Indigo. A dream of the color, and the sound of soft rain. Bathing birds babbled among pines beyond her window, and morning light was warm on her closed face. An ache in the spine. Creaking knees. Shoulders cold cliff-rock. Complaining muscles knotted tight as wood. The wooden house around her also creaked in the wind. Smelled wet. And somewhere echoing through her fields Edgar barked three times, then once more in playful affirmation. Today maybe the last today. In her mind’s eye, falling almost back into dream, Nora surveyed the long acres surrounding her cold home: untended wheat, alfalfa, cattle-corn, all woven through untold ecosystems of weeds. Stray indigo flowers and violets. Scattered dust-filled barns. What the place might look like after all this time. With her right hand she sought the frame of the bed, found it, rough chips of paint flaking. Slowly exhaling at once Nora lifted her iron legs over the edge, thin-socked feet found the bedroom’s planks. Cold air. November hopelessness. With spider-sensitive fingers she plucked her way around the room, imagining violet dawn spilling through her screen window. Stood before the poker-faced mirror out of habit, ran her brush through hair that must now be silver. She felt the satisfying tug on her scalp and loudly past her ears. If her dresser was in front of her, to her right was the window and the pine-scented boxes where she kept his clothes, behind was her rumpled bed, and to her left then was the bathroom. She felt along the door-frame, the sink, the toilet, and sighingly she settled onto its seat. Relief.
Rain drops on her roof were like the “shh” breathed to an infant. Warm blanket of rain over the cold farm. The breathy wind was driving the rain towards her house, cranky knees told of a storm to come. The boisterous wind had the sound of laughter and strife, of voices: the twins arguing somewhere, Edgar probably with them over-enthusiasticly ******* their footsteps. The bellowing wind made the house creak more than usual, but there was something else. A distinctive groan from the foundation up the east wall to the roof-tiles. Someone was in the kitchen. Constance, just like it used to be. Connie was here and the twins were outside: they had arrived closer to dawn than Nora expected. Heavy truck’s tires in mud, headlights had pioneered dawn darkness. Smell of soil. Massaged her own back, kneaded the the flesh on either side of her spine, then wiped and stood from the seat letting her nightgown fall all down around her knotted ankles. Washed herself, and a short shower before the water turned cold. Dried her wrinkles feelingly, smelling soap, and pulled her soft nightgown back on. Socks.
Always a joy whenever Constance came to call — less frequently these days it seemed — always a joy to be with her grandchildren though little Bastian was still mistrustful of her. Always a joy to see her daughter’s family… but she never got to see Matt’s. An image of her son’s face, a red haired ghost of the past, flickered in Nora’s memory. He couldn’t stand this place since he was young, hated his full name “Matthias,” maybe hated Nora too. No reason to stay after his father died. He fled to the city. Must have a wife, several children by now. Well. At least Constance kept coming by. The rain grew heavier, played on the roof like the roll of a snare drum.
Out of the bathroom and bedroom, feeling the planks of floorboard with her soles, hand by hand and foot by foot she traced her steps down the rickety stairs. Uneven. Nora knew the chandelier she once hung here was red; she pictured the color as hard as she could to envision its reflection on each surface of the stairwell. Smell of pine. Like the smell of his clothes safely preserved in the boxes by the window. Jagged nostalgia. Nora had met dear Rowan back in another world: a world of whirling sights and colors and beautiful ugliness and ugliest beauty all. To America when she was nineteen, leaving behind all Germany and studying her new tongue. Had still devoured books then, was able to become a school teacher. When twenty-three, met in a chance cafe Rowan who worked the docks. Red hair. Scottish but of many American generations. Nora grabbed blindly at a face just out of memory’s reach. Her hold on the bannister revealed the places where varnish had been rubbed away by her wringing hands. From the kitchen, acrid cigarette stench and shuffling. Inflamed knees hating her meticulous descent, but better this ordeal each day than to abandon the bedroom they had shared. When the two met, Rowan still sent money to his agricultural folks in New York (“Upstate,” he protested more than once, “Not that awful city, but in the countryside!” and he’d pantomime a deep breath) because of the expenses of running their farm. Nora’s now. From the cafe he had bought her an almond pastry, triangular, smaller than a palm, its sweet crisp flakes made her think of Mediterranean forests, and when the two were married they worked this hereditary farm. Nora knew all the animals, when they still kept livestock. Now Nora’s farm, whose after? When her little Matthias was born they had praised him as the farm’s inheritor. Unwise.
Last step. Sound from the kitchen of Connie shifting in her seat, rustling papers. Smell of strong coffee. Strong cigarettes. Composed herself, quietly cleared throat. Sauntered down the hallway, monitoring expression and tone. Nora said, “Hello Constance. When did you three get here?”
“Hey ma,” said the woman’s voice when the elder crossed into the kitchen. “For christ’s sake don’t call me that.”
“For christ’s sake, don’t take his name,” Ma scolded, but then traced her way past the table to the countertop and felt about for utensils. “I’ll make you something Connie.” The counter was in front of her, bathroom to the left, stove to her right and along that same wall was the back door. ”How about some nice eggs and toast like how you like.”
“No ma, I handled it already.”
“And what color is that hair of yours this time?” Ma asked, carefully inserting slices of bread into the toaster. “Seems like months you haven’t been by.”
A patronising, sarcastic chuckle. “…it’s orange, ma.
Listen—”
“That is so nice. Your father’s hair was just that shade of orange.” Felt around inside the refrigerator. The styrofoam carton. Small and cold and round, her fingers seized four of them. “Do you remember?”
Pause. “I remember, ma.”
“What I don’t understand,” said Ma swallowing a cough, expertly igniting one gas burner as practiced and putting on hot water for tea, “is why you don’t fix to keep it natural. I love our nice fair hair, very blonde, very pretty.” Back home in Germany Nora had been the favorite of two men, but many years since engaging in the frivolous antics she in those days entertained. “Best to flaunt your natural hair color while it’s still there: orange like Matt and dear Rowan, or fair like you and Lorelai got.” Memories of her own face as she remembered it. Relatively young the last time she had seen. What wrinkles there must be. What a mask to wear. No wonder Bastian. Nora ignited another burner. Tick tick tick fwoosh. Smelled gas. Sound of the almost boiling water complaining against its kettle. Phantom taste of anticipated tea. Regret. The contents of the vial hidden on the top shelf. Today maybe the. Sound of heavy rain. “And how are your bundles of mischief?”
Connie sighed. “I told Lorelai to get her little **** inside the house, as if she hears a word. She’s playing with Ed somewhere in the fields I don’t wonder, rain be ******. That girl is such a little — well she’d better not be down by the creek anyhow. Could get flooded in a downpour like this. Bastian was out with her, but he’s playing in his room now. You know we don’t have time to stay long today, it’s just that you and I got to finally square this business away. No more deliberating, ok?”
Swallowed. “Course, Constance. Just nice to hear your voice. You’re taking care?”
“Care enough. Last time I was — oh! Jesus, ma!”
