The blacktop pavement at the turnoff turned into coarse gravel. When the gravel ran out, the path became two gullies in the grass and brush and leaves, one for each tire. The pines and firs which had been single trees now merged above my head into thousands of interlocking branches filled with greenery and foliage. The bough-tunnel broke here and there so I could tell if the sun was still up. It had been before noon when I started out. With no cell service, my phone was still good for something; it read 4:10.

A dizzying number of choices had presented me with constant dilemmas. Some paths had a yellow marker with a number so I thought that if I had a forest ranger’s map, those numbers would be helpful. I had entered from the north and wanted to go south, so I kept trying to get glimpses of the sky to see where that hiding sun was. Heck, just forty-two years ago I got my “Navigation” Girl Scout badge so I do know where west is - until the sky goes dark, that is.

Driving through a dark forest might sound like a fun adventure, but it’s terrifying. The forest, itself, changes. During the day, the beauty of the bubbling brooks and streams -with their rainbow trout swimming right in view - is such a treat. The deer don’t know from cars, so they stay right where they are, grazing and doing other deer things. Rabbits and squirrels scoot everywhere and a porcupine waddles across the road. Adorable skunks, with their white-striped tails, say, “I look so cute; come closer!”

During the day time, my journey was Snow White’s; I was surrounded by Disney forest creatures. During the day, the sounds were comforting - the water tumbling over rocks in the stream, the busy bustle of the animals scurrying here and there, the constant chirps and cheeps of all kinds of birds. During the day, the gentle rustle of the wind produced a constant sprinkling of leaves, or puffs of seeds, or patches of clustered flying bugs, all of which ended up splattered on my rental car’s windshield.

As darkness fell, though, everything changed. The trees and bushes started to look like people or animals or monsters. The trees’ long shadows quickly stretched into walls of blue-grey, and then blackness fell all around me. With the dense tree canopy, there was no moon to help light the way; my headlights showed the grassy overgrown furrows in front of my bumper, but nothing more,

And the sounds! The gentle swish of the daytime forest breeze had become a roar. The crickets kept time, screaming their alarms.. Alone in the forest, I imagined what every shriek and howl could possibly be. I heard owls. Loud. Clear. “Who?”

Animals darted up to my headlights - deer, mostly, but rabbit and foxes scurried by in the glow as well. The deer almost charged. They ran right into my path and then stopped and yes, they did that dear-in-headlights thing,

Despite living nearly all of my life in Los Angeles, I was born in the Pennsylvania wilds, so I think of myself as a “country girl.” But I had no real intuition or comforting understanding of this situation. It was dark. I was alone, and there were plenty of large ferocious animals nearby who were hungry. I didn’t see bobcats or wolves or bears during the day, but the predators were always close. Right there.

I thought I could get some sense of where I was if a radio station came in, but only static played. Scanning the console for a directional signal or compass of some sort, I noticed the gas was on “E”. I had entered the forest with two thirds of a tank. I was also thirsty and hungry - never imagining this jaunt would require provisions. Of more urgent importance, I had to pee.

So I stopped and turned the engine off but kept the headlights on.

As I angled the car door open a tiny bit, the interior lights reflected on the fir trees at the side of the path. I used my cellphone as a flashlight to see a solid tree stand; I could not relieve myself there unless I wanted pine boughs up my butt. So I snaked around to the front of the car and squatted in my headlights and urinated there. Of course, I knew no one could see me but it seemed so gross, so impudent, to do that - to flash the wilderness with such indecency.

As I wiggled a bit to drip-dry and then pulled up my jeans, drops of cold water splattered my back and head. There was a terrific lightning jolt, illuminating the forest like an arc-welding goddess and then a slow, rolling, tumbling thunder which shook the ground below my feet.

I clamored into the car, slammed the door and locked it. I watched my headlights dazzle the rivers of rain falling hard and fast. The car’s roof banged like a kettle drum. I wondered how passable the road would be as the ground got soppier and soppier. And I looked again at the fuel gauge. I didn’t know this car. With my Camry back home, the red “E” means I have eight miles left or so, but with this Kia...

I started the car and began moving. The thing was that I didn’t know where I was, where I’d been or where I was going. It’s hard to use fuel efficiently when you are lost. I could easily use the few remaining fumes to get even more lost.

