With War, Without You (http://stores.lulu.com/harrychong)

1 “All is far in love and war,” says Karen to Marian as they jog around in the mist. “Don’t you mean ‘all is fair in love and war’?” asks Marian while trying to keep pace with her best friend. The sun starts to come up against the horizon; its piercing orange-glow ushering in the day. “No,” replies Karen with a smirk. “All is far in love and war. That’s what my mom used to tell me. It means that both endeavors are equally as unattainable...equally as distant.” Marian thinks about it for a few seconds and laughs loudly. “That’s kind of a clever saying. Maybe you should consider copyrighting it.” Karen huffs. “Let’s finish our workout first.” 2 After taking off her shoes, Marian slogs through the house soaked in sweat. She goes into the kitchen where her longtime boyfriend, Jerry, carefully listens to the radio. His head is lowered down with his ears pointed to the speaker. “What are you doing?” asks Marian while patting her face dry with paper towels. “I’m listening to the news,” replies Jerry with a stoned look. Marian walks over to the fridge and swings open the white door. She grabs the jug of sugar free orange juice inside and guzzles it down like nothing. With trembling fingers Jerry turns the knob on the radio to the far right. With the volume increased, the sound of the president’s voice fills the room. “The last thing we want to do is go into a war. However, under these circumstances certain action is merited. We must vanquish the threat and ensure the safety of our citizens. We have tried negotiation, but...” A finger reaches for the radio and pushes the off button. “What’re you doing?” says Jerry. “I was listening to that.” Marian puts her hands on her hips. “You can’t sit around all day and listen to gloom and doom.” Jerry lifts himself off from the wooden stool. He reaches into his back pocket and takes out a packet of cigarettes. He opens the box and starts to smoke with worry. “If there’s a war, Marian, it means I’m going.” Trying to quell the tension in the air, Marian puts her hands on Jerry’s shoulders, rubbing them gently. “Relax, honey. Maybe you won’t get sent. There’s always a chance.” Jerry explodes with frustration. “Jesus Christ, Marian! I’m in the army! Of course I’m going!” Marian steps back with her eyebrows pushed down. “Don’t you say the lord’s name in vain. You can say whatever ‘f’ words you want, but I will not listen to you insult my beliefs.” With a heavy sigh Jerry begins to calm down. With a solemn voice he replies. “They’re mine too.” 3 Marian and Jerry sit on a wood bench outside the mall. They’re huddled close together with shopping bags by their sides. “How do you feel?” says Marian while looking at Jerry, carefully examining his eyes for emotion. Jerry crosses his legs. “I’ll be honest with you. Shopping doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Is that so?” asks Marian rhetorically. “I always feel better after spending your money.” A smile comes across Jerry’s face. He puts his arm around Marian. Marian leans her head on Jerry’s shoulder. The two of them watch the harried shoppers go by. Hurrying back and forth, their feet make a rhythmic sound like a well played drum set. For a moment this couple in love forgets their troubles; their minds only thinking of each other. 4 Thanksgiving is unusually quiet. Nobody is saying a word, not even the children. While that would normally be a good thing, it has created an atmosphere of silence; something certainly not appropriate for the holidays. It seems they are all aware of what things are to come. Every man in the family is in the military. While they are proud to be serving their country, they still remain human. Their fears are bottled in their stomachs, which seem to have manifested into speechlessness. Then Jerry’s father, Mr. Whitaker, speaks up. He clears his throat. “How about them Dodgers?” he says. Mrs. Whitaker darts her eyes, waiting for a response from one of her three boys, or maybe even “the wives.” Jerry’s youngest brother, Henry, puts a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. Speaking with a mouthful he musters a response. “I hate baseball.” Lewis nearly spits up his beer. “How can you hate baseball?!” he yells. “It’s America’s favorite pastime! If Jesus played a sport, it’d be baseball!” Henry responds emphatically. “Bro, it’s a boring sport. And don’t bring our lord into this conversation. It has nothing to do with anything. You have no idea what kind of sports he would be playing. For all you know he could be a chess buff.” There is a moment of silence as the brothers glare into each other’s eyes...then one of the “rug rats” throws a spoonful of mush peas. The green puree hits Henry in the forehead and splashes on those beside him, his wife and his only son. All hell breaks loose. Henry returns fire with his mashed potatoes, and soon the whole family is throwing food at one another. Jerry takes Marian by the hand and takes her under the table where they escape the pandemonium. Marian looks at Jerry with a smile. “I told you we should’ve just got a bucket of chicken and stayed at home.” Jerry puts his hand behind Marian’s neck and gently pulls her forward. He kisses her with cranberry flavored lips. 5 The jeweler looks at Jerry through his thick black glasses. He inspects him carefully across the display case, rapidly scanning his eyes up and down, checking out his clothes and asking quietly inside, “Does this schmuck have any money?” With a broad smile Jerry speaks up with simple words. “Hi. I’m looking for a wedding ring.” The jeweler leans forward. His dark turtleneck hides his double chin. “Oh, when is your wedding?” Jerry scratches his head. “When is my wedding?” he says. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” The jeweler chuckles, his body jiggling with amusement.

“It’s not a wedding ring you’re looking for,” he corrects. “It’s an engagement ring. You see, there is a two part process to marriage. First you have to propose. You’ve seen it on television. I’m sure you have. You get down on bended knee and say ‘will you marry me.’ Then you put a ring on her finger. This is the engagement ring. When you get married, when you say the words ‘I do,’ that is when you give her the wedding ring. So what you want is an engagement ring...preferably something expensive. Women don’t like cheapskates.” “Well,” says Jerry shyly, “I don’t really have a whole lot of money. I’m kind of in the army...not trying to be unpatriotic here, but Uncle Sam don’t really pay its boys too well.” The jeweler is disinterested. He puts up his thick finger in the air. “You cannot put a price on love my friend! Even if you have to max out your credit cards and go into debt with paying a ridiculous 36% interest, you have to do it.” Jerry looks to the floor, ashamed. “I want to do that, believe me. But I have to be conservative with any money I get. We’re planning on buying a house. Renting is not really part of our ‘American dream.’” With his hands out the Jeweler expresses his overtly bias opinions. “I know what they say. They all say it. ‘A house is more important. You can’t live inside a ring.’ Well, let me tell you something. A woman would rather live in a cardboard box with a big rock on her finger, than to be in a loveless home with a cubic zirconia. Oh! Please! Do not even utter those words! Yuck! Cubic zirconia! It makes my body shiver all over!” “Don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic,” says Jerry. The jeweler takes a step back with his hand placed over his heart. “I am not being overdramatic!” he shouts. “My advice draws from real life experience! I once knew a man from Nantucket. He pulled a fast one on his wife and gave her two phony rings. For 50 years of marriage she had no idea. Then one day she went to the pawnshop to sell her rings. She found out they were fake, then blam, divorce! Is that a coincidence?! I think not!” The chimes hanging over the shop door ring. Another person comes in. “Excuse me,” he says to the jeweler, “can I use your bathroom? I really need to go.” The jeweler hops over the display case and starts pushing the man with two of his fingers. “Wait!” the man yells as he’s being shoved. “I just wanted to take a pee!” Jerry watches through the corner of his eyes. The jeweler is definitely on some sort of heavy medication. He ousts the man from the store and gets back to business like nothing’s the matter. “What a rude man,” the jeweler mumbles to himself. “Asking to pee in my toilet...without even buying a single thing!? The nerve! The nerve!” Jerry zips up his jacket, readying to leave. “I have to go now,” he says to the jeweler. “I think I’ve seen enough things for today. Thank you.” The jeweler grabs onto Jerry’s sleeve as he tries to go. “Remember what I said,” he warns. “Women don’t like cheapskates. Be warned! You cheap out and you’ll ruin everything! She’ll head for the hills!” Jerry pulls away and hastily exits with a pained expression. The Jeweler continues to shout. “Love and romance are priceless! They can’t be bought like a cheap grocery store novel!”