Ma’s egg missed the pan’s edge. She felt herself shatter the shell into the stove top, in her mind’s eye saw the bright orange yolk squeezed into the albumen. The burner hissed against liquid intrusion. Connie made a strained noise and scooped her mother into a seat at the table. Movement. Crisply, the sound of two fresh eggs being broken and sizzling on the pan. Scrambled as orange as Connie’s guarded temper. The table’s cool surface. Phantom smell of pine wood polish and recollections of Rowan at his woodworking tools building this table once. Other breakfasts. Young Constance, young Matthias. Young self. Her left hand massaged her aching right shoulder, then she switched. The sound of plates being readjusted with unnecessary force.
“You know,” said her daughter, “living in one of them places might even be fun. Might be good for you instead of moping about this place. But like I’ve been saying, we got to make our decision today: sell this place or pass it on. I know you don’t take no walk, cause where would you go? What’s the point in keeping all this **** land if you’re not gonna do nothing with it? You can’t even ******* see it!”
“Constance! Language!”
“Come on ma, just cut it out! This is great property, and you’ve let it get so it’s bleeding money.”
“…But Constance I can’t sell it, not like your brother wants me to do. He’s always trying to get rid of this place and turn a profit, but someone needs to take care of it! You know that this is the house that your f—“
“‘That your grandparents lived in where your father and I raised you…’ Yeah I know, ma. And I get it. Believe me. But what you’re doing is just plain impractical, why don’t you think about it? All you’re doing is haunting this place like a ghost. Wouldn’t you rather live somewhere where you can make friends? Things can’t go on like this.” A plate was placed softly on the table and it slid in front of Ma. Can’t go on like this. Egg smell. Salted. Toast, margarine. A cup of tea appeared nearby. “Anything else you want? Here’s a fork.”
“What will you eat, Constance?”
“I ate, ma, I ate already. Have your breakfast, then we can talking about this for real. Ok?” Then, the sound of her daughter’s body shifting in surprise, a pleasant unexpected, “Oh,” before Connie said low and matronly, “Hi baby, how you doing? Are you hungry?” But only the sound of the downpour. Orange eggs still softly sizzled. The wind pushed the creaking house. “Sweetie, you don’t have to hide behind the door, it’s ok. Come say hi to grandma… don’t you want some scrambled eggs?” Refrigerator’s hum. Barking echoed, coming over the hill. But not even the little boy’s breathing. Grandma had met the twins two years ago, following the **** of Constance’s rebellious years and independence. Nora was reminded of her german gentlemen and her own amply tumultuous adolescence. She could forgive. Two years ago Lorelai and Bastian had already been too big to cradle and fawn over, but they were discovered to be just starting school and already bright pupils. Grandma hung her head. Warm steam from where the uneaten eggs waited patiently. Edgar’s approaching yapping. And, fleeing from the doorway, a scampering of feet so light they might have been moth wings. Down the hallway back into his room. “Sorry ma,” said Constance.
Shrugged. A nerve flared in pain up her neck but she didn’t react. Only fork scrape. Ate eggs. On introduction, poor little Bastian had burst into tears and refused to go near her. Connie had consoled: “It’s ok baby, she’s just Grandma Nora! She’s my mother.” But poor little Bastian inconsolable: “No, no, no! She’s not!” What a wrinkled mask it must be. How hideous unkempt with silver hair. How horrible unflinching eyes. “She’s not,” would sob the quiet boy in earnest, “she’s a witch! Don’t you see?” And he never would let Grandma hold him. Lorelai was always polite, hugged warmly, looked after her pitiable brother, but her mind too was far elsewhere. Edgar alone loved them all unconditionally and was equally beloved. Barking. Yowling. Scratches at the door. Downpour. Door and screen door opened, wet dog happy dog entered, shook, and droplets on her cheek.
And there appeared Lorelai, a star out of sight. “Hey mom. Hi grandma!”
Grandma swiveled for cosmetic reasons to face where the door. Grinned, “Hello Lorelai. Wet?” Envisioned yellow sunlight entering with the excitable girl in spite of the deluge.
“Oh it’s so rainy out there grandma, I found little streams through your fields and big mud puddles and Edgar showed me where your secret treasure was, we found it!”
“Stop right there, missy!” commanded Constance. “For christ’s sake you look like you took a bath in the mud and the **** dog with you. Come on, your filthy coat needs to be on the rack, right? Now your boots.”
Warm nose found Nora’s palm, excited lapping. Slimy fur, smelly fur. A cold piece of egg dangled in her fingers, then dog breath came hot and licked it up. Satisfied, he trotted off elsewhere, collar jingling out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Little Lorelai lamented, “I couldn’t help it mom, the mud was all over the place! When we got past the motor barn and the one alfalfa field that looks like a big marsh frogs went ‘croak croak croak’ but Edgar growled and chased them and then we made it all the way in the rain to the creek and it’s so much—”
“Now you just hold on. Hold still!” Sounds of wrestling. Grunts of a struggle. “That creek must have been overflowing! Didn’t I tell you not to? You didn’t take your new phone out there did you, Lori?”
“No ma’am.”
“**** right you didn’t, cause I sure ain’t buying you a new one. Didn’t I tell you not to go all the way out there? Didn’t I? Now you get into that bathroom and wash your **** hands!”
“But I’m telling Grandma a story!” huffed little yellow haired Lorelai.
“Well wash your hands first and then we’ll hear it, Grandma don’t listen to misbehaving girls who are all muddy and gross. Not a squeak from you till you look like you come from heaven instead of that nasty creek.”
A profound sigh, a condescending, “Fine,” a door closing and a squeaky faucet running. Muffled hands splashed, dampened off-key ‘la la la’s.
“Who knows what the hell that one is ever talking about,” said Connie. “It’s everything I can do to get her to shut up for five ******* minutes. You done with your eggs?”
Ma fidgeted. The plate was scraped away, and a clunk by the sink. Licked her lips, mouthed a syllable, about to speak. But then her house creaked three strong along the east wall. From deeper within bubbled a suppressed sob: “Mom,” little Bastian wailed, “Mom, come quick!” Constance sighed, Constance cursed, and Constance swept off down the hallway struggling to refrain from stomping.
Sound of washing. Wind. Rain. Alone. Cold. Picking out the paint for this room, listed in gloss as ‘golden straw yellow.’ Rowan hadn’t liked it and chose himself the bedroom’s color in retaliation. The loss of the home they had built together. The contents of the vial hidden on the top shelf: do they see it? Bathroom sink stopped flowing, door wrenched open. Smell of soap, clean smell. Grandma said to her, “Your mother went to check on Bastian,” Taste of eggs still yellow on her tongue.
“What a *****!”
Stunned. “Lorelai!” she snapped. “Don’t you dare take that language!”
“But mom does it all the time.”
“Then Lorelai, it’s up to you to be better than your mother. When I’m not around any more, and your mother neither, you’ll be the one who keeps us alive.”
“But as long as you’re alive you’ll always be around, you’re not a ***** like mom. And remember? I got all the mud off so can I finally tell you can I what we found? Well actually it was Edgar found it. Oh and I’ll describe it real good for you grandma just like you could see it: when we pulled up we were just wandering in the blue rain, Bastian and me, and silly Edgar joined us but Mom tried to make us come back of course but I told Bastian to stay with us at first, but later I changed my mind on it. It was he and me and Edgar were hiding in the old motor barn where it smells like a gas station remember grandma and he was so excited to see the sun when it rose and made the morning violet sky he started clapping and Edgar got excited too and was barking ‘bark bark’ and howling so I told Bastian to go back even

