors turned tangible

green plants sprouted from the land

and the air blurred black to blue

and the sea was an honest reflection

of the heavens above

thus were born through blissful labor

the Love and Beauty men could see

the Fourth and Fifth of things they were

beings that are one and same

Love is Beauty, and Beauty, Love;

but a day came when men mistook

one should come before the other

half said that Love fosters Beauty

but the other did not agree

arguing that Beauty preceeds Love

discord seized reign in the universe

so Hope set free His thoughts

and diffused them through the earth

and they formed the Sixth of things

Wisdom were they called

then men learnt not the difference

but the unity of things;

men did not like the days

however cloudless and bright

nor did they like the nights

no matter how spangled with stars

to revel in beauty they found no time

for they had every chance,

as immortal as hope they lived

while Love, Beauty, Wisdom faded away

their years and reverence dwindling fast

while Loneliness perpetually crept in the dark;

so Hope gave men a most precious gift

that drew limits in the purposeless world

wilting flowers, decaying Beauty

severing bonds, destroying Love

and dissipating Wisdom to dust

but as an end is set, Hope resurrects them again;

thus tragic how men met Death

the last of seven things

so men have fear cause they had loss

and had seen the value of life

But cruelly the world revolves

men still find themselves alone

for they have not fathomed yet

how despite the Seven things

still they fall and still succumb

to the pits of Loneliness.

But should Love and Beauty and Wisdom too

desert men in Loneliness' snare

while Death awaits from a wound away

there will always be Hope.

Bound to a cross nevermore to be seen again to Blaze in the Flares of Satan's bane.

I vowed to achieve this for all but not in eqaulity nor egoliatic Honeralism.

Decades I was said as myth but many still acredit me, Praying and Vouching to me everyday.

I try to sojourn in those hearts the best, but I fail to avail. I need durability to help me rise again.  Even if I'm the might god they say I still have my Achilles.

I despise not one but am still vanquisged in myself for not striving hard enough to succor others to believe. I want all to know my name and be proud of who I am but not in selfishness.

I yurn for folks to praise me, to love me, to vow to me but unfortunately not everyone acquiesce. Though in this day not everything is perfect I still loved what I did so my family, You can live in a Voluminous life. I knew that I wouldn't strive on if I didn't achieve anything for all. 

But I want to re live and rise upon my invisible grave. I believ

Despite the fact that people say I'm preeminent I still yurn to live again and run this world to revolve world peace.

I can't remain cascrated because I'm bound to this world.

I will recompense

This isn't Done with

For reference I am

The all mighty god

A plump dark-haired woman busily disarranged a bouquet of white roses, gardenias and violets in a slim blue vase, annoyingly unsatisfied with any way she put them. Each time she slipped the fresh stalks in, she would hastily grab them out.

She wore a faded brown cardigan too spacious for her and a messy ponytail. When I looked down to her toes, I saw flat black sandals taut around two veined feet. I could see why the flowers had suffered such ill attempts to beauty. After a moment of utter frustration, she surrendered and haphazardly stacked the stalks into the narrow hole. At last, they could have some peace.

She turned and saw me awake, immobile in a spotless white hospital gown on a spotless white bed. For a split second, I glimpsed a streak of relief and joy flash in her black eyes. But the spark instantly burst into an ugly rage. Her right hand sliced the air and landed squarely on my unsuspecting cheeks.

Did this woman just slap me? This stranger has just assaulted me!

Strange though, the pain was vaguely familiar like I had known such a cruel injustice for a long time. My mouth gaping, I propped myself up. AWWW!

Fatigue and soreness surged through my body like a tsunami with no warning. My muscles stiffened and limped. I feared my bones had softened. I collapsed helplessly on the mattress. How many years exactly have I lain here?

“Don’t push yourself, you moron! Lie still,” she barked.

A moron? How the hell could she call me that?

I tried to fire back but only a strident snarl came out. She poured me a glass of water from a pitcher next to the vase of besmirched flowers. She shoved the glass against my chest. “Here, drink this.”

If this was poison, I might know later. But I drank it nonetheless.

When I regained my voice, I asked, “Uhm, who are you?” It sounded like a whisper but I figured she heard because her jaw dropped. She was shocked. I was puzzled.