6 The stars fill the sky as the moon’s white light illuminates Marian and Jerry in the back of their rusty red convertible. “You know,” says Marian, “looking up at the cosmos makes me realize something.” Jerry puts his hand on Marian’s knee. “And what is that?” Marian leans back, her eyes fixed on the big dipper. “It makes me realize just how small we really are.” Jerry scooches closer to Marian, the sides of their legs now touching; pressed closely together. “Is that supposed to be good?” he asks. “Of course,” Marian replies. “It means we’re being watched...taken care of. In this majesty there is a higher power. All this couldn’t have been a random mistake. Just look at it. Doesn’t it make you think about life?” “Baby,” says Jerry. “I didn’t come here to see the stars in the skies. I came here to see the stars in your eyes.” He kisses Marian softly on the neck and nuzzles his nose under her chin. Above, a shooting star flies across a silvery cloud. “Oh,” says Marian, “a shooting star. Make a wish, Jerry.” Jerry glances but is too interested in other things. “You make a wish,” he says. “I have everything I want right here.” Marian giggles. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll make a wish...for the both of us.” Jerry smirks. “Don’t tell me about it though. It won’t come true.” Clutching the golden crucifix hanging around her neck, Marian closes her eyes and thinks in her head. Her wish is simple...peace and love for the world...a very Beatles-like choice. 7 A week passes. Now December, the town is in the full grips of terrible winter storm. The snow is waist high...but Jerry doesn’t take notice. He’s too busy thinking of how to propose to Marian. He’s in the master bedroom of his home, on bended knee, rehearsing his lines, obviously nervous. There’s an ashtray nearby with more than a few cigarette butts. “Marian...honey...baby...darling...will you...” The words barely come out. Footsteps are heard out in the hallway. Jerry jumps to his feet. The door swings open with Marian squarely in frame. “What’re you doing?” asks Marian. Jerry puts the engagement ring behind his back and stands pressed against the window. “Nothing,” replies Jerry. “I am not doing anything. Why would you ask that? What a silly question to ask. I’m not doing anything.” Marian walks over to Jerry. “Then why are your arms behind your back?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Jerry as he furtively passes the ring in his right hand to his left hand. “I’m not hiding anything.” Fingers spread out, he shows his empty palm. “Show me the other hand,” says Marian. But before Jerry can do the old behind-the-backswitcheroo, his right arm is held. He’s trapped. There’s nothing he can do now...right? No. Jerry is smarter than that. He quietly drops the engagement ring on the windowsill. He proudly puts out both arms. “See. You’re being suspicious for nothing. Just because I lock myself in our bedroom, doesn’t mean I’m up to no good. I know you’re on the prowl with your

women’s intuition, but I’m an honest fella. Completely faithful. Heck, I don’t even look at magazines of pretty ladies. Of course, I’d never know, because I don’t look at those. I’m just presuming. I heard it on the news.” “Okay,” says Marian while smelling the air. “I believe you, but can you at least not smoke in the house anymore? It really gets into the furniture.” Bending forward, Marian grabs the window and lifts it up to let the stench out. Jerry turns and looks on as a gust of wind picks up the ring and tosses outside into the snow. “No!” he screams. “Augh! Your engagement ring was on the windowsill!” “My engagement ring?!” says Marian with surprise. “You were gonna propose to me?!” Pulling the hair on his head, Jerry stares outside. “I was...” he replies sheepishly. Then in a sudden fit of impulse, Marian leaps out the window and lands softly into the snow blanketed streets. She spreads out her arm and frantically searches. “I’ll find it,” she shouts. Jerry grabs a sweater and tosses it out the window. “Marian! You’ll catch a cold!” 8 Hours later, night has come. Marian is sitting in a chair, wrapped in a blanket. Her feet soak in a tub of hot water with Epsom salt. “Jerry?” she says moaning with a clogged nose. “Can you bring me something hot to drink? I’ve got a cold.” Jerry whisks into the living room with a big mug of hot chocolate and gives it to Marian. “Here,” he says, “don’t spill it.” With a squinting eye, Marian glances into the cup. “No marshmallows?” Jerry runs back into the kitchen. He rifles through the cupboards. The noise of the doors slamming can be heard, echoing through the house. Bang, bang! Bang, bang! “I can’t find it!” yells Jerry. “I don’t think we have any!” Marian calls back. “On top of the fridge!” she says. “Did you look on top of the fridge?!” Tilting his head back, Jerry only sees boxes of cereal and a tin of coffee. “There’s nothing here! We only have cereal. A lot of ‘Lucky Charms’ though!” “Bring that!” says Marian. Jerry looks puzzled. He grabs the box of cereal with the little green leprechaun and goes back into the living room. He gives the box to Marian. She opens it up and picks out the colorful marshmallows. She drops them into her mug. They melt away like sugar cubes. “Ooh, these really are magically delicious,” says Marian to Jerry while sipping her cocoa. “Want some?” Jerry shakes his head, “no.” 9 A yellow night light gives luminance to the room where Jerry and Marian are lying in bed. Marian wipes her nose with toilet paper as she reads “The Art of War” by Sun Tzu. It’s lit by a headlamp. “Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?” asks Jerry. “Why rest?” she says. “It’s not like I have work tomorrow. The entire town is snowed in. It looks like a vanilla cake without the fancy decorations.” “I know,” nods Jerry, “but you have a cold. You should be getting some sleep. I’m worried... What if you die?” Snot squirts out of Marian’s nostrils as she laughs. “I’ve caught colds before. I’ll be fine. I’m getting better. Plus, it’s not like I have some type of incurable disease.” Jerry buries his face into the soft fabric