nora stretches her arms like flowers
she is a tiny fighter
who grew from dry dirt

she has been hurt by men
who said they would protect her green stem
and then cracked her open
when they ripped her from the ground
she took her wounds with pluck
and let her sap guts bleed transient
liquid interiors never tasted so tranquil

nora doesn’t seem like the type
who cuts tick marks along the lines
of her floral spine
out of self pity

but maybe out of fury
she is a tiger lily
freckled cheeks and hair like
a sunset
she is obstinate
to make progress
nora wants to **** her sickness
she still has a dark scar on her shoulder
from the day she tumbled down the stairs
would have died at his hands
if her shoulder didn’t get caught
between the railing balusters
after being almost killed by a man
who tried to crack her open
like so many beer bottle caps
nora collapsed in the quiet desperation
of what he had left of her family
screaming pity the fool
who ever taught me
to love the devil
and call him a father

she wants to escape the laughter
of her classmates
pigeon holed in a tiny body
nora wants to escape her life
too often for repose
she wants to close the door
and hide huddled in the bath tub
waiting for the storm to pass
but she has not met many calm eyes
and she cannot seem to escape the storms
that pass through her like a spring in tornado alley
some days nora feels like dorothy
and she wears her red shoe escape plan
in the blood tick marks she leaves
on her arms and legs
each knife and razor blade
she uses to hack herself apart
reminds her there are other ways to crush pain
and she begins to realize
she can't run and hide but
she can fight  

nora does not beg for mercy
she waits
every day she takes another step
down the yellow brick road
leaving lilies in her wake
crawling up with hope
through every stone
she will not be worth only the
pain she counts in fives
on her skin blushing like burnt red cheeks
she hasn’t slept easy this past year
but she watches the sun rise
with the consolation
of how little she summons tears these days
of each stone she grows over
trampling her fears
with heels like roots curled around boulders
nora will survive tomorrow
understand her worth in the snaking path of flowers
she’ll turn around to stare down at
growing in the wake of her progress

One day, when I awoke,
I remembered a nightmare I had that previous night.

I was at a school, a haunted school,
With a group of girls I didn't know.
They were there to release the spirits of three sisters
Who were trapped there by a mysterious phantom.

The first girl was named Clara,
She had hazelnut hair, hazelnut eyes,
A heart that could only be described as infinite.
She was the oldest of the three.

The second girl was named Nora,
She had a sense for adventure and heroics,
Her eyes only looked forward,
And would sacrifice herself to save her friends.
She was the middle of the three.

The third girl was named Mary,
She had a tame body and never really spoke up,
What she had in shyness she made up with her smile,
And she liked to sing and dance.
She was the youngest of the three.

We climbed up the fire escape behind the school,
The ladder was sticky,
We couldn't tell what it was because it was so dark
No one had thought to bring a flashlight.
We reached an unlocked door
That Nora keenly opened up.
Bella scolded her to be more careful,
But surprisingly Mary was the first to enter
And she hid behind the door to let us through.
It was me, then Nora, then Clara
As we entered a brightly lit hallway
With a door all the way at the end.
And so we walked.

Nora jumped ahead of me,
While Clara stayed behind with Mary
Who regretted her jump start.
So we walked down the hall quietly
With Nora making giggles here and there,
I would look over my shoulder every now and then
To make sure Mary and Clara were fine.
Mary held her hands behind her back
And was looking at her feet,
Clara was looking ahead with her hands together in front
She titled her head, and smiled.
For someone whose sister is lost
She seemed quite content with the people she was with.

Eventually, we reached the door
Which looked like a plain old door,
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about it.
Nora haphazardly opened it only ajar
Because Mary shouted to stop.
Nora looked back with a questioned stare.
Clara took it upon herself to slowly open the door
And make sure everything was safe.
I just stood there breathless.
Clara called us over one by one
To the strangest wooded area.
A wooded area in a school
It was covered with black trees, dead orange grass,
And a purple sky with a yellow full moon.
There were no visible creatures,
Yet I felt like we were being watched.

We walked through the crusty grass
Whispering where we should go.
Nora pointed her finger to the distance.
Clara, Nora, and Mary marched ahead of me
All determined to move forward,
Although Mary let Nora and Clara walk in front of her.

At this point I realized
I was like a ghost to these girls,
I seemed more like a wish
And more and more
Like a wish to save them.

We entered a clearing
And saw the large faceless dark phantom
Breathing cold air.
The girls and I stood stiff
And the phantom took it upon himself
To come to us.
He stood in front of the girls,
All three of them were crying ****** tears.
The phantoms pat the girls on the head,
Comforting them genuinely.
He took them into his darkness,
And they disappeared from my sight.

Nora
Nora stands in the streets,
Nora befriends Patrick,
She tries to defy David,
In red lipstick she is unique,
She cares for her son Nick.

She is from the red light street,
She usually wears ripped jeans,
She waits for her ‘king’
For Nick she buys jelly beans,
She cooks plain beans,
For “love night” he phone rings!!

Nora is compelled to vie Maria,
She loves to share food with Paloma,
Together they discuss erotica,
They want a trip in Valdivia,
They desire to pray in Hajia Sofia.
They are girly girls,
They don’t like to stand against the walls.

Nora adorns herself in red,
She loves to stand in shades,
She seems savory like ‘milk made’
She is just time’s puppet;
She doesn’t love to unzip her jacket,
She wants to imprison the racket!

She is a container of confetti,
She hates to stand against graffiti,
People falsely call her “pretty”
Nora is really needy,
She isn’t a roadside candy,
Still, people see her as a wild berry!