Her brows furrowed, “Don’t you kid me, bastard.”

Now I am a bastard too. “I’m serious.”

A shade of horror fell on her freckled face. “What are you saying Wilson?”

The name lit up clouded memories and pain in my head. “Who’s Wilson?”

“Of course you’re Wilson. Stop this right now!” The tears she’d been holding back gushed free.

That’s ridiculous. Of course I knew my name. “No, I’m Francis.”

The color escaped her skin. The name hit her like a bombshell. “I’ll call the doctor.”

She was my mother. And I had amnesia. At least, that’s what the doctor said. But a person with amnesia only forgets. But I, I remembered things. I knew my name. I knew my school. I knew what my house looked like. My real house, not the messy little bungalow for the demented. I knew I was Francis, not Wilson. But all the pictures and the things about me told me I was the latter. Then who was Francis? They wouldn’t tell me.

Two weeks had passed since my release from the hospital. And in my stay, not one soul except my mother visited me. So I thought I had no friends. So who could these addicts in school uniforms be?

The classroom was huge. Yet enveloped by these nosy assholes, I felt it shrink in my face.

“You don’t remember us?” Said the porcupine. He had blond spikes for hair that stood like he was always horrified. But he was horrifying. He had yellowed teeth and a breath of cigar smoke.

I stiffly answered. “No. I really don’t.”

“We’re your buddies, bro,” croaked the tree frog. He had wide bulging eyes that his sockets barely restrained. Beneath the sleeve of his polo, I could see a skull tattoo. He couldn’t be a buddy of mine.

“Have you got amnesia?” exclaimed the last of them, the tiger. Dark orange hair. Strong jaws. Robust build. Fierce grey eyes. Who the hell are they?

“Yeah. I have amnesia. I’ve forgotten a lot.” That’s all it took to silence the animals. But after a moment, an evil grin drew across their snouts.

The tiger growled, “Well then, we’ll make you remember.”

Throughout the day, I could see this girl weirdly gazing at me. I guessed she could be someone I knew too. But she didn’t accost me until the dismissal of our last class in Mechanical Engineering.

Up-close, I saw she had sincere blue eyes, cascading brown hair, cream skin, and a stunning figure. So, I might had had one decent friend at least.

She spoke in a voice that I ought to have loved before because it made me want to hear it more. “Wil, I heard from your mom you have amnesia.”

She’s close to my mom. I thought that a good thing.

“Yes. And you are?”

She blushed. “It feels awkward to reintroduce myself you know. When you’ve known me for four years. Anyway, I’m Gwen.”

“Gwen.” The name squeezed out a few images. And they became vivid in her presence. The smiles in those memories, the vibrancy were all repainted by her meek grin. And the notes and melodies in them were all plucked into music once again by her voice. It was painful but it was bliss. Yet, something was still amiss. In those moments that searingly flickered to my reminiscence, it was not just the two of us. There was another face.

She said, “Anyway those three assholes this morning, they’re telling the truth. They’re your friends. Don’t worry.”

I was more scared than surprised. “They are?”

She mumbled gently, her cheeks reddened, “You know, you’re more like him now. I can almost see him in you.”

“I’m more like who?”

“Francis.”

Mr. Joeffrey Gil was far left back in the old days. He had this wavy mustache and well-combed goatee. He was a man of terror but those facial hairs made him look like a joke.

Boasting his full six-feet and two-inch height, he loomed over me and groaned, “In your current state, you have to review for two years to take the remedial and special exams. You’ve missed a lot Mr. Hurthon and now you’ve forgotten everything.” He coughed, “Anyway, even without amnesia, you won’t remember a thing.” He snickered.

I loathed him right there and I could bet my life I had wanted to murder him once before.

I’d stab him in a different way. “I’ll take them all tomorrow.”

He snapped to his strict posture. “Tomorrow? You’re committing suicide?”

“Well it seems that I am.”

His lips arched to a silly devilish grin. “Tomorrow it is then.”

Someone was texting me, maybe one of my animal friends. His phonebook name was Fart-thing. “The abandoned house off Green Street. 12 midnight.”