of Marian’s arm. Marian puts her book down and strokes her boyfriend’s hair. “What’s really bothering you?” she asks. “Is it about the ring? We’ll find it when the snow melts. Don’t worry.” “That’s not what’s worrying me,” says Jerry. “I’m afraid of losing you.” Marian is confused. “Why would you lose me? I’m right here.” Jerry lets go of Marian. “The storm’s swept up all the attention of the news, but there’s still an impending war. I heard things...and it doesn’t sound good.” “Where did you hear these things?” asks Marian. “From your buddy, Joe? He doesn’t know half the things he says he does. You can’t listen to him. He’s just trying to scare you. There isn’t going to be a war. It’s peace times. That means no fighting.” Jerry rolls over, away from Marian. “I don’t know why I’m so spooked. I just don’t like the idea of having to kill a man...or being killed. I only joined the army on my dad’s insistence. He said the country was in great shape. He said terrorism was a thing of the past. He said we wouldn’t have to ship out to defend our country. Lemme tell you something, Marian. He’s a liar.” “You worry too much,” Marian assures Jerry. “Nothing is going to happen. You’re going to see. Everything is going to be fine. You won’t have to kill anybody. You won’t get killed. Just trust in the lord... He’s your buddy.” Hugging his pillow, Jerry closes his eyes. “Maybe you’re right,” he says. “I think I’m being too pessimistic. You’re right. You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m just antsy. I need to get some shuteye. ” 10 An unusually warm day for December... The sun shines down on the streets, melting the snow and turning it into water which flows into the sewer grates. The sound of its pouring is refreshing, like a stream through a forest. People step outside for the first time in nearly a week. Miraculously, through this ordeal, nobody has suffered a loss of anything...only time. In fluffy slippers, Jerry tramps onto the wet grass of his lawn. Shielding his eyes with his hand like a visor, he slowly turns his head, searching for the lost engagement ring. A voice squeals from above. Marian is in the window with a pair of binoculars. “I see it!” she exclaims loudly. “Go further down!” A gold gleam hits Jerry in the eye. He kicks off his slippers and runs barefoot toward it. He dives to the ground, soaking up water in his shirt. It’s nothing but a bottle cap. “Aw crap,” says Jerry with frustration. He gets up. “It’s just a stupid bottle cap!” Marian points to the right. “No, no! You missed it! That’s not what I was pointing to! Keep going right! You can’t miss it! You’re so close!” Jerry continues looking. The glistening of the wet asphalt is distracting. Marian runs out of the house. She grabs Jerry and pulls him along. “It’s over there,” she says while pointing. The two head toward the ring which hangs precariously on the curbside. They hurry and run toward it. As they get there, a gush of water sweeps it away and pushes it through the bars of a sewer grate. Thud! Marian collapses onto her knees. “No,” she cries. “We were so close. If only...” A little girl suddenly comes stomping out onto the street. “Augh!” she says in a shrill voice. “My ring! My boyfriend gave that to me! Why didn’t you stop it from falling?!” Jerry reaches back into his brain and realizes that the ring

which fell wasn’t Marian’s. He grins at the little girl with relief. “How old are you, kid?” The little girl jumps up and down. “I’m not a little kid! I’m twelve! That’s way past the double digits!” “Calm down,” says Jerry. “You can always get a new one.” The little girl goes to the sewer grate and looks. Lo and behold. There is her cheap plastic, vending machine mood ring floating in the mucky water. She reaches through with her skinny little arm, trying desperately to reach it. Jerry pulls her up. “Come on. You don’t need that thing.” The little girl starts crying. “You don’t know what it’s like to be in love! Jason gave me that out of love! We were going to get married and have a family together!” Jerry gets out his wallet and takes out a fiver. He gives it to the little girl. “Here,” he says, “go buy your self some candy.” The little grabs it and smiles. “Ha! That thing didn’t even cost more than a quarter!” She runs away and clicks her heels. Marian gets up. “Now...where could my ring be?” A leggy lady comes out in a purple velour bathrobe. Kari duct tapes a hot pink poster to a lamppost: “Ring Found. Please Call to Inquire.” Marian sprints over. “Excuse me,” she says frantically. “Did you find a ring?” Folding her arms, Kari looks at Marian with suspicion. “What’s it to yah?” “My engagement ring,” says Marian, “I think you might’ve found it. Can I please have it back?” Kari glances at Jerry. “Who’s the hunk standing over there?” Marian looks over her shoulder. “Hunk?” asks Marian. “What hunk? Where? I don’t see anybody. It’s just you, me, and my boyfriend.” Kari licks her glossy lips. “I think I have your ring.” Marian hugs the robed vixen. “Thank you! Thank you! You don’t know how much this means to me. I love you. I love you like Jesus loves sinners and prostitutes.” Kari takes a step back. “Hold on,” she says. “Finders keepers... I’m not giving it up unless I get something in return. And I don’t come cheap. I’m a high class lady.” Drat. Marian knew there was going to be a catch, but she didn’t want to say anything. It would’ve been rude of her to assume. “What do you want?” she asks Kari. “I don’t have a lot of money, but...” Kari licks the front of her teeth with her long pointed tongue. “Money is cheap,” she says. “It’s just paper. I don’t want that.” Marian isn’t sure what to offer her. Her emotions become overwhelming...and then she snaps. It’s a lapse of judgment, a snare from the devil himself. Launching up, Marian wraps her arm around Kari’s neck and puts her in a kung-fu grip headlock, squeezing her neck like a boa constrictor. “Give me that ring!” she yells. “I swear I’ll pop your head like a balloon animal!” As Kari screams, Jerry rushes over and tries to pry away Marian. “Stop!” he yells. “You’re going to kill her!” Marian lets go and the blood rushes away from her arms. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “I don’t know what came over me. I just lost it. I lost it. I gave into my wrath. I’m so sorry. How can I make it up to you?” Rubbing her throat, Kari coughs. “Save it for the judge. You assaulted me, lady. What makes you think I’ll even give you back your ring?” “You have the ring?” asks Jerry. Kari continues. “...Heck! We don’t even know if it’s your ring! You loon! It could belong to the queen for all I know!”