I was out of ideas. I was either going to run out of gas and spend the night in my car and then hope someone would come by tomorrow. Or I was going to spend the night in my car with a drip of gas left and hope that I could drive out on my own.

I figured the best shot would be to not rely on the kindness - or the existence - of strangers tomorrow, and to save the gas I had left. I would need to find a spot in the road where the water was draining so that I’d be able to move the car when it was daylight. I pictured wheels stuck in mud and trying to rock the car free. Wanting to avoid that, I crept along until I was on a tiny wooden bridge over the surging stream. If the bridge got washed out, I was a goner, but for now this seemed like my night’s encampment. I turned off the engine and searched around the rental to see if there was anything blanket-like. I pulled the map of Downtown Pittsburgh out of the glovebox and spread it over me as best I could.

Lightning flashes lit up chunks of forest all around me and, for one moment, I reminded myself that this is how forest fires start. And then I knocked that shit off - I didn’t need to be even more scared. Besides, the torrential rain should douse any fire, right?

I cracked the window a bit to hear the rushing water below me and my face and shoulder got drenched. But I could hear the creek building and I imagined it was pulling on the bridge, so I started the engine to move forward just to inch my front tires onto the soggy but somewhat solid ground. That way, if the front wheels got stuck, the rear ones could still propel me forward.

As soon as I did that, the bridge underneath me started to tear loose. The cracking of ancient wood splitting and the whine of eighty year-old bolts bending and turning and then shearing off filled the air. I stepped on the gas and my car scrambled to safety. If I had any thought about returning the way I’d come, those thoughts were pulled down the rushing stream along with the pieces of bridge. I turned off the engine and stayed where I was, thinking that some part of the anchoring of this shambled mess of bridge had to be poured concrete. I was safest right where I was, even though I’d just avoided a catastrophe.

I was shaking, scared, and praying my ass off. I tried to think comforting thoughts. I’d wanted to take a “short cut” through the state game lands because this was something I had routinely done as a teen growing up here. When had F.D.R.’s Conservation Core roads turned treacherous? I knew these roads before; why didn’t I know them now?

I cursed myself for my arrogance. I’d actually thought I would remember – after forty years – the way through these woods. I had just left the extended stay facility where my mom lay near death as her heart decided it was pretty much done with its job of pumping blood. Mom had always cherished her slim ankles; now they were non-existent. The lower half of her body had ballooned beyond her usual petite frame; she was unable to move. Technicians lifted her by means of a body sling when they needed to change her clothing or bedsheets. She needed help with everything,

Ours had been a difficult and contentious relationship. She was omnipotent, I thought. As a child, I never understood why she was cruel to me or what it was I did that irritated her so much; I adored her, until I didn’t. Then I rebelled at her attempts to control me but now the thought of doing life without her seemed impossible, absurd!

These thoughts plagued me. I’d wanted all my life to be free of her; that’s why I’d lived three thousand miles away and dealt with her nagging and guilt-flinging via weekly phone calls rather than visits home. When I arrived at the party my brother threw for her eightieth birthday, she’d asked, “Who are you?” and I was devastated. When I explained that day that I was her youngest child, she asserted that my “horrible dyed black hair” made me unrecognizable so she was blameless.

Before I’d left her bedside, I thought of how she had to be scared to die, since almost everyone is. I had noticed her Rosary Beads so I took her hand and asked, “Mom, would you like to pray together?” She’d stared at me with disdain, then scoffed and said, “Go ahead. Pray if you want,” as if my request warranted her denigration.

Soon that freedom - to live my life without my mom perched on my shoulder and pecking away at me - would be real; but who is ever ready for that? Rather than take the highway around the forested reserve, I thought driving through it would be a lovely distraction.

When I mentioned it to her - when I said I might drive through the forest to rendezvous with my friends at the state game land’s southern entrance, she was alert enough to do her best eye roll and purse her lips in disapproval and mutter one of her high-pitched mysterious yet critical comments, “To each his own!” And of course, that was the exact moment I accepted the gauntlet; I was sure as shit going to try the shortcut.