I didn’t know any abandoned house in Green Street and even if I did, I won’t go there. I needed to read eight books this evening for tomorrow so I turned off my phone and started to flip my book open. Then my mom stepped in.

“Wil, I thought you might want to have this. You were holding it after the accident.” She said as she unfolded her palm to reveal a ring, its silver surface glinting. Upon giving me that, she left bearing hope I might remember something. But then she came back, displaying an astonished look in her face. She mused, “You’re studying?”

“Well, I’m hungry and I’m just dining on these books, if that’s what it seems.”

“Studying on your own?”

“Come on, Mom. Is there anybody with me besides you? It’s not like you can do engineering.”

“No, it’s just – Never mind.” She left. It didn’t seem like she knew me after all.

I scrutinized the ring. On the inner surface, it was etched in flowing letters: We are One.

I didn’t have much time to waste to give it much thought. I flipped my book open and saw a pitiful sight. What a mess! This isn’t even writing anymore. Mysteriously, as I turn more pages, another handwriting appeared. More legible and not crooked. It was more like mine.

“YOU CHEATED YOU SCUMBAG OF AN IDIOT!” Mr. Gil yelled at me, his voice booming about the faculty office where many professors watched eagerly. He went on, “I’ll see to it you get expelled.”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “You were there, Sir.” Guarding like a filthy vulture waiting for meat to scavenge. “If I have cheated, you would have noticed.”

“Your scores in my last exams are mostly zeroes. Your highest score is half the passing. Then you suddenly perfect all your tests with a review of one night!”

“With all due respect Sir, next time find more difficult questions so that I would need what I reviewed on. If I hadn’t read those books, I would still have perfected them.” I went for the door and slammed it in their stunned faces.

Now, I’d stabbed him. Deep.

The miracle spread by word of gaping mouths. I suddenly became the most popular guy in school. Many came to see me, asking what cheating tricks I used to pull it off. If using stock knowledge to perfect exams is cheating, then let it be.

But what terrible scores I had had before. Zeroes? Seriously? Was I that bad at it? Well I think amnesia changes a lot.

Gwen came to see me too. She congratulated me with a kiss on the cheek that my mom kept on hitting. Then she shook my hand and I saw it. The silver ring.

Why did she have the other? And why was the other with me? I couldn’t gain the courage to ask her.

Opportunities came along. I became a quizzer for the college and I always brought them the highest prize. Every club wanted me in. I refused half of them. With my schedules tight and crowded, I still found time to read. Then my fourth-year theoretical explorations was featured in an international journal. It was about a nearly ideal energy-generating device that used magnetic suspension and concepts that not even my professors could understand.

I did not go as far as special relativity, it had suffered enough vandalism. I won’t put my name on such a field that almost every physicist had explored. However my career reached its pinnacle when my face made it to the Times, naming me as The Most Intelligent Man on earth.

Soon enough, Harvard came for me. They offered a course that’d get me into working at the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, Switzerland in three years. It meant I won’t come to my fifth year with my classmates, with Gwen. I’d have to leave them behind.

It was the night after the graduation day. My three forest friends came up to me and Craig Furtein, the tiger, said, “You still don’t remember us?”

The frog, Henry Harrison, walked up to me, holding a handkerchief. “We told your mom we’re having fun for a while.” He thrust the cloth to my mouth and heavy sleep overwhelmed me.

I felt like I had slept through another coma when I found myself in a dingy dimly lit mansion. My body felt so heavy I could not stand. Squinting through my eyelids that weighed like tons, I could barely make out the shadows that moved around me, their voices fading in the incessant ringing in my ears. I could hear people yelling, an erratic siren of an approaching ambulance and the whispering of my own voice.

“Francis?”

A man lay splayed next to me, bathing in a pool of blood.

Then someone stirred me awake. “Wil.”

It was the porcupine, Dan. “You’re finally awake.”

It was already the break of dawn. I demanded, “Why did you bring me here? I’m off to Cambridge this afternoon. I have to go home.”

“It’s that stupid scholarship!” Craig growled.

“This is kidnapping. It’s a cruel way to treat a friend.”

Craig said, “You almost sound like him.”

“Do you know who I am?”