With his chest puffed out, Jerry tries to deflect the situation with his manliness. “Come now,” he says. “Everyone can succumb to, er, stupidity. Can’t you just forgive me wife and give her back her ring? That’s the Christian motto isn’t it? Forgive and forget.” “I’m agnostic,” Kari barks. “I’m neutral...like Sweden. You know, Sweden? The small European country with the delicious meatballs.” Putting his hands together, Jerry begs for forgiveness. “Please,” he pleads desperately with Kari. “She meant no harm...that is, no serious harm. Can’t we come to some sort of an agreement? We’re neighbors. We shouldn’t be fighting like this... By the way, what’s an agnostic? Just of curiosity.” “Boy,” says Kari, “you two are real philistines. An agnostic is somebody who neither believes nor disbelieves. We don’t purport that there is a God and we don’t purport that there isn’t. We keep our options open...not like those atheists. No. We don’t want to do that. We’d look like real jerks if the big man were actually up there.” “He is up there,” says Marian. “What does ‘purport’ mean?” adds Jerry. Kari folds her arms. “I’ll tell you after our dinner,” she says. “What dinner?” replies Jerry with a puzzled look. Kari touches the corner of her lips. “The one you’re taking me to for finding your ring and not pressing charges against your little girlfriend.” 11 The waiter sashays over to the round table where Kari and Jerry are. “How may I help you today?” he asks with an intonation of faux French snobbery. Jerry looks up from his menu. “Do you have anything on a bun?” The waiter’s monocle nearly drops from shock. “Sir!” he says. “This isn’t McDonald’s! This is a two and a half star restaurant! We would never serve such garbawge! We only have the finest...clam chowder and fish sticks a la carte!” Kari peruses the menu. “I don’t know. I’m not really a seafood person...unless you have lobster.” The waiter snorts. “Of course we have lobster! They don’t call this ‘Jack’s Lobster House’ for nothing!” Jerry twists his face. “This place isn’t called ‘Jack’s Lobster House.’” The waiter hits Jerry in the back of the head with his notepad. “Mon Dieu! Pay attention! I said they don’t call this ‘Jack’s Lobster House’!” “I’m ready to order,” says Kari in an overly seductive voice. Jerry feels something on his leg. He lifts the white table cloth and looks underneath. Kari is dry humping his foot with her pumps! The Waiter uncaps his pen and readies to write. “Could you repeat that?” he asks. “Lobster,” says Kari. “I want some lobster. Lots of butter too. And make sure it’s whole. I don’t want just the tale. I want the whole damned thing.” Jerry twists his body away from Kari and looks through his wallet to make sure he has enough money to fund this dreadful date. He has $50.00 on the dot, save for the few pennies...they’ll probably be turned into an unfortunate tip for the minimum wage worker. “And you ready?” asks the waiter impatiently. Jerry scratches his head with a bit of shame. “What’s the cheapest thing on the menu?” The waiter rolls

his eyes. “Zee cheapest thing on the menu,” he says, “is water. $3.50...plus taxes. Complimentary bread is $2.00.” “Wait,” says Jerry, “complimentary bread costs $2.00? Now does that make any sense at all?” The waiter sticks up his nose. “If you do not like complimentary bread which costs money, then you can just go to the food bank! I hear they charge less!” Putting his face into his palm, Jerry orders. “I’ll have a salad,” he says. “Dressing on the side.” Spinning on his heels, the waiter leaves Jerry and Kari alone to talk. “So,” begins Kari, “what say you and me go and get up for lil’ bathroom adventure?” Jerry takes a swig of water from the glass in front of him, thinking what to say. He looks to the floor and visualizes Marian’s heart literally breaking in two. “Uh,” stammers Jerry, “uh, uh, what do you mean by that?” The restaurant seems to quiet down as Kari adjusts her shirt, pulling it down to show the top of her bosom. Then the words come out. “Sex,” says Kari. “Let’s go into the bathroom and have sex.” Jerry faints in his chair and falls to the floor...thud! The sentiment was too overwhelming. You’d think that a young man like that could handle the seduction of an older female...but then again, he is a virgin. That’s right! Mr. Jerry Whitaker is a one-woman-one-God-man...a complete rarity in these rambunctious times of modernity. I guess Marian lucked out. 12 “Did you get it back?” says Marian from a distance. Jerry closes the door behind him and walks through the hallway. He hangs up his jacket. “Yeah,” he replies. “I got it alright.” Marian comes down the steps in a ravishing nightgown. She jumps into Jerry’s arm. He catches her with an “oof!” “Where is it?” Marian badgers girlishly. “Close your eyes,” says Jerry. Marian puts her hand over her eyes. She feels a kiss on her forehead. She is slowly put down. “What’s going on?” says Marian. “Aren’t you going to propose to me? I waited all day long... I even got dressed up in slutty lingerie!” Jerry laughs. “I want it to be a surprise,” he says. “I gotta propose in a real romantic way. I want you to have a story to tell the kids.” Marian reels back. “Whoa, whoa...who said anything about kids?” Jerry laughs again. “I know you’re just teasing. Let’s just get some rest, huh?” He goes upstairs and retires to bed. With a huff, Marian folds her arms. “Men!” 13 Christmas Eve... The churchgoers stand on the priest’s command. He lectures to them about the materialism of Christmas. With a pointed finger he leers into the sea of the faithful. “The holidays aren’t about presents and gifts! It’s not about a fat man in a red suit! It’s about our lord and savior! So the next time your heathen of a child puts out a plate of cookies for Santa, you throw ‘em out! It’s blasphemy to worship a cartoon!” The children look scared. Some of them lower down.

“Get up,” says Mr. Whitaker to his grandson. “It’s time you learned about the wrath of our lord. He ain’t all fun and games y’know.” Marian squeezes her thighs together. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she tells Jerry. “I really have to go to the bathroom.” Jerry nods. Marian shuffles past the Whitaker family and walks down the aisle. She leaves for the bathroom. She gets to the lobby where there is a long line of people...all for the female facilities. It seems all that diet eggnog went fast through their system. Marian stands in the back and waits her turn. As time passes, what seems like an eternity; she squeezes her legs tighter together. “Good Lord! What is taking so long?!” mutters Marian while trying to maintain her composure. “I just need to take a leak!” And the dance begins. Marian’s feet tap against the floor like she’s showing off to some “Idol” judge on television. Her butt swings back and forth. With all her willpower, she tries to avoid the temptation of a release and run. But the anxiety is building up. Marian angrily eyes the ladies slowly coming and going from the bathroom like it’s a stroll in the park. “WILL YOU HURRY UP?!” she hollers at the top of her lungs. Everyone in the lobby turns their head. Marian looks embarrassed. Her cheeks turn bright red, like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Then, in perfect synchronization, all the women step to the side. Marian hurriedly walks past them, headed to the bathroom with determination. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s that time of the month...Christmas.” 14 Separating from the Whitaker clan, after waving goodbye, Marian and Jerry head to their convertible...top up, of course. “Don’t forget,” shouts Henry from behind, “dinner’s tomorrow!” Jerry gives a thumbs-up to his brother; then he and Marian get to the doors of their car. As they are about to go inside, a bellowing voice calls out. “Yo-ho! Look out below!” “Huh?” thinks Jerry aloud in his head. He glances at the side-view mirror and turns around to face a diminutive man in a bomber jacket with his hand on his forehead in salute. “How are you on this fine day, young soldier?” Snow starts to fall as Jerry thinks of what to say, trying to remember who he’s looking at. Marian silently mouths his name. “Sergeant Sanders.” “Hello, Sergeant Sanders,” says Jerry while extending his arm for handshake. “I’m doing fine. How about you? How’s your holiday going?” Sanders pushes his sunglasses closer to his face. “Haven’t been able to get much rest. There been some rumors swirlin’ ‘round. So I have to prepare myself for the inevitable. Those turds’re gonna get what’s comin’ to ‘em! Sooner or later somebody’s goin’ to push that big red button!” Lowering his head a little, Jerry replies with a tinge of sarcasm. “Thanks for the good news, Sarge. I’m really looking forward to bombing the crap out of somebody before the New Year.” Sanders puts a toothpick between his teeth. “Me, too!” he says with enthusiasm. “Can’t wait to get back in action!” Trying to steer the conversation in another direction, Jerry introduces Marian. “Sarge, did you meet my girlfriend? We’ve been going out for almost