I thought of my pals who had arranged the high school reunion. Had they waited for me? They all knew my mother – she’d taught them all in elementary school. They, of course, didn’t know her like I did so she was just the art teacher to them. They actually cheered when her art cart rumbled into our classroom. I knew that because I was there, too.

They all knew I’d traveled the farthest, so gathering at the campsite had been planned so that we’d have lots of time to schmooze and grill burgers and then leave the forest before it got dark. They had wanted to avoid getting bitten by mosquitoes - like that was the forest’s only danger!

I was crushed that I would miss the reunion, but I knew I had to sort of settle in for the night where I was. I trusted that being so close to the creek’s edge meant some firmer footing and decided to not drive further down the path. I leaned back and imagined the windshield was my television at home. I conjured up Survivor episodes to bring to mind the skills I did or did not have. I thought to myself, “If I am stuck here for days, can I build a fire?” I searched the dashboard and found a USB port but no cigarette lighter. Certainly there was no dry wood to burn anyway. What did I remember from Naked and Afraid? I could live on raw snails if I needed to, right?

Then I imagined other TV fare. I tried to run through Seinfeld episodes but I felt so George Costanza-like that even that got uncomfortable. What could possibly give my freaking brain a break? How about sweet fairy tales? Oh that’s right, Red Riding Hood gets snatched by a wolf and Goldilock’s bed gets destroyed by bears; my imagination was not helping.

Just then there was an enormous cracking sound. It was not the far away thunder I’d become accustomed too. This was very close. It continued with a higher screech and then I saw a tree beginning to lean over the road in front of me. It jerked lower with each crack. I knew I’d be stuck for sure if that tree fell onto the road so I started the motor and gunned the engine and dove under the tree just seconds before it crashed onto the path behind me. Another omen about “no return,” eh? “Fuck this shit,” I thought and just kept driving.

My eyes focused on seeing the path in front of me through the blinding rain as the clumps of bugs and leaves built up on my wipers. Whenever I pulsed my brakes, the red flash behind me would alert me to the activity there. Trees were actually falling in the forest and, yes, they were making sounds!

I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea with the tall wet grass whipping at my car as I surged through it. I knew enough to not let the wheels stop turning but also enough to know that driving quickly on this slippery wake could yield disaster. So I delicately danced the gas pedal, just enough to keep the car moving. The wipers merely moved the windshield’s gloppy mess around and used up fuel, so I stuck my head out my window to see instead. My head took the brunt of the rain but my whole upper torso got drenched too.

But, with the window down, I could smell… burgers?

I vigorously followed the smell with my nose in the air like every beagle I have ever known. When I came to a fork in the road, I turned toward the smell. When I thought of how hungry I was, I turned toward the smell and tried to fill up on it. There were times when the rain got too intense and the lightening struck too close to my face and I needed to close the window. But when I reopened it, the searing meat aroma called, “This way! This way!”

And then I saw it - the clearing with the pavilion and smoke twirling from its chimney. As I got closer, I could make out the group huddled under the center, near the cooking grill. There were my school friends! They were still there!

As I parked and scrambled out to tell them my harrowing story, they were animated and lively and a little drunk but they all hugged me. I had known these “kids” since my kindergarten days half a century ago. They all knew my mother too, and that I just left her side.

They hugged me and held me. I was safe.

I found out the next morning that mom died that night - sometime during the course of my ordeal. I survived.

The road followed the creek and I saw men fishing. My dad doesn’t fish but we have fishing waders at home. They are rubber boot-pants. I wondered why they were in the junk closet, so I asked Mom.

“Why are there fishing waders in the junk closet?”

“I am driving. Can’t hear!” she said, so I asked louder.

“Now, what is she going on and on about?” Mom turned to my sister.

My sister draped herself over the back of her seat to touch me. She whispered, “This might not be a good time to ask Mom questions. She’s driving. I think Dad used to fish and that’s why they are there.” She blew me a kiss and sat back in her seat. I wondered why he stopped fishing but I sure didn’t want to risk asking.

Mom started yelling at Trishie then. I could tell she was really angry.

Trishie said, “But she’s my friend!”

Mom said, “She is not. She’s a whore!”

My sister cried. I knew it was going to be a long ride.