Henry replied, “You have amnesia, we don’t.”

“I am the most intelligent man on this planet.”

They stared blankly at me. I won’t talk to them ever again.

Dan looked encouraging but with the indelible look of menace in his eyes. “It’ll take only a while. Let’s do it.”

“Do what?”

He passed me an orange shabby basketball. “It’s two on two.”

“Look I don’t play ball.”

Henry chuckled, “It was Francis who didn’t play ball.”

I had to admit the curved edge of the sphere fitted my palms so perfectly as if they were molded to hold it. A tinge of desire welled within me. One heavy sigh and the trembling in my knees yielded to comfort and confidence.

As I played, everything was instinct. The dribble, the pass and the shots. My feet had their own minds. Why have I forgotten so much?

Toweling ourselves in the basketball court in the yard of the deserted house, Craig looked unlike himself. He sat so pensive, deep in his thoughts.

He spoke, “You’re gonna regret it.”

All three pairs of eyes were suddenly on me. “It’s my future.”

Henry said, “We don’t know how you turned into a freaking genius but you won’t be happy there.”

“I’ll be happy there and I want to go there.” I stressed.

Craig shrugged, “You don’t even know what makes you happy anymore. You’ve forgotten everything.”

“Then tell me, who is Francis? Is he dead?”

Dread surfaced in me. They nodded. Craig explained, “We’re your lifelong buddies. He was your college best friend.”

A throbbing pain shot through my skull. The images that flashed were clear as daylight. I have killed my best friend.

Francis had calm blue eyes, dark silk tufts, and a smile that could put entropy at ease. His voice floated, “Hi, I’ll be your tutor. I’ll help you.”

They were at the library. “This is Gwen, my girlfriend. You must have met in class.”

The motorcycle ride. “The light’s green! WAIT!”

“Wow, that was dangerously awesome.”

He was scanning his books. “What a mess! This isn’t even writing anymore.”

Francis was with Gwen, their hands fastened inseparably. And I was trying to blink away my thoughts but still they materialized. If Francis was not here, will I have a chance with her?

Then the rings. He was saying to me, “What do you think? Are they good enough?”

Then the accident. “Hold it slow. We still have to graduate.”

I shouted, my voice lost in the winds, “IT’S FINE!”

“Wil, we’re going too fast!”

A truck whizzed from a corner. Then it was pitch black.

I woke up dazed, my body sprawled on the pavement. I suffered bruises and a few fractures. A couple of feet away, Francis lay maimed and bloody. A pool of red spread rapidly around him. His breathing was labored. He was still alive, but barely.

I forced a few words out, “You have to live. You cannot die.” My only thoughts were I should be in his place. I ought to have met this fate alone.

When I snapped out of my recollection, I only found more reason to leave.

The baggage was ready. It was time to part with my past and live out an entirely different future. But I went to gaze upon the violated pages of my books for a last time. My handwriting was once a mess. How humiliating. Francis, how did I become you? How did I even surpass you? My will ought to have been so determined.

I reached for another book and toppled a pile. A few books dropped to the floor. Then as if summoned, the silver ring rolled towards me, its sound so eerily familiar. Another fragment of my lost memories seeped into my consciousness.

It was the night of the accident. Francis lay helplessly but he managed to speak against all that pain raking his body, “I know what you feel for her. Promise me you’ll take care of her.” He gruelingly slipped the ring from his finger and rolled it towards me. “Please…” Then his eyes shut with a smooth finality.

I ran as fast as I could. And then she was there, sitting in solitude in the silence of the city library. It was their favorite spot.

She looked up curiously. “You’re off to Harvard. Have you forgotten something?”

I did. A lot. I panted, “No. I remembered something.”

She looked perplexed. I reached into my pocket and showed the ring to her. “I have a promise to fulfill.”

She didn’t speak.

“You see I was the worst idiot. My life is laid in front of me and I was too blind to see it.”

She found her voice, “What do you mean? How about your dreams?”

“I’ve hurt you more than you could feel,” I said, “You see, you are my dream. Although my mind forgot, my heart remembered.”

I slipped the ring into my fingers and held her hand, “Now I’ll take care of you.”

