Asking Permission

 

Did I mean to

or not?

Am I sorry

or did I just get caught?

Your mad

because you say

You can never know

either way

But if I had just

asked first

would it have been

okay?

Full Steam Ahead

The clang of the bell and clatter of metal broke the tense silence; and a whirlwind of energy burst forth. Muscles, taught and rippling, sweat dripping, hoofs pounding, manes and tails flying, a blur of horse and rider, browns, blacks, greys, reds, blues, and greens spread across the track like paint splashed from a can.

Sarah was right in the middle of the pack, perched atop her mare, Dustdevil. She smiled as she looked forward, through the horse’s grey ears, at the track in front of her that was slowly clearing as the mare surged forward around the first turn. There was a series of jumps next, hedges, and Sarah wound her fingers through the taupe mane and held on, preparing to fly. She could feel the mare’s muscles gather through the thin leather of the saddle, and then they were soaring over the first jump.

Two more jumps and the track was empty, everyone was behind them. Sarah hastened a glance back, peering through the pink silks framed gap between her elbow and her waist. Yes, everyone else was back there, way back there. Sarah smiled They were going to win. She wasn’t surprised. Dustdevil was an amazing horse. Strong, and fast, though no one else thought so. She was sickly when she was born, the fourth disappointment from her dam, Gracie, and Sarah’s father had decided to sell the pair. Sarah couldn’t bear the thought, though. Not because they were going to be sold somewhere bad, but because Sarah had fallen in love the moment she looked into the foal’s big brown eyes. Sarah knew she was special.

It took a lot of pleading, and begging, and use of her own puppy-dog eyes, but Sarah convinced her father to let her keep Dustdevil. Nine months later she was weaned, Gracie, was sold to a riding school, and Sarah started Dustdevil under saddle. From the moment Sarah settled herself onto Dustdevil’s back, two became one. They couldn’t be separated. Every day Sarah and Dustdevil rode together across the fields and through the woods, running, and jumping, and training for this moment.

When Sarah told her father she wanted to enter Dustdevil in the yearling race at the State Fair, her father wasn’t sure, but her mother worked her quite magic, and now here they were, racing quickly toward the finish line.

Dustdevil cleared the last jump like she had wings, and the pair turned the corner and entered the final stretch. There was nothing but Dustdevil and Sarah, moving together as if they were one. All Sarah could hear was the pounding of hoofs, and the pounding of blood, and the deep, steady breathing. Then she realized she could hear something else, her name. Someone was yelling her name, and there was something else too, something about dinner.

Sarah stopped. Her mom was standing in front of her, holding oven mitts.

“What are you doing honey?”

“Nothing.” Sarah replied sheepishly.

“Okay, well please put the patio furniture back where it belongs and then come inside. Dinner’s ready.”

 

 

                                                                                                                     

 

One Step at a Time

 

Two lines on the at-home test

Five days measured by blister pill packs

Six pills per-

separated by color.

By shape

Golden sun

Silver sliver moon.

I wish they were numbered too

Since side effects may include

restless legs and insomnia

By the end of my quarantine

I can’t tell between

The morning sunshine

And the evening moon beam

It all blurs together

Bad movies

Rough Kleenex

And watery bowls of soup

Until the last pill is gone

And I’ve made it through

I can’t wait for that day

When my smell

And my taste

And my ability to string words together

Comes back too

By and By

 

“I can see the whole world from up here,” I said between breaths as I gazed upon the view from the top of the straw yellow hill that stood tall at the edge of town.

“I can see the future from here,” he whispered into my ear, his breath grazing the spot on my neck that always caused goosebumps to rise down one side of my body and back up the other.

“Oh yeah, and what does that look like?” I turned back, away from the edge, and met his gaze. His brown eyes were a cliché, alluring and playful.

He grinned, and he placed his hands on my shoulders and gently turned me back around, before pulling me back into his embrace. “There,” he said, raising one arm away from my waist and pointing out across the valley. I followed his finger, but saw nothing in particular, just the endless rows of suburban housing grid, repeating itself across the valley before stopping abruptly against the hills on the far side.

“Where?”

“You don’t see it? It’s the English countryside, and across those green fields is our stone cottage. You are inside, still asleep.”

“Oh,” I replied, “but why aren’t you sleeping next to me?”

“Because our daughter woke up early, but I thought I would let you sleep, so I took her out to feed the horses.”

“We have horses?” I turned back to face him again.

“Of course,” he smiled, and he pulled me to him again.