I could read the signs and knew the tiny towns – Driftwood, Sinnamahoning, the turn for Stevenson Dam, Keating, which is different than Keating Summit near Austin, Cooks Run, Renovo.

I have a friend whose dad lives in Renovo. Mom says he abandoned his family in Emporium, so I always imagine a big town there – some place worth escaping to – but it’s not, so I am always disappointed with Renovo. All the houses look very old, and not in a good antique-y way, just plain old.

Lock Haven was next. It’s pretty cool because they have the State Teacher’s college there. Mom says it’s a school for dummies; that we are all going to go to Catholic universities. She says she made that promise to God when my brother was born. But Lock Haven always looks fun anyway, with lots of college kids on the wide main street and the flattened out, wide creek.

The road turned away from the creek for a stretch and then I just saw the rolling hills and green – green everywhere.

Next came my favorite place in the whole wide world – Jersey Shore! Mom thinks I’m crazy, “What’s to love?” she says. Well, first there is the name – Jersey Shore! Who wouldn’t want to live there? I know there is a real Jersey shore because my cousins go to Atlantic City once in awhile. I hope I get to see the ocean some day! But for now, the Susquehanna River will do just fine! It’s a real river there at Jersey Shore and not a creek. And there are places where the road is inches from the river. When we crossed over the bridge I saw water going to forever on the left and water going to forever on the right, just like I picture the real Jersey shore.

We were finally down out of the mountains and the radio picked up some stations, so my sister found WFIL playing Sea Cruise!

“Feel like jumpin’! Girl would ya join me please? Don’t mind beggin’ I’m on bended knees!” Freddie Freeman squeaked at the end of each note, like he was in pain.

I was in the back seat. The blue vinyl stuck to my legs, so I moved around a lot, especially when the song got to, “Whoo-ee, whoo-ee baby!” There was a suitcase on the seat beside me, so I couldn’t move too much. I looked out the windows and rolled my window down a little; back then I got car sick.

Then we were on big highway, headed to Williamsport. Mom yelled because there were big trucks on the road, “You don’t own the road!” she screamed as she passed one. There was a point – I knew it when I felt it – that seemed dangerous. I sort of wondered what that speed was but I wouldn’t dare ask Mom. It’s like the Plymouth was rumbling along, swaying like a boat because it did that, and then, when Mom passed a truck, it started to shiver – like the car was scared and crying, “Too fast! You are going too fast!”

Williamsport is a city. I guess it’s the first city I ever saw, except for maybe DuBois, where Grandma lives. Williamsport has lots of houses and a sign that says, “Home of Little League Baseball”. My brother is in Little League; I wonder if he knows this is its home? There are very tall buildings here – I tried to count how high up they went. I always thought the most you could have was an upstairs, not six or seven upstairs! I saw the Grant’s store on the outskirts of town and knew we would stop there on the way back. Grant’s is so fun! They have a restaurant right in the store! I knew I’d have a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy.

Mom took little roads then, through the forest. There was hardly any traffic and the forest was beautiful. Picnic tables were scattered here and there. I saw the turnoff for Rickett’s Glen State Park. Mom said we would go there some day, but she said that before. The roads were twisty-turny and I got queasy and told mom I needed to throw up. She said, “Oh great!” in a nasty way, but pulled onto the gravel at the roadside quickly anyway. I managed to get the door open, leaned out and puked all over. Instantly, I felt better! I felt great!

“Done?” Mom asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

We drove on through the forest and lost WFIL so I fell asleep and woke up when we were in Tunkhannock; a lot of the towns have Indian names. I knew we were almost to Clarks Summit because we were on a real highway by then.

But I could tell my sister and Mom had been arguing again.

“I forbid you to see her!” Mom yelled.

Trishie was crying. I pretended to still be asleep.

“She just made a mistake!” Trish explained.

“She’s a slut, a harlot! There, I said it. Now are you happy? Nice girls do not take their pants off with boys. Nice girls don’t park in cars with boys. Nice girls don’t get pregnant!”

My sister sobbed and I wanted to comfort her so I leaned forward and sort of hugged her over the car seat.

Mom continued, “Nice girls do not do what Kitty did! Kitty is a slut and I forbid you to be around her at all! She’s banished from our house because she is a slut! A whore! A harlot!”