The Bitter One

The reflection in the mirror shows the broken soul of a young man growing up in world where the color of your skin defined who you are. The reflection looks back at him and whispers, “I guess you know from the smiles and the look in their eyes everyone’s got a theory about the bitter one.” Chris has been here in this position before with himself, talking to himself and even answering himself. He knew even as a kid that something was wrong with him; I mean no one wanted him. “I know what they are saying…” he throws water onto his face to hide the tears forming behind his brown eyes. He hates looking into the mirror because his reflection always shows the truth. That is probably why he got rid of all the mirrors in his apartment, all but one.

“They’re saying, your mother never loved you much and your father was never around to give a damn,” His reflection quirked its lips in anticipation of Chris’ reacting in a negative way. But not this time, this time the young man just walked away from the mirror in the bathroom and made his way into the living room where he stopped to look out the window to the street below where kids were playing basketball. He envied all the kids in his neighborhood growing up, only because they seemed happy and he was not.

Standing there watching the kids play as his breath lightly fogs up a small part of the window, “Is that why you shy away from human affection?” He silently asked himself as he backs away from the sounds of squealing children and moves towards his closet. “I need to get away, far away from here; from these unwanted memories.” The young man packs his bags for wherever his heart desires. He puts all his important things in his truck and he’ll have the rest of his items shipped over once he is settled. As he pulls away from his apartment he looks into his rearview mirror, “You’re taking your time making up the reasons to justify all the hurt inside…” his reflection raised an eyebrow. Chris sighed and began to drive west as he figured a little sunshine and new people would help him overcome all his pain. “California.” He breathes out, “I just need to figure out where.”

He’s been listening to his collection of genres of music, occasionally stopping for bathroom breaks, food and gas. He’s been driving for 8 hours and it’ll be another 20 hours before he officially crosses the California state line. His G.P.S. searched for nearby motels and he found a Super 8 two miles up the road. As he shut the engine off; he leaned back and grabbed all of his important items and lugged them to the front desk. A young man with blonde hair and green eyes greeted him with very little enthusiasm.

“Welcome to the Super 8 Motel, how can I help you tonight?”

Chris opened his wallet and showed the gentleman his I.D. “I’d like a room for the night.”

The skinny man behind the counter grabbed his I.D. and did the necessary requirements in setting up a room for a customer. “It’ll be $29.99 for the night and we offer continental breakfast in the dining area from 8am until 10am. Thank you for staying at Super 8.” He handed Chris his room key.

Chris grabbed his things and trekked to find his room number. As he approached his room door he tried to hold his wallet but it slipped from his hand. “Damn.” He sighed as he bent down and began picking up the contents that spilled from his wallet.

A softer voice knocked him from his reverie, “Here, let me help.” A young girl about his age bent down and helped gather up his things. Once they both stood up he looked at her as if he recognized her from…somewhere.

“Thanks, I can be a bit of a klutz.” He gave a genuine smile.

She smirked, “You’re not the only one. So where are you headed?” Chris took a step back feeling a little uncomfortable at the question that was thrown at him.

She quickly picked up on it and said, “I’m sorry, I’m just nosey. I just…I hardly see young people in my age bracket staying in this area. Just curious, I guess.” She gave a small smile to show him she meant no harm.

He relaxed and responded, “California. Not sure where…” He trailed off still trying to figure that part out. She grabbed his key card from his hand and opened his door for him.

“Maybe you’re waiting for the right kind of pilot to come along and take you where you want to go.” She gave him his keycard and walked away to her room.

He stood there for a few seconds longer than warranted and whispered, “Maybe…”

His alarm blared throughout the tiny room as he rolled over to cut off the sound. He stood up and looked at the time realizing breakfast will be almost over in an hour. He showered and got dressed as he gathered all his things bringing them down to the front desk. This time it was an older woman with salt and pepper hair standing there with a smile on her face. He handed her his keycard and she thanked him and told him to have a nice day. He grabbed 2 cinnamon raisin bagels, a bottle of orange juice and a cup of coffee. He downed the cup of coffee quickly, desperately needing the caffeine to get on with his long journey. He walked outside juggling his food and bags trying to reach for his car key, just before he dropped his food a slender hand grabbed it from his hand.