Nora’s long hair is denser,
Her lips are sensuous,
She wears pink n’ purple,
She charms the paupers,
She helps Dora fixing the braid-flowers,
She hates the aroma of fresheners.

All she does for her toddler,
To her, life is a closed condenser,
She loves Julie like own sister,
She waits for lost love Oliver,
She allures people with winged eyeliner.
Nora is destiny’s preserver,
Every night, she kills her customers,
Being a mental slayer!!

Six hours later the sun rose in Peach Springs shinning down on the little busy police station in the middle of town. Eve sat in a tiny well lit room hand cuffed to a bar attached to the wall. She felt dizzy from the tears she had shed unsure how she could still produce them, one after another they fell. The door opened announcing the police officer who uncuffed her and lead her to a room with a table in the center surrounded with chairs. She sat silently gripping to what was left of her sanity as the tears continued to fall. Minutes later two detectives entered, one female, one male, they sat down looking at each other stating their names and titles. The female detective asked Eve her fist question,

"Do we have you permission to record this conversation?"

"Yes, you do."  

She pressed the record button and the interrogation had officially began.

"Tell us what happened prior to you arriving at the hospital."

Eve began to tell her truth fading in and out of the memory as she told the events before and after she decided to get out of bed with Sam. Six hours earlier...


Eve and Sam were restless unable to return to their dreams. She hoped Matt would come back to bed and realize he was being a ****.


He doesn't even know what the situation is between me and Jake.

Eve decided to leave the bed with her son oblivious to the consequences that awaited. She kept her shoulders square, her eyes on the path that lead to the kitchen as she passed Matt in the living room. She peeked in the master bedroom searching for Julie when Matt's  mother spoke in an overpowering voice,


"I'm in here, close the door."

Eve felt her son squeeze his legs around her and quickly closed the door. She walked towards the back door listening to faint voices coming from Matt's room. She joined them sitting across from Julie with her son in her lap she asked,

"What are you up to Jewels?"

Eve wished she would've stayed in bed when Julie pointed to the coke offering  her some. She refused it but knew it wouldn't be that easy to get away with. Like with most things Julie told her to try it and stop if she didn't like it. Eve asked her what it felt like then agreed when Julie told her it felt good. She placed her child on the bed opposite to Jake, she shooed Jake"s hand away when he tried to grab her. Agitated she walked over to Julie who held the foil steady while she inhaled her hit. As she exhaled she washed the taste clean from her lips. When she looked up she realized Matt was sitting on his bed drinking a beer. Eve shook her head at Matt agreeing with his sister who was telling stop or he'd go back to jail.

******* *******, he's doing this on purpose.

she told herself when he downed four more. Eve followed Julie's lead yelling at Jake not to  give Matt any of the ******* when he offered it to him. Eve held her anger while she watched him as he snorted the fine white powder. Julie told her brother,

"Your ******* stupid."

Eve shouted at him,

"Yeah you are."

"Why do you even care.",

he asked in voice that stabbed at Eve. Lost in her thoughts she barely notice when Amanda walked in. Eve heard her whining but couldn't make out what she was saying. She looked up in time to hear Julie invite her somewhere. Automatically she refused using the excuse that her son was awake. Amanda threw a fit telling Julie to leave Eve behind then she turned to Eve glaring at her as she left the room with Jake following behind her.

"Ignore her. Lets go.",

Julie insisted.

"I can't.",

Eve pointed to her son.

"Ask Matt to watch him",

she told her. Eve looked at Matt who was shaking his head with his answer no.

"It's only for a few minutes Matt."

Julie told him. Eve walked towards Matt telling Julie,

"It's okay Julie, Amanda doesn't want me to go, remember."

"**** her."

Julie said laughing. Eve reached for her son taking him from Matt, but Matt pulled him back telling her,

"I'll do it."

"No, it's okay, give me my baby."

Eve insisted pulling on Sam. Eve frowned at Matt when he refused to let go of Sam. They both tugged at him til he started crying, with sounds of his cries she let go of Sam.

"Are you sure Matt? I can take him, he's my baby, just give him to me. "  

Eve studied him, Matt pouted saying,

"I'll do it, I always do it anyway?"

Feeling uneasy Eve handed Sam's bottle to Matt then left the room with Julie. They met Amanda, Jake and Jeff at the curb where the cream colored Cadillac was parked in front of the house.  Immediately Amanda threw a fit at the sight of Eve. Eve shrugged her off as they drove to the store. Jake went in then returned empty handed explaining it was two a.m. and the store clerk refused to sell him alcohol. They drove the four blocks back to the house with Amanda pouting a fit that had them all in distress. Upon arriving to the house Eve smoked a cigarette on the front porch with Julie keeping her company. She finish the cigarette proceeded to the kitchen retrieving a yogurt from the fridge. Eve step out on the back porch listening for Sam. She stood there for several minute while she ate her yogurt thinking,

Sam's probably asleep. If i go in that room and end up waking him Matt will flip. I'll just wait a few more minutes and smoke another cigarette, if Sam cries i'll get him, if he doesn't i'll leave it be.

She finish her cigarette certain everything was perfectly fine. She believed Sam was sleeping in the safety of Matt's protection. Matt had always referred to Sam as his son ever since Eve's belly began to show she was pregnant with Sam, she trusted him. With her mind at ease she returned to the living-room and out the front door.  The Cadillac took off leaving Amanda behind. She watched Amanda walk along side of the house heading towards the back yard. Eve followed Amanda until she turned snapping her words she instructed Eve to leave her alone. Eve turned around entering the house through the front door.  Amanda entered the house through the back entrance minutes after eve had sat down next Julie. Amanda joined them in the living-room visibly upset making it clear she was not happy that Jeff left to take Jake home. Soon after Matt ran through back door yelling ,

"Help! He's not breathing, he's not breathing!"

The girls met him at the frame of the door leading to the kitchen. They shouted at him demanding to know what had happened. He told them Sam must have swallowed a rock. Everything swirled into a blur and Eve took her baby from him grabbing her coat on the way out running, following Julie.

Eve blinked through tears returning her to the room where the detectives sat in front of her. She shook head resting her arms on the table saying,

"That's all i know."

"Tell us again, from the beginning, what happened?"

The detectives took turns insisting she tell them over and over again what she knew. After the fifth time through the events of that night she lost her composer. Eve slammed her hands down on the table as she stood from the chair screaming,

"I already told you what happen. Why are you doing this? How many times do I have to tell you?"

She hung her head low clearing her mind making sense of the situation. She looked up at them, in a confused voice she said,

"You think i killed my baby?'

Her voice hardened raising slightly.