My sister reached all the way back over her seat and covered my ears. “Not in front of Peggy, Mom!” she pleaded.

But Mom yelled, “She needs to hear it to! Girls who take their pants off with boys are bad girls. Kitty is a bad girl and she will not be your friend. No sirree!”

I sat back on the seat. There was Dalton, then Waverly and a lot of signs for Scranton. I asked Mom if we were almost there and she said we were ten minutes away.

I snuck up to the back of my sister’s seat but on the window side so Mom wouldn’t hear me and whispered, “Won’t you let me take you on a Sea Cruise?” Then she turned and kissed me.

“Shh!” The horse hushed me. I didn’t know about hushing horses or talking rabbits or any of what I was seeing.

They had all gathered together and for some reason, I had been included. I checked my hands to see if I was still human. If I had turned into an animal, well, then maybe some of this might’ve made sense.

“We need to protect the realm,” the rabbit said. The realm? I knew - from my hands - that I was still human, but I figured I was no longer in Los Angeles, for sure. “Off you go!” said the rabbit, as if I’d just caught the tail end of an informative and inspirational speech and missed all the information.

“Where do we go?” I asked the horse. She flipped her head as if to say, “Climb on,” so I did.

I do like horses. I love their flaring nostrils and their wild manes and their swishing tails. I love to sit atop a horse and see what a giant can see but then, I didn’t expect to see a giant. “So that’s what we are protecting the realm from,” I thought as I stared into the ogre’s eyes. I went to swing at him with my clenched fist but the horse reared up to stop me.

“No, he’s with us,” she said, as the giant galloped along beside us. I was relieved, picturing my hand being shattered by that giant’s brow, chin or pinky finger.

We were hauling ass, too, and there were lots of other creatures booking it along with us. I thought I saw the sun go down and then come up and down again as though time was rattling by too.

“We must hurry” said the horse and the giant mumbled something, seemingly in agreement. We were at the bottom of a slope now and pushing on ahead to the crest of a mountain. All around us, other animals were doing the same, as though the reason for our rushing would become apparent from the mountaintop.

The slope steepened abruptly so I almost slid from the horse but the giant caught me and scooped me back onto the horse. I bent down to wrap all around the horse’s neck. I could feel her muscles straining to reach the summit. I could hear the gutteral sounds she made as she lurched ahead. I could feel her heart pounding through my arms clenched around her.

And then, at the mountain’s peak, she stopped. We stopped. An orgasmic sigh peeled over the creatures who had all arrived on the mountaintop together.

Below us, in a sweeping valley of rainbows and lollipops, it sat. The Starbucks For All Species, its banner exclaimed. I really should have guessed; caffeine would save the realm!

“I know it’s dark! Hold my hand! I KNOW! It’s dark! There aren’t any lights around here! It’s not like when we are in town. It’s pitch black dark! But look up! There are a gazillion stars twinkling and no goddamn moon at all! Look straight up! If you look to the sides you’ll just see more blackness because we are climbing a mountain. Get it?

“Besides it’s not really a mountain. I make this hike every day. It’s the way home.

“No, no! Don’t let go! You’ll fall! I know because I have fallen before – lots of times. We are on the concrete-pavement part. Someone put flat concrete pieces here – like a sidewalk. You can hear it. Listen! Hear our sneakers? That’s the concrete under us so it makes that thud. If our shoes had heels, like dress shoes, they would click or clack. This is the same sound when we are going out to the field during gym class and we walk on the sidewalk beside the parking lot. Hear it? That’s how I know we are still on the concrete pieces – that thud, thud, thud.

“This part is concrete squares and there are about a dozen of ’em. Yeah, it is weird to walk on a sidewalk that goes almost straight up. I agree! When it’s light out and you climb these concrete slabs, there is nothing to look at because the sidewalk is pretty much the only thing in front of your face. I sometimes walk backwards so that I can see stuff other than the concrete but it would really NOT be a good idea to walk backwards right now.