“I wouldn’t want you to lose your free food on this long trip to Cali.” She laughed a little as she walked over to his blue Ford F-150. “One of my favorite colors,” she grinned. Smiling, he opened the car door and deposited his belongings onto the backseat.

“Yeah, me too,” he responded quickly. “So where are you headed?”

She handed him his food and she leaned against the truck pointing towards a blue 2001 Chevy Malibu. “I was headed to LA to become a screen writer but my piece of shit car broke down. I will say it made it all the way from New Jersey to here.” She was still surprised how far she had driven with it.

Chris considered offering her a ride, despite the fact that she was a stranger but something held him back, I mean she seemed okay but there was something about her he felt connected to.

“I’ll take you…” He says in a whisper she barely heard. But she carefully looks at him and of course her conscience said, “He could be a rapist.”

Maybe, but her instincts said something totally different. So to test him if he was a douche bag or not, “What do you want in return?” She crossed her arms reading his body language.

He furrowed his eyebrows in disgust at the suggestion she was implying but he quickly adjusted and responded honestly.

“Well I could use a friend, if you’re willing. This car could be our ticket to a world where we both belong.” He gave a small smile and she blinked a few times to take in what he just said.

“I can’t remember a time when I felt needed.” She extended her hand, “Well if we’re going to be friends, we should probably introduce ourselves, my name’s Mariah.”

Chris extended his hand to the caramel skinned young lady, “Chris, nice to meet you.” They both grabbed each others’ hand and felt a spark of…familiarity maybe?

“I’ll grab my things…” She released his hand and disappeared into the building.

He stood there looking out onto the open road, “I don’t even know what love is, so how can I be a friend to anyone?” He asked himself as he turned to get into his truck. Within 3 minutes she returned with her belongings and tossed them onto the back seat and she got into the passenger side buckling up. He smiled and pulled out from the parking lot continue to head west.

She looked out the window and then looking at the side review mirror her reflection smirked, “You think he’d continue to drive you when he finds out that your friends have been tried for treason and crimes that were never defined.?” Mariah shook her head from the thought and turned her head to look towards the young man beside her.

“So, mind if I ask what are you running from…or should I say who?”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he exhaled, “My…old life.” He briefly turned to look at the brown eyed girl and he knew from the look in her eyes that there was more to it. So he continued as he kept his eyes on the road, “My father left me as a baby and I grew up in a house full of white people. My mother she is white and my father is black so…” He trails off and she finishes his thought.

“…so they treated you like an enigma, like you were an accident.” She didn’t have to ask the question because she understood all too well just slightly a different situation. He nodded and sighed as he kept looking at the open road in front of them.

She turned her head looking out the passenger window and spoke softly, “Love is like a barren place and reaching out for human faith is…like a journey we just don’t have a map for.”

Chris didn’t know what to say to that, it was like she was reading his thoughts and feeling exactly what he felt. They sat there in silence for 20 minutes until his curiosity got the best of him.

“What about you? What are you running from, or who?” he asked curiously, turn about being fair play.

She sighed and responded, “My family also; the ones that are supposed to love you no matter what; the ones who are supposed to support your dreams no matter what. It’s funny; I originally came out to Minnesota to look for my father…” Chris looked at her surprisingly. She continued, “My father was absent from my life as well, sure the stories told from my mom is all I have. But I wanted to know his story and why he left me; his baby girl.” She sounded just like a lost little girl in that moment as he thought to himself.

“I take it you didn’t find him.” He responded nonchalantly and she nodded,

“No. All I know is he was in the Air Force and was stationed out in Montana in the 80’s before moving to Minnesota…” She noticed Chris’s face turn pale and she put her hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

Chris could not believe it; they couldn’t have the same… “I…um…I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete crazy person…” He breathed out. She turned her whole body to face his direction.

“Tell me. Please.” She almost begged.

“My mother told me that my father was in the Air Force as well and he was discharged due to his addiction to alcohol and then he moved to Minnesota and met my mother. That was in the 80’s as well.” Chris briefly looked at Mariah and she looked like she wasn’t breathing at all. “Please breathe…” he begged. “I am about to pull over.” He said.