As I stared at his face, I could almost feel his lips pressed against mine, the way they had on that hill top twenty years ago. For so long those eyes, the ones I now saw staring back at me from my computer screen, had only existed in my memory, but now here they were again, though now they were framed with the creases of the time that has passed.

I scrolled down to the “view profile” button. I clicked it and silently wished that he wasn’t one of those that hid everything from those not on his friends list. A second later the screen refreshed, and I wanted to take back my wish.  

There on the screen in front of me was exactly what I did not need to know. His relationship status, married. His current home, Leicester, UK. Children, one. The life he had dreamed about with me, he was now living, with somebody else.

A voice broke my trance, “what’s wrong honey?”

I closed the incognito tab, “nothing.”

“You sure? You looked like you were about to cry.”

“Just allergies,” I replied as I shut the laptop and set it on the table, “hey, how about we go to dinner tonight, perhaps that new pub that just opened? I have a sudden craving for fish and chip

Over and Over

 

Steve’s right index finger hovered over the blue button. It wasn’t the right color blue. The one on Amazon had been more turquoise, and this one was definitely royal. That’s not the color he’d imagined, the billion times he had day-dreamed about this exact moment. Oh well, there was nothing that could be done about it now. And at least it glowed, so that was something.  

He pressed it, and held his breath.

Nothing changed. The room was exactly the same as before.

Then he realized he was talking to himself, only his mouth wasn’t moving. He whipped around, and, wait a minute, had there always been a mirror there? Except it wasn’t a mirror, it was him, another him, same clothes, same hair, everything. Except this second him was talking, and he was pissed.

“What the fuck is this?” second Steve was screaming.

“I don’t know, this wasn’t supposed to happen.” Replied original Steve.

“Right,” replied second Steve,” I was supposed to jump into another timeline, not create a carbon copy of myself.”

“Exactly, wait, you’re the copy, not me! I’m the one who pressed the button, then you appeared.”

“No, I pressed the button,” before first Steve could react, second Steve had shoved past him and was now standing poised with his finger hovering above the button, “just like this.” Second Steve pushed the button.

First Steve hadn’t noticed it the first time, but this time he was aware of a barely perceptible change when the button was pressed. It was as if the universe held it’s breath, just for a second.

And then there were three.

“What the actual fuck.” Were Steve number three’s first words.

Second Steve shrugged.

First Steve rubbed his temples, “great, just great, now there are two of you.”

“You mean THREE of US.” Second Steve seemed to have anger issues.

“The good news is I’m pretty sure I know what I did wrong, and all I have to do is,” before the first two Steve’s could react, the third Steve pressed the button.

And then there were four, but before the newest Steve could speak the original threw his hands up in the air, “DUDE,” he exclaimed, “why would you do that? You didn't do anything different, you just pressed the button!”

The first three Steve’s started arguing about who, exactly, was at fault for the predicament they were in. Things were said, words were exchanged, there was posturing, and gesturing, and as fists started to ball in anger, Steve number four cleared his throat. 

“Guys,” he said.

The other three Steve’s stopped what they were doing, suddenly aware of how crowded the room had become.

“Oh fuck, how many of us are there now?”

Dozens of eyes blinked back, wordlessly.

“WELL?!”

“Now Steve, just calm down, yelling never solved anything.”

“Yeah, and I suppose you have the solution, hmm Steve number… wait, what number are you anyway?”

“That hardly matters, because at least I’m not you. I would never make a mistake this idiotic. Because what do you do when you press that button, hmm? You make a choice, which creates a new timeline. But the button, it prevents the new timeline from breaking off into it’s own new reality, and now this one is clogged up with far too many Steve’s. I figure, though, there are enough of us now that if we put our heads together, we can set things right."

Four by Four

 

The sun came in through the gauzy curtains warm and syrupy, like summer. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, and as my brain pulled itself from the fog of sleep, I realized, it was summer. As of yesterday, I was free for the next three months. I rolled over the pulled the blankets up over my head. The entire summer stretched out before me, no sense in starting it off sleepy.

Someone screamed. At first it worked its way into my dream, but when it just kept going, I woke up. I don’t know how long I had been sleeping for, but the sunlight in my room was different. I leaped out of bed and pushed the curtains outside, but no one was out there. Still the screaming persisted.

I ran across my room and threw open the door. The screaming got louder.

“Hello?” I called out.

The screaming stopped, and suddenly she was there. My eight-year-old sister, wearing her pajamas, and holding her left arm to her side at an unnatural angle.

“Miranda, what happened?!”