“Yeah, I KNOW! It’s steep! Imagine a mountain and someone plants a sidewalk up it! That’s what this is and heck, you should enjoy this part because it gets rougher! Sometimes I lean all the way over and touch the concrete while I’m walking. That doesn’t make it easier, but it’s something I sometimes do. Or I lean all the way over and pretend I am falling forward and sort of trick myself into climbing up the incline. Here! Try it! Did you touch the concrete? When you walk this way, bent over and sort of falling forward, you can also feel when and where the concrete ends. Oh. Wait! There it is. Ok, stop!

“Ok, stand up. Now there’s dirt for a stretch. Let’s hope it’s not mud. No. Hear it? Hear that? That smack says it’s not mud! Whew! Ok, now. From here, think of where two is on a clock’s face – when it’s two o’clock and the big hand is on the twelve and the little hand is on the two. We have to aim in that direction – towards two o’clock – to get to the road.

I know! I KNOW the dirt is bumpy! I know it’s uneven; it’s dirt! We were walking on concrete and now this is dirt! It feels different. Just take it slow. Damn that moon; where are you when we need you? Just take small steps and go slowly, ok?

“I got you! I got you! You’re not hurt, right? Ok, just some dirt, brush it off! What? You found something? In the dirt? What is it? It’s round? Like a ball? Oh! Ok. It’s round and flat. Could it be a round flat rock? Oh, it’s thin and round and flat. Hmm… Well, we’ll look at it when we have some light. Put it in your pocket for now. You need both hands and I’m holding one.

“No! It’s not too far! Stop whining! Think about what you found – what it could be? We’re almost to the road – I’m gonna bend over and touch the ground while I walk to feel when the dirt ends. That means you have to lean over too – I’ve got your hand, remember? Come on. Yes. We ARE literally mountain climbing right now. Yes, you are right!

“Ok, stop! I think that’s the road. Can you feel it too? Yep, that’s the gravel. Feel the difference? Here! That’s dirt, and this is gravel. Feel it? Ok, so let’s stand up and when we move onto the gravel, take a minute to steady yourself. It sucks to fall on gravel. Trust me on that.

“You ok? Yeah, I know it’s steep! The gravel wants to roll right down the mountain too so it’s not the best path but it means we are close. I know. It IS a really weird sound. It’s like we are walking on pretzels, huh? Crunch, crunch, crunch. Yeah, you’re right. It does sound more like scrunch, scrunch, scrunch.

“No, No! Don’t do the leaning-over thing here on the gravel because your hands will get all chewed up. It sounds like pretzels but it’s gravel. It’s sharp. Just keep taking steps up the hill and hold my hand.

“I think it’s starting to level out a bit, do you? Yeah, this feels less steep. Doesn’t it? So, the thing now is that we have to find the steps. Wait! Stop a minute, so I can figure out where we are. It’s so damn dark! Ok, come this way. Yeah, the gravel is leveling out. The steps are over here somewhere, in this direction.

“Keep walking. It’s a lot easier here, huh? Yeah, that means we are almost to the steps! Keep walking. I’ll know when we get there because – Oh shit! There they are! I just slammed my shin! No, they aren’t wooden steps. They’re concrete blocks lined up in rows. Feel this first row, here. Yeah, put your foot there. Good. Ok, I can reach the door from here and I’ll have the light on in a second.

“It’s clicking, but nothing is happening. There’s no light coming on. Crap! This is fucked up, but just try to come in – feel the door there? Just step right in. I’m right here and if I can think of how to look for a flashlight in the pitch black, I will.

“I’m right here. Reach out your arm. See? I’m right here. I’m gonna just turn on the stove to get some light. Shit! It won’t light without power. I smell the gas but it won’t light. Ok, that was a really dumb idea! It’s off now. I can’t see anything but the hallway is behind me. Hold onto me. My room is right here. The bathroom is on the right if you have to pee. It’s small, so if you feel an opening on the right, that’s it and the toilet is right there when you walk in.

“Feel where to go? No, no, on the left after you go right. The toilet paper’s on the left when you sit down. Find it? Ok, I am coming in when you are done.

Ok, sorry I bumped you! My bed is straight ahead. I’ll pee and meet you there and I guess we will crash unless you want to stay up in the dark. No, I don’t know where a candle is either.

