“Family picture?” the guy says.
Iknow this face. He was her boyfriend. Not the asshole, the nice one. He’s got abeard now.
“Honey,how is your headache? Is it rough today?” he whispersto her alone
“I’mfine, Tom. Let’s not worry about that. This is Mark’s special day. We’ll tellhim tomorrow. Just take the picture.”
“Selfie!” says Mark to his girlfriend. Theycuddle together, Mark’s arm stretched out in front ofhim with his phone in his hand.
Whereis that asshole anyway? Too drunk to seeyour kid graduate?
“Now a proper one with the whole family,”Tom says.
“Beth, would you ask your dad to take apicture of us?” He hands Mark’s girlfriend a camera.
Angelpicks up her baby girl. The five of them stand nextto each other. Mark and his girl are holding hands. She, too, is wearing aring.
“Cheese!”
#
black
butnot quiet
ihear something
birds?pipes?
alwaysgetting louder
somethingin the nothing
herewith me
moving…
#
Thekids have come home for Christmas. They have a baby of their own. Angel’steenager grabs the baby from Mark’s hands.
“Gimme! Come to Auntie! Who’s Auntie’s little angel? You are!”
Myangel is on the couch, drinking a Gin & Tonic. Why does she drink G&T’s in the winter?
Oh.
Mypicture is not on the mantel. It’s in a new frame, hanging up next to otherfamily pictures on the wall. From the couch, she can see it clearly. She raisesher glass to it, the hint of a smile dotting her face.
Mypain is soft. Like cotton.
Andsuddenly I feel younger. I have a full head of hair. That smell… I am in thebig house. My angel is only three. I am picking her up so she can hang herstocking. She’s so excited!
Andthen suddenly I feel old and tired again. Back at herhouse.
“Tom! The kids are here! Bring down thepresents!”
#
iam not alone
itis attracted to me
oram i moving towards it?
nopoint of reference
cacophony
colors
iam not nothing anymore
iam fear
#
Iam with her once more. The pain of existence feelsbetter than fear.
Markis sitting behind the wheel of the Triumph. It needs a wash. There is a bigorange sticker on the rear fender; black block letters: ICV. A New Hampshire state seal, a number,and a date are printed on the sticker.
Mark’shair has thinned out.
Justlike mine did when I was his age.
Hismother is scolding him. She’s got a touch of gray. She’s wearing glasses. Shewon’t admit it to the boy, but she’s feeling worse. The treatments.
“I ought to have my head examined,letting you take that car from me.”
“Geez, Mom. You hardly drive it anymore.But it’s still in pretty good shape. Once I get it retro-fitted for electric,it’ll be back on the road every day again. We’ve been over this. You said itwas time to let it go.”
“Yeah, I know.You are right. And it’s better than just scrapping it. But it won’t be thesame. EVs don’t purr the way an ICV does. It’s like cutting the balls off atomcat.”
“Well, do you want me to take it over tothe shop now or not? We had a deal. You can renege onme if you want, but the ICV sticker expires at midnight. It will cost you anarm and a leg for a new one. And there aren’t even many places to buy gasolineanymore. Seems like a lot of bother to take a joy ride every fourth Sunday.”
Shesighs.
“Okay, son.You’ve out argued me. Your granddad would say, ‘What goes around, comesaround.’ Just take it.”
She’slet go of me.
Thepain is gone.
Ifeel nothing at all.
Afterall these years, my Angel has finally found what I could never give her.
Peace.
Islip back into oblivion.
Idon’t want to go…
3.
colors
acridsmell
aroaring whisper
madness
obliviongone sour
idon’t want to be here anymore…
#
“I’m sorry Angela. The scan doesn’t lookgood. I’m afraid it’s inoperable.”
#
theother
ican sense its need
it’s very close now
it’salmost here
it’shungry
imust get away from it
ineed to escape!
angel!think of me! for the love of christ, please think about your daddy again…
!
4.
Dad?
Iwake up. Smell of antiseptic. Bright. Sunny. Flowers. Tom. My hospital room.
Agood day. I’llsee Mom and Dad soon.
Pain.
Whereis my Mark?
Myson stands in the doorway, my angel of death…
#
allis dark
?
cigar…
where’smy dad? i think he was just here. i can smell him.
anothersmell… acrid…
therewas something else here with him… something… wrong.
dad!
daddy?
Ghoston a Swing by JudiCalhoun
The Road to Gallway
Rob Smales
“Excuse me?”
Isabellooked up from the book in her lap. She’d been vaguely aware they’d stopped forgas, even momentarily registering the old-fashioned ding of the alarm bell hosealerting the attendant he had a customer, but she’d been far too deep in theworld of Magnus Bane to take real notice of anything other than that the carhad stopped. Now Dad stood at the pump, and from the tone of the Excuse me?Isabel worried that she’d not heard Mom the first time . . . butno, Mom was looking through her open window toward the next pump island.
Therewas a huge old car over there, a real blue boat. On the far side of it stoodthe station attendant, all gray coveralls and graying hair, and tall—tallenough that he was able to lean over the big car and squeegee the full expanseof the wide windshield with a single sweep of his long arm.
“Isaid,” he replied laconically, wiping the squeegee’s edge with a rag beforeleaning over to give the glass another swipe, “I’d mind the speed limit in thestretch between here and Gallway, if I were you.”
“Okay,uh . . . thanks.” Mom said, but Isabel could tell she didn’tknow what to make of this warning.
Dadstood too close to the car for Isabel to see his face, but she clearly heardhis voice through Mom’s open window. “What’s between here and Gallway? There aspeed trap or something?”
Fora time there was nothing but the whir of Dad’s pump, the numbers—not digitalnumbers, Isabel saw, or a screen, but actual, physical digits mounted onscrolling wheels, something she thought looked old, but kind of cool in asteampunky way—rolled up and up, slowly filling the Camry’s tank. Isabel lookeddown at The Bane Chronicles again. She’d begun “The Midnight Heir,” andMagnus was just facing a boy with a gun . . . but a speed trap?Seriously?
Theattendant finished with the windshield, then bent low to give a brief fingerwave to the white-haired woman behind the