"Is that what you think? Is that why your doing this? I didn't **** my baby, I didn't **** him."

Defeated she fell into her chair. The detectives looked at each other then turned off the recorder.

"We're finished."

They both said softly standing then leaving the room. Some time later a police officer opened the door leading her to another room with a table in the center surrounded with chairs and a two-sided mirror next to it. Her eyes leaked endless amounts of sorrow flowing, falling with every step she took towards the chair she pulled out sitting so that she faced the mirror. The door closed with the officers exit and she let out a wail of enormous heartbreak, sorrow, and just flat out pain.

What happened? Oh god, bring him back. Tell me what happened. Why?

She pleaded silently with her God. She watched herself in the mirror thinking,

I should have never left the bed. I should have made him fall asleep.

Feeling faint her eyes throbbed making her head pound deeper pulsing down her neck. Eve pushed two chairs together curling on to them making her hands her pillow. She closed her eyes wishing that when she opened them she'd be next to Sam in bed. But she open her eyes and saw the carpet of the room, she began to sob. The door opened with the familiar face of the officer who lead her to the exit of the police station informing her she was free to go. The light of the sun blinded her sending her into a daze. Nora and Julie soon joined her and she asked Julie's mother Nora,

"Where's Matt?"

Nora turned to Eve shushing her with a finger to her lips. When they arrived home Nora requested the girl join her in her room. Once there Nora instructed the girls to sit on the bed. They did as asked then Nora faced the floor slowly and clearly she said,

"Matt killed Sam!"

With the sounds of those words Eve's world turned, crumbling. Nora informed the girls what Matt had done to the child. They all cried in pain knowing nothing could ever be the way it was before. Now those loving feeling she felt for Matt in the darkest corners of her mind echo'd, slithering, completely tainted by the unspeakable evil he committed against her son resonated throughout her being.

She left her bag back at the station
she thought she’d carry on
and the whistle sounded as a watchman found it
he looked but she was gone

“Call for a Miss. Blume, I repeat Miss. Nora Blume
your bag’s at lost & found”

12 hours after a search had gathered
her family standing by
and the whistle sounded as the troops were rounded
up to contemplate the whys

“Ahh, Sherif, you may wanna have a look at this,
could be blood from the girl we just may have missed”

She left her bag back at the station
with a letter she had drawn
and the whistle sounded as a watchman found it
he looked but she was gone

“Dear Mother I am leaving, don’t expect me to return
I’ll love you always this is not a phase but a lesson never learned”

12 hours after a search had gathered
her family standing by
and the whistle sounded as the troops were rounded
up before the case went dry

“Ah, Sherif, you may wanna share this, it’s a note from Nora Blume,
her Mother needs to know that a suicide’s assumed”


She left her bag back at the station
where they came ‘cross a syringe
just one of many in a package
tangled in her wallets fringe

“I saw no need for luggage as I’ve carried more in wait
there’s a final wrath along my path that’s leading to my fate”

12 hours after a search had gathered
a blood trail lastly explored
and the whistle sounded as the troops dumbfounded
covered up her corpse

“Don’t cry for me, ask Daddy then you’ll know the reason why,
just put us in the same plot embracing on our sides”

She left her bag back at the station
she thought she’d carry on
and the whistle sounded as the two were grounded
down six feet moving on...

if i was a pearl i’d feel itchy scratchy stuck inside an oyster shell if i was a tree i’d  be a big fat redwood fantasizing about Julia Butterfly Hill living and peeing around me if i was a dog i’d be a Catahoula hound if i was Italian i’d be Sicilian if i was pasta i’d be spaghetti if i was Icelandic i’d be Bjork if i was a rock star i’d be Elvis Presley Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison John Lennon Bruce Spingsteen Maynard James Keenan if i was i writer i’d be Herman Melville Mark Twain James Joyce William Faulkner Thomas Bernhard Yukio Mishima Naguib Mahfouz Phillip K. **** Gabriel Garcia Marquez Annie Proulx Lydia Davis if i was a poet i’d be Walt Whitman Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Gwendolyn Brooks Pablo Neruda  Heather McHugh Carl Sandburg Robert Frost Arthur Rimbaud Dante Alighieri Homer if i was a painter i’d be Leonardo Da Vinci Michelangelo da Caravaggio Johan Vermeer Rembrandt van Rijn Paul Cezanne Marcel Duchamp Jackson ******* Mark Rothko Ad Reinhardt Anselm Kiefer Susan Rothenberg if i was a photographer i’d be Man Ray Ansel Adams Edward Weston Diane Arbus Robert Mapplethorpe Sally Mann Helmut Newton Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz if i was a philosopher i’d be Socrates Plato Aristotle Jean Jacques Rousseau Sören Kierkegaard Immanuel Kant Karl Marx Georg Hegel Friedrich Nietzsche Henry David Thoreau Ralph Waldo Emerson  Jean-Paul Sartre Jean Baudrillard Michel Foucault if i was a singer i’d be Woody Guthrie Otis Redding Grace Slick Bob Marley Joni Mitchell Marvin Gaye Johnny Cash Patsy Cline June Carter Patti Smith Chrissie Hinde Nick Cave P J Harvey Beyonce if i wa a band i’d be Velvet Underground Ramones *** Pistols Clash Cure Smiths Joy Division Uncle Tupelo Pixies Nirvana Nine Inch Nails Madrugada Sigur Ros White Stripes Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra Justice of the Unicorns if i was a boot i’d be Chippewa Frye Ariat Red Wing Tony Lama Wellington if i was a shoe i’d be Christian Louboutin Jimmy Choo Kedds Chaco Chuck Taylor p f flyer if i was a dress i’d be Channel Dolce & Gabbanna Giorgio Armani Marc Jacobs Comme des Garçons if i was a cowboy shirt i’d be H bar C Rockmount Temp Tex Karman Wrangler Levis Strauss Lee if i was a hat i’d be a Stetson Borsalino Stephen Jones if i was a fruit i’d be a mango apple banana blackberry if i was an scent i’d smell like fresh perspiration jasmine sandalwood ylang ylang the ocean if i was a doctor i’d be a gynecologist neurosurgeon if i was a flower i’d be a hibiscus rose orchard if i was a stone i’d be a sparkling ruby diamond opal if i was a knife i’d be a k-bar switch-blade machete if i was a gun i’d be a Remington Winchester Beretta Glock AK-47 if i was a car i’d be a Lamborghini Ferrari BMW Saab Volkswagen GTO Ford Mustang Dodge Challenger if i was a  TV show i’d be Law and Order if i was actor i’d be Charlie Chaplin Humphrey Bogart Steve McQueen Robert De Niro Ed Norton Shawn Penn if i was an actress i’d be Marlene Dietrich Ingrid Bergman Natalie Wood Audrey Hepburn Marilyn Monroe Helen Mirren  Meryil Streep Brigette Fonda Robin Wright Julianne Moore Angie Harmon if i was a female comedian i’d be Gilda Radner Lily Tomlin Nora Dunn Joan Cusack Sarah Silverman Tina Fey if i was a  football player i’d be Sid Luckman George Blanda Walter Payton **** Butkus Mike Singletary Joe Montana Jerry Rice Payton Manning LaDanian Tomlinson  Drew Breeze if i was a celebrity i’d be Charlotte Gainsbourg if i was a rapper i’d be Tupac Shakur if i was a movie director i’d be Sam Peckinpah Robert Altman Stanley Kubrick Roman Polanski Werner Herzog Rainer Fassbinder Louis Bunuel Alfred Hitchcock Jean-Luc Godard François Truffaut if i was a bird i’d be a eagle hawk sparrow bluebird if i was a fish i’d be a dolphin shark narwhal Charlie the tuna if i was breakfast i’d be a French toast pancake folded in half with 2 strips of bacon in between if i was a cold cereal i’d be snap crackle popping rice crispies shredded wheat cheerios oatmeal if i was tea i’d be Japanese green matcha Irish breakfast Tulsi Thai holy basil Lapsang souchong Luzianne Lipton if i was a soap i’d be French hand milled ayurvedic Avon Ivory Dove Pears Aveda  if i was a man i’d be a football basketball baseball tennis swimmer athlete if i was a woman i’d be a track star runner writer painter gardener doctor nurse yoga mom i'm just scratching the surface and the beat goes on lahdy dah dah