three years straight now.” Sanders reaches over the roof of the car and grabs Marian for an awkward handshake. “Glad to meet you!” he says. “I always knew my boy had good taste in women. You look like a real fine Christian lady. You are Christian, right? Not that I mind them Muslims and Jews...or Buddhist...but it’s just always been my preference. ‘Birds of a feather’ as they do say!” “Sarge,” says Jerry, “I’m sorry, but we have to go now. We have a lot of things to. I don’t mean to be rude and all...but we have like, five kids at home.” Sanders takes off his sunglasses. “My goodness!” he exclaims. “Five young ones and you ain’t even married under the sanctity of the church! Boy! Howdy! You’re going to hell is what! And there ain’t nothing you can do ‘bout it!” Marian covers her mouth, trying to keep down her giggling. Sanders continue on. “I’m serious, son! You turn your back against the lord and he’ll smack you down! How do you think I lost my finger during that whole Nam thing?! I rode with the devil under the sheets!” Sanders shows his left hand. He wiggles the stub where a pinky should be. Jerry winces. “That’s very unfortunate, sir.” “You know,” says Sanders reminiscing to himself, “I never wanted to be in the army...originally. I always wanted to be an artist when young. Wanted to draw and paint. But my pop sent me off, and there I was holding a man’s head in my bare hands. It felt good for a while. But now I got my sights set higher. One day, I’m going to be a colonel. Colonel Sanders is what they’ll call me!” Jerry stamps his foot on the ground and salutes. “Yessir, Colonel Sanders!” 15 The radio plays inside the car. It’s an oldies station playing a 1950s tune. Marian and Jerry are too young to know what the name of it is, but they comment anyway. “I like this song,” says Marian. “It reminds me of the good ol’ days.” Jerry spins the car’s steering wheel to the left. He takes a sharp turn. “The good old days, huh?” Marian leans against her armrest. “It’s romantic. This is the type of music you have at your wedding. By the way, what sort of wedding do you want when we get married? I’m thinking of something near a beach...maybe down south. I’d like to be somewhere warm for once in my life. What do you think about that? A church by the beach?” Jerry thinks. “I don’t know. I have no opinions. Really, that’s more of a woman’s realm...weddings that is.” Marian playfully punches Jerry in the arm. “Weddings aren’t just for women,” she tells him. “C’mon. Think. Haven’t you ever fantasized about the perfect wedding?” “No,” says Jerry. “I haven’t.” Marian turns up the heat inside. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s imagine you have to plan the wedding entirely by yourself. What would you?” Jerry juts his head forward. “Duh!” he replies. “I’d hire a wedding planner!” Marian is getting frustrated at her boyfriend’s short replies. “No!” she shouts with restraint. “Stop avoiding the question. I’m not asking you to solve a Rubik’s Cube.” As Jerry is about to answer, the car suddenly encounters a large patch of glossy ice. It spins out of control and the back slams into a pine tree...thwomp! Inside, Jerry is rubbing his forehead. “You okay?” he asks Marian. Marian doesn’t

move; doesn’t utter a word. She looks knocked out. She isn’t moving. Jerry’s eyes bulge. He gets out of the car and runs around to the other side. He opens the door and grabs Marian. Dragging her through the snow, he lays her down in a quiet spot. Jerry kneels by her side and pries open her mouth with his fingers to do cardiopulmonary resuscitation...CPR. As he bends to give her air, Marian wraps her arms around him and pulls him in for a kiss...but Jerry gets startled and breaks away. He steps back and gives a scream. “Marian!” he shouts pulling back his hair. “I thought...I thought you were dead! Omigod! That’s not even...that’s not even funny! What were you thinking, woman?! Sheesh! I almost had a heart attack! What’s the matter with you?!” Marian sits up with a grin. “That’s why you should’ve checked my pulse,” she says. “All of this could’ve been avoided if you just went through proper procedure...and didn’t crash the car. Seriously, you drive like James Dean.” “Thanks,” says Jerry with a cocky grin. “I like James Dean. ‘Rebel Without a Cause’ was an awesome movie.” Marian stands up and dusts the white flakes off her clothes. “I wouldn’t know,” she says. “I never saw it.” “What’re we going to do about this car?” asks Jerry. Marian inspects the back of the convertible. It’s practically wrapped around the tree. It looks like a bright red pretzel. “How far are we from home?” she asks. On tippy-toes, Jerry tries to see through the white haze. “I don’t know exactly,” he says. “But we’re pretty far out. We’re about halfway between our house and your parents’ house. Either way it’s a trek.” “Do we have a map?” ask Marian. Jerry slaps his forehead. “It was in the trunk,” he cries. “Don’t worry,” Marian reassures. “I’ll just use my cell-phone. I always carry around a cell-phone.” Reaching into her pocket, Marian takes out her cell-phone. It appears completely intact. She turns it on. The screen on front reads: “Recharge Battery.” Her face turns pale. 16 An hour and a half has passed since the car accident... Marian starts to lament. “Are we there yet?” Jerry holds onto his jacket through the wind. “No,” he says. “It’s been less than two hours.” Marian shivers. “I’m cold,” she says. “Can we take a rest? I got a real bad cramp in my foot.” Jerry pauses. He takes off his jacket. “Wait,” says Marian. “I don’t wanna take your jacket...in this kind of weather.” Jerry takes off his sweater and places it over Marian. “There,” he says, “that’ll keep you extra warm.” Jerry puts his jacket back on. “Thank you,” says Marian. “But I still think you’ll be cold.” “That’s why I’m going to carry you,” replies Jerry as he crouches down. “Get on for a piggyback ride. This’ll keep me warm and relieve your foot pain.” Shaking her head, Marian refuses. “This is out of line,” she says. “I can’t have you carrying me on your back like a little child. You’ll collapse from exhaustion...or you’ll pull a muscle. I certainly don’t want you to pull a muscle. What type of long-term girlfriend would I be? Not a very good one, I’ll tell you that.” “I’m an army boy,” Jerry tells Marian. “I carry things for a living. That’s pretty much what we do all day long at the base. I put on a huge backpack, shoot