“Did you find the bed? Blankets are on it – I make my bed every morning, so just turn down the covers. Yeah, if you climb in, you’ll feel a pillow – you can have that, since you are my guest. Got covers on? You ok? I think we did really well getting up the hill. I don’t know why the power is off. If my mom gets done with work early, we’ll hear her come in and she might have some idea. If she has to work late, it will be light out before she gets in.

“Either way, we will have light in the morning and then we can look at that thing you found. Still have it? Good.”

The snowflake landed on her nose. All I wanted to do at that point was lick it off, so I did. I didn’t stop and think about doing that. I sure didn’t know what to expect. Licking a stranger’s nose, is, well, it’s not “normal,” right?

But it was right there next to my face: her sweet little nose with the fluffiest snowflake I ever saw.

She didn’t move. She just looked at me. We’d both been waiting with others on the same bench, for the same bus. It was cold, so we sat closer than strangers usually do, I suppose, plus, a old man was holding onto her. The snow started to fall. I glanced at her; the snowflake said, “Lick me” so I did.

When the bus came, the old man climbed in and sat in the handicapped seat. His lovely Pekinese, with the cleanest nose, watched me all the way to my stop.

I nudged Fred. "Can I wake up now?" I nudged him again and this time his eyes opened a bit. "Can I wake up now?" I repeated.

He looked at me like I was from outer space and then he remembered and pushed back the window curtain to see that it was almost light outside. "Yeah. Gimme a sec."

He rubbed his eyes and then went to pee while I sat on his bed in my pajamas. When he came back, he put on his robe and handed a flannel shirt to me and said, "Here, put this on. It's cold." My brother was like that.

"Do you think he came?" I whispered.

"I heard him! Didn't you?" he whispered back. He looked straight at me, so I said, "What did you hear? When? Tell me!"

He thought a second and said, "I guess I heard the hooves - sometime in the night, maybe 3:30 or so."

"What are hooves? What is that?"

"Their feet. On the roof. Clump, clump clump. You didn't hear it?"

I thought about that and said, "Maybe I heard it," but I was impatient and whined, "You ready yet?" He was looking and looking for his slippers but finally he put heavy socks on instead. I already had my slippers.

"Yep, " he said. "Let's go."

We tiptoed across the hall and started down the stairs. I held Fred's hand on my left and the railing on my right. When we got to the landing, he squeezed my hand and whispered, "Merry Christmas, Peg!"

We could see the Chrismas tree with the packages piled in front of it from there, so we raced to it. Fred got there first, but I didn't mind because there was a Chatty Kathy doll for me. Oh, yes there was! I pulled her string and she said, "I love you," and so I said, "I love you too, Chatty Kathy!" There was a baby carriage for her too, so I tucked her in it, then pulled her string from behind. She said, "Take me with you!" so I pushed the carriage as far as I could going one way across the room and then turned and went the other way across the room. The carpet made it hard but I was so happy with my gift!

Fred got the new electronic basketball game that he wanted, too. He opened the box and got it all set up - it had baskets at both ends so it looked like a real basketball court. He wanted me to play it with him but I didn't know how to work the levers so the ball could aim at the hoop, so he played it by himself - he was both teams.

Then Fred dug around and found some other stuff - socks and underpants for both of us. He found our stockings - each one filled with walnuts and an orange and a candy cane. We didn't have any way to open the walnuts and it was too early for a candy cane - even for me - so he peeled an orange and we shared it.

We had gotten up so early that we were both really tired. We collapsed back on the underwear-socks pile and stared up at the tree. Fred had plugged in the lights and since the living room was still dark with the drapes closed, it looked nice. You could hardly even see the fishing line Dad had to use to tie the tree upright on each side, or the branches Mom had shoved into the bare spots.

There would be other Christmases - the ones with Dad too drunk to put up a tree and Mom too angry to buy presents with Dad in jail. There would be Christmases filled with yelling and screaming and times when the cops came. There would be Christmases where Mom was just too broke to buy anything so we both got soap on a rope which is like getting toothpaste, so it doesn't really count as a Christmas present. By then, of course, I'd know that Santa Claus was just a story somebody made up.

But for this Christmas, for me, Santa was very real.