Ikaw na babaeng sumasayaw sa dilim,
   Ikaw na nakakapit sa patalim:

Di ba nasusugat ang porselanang palad
    Na kasing lambot ng puwit ng sanggol?

Sa matalim na kutsilyong kinakapitan
      Ano mang oras hahatulan ng lipunan?

At sa higpit ng piring mo sa mata,
     Pasasaan pa't mabubulag ka na

Ikaw na babaeng gumigiling-giling,
   Iba't ibang laway ang pinanghihilamos gabi-gabi

Ang sugatan **** puso'y walang gamot
    Ngunit ang kandungan mo'y sagot

Sa mga problema ng mga lalakeng–
      Naghahanap ng panandaliang saya.

Ikaw ba, babaeng hubad,
   Naranasan mo na ba ang lumigaya?

Kumusta na ba ang anak mo sa una **** nobyo?
     Balita ko'y di ka na niya kilala.

Hindi ba't may tatlo ka pa sa probinsiya
   Na pinagkakasiya ang padala **** barya?

Naalala mo ba ang bilin sa 'yo
     Ni Karla na siyang una **** bugaw?

"Huwag **** bigyan ng puwang sa utak mo
      Ang sasabihin ng Inay mo.

Sasampalin ka niya, di ng palad niya,
     Kun'di sakit na dama ng isang Ina.

At iyon ang pinakamasakit
    Sa lahat ng puwedeng sumakit."

Ilang ulit mo na bang tinanong ang sarili
   Kung saan ka nagkamali?

Kung ilang liko ang ginawa
     Para mapunta sa hawlang 'sing dilim ng kuweba

Na pinamamahayan ng mga paniking
     Takot sa liwanag na magpapakita ng mga galos

Na bunga ng mga gabing kinukurot ang sarili,
     Tinatanong, hinihiling na sana'y bangungot lamang

Ang buhay nila sa dilim,
    Pasasaan pa't nasanay na rin.

Ikaw na isang mabahong lihim
   Ng mga mister na may misis na bungangera

Ha'mo na't sa iyo naman sila panatag
     Sa mga suso **** malusog, pinili nilang humimbing.

Ikaw na pantasiya ng karamihan,
   Ano ba ang pakiramdam ng pinagsasalsalan

Ng mga nagbibinatang hindi pa tuli,
      Ng mga lalakeng di kaya ang presiyo mo,

O ng matandang libog na libog sa mabango **** kepyas
      Ngunit nanghihiram ng lakas at tigas sa ******?

Saan ka na ba nakapuwesto ngayon?
    Sa Malate, Morayta, Quiapo, o Aurora?

Ilan na ba ang napuntahan mo?
  Ilan pa ba ang bibiyayaan mo ng iyong alindog?

Sa Makati Ave, Pasay, o sa Parañaque?
      Ha'mo na't langit pa rin naman ang dala mo

Kahit na alam ninyo ng Diyos
    Na nakaukit na ang pangalan mo sa impyerno.

Ikaw na babaeng walang pangalan,
   Ano ba ang itatawag ko sa 'yo?

Ilan na ba ang nahiram mo sa tabloid
  O sa mga artistang iniidolo mo?

Kathryn, Julia, Nadine, Meg, Yen, Anne
    Yna, Katya, Ara, Cristine, Kristine, Maui

Daria, Pepsi, RC, Susan, Gloria, Lorna, Aida, Fe
    Vilma, Sharon, Nora, Maricel, Dina

Ikaw na babaeng 'sing nipis ng balat ng sibuyas ang saplot
   Di ka ba nilalamig sa pag-iisa mo?

Ikaw na babaeng marumi,
  Sadsad na sa lupa ang lipad, saan ka pupunta?

Wala ka nang kawala sa dilim,
     Pasasaan pa't malalagutan ka rin ng hininga
        at  magpapasalamat sa biyaya.

Ikaw na babaeng bukod tangi,
   Ginawa **** lahat pero hindi naging patas ang mundo.

Lunukin mo na lang ang mga hibla ng pagsisisi
    Ipagdadasal kong huwag nang magdilim sa hawla mo.

nora,
4 years young,
you lovely little girl,
let me thank you for the good
you've shown to me, the world.
your dimple-strewn sweet smiles
your shrieking raucous laughs
your wild unbound stories
(oh, i wonder).
you tiny little pearl
in the oyster of the world,
your mother's middle baby and
your father's only girl,
my darling and my laughter and the child i once was,
i wrote this and i thought this
all for you, nora-bug.