She quickly grabbed his arm and shook her head, “Please keep driving and continue what you were saying.” He reluctantly kept driving.

“As I said, that is all I know. I don’t know what he looks like and my mom seemed so bitter with everything that had anything to do with him and apparently I reminded her of him so I was the target…all the time.” He hated with a passion talking about any of those people.

Mariah’s heart was racing and she kept staring at the young man before her eyes. That is why she thought she recognized him from…somewhere. She slowly pulls her wallet out from her back pocket and opens it up and pulls out a picture of a young man in an Air Force uniform; her father. She hands the wallet size picture to Chris.

“This is him. My father; our father” She whispered mainly to herself but Chris heard her loud and clear. He grabbed the picture from her shaking hand and studied it quickly. His looked over the young handsome man in uniform and saw a reflection of himself in him. “You look like him; you’re just a little lighter from your mom’s side. But it’s uncanny.” She smiled a little. She couldn’t believe this was happening; her brother was right beside her. I mean it might be a bit far fetched but still…

Chris couldn’t handle all these revelations anymore and pulled over to the side of the road and parked the truck. “I just…I can see it. But I am so angry at him for leaving me in that god forsaken place!” He shoves the picture back into Mariah’s hand and gets out the truck and starts yelling to the sky.

“WHY CAN’T THE UNIVERSE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!! IT’S BEEN 22 YEARS ISN’T THAT ENOUGH?!” He dropped to his knees and whispered, “I am just so tired of being unwanted…”

Mariah got out the car and slowly approached the broken young man before her eyes. She dropped to her knees beside him and pulled the crying man into a fierce hug. She had tears falling from her eyes.

“Chris, look at me. Look at me.” He finally looked up at her with his brown eyes and he sucked back his tears. “Everything happens for a reason and whatever shit we went through in our past led us to this moment. It led us to each other and honestly I couldn’t be happier. While I was looking for my birth father instead I found my brother.” She cried happily while he laughed at the way the universe is so fucked up. He looked up at her and wiped away his tears.

“You have his eyes, nose and his smile.” He commented to her. She blushed a little knowing she’d been told that all her life growing up.

She responded, “Well little brother you have his smile as well and nose. You have a lot of his features.” They both stood up and walked back to the truck; she took the keys from him and said, “I’ll drive.” He knew it was already set in stone she would. He nodded and got into the passenger seat as she started the truck.

“Whoa, who said I was the younger of the two. I was born in 1988.” He fastened his seat belt as she adjusted the rearview mirror. He was just a little taller than her but not by much. She responded, “Born in ’86. Sorry little brother.” She teased as she pulled away from the side of the road.

He shook his head and laughed. “Whatever.”

“You know we have 20 hours to get to know each other and then some. I just have to say you looked a little bitter when I first met you.” She teased again as she kept her eyes on the road.

He snorted, “It was a mirror image of what you looked like when I met you as well. I guess we’re both bitter ones.” He looked out the side window thinking of all the things that lead up to this moment. “Amazing how life works,” he thought to himself. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it lightly.

“I guess we have our family to thank for that.” She commented as she slowly let go of his hand. “That felt…real.” He thought to himself as he was processing a human connection that he felt would never exist in his world. He looked up from their hands to Mariah and responded…

“I am not bitter anymore…”

“Neither am I little brother, neither am I.” She smiled.

Miesha Lowery

To be alive is to savor the sun,

golden droplets kissing your tongue,

enveloped in warmth embracing skin,

breeze whispering as it puffs clouds, forming

a pillow to cushion and release your angst.

The sea rolls in with the tide bathing your soul

in crystal spray splashing and touching as it

washes away the trouble and pain you’ve seen.

The birds soaring above feeling feathered joy

floating free pleasure to you as you laugh.

To not be is the coward’s way out when you

take your own life or waste it by failing to see

the beauty and hope harmonizing in symphonies.

Grasp your life and embrace to your chest tightly

and determine to be all you can be as

the sea breaths an offer of cerulean fortuity.

     Her smile was luminous and loud, louder than any choir could ever sing! With my eyes pleasantly fixed, and my jaw completely dropped I whispered "You have got to be heaven sent!" As our eyes connected she released a wink, and I felt my stomach drop to the very bottom core of the earth. "These are heavy butterflies" I say to myself, with utmost admiration for my Queen.