something; then run around for eight hours. It won’t be that hard, Marian. You’re light. You’re a feather. You’re nothing. I could bench-press you a hundred times...at least.” “Okay!” says Marian. “I’ll get on your back, but don’t chastise me later on for giving you any aches.” Jerry pats his back, beckoning his sweetheart. “C’mon,” he says, “I’ll be fine.” Reluctantly, Marian gets on. With ease, Jerry stands up. He begins walking forward. His feet drag, leaving a trail behind. 17 “Finally!” Marian exclaims as she jumps off Jerry’s back. The two rush into a diner lying straight ahead...but when they get inside, it is completely empty. There isn’t a single person, not even a rat. “Where is everybody?” asks Jerry. Marian leans over the front counter trying to get a look into the darkened kitchen. “Hello,” she says. “Is anybody here? We need to use the phone.” An old lady comes out from the shadow. She hobbles with a cane and hops onto a tall wooden chair. “Hi,” says Marian. “Can you help us?” Jerry distances himself. “Yes,” says the old lady. “I can certainly help you. Are you here to try my fine dining? I heard your hungry bellies. Yes. Yes. Please. Have a seat. I will feed you.” Reluctant, but not wanting to be rude, Marian and Jerry sit down on the red stools in front of them. The old lady then bellows. “Hey! Get my two friends something to drink!” There’s no answer. She repeats. “I said ‘GET MY TWO FRIENDS SOMETHING TO DRINK!’ I’m trying to be a good host!” A voice responds. “Keep your top on. I’m pouring the suds now! This thing is slow! I swear the tap’s clogged with squirrel hair!” Jerry winces. “Really,” he says, “we’re not thirsty. We just need to use your phone to call somebody. We got in a...” “Car accident!” the old lady interrupts. “Yes. I know all about that. You were driving like a camel rider and your car hit a big tree. There is no need to explain. I know all. I see all. Sixth sense. This is what I have.” Marian is surprised, but still remains skeptical. “Lucky guess,” she says. “I’m impressed.” The old lady bangs her fist on the table. “It was no guess!” Startled, Marian apologizes right away. “I’m sorry!” she says. “I didn’t mean anything by it!” The old lady continues. ”Now, before we discuss, you must first eat and drink. Not many people come in. We must pay the rent. That’s business... WHERE ARE THOSE DRINKS?!” The voice calls back. “Coming! Coming! I am coming!” An old man comes out to the front. He’s nearly identical to the old lady. They look like twins, except of different genders. They’re almost the same height. They have the same long noses and furry eyebrows. They look like some sort of lost dwarf species. “What is that you said?” asks the old lady. “You are thinking I am looking like a dwarf?” The old man puts two large mugs of orange liquid on the counter. “Now, now,” he says. “There is no need to be testy. Everyone has a right to their own thoughts.” Marian takes one of the mugs and looks inside. She sniffs it with caution. “What is this?” she asks. The old lady smiles with crooked teeth. “It is sweetened tea.” Jerry takes a sip. “Made with the finest buffalo urine,” the old man adds.

Orange spittle spurts through the air. “He’s just teasing,” says the old woman. “My dear husband has an ill sense of humor. Please. It’s just orange pekoe with some honey in it.” Jerry pushes his mug away while Marian takes a taste from hers. “It’s not bad,” she says. “I knew you’d like it,” says the old lady. “You will really enjoy the experience here. We have the finest foods from all Yakushia.” Jerry scratches his chin. “Where is that again?” he asks. The old man chimes in. “It’s a small European country. Not many people know of it. It’s up in the mountains. Our commodities include goat meat, hay, and plutonium.” “Stop talking!” says the old lady. “Go and get some food for this lovely couple! She is starving to death! Look at her! How skinny she is! I could bench press her a hundred times.” The old man disappears, grumbling away into the kitchen. “Heh. It’s funny you say that,” says Marian. “My boyfriend told me that earlier in the day.” The old lady opens her eye. “I told you,” she says, “I have powers. I’m reading your brain right now. You want to make a phone call.” Jerry interjects. “We’ve been telling you that for the last ten minutes. That doesn’t count.” The old lady laughs. “Not impressive. More impressive? I have already called a cab for you. He will be here very soon. He’s traveling. He is on his way back to your town.” Honk! Honk! A yellow cab appears outside. Together, Marian and Jerry turn, looking through the glass they see a driver wearing a tweed cap. “What do you think we should do?” Marian asks quietly. Jerry taps his knees, not sure what to think of the situation. “I say we accept,” says Jerry. “If you turn down creepy old ladies in movies, it usually comes back to haunt you... ‘Beauty and the Beast’ for example, at the beginning of the movie...” “Yeah,” says Marian. “I know. The old lady was actually a witch and she turned the prince into a beast.” The old man returns, bringing two dishes: fried fish and some chewy looking dumpling. Jerry and Marian get up to leave. “Wait!” says the old lady. “You have not even heard my fortunes!” “Quickly,” Jerry says gently, but with a strong hint of urgency. The old lady clears her throat and speaks in a haggish voice. “Do not separate from your husband for long!” she says. “He will die if you do!” Marian looks back. “We’re not married.” The car outside honks its horn again. Honk! Honk! Jerry digs deep into his pocket and takes out some change and a crumpled green bill. He hastily puts it on the counter. “For the tea,” he says. “There should be at least a couple bucks there.” Marian and Jerry leave the diner and hop into the cab. It drives off. The old man inside the diner unfolds the crumpled bill. “Oy vey!” he exclaims. “This must be an accident! He left a $100 bill!” The old lady looks sinisterly. “In this world, there are no accidents.” 18 Mel lifts his hat and looks in the rearview mirror. “So,” he says to Marian and Jerry sitting in back, “you two a couple or what?” The taxicab goes over some