Ah, Nora.
I don't know why
I still think these thoughts.
It's been so many years.
Never mind the why of it,
I doubt even you could know.
How you could have taken such a part
of me.  Of us.  All of us.
It's the how that dogs me.
Those years when we were apart,
me busy trying to raise the boy,
you doing whatever it was you did;
those were unhappy years.  For me,
I can say.  For you, I can only think so.
O, Nora.  
It's been such a long time.
Now that the boy's all grown, almost,
what will be left of us?
When you came back, I didn't look
this far down the road.  Here we are.
What can I do?  What's done is done.
Forgiving's easy.  Forgetting, well...
not so.
Nora, Nora,
that time so long ago
that never should have been.

r ~ 5/24/14

I watched the craggy old man at the far end of the bar besiege his liver with absurd amounts of *** and Coke. It was entirely classless, like he was drinking his obsequies in plain sight of everyone. Not that ‘everyone’ amounted to much– it was a Tuesday, and there were seven lost souls scattered around Nightingale’s. Four of them were shooting pool. Big arms, tattoos, Harleys out front. Another two were puffing cigarettes through their fifties, probably talking about this ****** generation of kids and doing lines of 80’s nostalgia. A few seats from them was a loner (sporting a white braided ponytail and a rawhide vest, you know the type) sitting by himself, looking very divorced. He was engaged in conversation with the bartender, a black-haired ***** with enough experience. Occasionally he’d throw some whisky down his throat. Keeps the fire going.

But it was the sorry ******* in the corner who interested me more than anyone else, mostly because he had such blatant disregard for his own life. I watched him guzzle his eighth *** and Coke since my arrival. He was moving around so much, it was a wonder he stayed in his seat.

The light caught his addled face. You could see that maybe once he was handsome, but time had forced him to wear bad habits out. It made me wonder how. How and why.

“You know, all that Coke can’t be good for your bones,”

Awkward as hell, but it was the best I could muster. The words hung in the air, dry as scotch.

“You realla think I give a ****, dude?” he slurred. He sorta twitched when he spoke… I got the feeling he’d been at this for a while.

He belched loudly.

I let the stench of alcohol, depression, and **** excuse my hesitation.

“Well, why don’t you at least change it up a bit?”

I ordered him an old-fashioned. It really didn’t make a difference. The man was going to drink himself to death anyway. You could see it in his eyes.

He held up the drink loftily, considering it. He smiled wryly and looked at me.

“Thanks,” he said, and gulped the whisky down.

I began to grow unsure of the whole thing. Coming to this ****** pub, talking to this reeking old man… Hell, moving to Denver at all. I’d come here to forget things, but had yet to find anything of real substance to push old memories out…

He slammed his glass down heavily on the bar.

“You smoke grass?” He lobbed.

Interesting.

I followed him outside and tried hard not to be obvious as I inspected the joint he passed me. Not wet. I guess it’s fine.

“Do you live around here?” I asked, passing back the joint. The quality of **** surprised me. Strong sativa.

“If you can call this living…” answered the most depressing man in Denver.

I couldn’t take it anymore, so I just asked him.

“What’s wrong, guy? Why are you so **** sad?” I said.

“It’s really ******* stupid,” he said, turning. “It’s actually ******* insane.”

I pulled on the joint and waited for him to spill his guts.

“A long time ago,” he went on, “I was a lot different. I used to kiss all the pretty girls and make 'em cry.”

He sobered up a bit.

“But then one came along who I won’t forget. Too wild to be tamed,”

He looked down at the sidewalk and tossed the roach at it.

“Lost my ****. I rammed my car into that *****’s house and tried to take off. 'Course the five-o caught up with me and I ended up in jail with two felony counts.”

“**** dude,” I offered, “That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, I was a ******’ lunatic. Stopped caring after that. Been bouncing around ever since. Can’t get comfortable. Can’t get a good job.”

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

Nothing interesting happened after that. Bruce went on about his ex for a while, speaking highly of her. He told stories about days they shared in Pennsylvania. He told me all about her art and writing, and how he had obsessed over her for years, making her into a metaphor for death and loss. I listened to him ramble for quite some time, but after about half an hour I stopped caring and had to take my leave.

I lied to Bruce and told him I had work early in the morning.

When I got back to my apartment, I collapsed onto the futon and looked dramatically up at the ceiling. I got up and went to my desk. I opened the little drawer on the left.

I pulled out Nora’s picture from underneath my paystubs and saved bills. I thought about Bruce’s story and the smell of **** and alcohol. I felt pity for him– pity I didn’t want anyone to feel for me. Still, there was a clog in my throat and my eyes stung with emotion.

I sincerely hoped that Nora was having a great time in New Zealand.

I opened my window and let Nora’s picture fly into the unfamiliar city. I collapsed back on the futon.

It wasn’t comfortable

in crystal does she reside
frozen, she will abide
until the time he finds a cure
body will not mature
timeless until he succeeds
she is his wife-- Nora Freeze

It's unsettling.
The shape and form and texture.
The way that you have manifested yourself.
From a light lilac sky
To a deep purple abyss.
It's still purple,
But.....

my neighbors still slept
as the zombies crept through town
they awoke undead

mom threw a grenade
the zombie blew up, alas,
blood got in her mouth

gunning down zombies,
my arm was bitten. weeping,
i hacked it clean off

later i saw mom
dead-eyed, moaning, and ******
and slit my lone wrist

nora burned the stairs
zombies piled up beneath her
rotten hands grasping

nora stayed upstairs
after five days of terror
she starved to death there

dad was cleverest
he fled to the Atlantic
to escape by boat

wading through driftwood
he found a russian u-boat
full of gnarled corpses

not dead as they seemed
the kremlin zombies leapt up
and ate my dad's brains

I am not going home.
You can try to pull me back
Tell me all the reasons you love me
Remind me of all my duties and obligations
Call to the moral compass that never points north inside of me-

The one you planted in place of the heart you stole.
But I will not come back, not to the house
That is called "home" through sheer force of habit.

Name a wolf "sheep"- he will turn on his "brothers"
Name a devil angelic- he will cause the downfall of heaven
Name a leopard a lapdog- his spots will not change.

I named you loving, tender, gentle.
I called you moral, caring, I dared to try and call you mine.
I have spoken falsely, the sheer force of my want
Making me liar, a false prophet.

I am not going home-
My home is in my own heart
And you are not in it.