     Throughout our time together, I was constantly bewildered. On more occasions than one I would find myself thinking what in the world had this woman done to me? Certainly, she had to have put a spell on me with her dazzling, seductive eyes, and her tantalizing touch. Not to mention how alluring it was for me every time I smelled her beach scented perfume! One day I joked that it just had to be a love potion, because I could never walk away from her when she wore it...

      It was a mere six months after our marriage that I found this accusation to be true. The abnormal feelings I had in the past were indeed a reaction to a gang of love spells! It was also at this time when I realized this witch had a lot worse planned for me than just love potion #9.

     What she desired was more like nine bottles of bane with a side of sudden death. 

Naive is the girl who's virginity story is filled with adore. 

I wanted adventure, something of a whore. 

They craved a story of love, I wanted no parts. 

A tale of lust couldn't leave me with a broken heart. 

My peculiar mind set didn't include tradition. 

Anywhere but a bed would consent my permission. 

At a party where free booze was flowing, 

I ditched the scene with a guy who was easy going. 

His eyes piercing and his body perfect.

Requested I show him how I kissed as he grew erect. 

Sex in a car seemed too cliche. 

He parked by a random house, "Too scared to go outside and play"? 

I stepped out of the car as to accept the challenge. 

Stripped us of clothes, too much baggage. 

Kissing me, he held my hands over my head tight. 

Spun me around, from my bottom he took a bite. 

Excitingly he bent me over the hood, 

With a gentle slide in that didn't feel so good. 

He moaned as I felt a tear. 

Gliding in and out, he pulled my hair. 

Consistent strokes left me at ease. 

Intensity growing, I begged for more. Please. 

Turned me to kiss me hard before throwing me to the grass. 

Spreading my legs, he ate from the front to my ass. 

Thrusting back in I felt the same pleasure as he. 

Stroke after stroke, rhythm was key. 

Reaching climax at the same time. 

He threw himself next to me, "Popping your cherry. The pleasure is mine." 

Sex. I want to have this for the rest of my life. 

What I would've been missing if I awaited becoming a wife. 

He smiled but it didn't seem to touch his eyes...

The reflection in the mirror shows the broken soul of a young man growing up in world where the color of your skin defined who you are. The reflection looks back at him and whispers, “I guess you know from the smiles and the look in their eyes everyone’s got a theory about the bitter one.”Chris has been here in this position before with himself, talking to himself and even answering himself. He knew even as a kid that something was wrong with him; I mean no one wanted him. “I know what they are saying…” he throws water onto his face to hide the tears forming behind his brown eyes. He hates looking into the mirror because his reflection always shows the truth. That is probably why he got rid of all the mirrors in his apartment, all but one. 

“They’re saying, your mother never loved you much and your father was never around to give a damn,” His reflection quirked its lips in anticipation of Chris’ reacting in a negative way. But not this time, this time the young man just walked away from the mirror in the bathroom and made his way into the living room where he stopped to look out the window to the street below where kids were playing basketball. He envied all the kids in his neighborhood growing up, only because they seemed happy and he was not.

At least their smiles touched their eyes...

I was told I should wait til death do us part

I was told don't go fast, to follow my heart

I was told it should be one I loved eternally

I was told it was wrong unless he

                    would 

                               marry 

                                           me.

Then he came along, hot, tall, and strong

His eyes drew me in and to him I'd belong

When we kissed I felt heat tummy to feet

I just knew it was love and he asked if 

                      we

                              could 

                                        meet

When we were alone he turned up the heat

His sapphire eyes and hair colored wheat

Led me to the bed, he asked, 'give me head'

He told me what it was and I said if 

                        I 

                             were 

                                     dead

He was touching everywhere 

Long fingers through my hair

I knew I shouldn't do it

It was a mistake I tried

                           to 

                                 admit

I tried hard to make him stop

But instead he got on top

My protests, they went unheard

He pressed on, and I never

                         said

                                 a

                                      word.

If I knew then what I know now

I would have known much better how

To say no with much more force

Or just kick him

                          like 

                                 a

                                     horse.