bumpy road. “Yeah,” replies Jerry, “we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. The day after tomorrow is our anniversary. Boxing day. What a date to be, huh?” “You going to get married?” asks Mel. Jerry puts his hand on tops of Marian’s. “I hope so,” he replies. “We don’t know yet. We might, we might not. Could be a total surprise.” Mel slows down as he over down a hill. “I had a sweet girl of my own once,” he says. “I knew her in high school. I proposed to her on Valentine’s Day after we graduated. She said ‘yes’ so loud. I swear the whole world heard. Anyway, to keep a story short, we got divorced.” “What? That’s terrible,” says Marian. “What happened?” Mel grabs the shifter and switches gear. It looks like a tear is about to fall down his cheek. “Maybe we shouldn’t go into this topic,” suggests Jerry. “No, no,” says Mel. “It’s okay. I’m over it. The reason we got divorced was twofold. First, I was an aspiring entrepreneur. I wanted to have the good life. I wanted to give the best to my family, to the children I imagined in my head. I risked our life savings and invested in a board game. You probably know what happened there. We lost it all.” “What was the board game about?” asks Jerry. Marian gives a light elbow into his ribs. “I mean,” he corrects himself, “how tragic.” Pulling down his cap to cover his watery eyes, Mel continues. “It’s okay. The board game was basically kind of like ‘Monopoly,’ except it was more serious. It had numbers and everything. I invented it to teach kids and adults about the world of finance. Unfortunately, nobody bought into it. They said it was boring and stupid. Actually, they said I was boring and stupid. And boy it stings. It really does. Y’know, sometimes I go onto the internet...trying to find advice on how to turn my life around...but all they do is make fun of me. They laugh at my divorce and call me fat and retarded. I tell you, don’t browse the web on your days of selfloathing. They just seem to hate everyone.” “Ignore them,” says Marian. “Those jerks just want attention, negative or positive. They’re like Paris Hilton...except without the wealth, fame, or beauty. That basically makes them worth less than the slush under my heel.” “Continue your story,” says Jerry. “What happened after?” Mel takes the cab down a winding road, a scenic route. “I became depressed,” he says. “I lost almost $100,000. I couldn’t forgive myself. It really put a strain on our relationship. I drove my wife insane, just sitting around all day, staring up at the ceiling and being negative about everything. But that wasn’t the reason she decided to leave. I picked up a filthy habit. I started to drink. Not just beers, really hard liquor. That became my drink of choice. It just numbed my head and body. Of course when you’re in that state you do dumb things. My alcoholism was too much. Then one day while I was lying on the floor, she decided we needed a divorce. It was over. I remember the moment so vividly. My world came crashing down. I felt like I was being shocked my lightning. I wanted to change so badly...and I did. But by then it was too late. I thought she loved me. She said she would stay with me no matter what, through thick and thin. When I met her I thought it was true love. Y’know, for a moment in my life I thought that maybe we never had true love in the first place. Later on I came to the conclusion that it just doesn’t exist. True love is just a fantasy. It’s fake. There’s only so much a man or woman can tolerate for the person on the other side of their bed. When times are

bad, people give up. They throw in the towel...but I’m sure you two will be fine.” Marian and Jerry turn their heads toward each other with worried looks. 19 The fluorescent lights flicker above. “Dang it,” says Maurice. “Will somebody change this thing? I swear, it’s going to give me a serious seizure.” Marian looks up. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of exaggeration?” Maurice claws at the side of his face with annoyance. “Dang it,” he says. “Why’s it so hard to knock some common sense into y’all. When something’s wrong, you go and fix it. I shouldn’t have to explain these things a million billion times. I’m a busy person. I have things to see and people to do.” Marian grabs her broom. “I’m going to finish sweeping the aisles.” Maurice storms off grumbling incoherently. “I’d say the stress of being manager is getting to him,” says an abnormally deep voice. “He should really take his medication more often.” Marian turns around. It’s her teenaged co-worker, Dudley. “What’s up?” he says while brushing back his dark greasy hair. “How is my Marian doing?” “You’re not even 17 years old,” replies Marian. “So stop trying to seduce me like Barry White. It’ll give you a permanent Adam’s apple.” Dudley’s voice becomes high, back to its natural squeaky state. “Is that true?” he asks while rubbing his throat. “I always hated this thing. It sticks out like some malignant lump. Oh boy. That would be a total horror story if it didn’t go away. I’ll be teased all my life. They’ll keep calling me ‘Adam Apple’ ‘till I die.” “Oh,” says Marian with a hint of guilt, “it’s not that bad. Anyway, some girls really like that sort of thing.” Dudley gets into Marian’s space. “Even you?” he says in his deep voice. “No way!” replies Marian with her hand out in disgust. The teenager becomes crestfallen. His dark curl droops down in front of his face. He rolls his eyes up to look and blows it away. A portentous customer enters the store. She’s wearing big Jackie O’ glasses and carrying a Chihuahua in a gator-skin handbag. Dudley goes away to attend to her. Marian walks through the store and goes to the back in the toy section. The place is a mess. The shelves are all mixed up and there are boxes on the ground. Marian sighs and tries to put them back in order. As she bends down she sees a toddler with a bowl haircut peek from around the corner. “Hi,” says Marian with a smile. “What’s your name?” The toddler stumbles toward her. Marian opens her arms wide and picks him up. “Where’s your mommy and daddy?” she asks. The bangs on the toddler wave from a draft. “Let’s find mommy and daddy,” says Marian. “You’ll be reunited in no time.” 20 The toddler sits in the backroom on a table, under a bright white light. Employees surround him and look at him like he’s a piece of new merchandise. “Are you sure this thing belongs to him?” asks Dudley holding a letter. Marian puts her hands in the air as if professing her faith. “I swear,” she says. “I found it in his pocket.”