I was over at the Church today
And saw a notice that was posted
There would be a Christmas sale
And by the ladies would be hosted
They didn't have a firm date set
And they weren't sure where to hold it
They barely even had a theme
But they sure knew who would host it
You'd surely think a Church event
Would be held inside the Church
But because the ladies could not agree
They were all left in the lurch.
The Church was booked right through the  1st
And the place they had to find
Would have to hold all 50 booths
To sell their wares of every kind,
They checked the ads for vacant halls
But they were already taken
Sister Eugenie "Better than you",
Said her faith was really shaken
That they would not come through this year
And the church they would let down
"We'll find a hall to hold this thing?"
"We'll tear apart this town"
Phone calls were made throughout the night
Notes and letters all were sent
Surely there was someone there
Who had a hall to rent
Without a hall there was no sense
In fact there was no reason
To start their crafts and baking bees
There was no reason for the season
They met as one and did decide
To ask the churches elders
If they could open up one day for them
By rescheduling the welders
They sat and talked and talked and sat
And lots of time was spent
But Father Reagan from the church
Said no, "And that is that"!
Time was quickly running out
When a message they were told
For Sister Eigenie "Better than you"
was left by a Mr. Gold
She called him up and let him know
Exactly what their needs were
He had exactly what they asked
Of this he could assure her
The only thing that he did ask
He had this one request
Was that his name be mentioned not.
At his families bequest.
He said he'd help them even more
And help fill up their tables
With baked goods, crafts and candles
And small models of the stables
Where Christ was born so long ago
He'd help them all he could
They all said yes to his demand
Things were looking good
They set to baking everything
Likes cookies and cream horns
Sister Eugenie "Better than you"
Made a jello "Crown of Thorns"
She was always different with
The things she baked and gave
Last Easter she spent two whole weeks
Making a Chocolate burial cave.
They did their crafts and made their things
and soon they all were ready
The big day came and the excitement
made the ladies a bit unsteady
ESpecially when they all arrived
At the address they'd been given
And there to meet them was a Man
Who said " I'm Rabbi Schiven"
This is a first for us you see
Our temple hosting Christmas
So, If we make a few mistakes
I'm sure you will forgive us
We've food prepared for you to sell
And crafts and sweaters too
I'm certain we will have the first
Christmas Bazzar run by jews.
We made some stockings too you see
By our bubbie known as Nora
There's a Star of David on One side
And on the other a Mennorrah!
Please take our gifts and go set up
And good luck on this day
And as a final parting word
Merry Christmas and OY VEY!!!

Eve tormented herself daily for the death of Sam. To her it was the not knowing what had lead Matt to **** Sam that really plunged the dagger of self hatred and regret into her repeatedly each second of each day. She had asked Matt countless times to tell her what had happened. He would either refused with an explanation of not wanting to upset her or he'd just avoid the question altogether. On one occasion she begged him for closure in the form of a written letter. His response was that maybe they should quit writing each other. Enduring his refusal fueled her further into depression leading her down a path of anger  towards destruction and with that she began to lose hope she'd ever know why. She had forgiven him, even told him she still loved him from the very first letter she sent him. Still he could not find it in his heart to tell her. At first each letter she received gave her hope it would contain an explanation, but at the end of each one she was left broken by the lack of information. Eve learned to smile for the people who surrounded her in her life including the friends she shared with Matt making them believe she was okay to an extent for the sake of knowing what Matt refused to tell her. She knew the autopsy listed the cause of death as aspiration and cardiac arrhythmia due to sudden impact to the chest supporting Nora's claim of what Matt had done. To her that was a cause of death not a reason why Matt killed her son. She needed to know why in order to let go and move on. So much had change since the night Sam had died on Oct 12th 2001 between the hours of 3-4 am. On Sept 23rd 2003 a letter would arrive to Nora's address for Eve finally giving her the answer why Sam was murdered.

Eve drag out that day just like any other, step by step, obsessing over the death of her son. She walked the sixteen blocks from her mothers house to Julie's apartment with her head low and her spirits lower. On her way a small Honda drove slow and close to the curb containing the woman that had once been her friend. Alice dove the Honda spitting hateful remarks at Eve,

"What's the matter *****, you ain't got a car?"

Eve glanced towards her with sad eyes that held the pain of her life refusing to let the tears hidden beneath make an appearance. Instead she glared offering Alice anger instead of sorrow before turning her attention to the pavement of the sidewalk ahead of her. Alice laughed with excitement as she continued to beat her words into Eve's reality,

"Keep walking *****. Just keep walking. You ain't **** ugly *** *****."

Alice's words were echo'd by the laughter of the passengers in her car. To Eve's relief Alice drove off leaving her to enjoy her misery alone. When she arrived to Julie's apartment she found the front door open. She stepped inside the apartment with Julie in her line of sight she made her way to and sat on the couch next to her.

"Hey girl. Watcha up to?"

Julie said as she dug through her purse. Eve answered with an even tone,

"Not much just bored."

"My mom gave me this for you. It's from Matt."

she said as she handed the envelope to Eve. Eve took it from her with glimmer of hope and an anchor of regret. She opened it and began to read the letter. When she arrived at the sentence that started the events of the night her son was murdered through Matts point of view she stop and headed to the bathroom. She closed the door then let herself fall to the floor as she continued to read the details. She arrived to words-I stopped and buried her head in her lap as she screamed with agony. Tears flowed as she lifted her head spilling and crashing onto the letter she had waited one year, eleven months, one week and one day to read. She gasped choking the air down her throat as Sams voice played through her mind hearing his last words. She could see her baby's face in the glare of her tears that continues to spill. Regardless she kept reading.

It was so quiet my ears were ringing. Then i took him inside and you left to the hospital. I got a ****** up mind and i went crazy, I lost it. Now i'm in here and I read the some strong signs of a ego disharmonious killer is abuse, cruelty to animals and arson. When I was little my mom and my uncle used to beat the **** out of me and I've burnt two houses that my mom was renting. When I moved to Peach Springs i burnt somebody's elses house, i burnt a garage like four cars and probably like twenty trash cans. I won't even start with how many animals i was cruel to. But all that ***** in my past. So ima stop talking about it. I'm sorry for the ****** up **** I've done but I am what I am. And I hope that my stay in prison will help me to change. I've been thinking about a lot of **** in here and I think I should have just walked away but i was so drawn to you. I should have just left you alone but I was drawn to you. By what? Love? I don't know and wish I did. But I'm not gonna start talking about love, because it's like you said love can hurt as we all know. So **** love, know what I'm saying? You said you loved me, did I believe it? No. I said i loved you, did you believe me? Probably ******* not, so **** love. About those letter you said you wrote, just get rid of them. Three year, two months, two weeks and four days that's how old he'd be now. I think about him all the time. I sit here and wonder what his voice would sound like. I would really like a picture of you. I haven't seen you since my court date and it wasn't really tryin to look you in the face then you were crying. Do you ever wonder what it would be like if I never did what I did? What would be up with you and me? I do, I think about what could've been, what might have been, and what would have never been. And I always ask myself, what were we? I can't put a name to it. What were we Eve? Do you even know? I hope you like the drawing on the envelope, i think it's good for you because i always thought you had beautiful eyes. Besides, all my other envelopes got hearts and roses on them. The one with the roses says love you and you don't want to hear that ****. So, bye                                                    

        September 17,2003                                                                Matt

P.S.
Would you please tell Julie to write me and I said Hi.

Eve felt lost and catastrophic. She sat on the bathroom floor for twenty minutes after she finished reading the letter without making a sound as she continued to release her sorrow.