Her eyes glassed over with tears.

“Okay, okay, where’s mom?”

“Work” she sobbed.

That’s what I was afraid of. Mom worked on the bay. It would be nearly impossible to get in touch with her.

I pulled Miranda close to me, as my mind raced with what I should do. Just then there was a knock at the front door. Miranda froze, her tears momentarily quelled by fear.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, “just wait here, keep quiet, I’ll go see who it is.”

I carefully padded down the stairs, making sure to avoid the one that squeaks, and slid in my socks across the hallway to the front door. I peered through the peephole, where I saw a young man waiting on the other side. I recognized him as the son from the family that moved into the house across the street a few weeks before. I exhaled with relief and opened the door.

“Is everything okay in there,” he said, “I heard screams.”

“Yes,” I said, “well, no actually, I think my sister has broken her arm, or dislocated it at least.” I hesitated, should I tell him we were alone? I could hear Miranda start to whimper again upstairs. “And our mother is at work,” I continued, “she wont be home until tonight.

“Oh, your mother works?”

Miranda started wailing again, saving me from the questions that were soon to follow.

“Oh gosh, I need to get her to a doctor, you don’t happen to have any gas we could borrow? I know its expensive, but I’m sure we could pay you back.”

“Of couse,” he said, as he turned and trotted back down our front drive, “just stay here, I’ll be back in just a sec.”

A few minutes later I heard the distinct sound of hoofs, trotting up the driveway, and in the next minute he was there, in a wooden cart pulled by two chestnut horses.

“Come-on” he patted the empty bench seats next to him on the cart.

By now I had helped Miranda to the porch, where we both stood waiting.

“But you said you had gas?”

“Not me, them,” he gestured to his horses.

I cocked one eyebrow at him.

“Hop on, let’s go. We’ll get you to the doctor,” he winked at Miranda, “and after a few minutes of sitting behind these girls,” he gestured to his horses again, “you’ll have your fill of gas.”

“Eww,” Miranda exclaimed. She seemed to have forgotten all about her pain.

I put my arm around Miranda, and helped her into the wagon. A free ride was a free ride, even if it was a bit stinky.

Two by Two

 

There is a small room behind the principal’s office, and inside is a molded plastic chair, which is orange, a chipped white Formica side table, and an eight-year-old girl with stringy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a neutral expression on her face. Her name is Anne, and she knows she is in trouble. How much though, she isn’t sure. She’s been trying to listen to the whispered discussion on the other side of the door, but its hard to hear, and she’s been told to stay in her seat until her mother arrives. It didn’t matter though, she knew what they were saying, plus she figured it was best not to add to the list of reasons why her mother was going to be lecturing her on the car ride home.

The moment the whispering stopped the heavy wooden door swung open, and there was Anne’s mother. She didn’t say anything, which was to be expected, the lecture wouldn’t start until they were alone, in the car.

Anne took her mother’s lead, and wordlessly fell in step behind her, as she turned and headed out of the office into the bright spring sunshine.

The first three stoplights between the school, and Anne’s house, were green, but the fourth one was red. That was when Anne’s mother spoke.

“Holding hands?” Anne’s mother said, while making eye contact with her in the rearview mirror.

Anne didn’t respond, she just looked away.

“And with three different boys, Tom, Lance, and Brian? Why would you do that, you know you’re too young!”

Anne continued to avoid eye contact, perhaps if she didn’t look at her mother.

“ANNE”

The scream caused Anne’s head to swivel forward. Her mother had turned in her seat and was now staring directly at her, no reflection in the mirror to soften the glare.

“I’m sorry mom, I just…”

“You just what?”

“I just wanted to find my pair, like Sarah, I thought if I could then maybe I could leave, and go be with her at The Station.”

The look on her mother’s face softened, but the sound of a car horn signaled the light had turned green. Her mother turned forward again and resumed driving toward home.

A few minutes later, she spoke again. “Anne, I know you miss your sister, but you are far too young to find your pair. Even if you did somehow manage to locate them, and hold their hand, a link wouldn’t occur, not yet. That part of your mind won’t even develop for another couple of years. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Anne looked up; her mother was watching her in the mirror again. Her eyes were glassy, as if on the verge of tears. Anne nodded.

 “Good,” she sighed, “and listen, when you sister is done with her year one mind control, we can go visit her at The Station. Does that sound good?”

Anne nodded again, but inside she was thinking “are you hearing this?”

“Yup,” came Brian’s voice in her head, “but she’s lying.”

“I know,” Anne thought in return.