It's not a real puppy; I know that. But it's a French Poodle! She is looking right at me, too, and smiling like she has a joke to tell. There are tiny sparkly jewels on her pink collar and a pink bow on the top of her head. I love her!

Mrs. Benyon always gives me the nicest things! She says it's because she never had a little girl and while that is kind of sad, I am glad; then I get the nice things! She says I am "her little girl," because she babysits me while Mom works. She comes to the church to get me from kindergarten every day and then we walk to her house because she doesn't drive.

I love Mrs. Benyon, and not just because she buys me things. Sometimes we walk right past her house and go straight to the park where she pushes me on the swing. I have never been to the park with my mom but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't push me on the swing.

As I twist the white curls on the French Poodle's ears, I try to think of a name for her. Like lightening it comes to me - Marie! It sounds very French and it is also Mrs. Benyon's first name! That is perfect!

I pull the blue skirt on over my dress. The button on the waistband is big so I can thread it through the buttonhole by myself. Then I need to turn the skirt so that Marie, the French Poodle, is right on the front.

I look in the mirror and see Marie looking back at me. This skirt is so pretty! The fabric is sort of stiff, so this will be a good "twirling" skirt, even though I don't have enough room in my bedroom to twirl it now. The blue of the fabric is what I think the ocean must look like. It's not the Navy blue of my Dad's uniform, or the pale blue of the robins' eggs I sometimes find, or the green-blue of my Rosary beads, but the exact color of the glass candy bowl at Grandma's house. Blue.

Time for a fashion show! Even though the top of my plaid dress is showing, I can show off the skirt by using my hands like on television. I practice, running my right hand over the poodle and then turning my hand over like on the commercial when they show how smooth Dove makes your skin. No one will look at my plaid dress top if my hands are doing all that!

To add to the "look," I put on a string of pop beads I made. The top half of me looks like Mrs. Eisenhower; the botton half looks like Annette! But it will do.

I am giggling as I walk downstairs, thinking of how fun this will be! I find my folks in the kitchen where Dad sits at the table. He sees me first and smiles when I twirl. Mom is at the kitchen sink so she hasn't seen me yet so I say, "Mom, look!"

She looks, but before I can twirl, she says, "I told you not to wear that!"

"I am just trying it on to see it twirl. Watch!" I say, but then her wet hands grip my shoulders so I cannot twirl. I see Dad looking down, like he is reading, but there is no paper there.

"Take that off right now! I told you! You cannot wear blue. You have brown eyes! The only brown-eyed girls who wear blue are Italians or sluts."

She's a little rough unbuttoning the skirt so I back away and say I can take it off. Away from the kitchen, away from Mom, I slide the skirt off and take it back upstairs to my room.

I don't get the thing about the color blue. Mom wears blue but then she has blue eyes. I wish I had blue eyes so I could wear blue. I know we are Irish and Mom hates Italians, but this is a French Poodle. I don't know what sluts are.

Wet?

One drink is too much.

Each drink needs another

Ten thousand's not enough.

Dry?

It's not done.

It's rude. It's anti-social.

Just have one.

Wet?

More isn't more

Because I want more of more

It's less, not more.

Dry?

Less isn't less, it's everything.

Nothing is most.

Nothing is everything.

Wet?

Friends,

Talking, laughing drunk

Friends

Dry?

Solitude

With others, not alone

But mostly with me

Wet or dry?

Who makes this choice?

I do and I don't

The choice makes me.

He shows up, often.

He knows me, holds me, touches me

But I don’t know him.

I feel special, chosen.

But confused - why did he choose me?

And what do I owe him?

Because that’s the deal.

If he chooses you, you are “it” and

That gets complicated.

Because you are his.

Then you belong to him.

And you can’t leave.

He chose you.

Above all the rest

So you owe him.

And he owns you.

He didn’t pick the thin one or the blond

He picked you.

That’s nice, isn’t it?

To be chosen; to be “his”

That’s nice, isn’t it?

The sex is good.

He wants you to know that he knows

The sex is good.

That’s nice, isn’t?

A dream with good sex.

That’s nice, isn’t it?

I’ve been chosen.

He picks me and the sex is good

And then I’m his.

It’s just a dream.

It’s just a nice dream with good sex.

Please, please wake me.