Maurice looks like he’s going to burst a vein. “I don’t care what it says,” he cries. “We have to call the authorities. We’re a department store, dang it. This isn’t our area of expertise. Is this our area of expertise?!” The ladies play with the toddler, rubbing the hair on his head and pinching his plump red cheeks. Dudley is in denial. “I don’t believe it. How can a single unwed mother just abandon her kids in the toy aisle of a department store? Especially on Boxing Day! The happiest day of the year after Jesus’ birthday! It’s heinous. My sister’s ovaries don’t even work. What she would kill to be able to have a baby. It’s ridiculous.” Marian picks up Brian. “I found him,” she says. “I think I should take responsibility. I should raise him as my own. It’s the Christian thing to do...isn’t it?” “What’re you crazy?!” exclaims Maurice. “He’s not a pair of tube socks. You can’t just pick him up and take him away like a shoplifter! We have to go through the proper authorities!” Dudley snickers. “Maybe you can try him out for a few days and return him if you don’t like him.” Marian grimaces. “That’s not funny,” she says. “The poor little fella has no future without a mommy and daddy. If we leave him to some cold heartless adoption agency, he’ll probably just rot away and grow up to become a pot smoking teenager.” Dudley folds his arms in defense. “Hey!” he says. “I told you that in confidence.” Maurice sits down on a chair. His butt spreads over the sides. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “I’m stumped.” Marian holds the toddler, Brian, close to her chest. “Don’t blow a gasket,” she says. “I’ll take him to my place and take care of him...while Jerry and I try to find him a permanent home. How’s that? It’s a sensible solution, I think.” Maurice wipes away the beads of sweat from his forehead. “This job is way too hard,” he says. 21 Brian slowly drinks milk from a sippy cup while being examined by Jerry. “Careful,” says Marian. “You’ll scare him with that wonky eye of yours.” Jerry picks up Brian, holding him like a sack of potatoes. “That’s not how you hold a baby,” scolds Marian. “You’re doing it wrong.” “And what do you know about babies?” says Jerry. “You’re an only child.” Marian takes back Brian. “Yes,” she says. “But I used to baby-sit. Remember? I was really into the ‘The Baby-sitters Club’? I baby-sat like a hundred kids one summer. Two of them died...but it was quiet an experience.” Jerry tries to pick up his jaw from the floor. “Two of them died?!” Marian rubs Brian’s back, causing him to burp. “Maybe you don’t know me at all,” says Marian. “Maybe I’m not the girl you thought you fell in love with. Maybe I’m this crazy witch who likes to bring strange kids home and eat them for dinner. Remember that really tender beef I served you last night? It could’ve been human. How could you ever know?” The doorbell rings. “Very funny,” says Jerry. “I’m going to get the door.” Ding dong! Ding dong! Jerry puts his face against the door, spying through the peephole. There is a large man in a black trench coat, wearing a bowler hat. His thick finger pushes at the side. Ding dong! Jerry unlocks and opens the door.

“How are you?” says Jerry. “Are you the adoption guy?” Larry clears his throat. “Yes,” he says. “I am the ‘adoption guy.’ That’s my official job title. Thank you for respecting it. I worked very hard and went to Harvard to be called that.” Jerry rolls his eyes. “Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry. There’s no need to be sarcastic.” Larry presses his hat down, placing it firmly on his head. He steps into the house. Then he and Jerry go into the kitchen where there is Brian playing Marian. “Hello,” says Larry. “I’m Larry. I’m here for...Brian? Is that what his name is?” Marian puts Brian down and nods. “Yes,” she says. “That’s what it said on the note his mother left him... Um, will you be finding him a good family soon? We’d like to keep him, but we’re not ready for that sort of commitment. Heck. I can’t even bring myself to buy CDs from Columbia House.” “That’s the love of my life,” says Jerry with a pointed thumb. “Adorable, ain’t she?” Larry picks up Brian. He’s quiet. No protest at all. No crying or whining. “I find it unusual that anybody would leave a human being in a department store,” says Larry. “It’s cruel...but that’s why I’m in this business. I’m here to save people and fix lives. I consider myself a hero. I know, I know. You probably don’t look at me as a hero...but when I look in the mirror, I see a brave man. I gave up so much to do the right thing. I could have been an astronaut or a magician. I had so much potential. I could have been on top of the world. I could have been something. But no! Here I am, sacrificing my dream for the better good!” Marian looks at Jerry. “What the hell is this lunatic going on about?” they both think at the same time. Larry starts walking to the front door with Brian in his arms. Marian and Jerry follow. They show him out the door. “Take care of him,” says Marian. “Find him loving parents...nothing less than perfect.” Larry smiles; it’s barely visible under his long walrus-like moustache. “I will,” he says. “Nobody could refuse a face like this.” And so, the “adoption guy” wafts back to his boxy black car with Brian. The wheels spin against the snowy street and they disappear. Marian looks like she’s about to cry. She squeezes Jerry’s hand. “I want a baby!” 22 The giant clock is close to midnight in the town square. People stand around, waiting it for to change, waiting for the countdown. Marian and Jerry hold hands with their heads tilted up. They wait for the New Year to begin; two thousand something. Ten seconds are left. The drunks, pretty much everyone, begin to count. “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2...” The clock stops. It’s stuck. The timed fireworks are delayed. “What’s going on?” shouts somebody in the crowd. High up left, the perky news lady with the mic on the JumboTron begins to wash away. The onlookers gasp with confusion as a masked man appears. He is wearing a skull mask and speaking in a foreign language. “What’s he saying?” asks Marian. Reaching into his pocket, Jerry takes out a hip flask. He unscrews the top and takes a swig of wine. “Whatever he’s saying,” says Jerry, “it’s not good.” More people move into the square, trying to get in

closer, trying to see what’s happening. Marian and Jerry are getting uncomfortable; being packed in like cows on a cargo train. Jerry tries to move back, but his arms a pinned to his side and the bodies just keep coming. “I can’t move,” says Marian. “I’m getting dizzy.” She passes out. “Oh crap,” says Jerry. He starts to shout. “Come on, people! Move on back! My girlfriend needs some breathing space!” Nobody is listening. It gets tighter than it already is. Everybody in the middle is being pressed. There’s no escape. The fools at the back just keep coming. They want to hear what the “skull man” is saying on the screen. Desperation hits. Jerry butts his head back, knocking out the 300 pound man standing behind. He topples into the others, causing a domino effect. A sliver of space is cleared as the cowardice of the people makes them step away. Jerry grabs Marian and tosses her onto his shoulders. He runs to the end as fast as he can, before anyone finds out what happened and become an unruly mob. Jerry gently lays Marian down on a spot of grass. “Marian!” he cries. “Marian! Are you okay?” Marian awakes. She rubs her eyes. “What happened?” she asks, looking up at the backs of the people. “You fainted,” replies Jerry. “I took you here so you could get some oxygen.” A group of young men enter the town square. They’re a mix of colors: brown, white, and yellow. They keep a distance from the crowd. One of them listens to the JumboTron and translates to the others; it’s loud enough for Marian and Jerry to overhear. “That’s crazy,” says the nerdy looking kid with coke bottle glasses. “He’s screaming ‘bout how he’s gonna take over America...destroy our democracy with fear...and that we're cowards. We’ll give up our freedoms to keep ourselves secure. That’s bull.” Jerry looks up with Marian in horror. The masked man raises his arms in the air and screams in English. “Today is retribution!” A terrible explosion suddenly rocks the crowd. Time seems to slow down as bodies go flying into the air. The east and west towers surrounding the square crumble from the shockwave. Concrete and brick debris falls onto people below. They become completely buried. Voices are heard screaming for help underneath, but all are in a panic. They’re all running. It’s everyone for themselves. But Marian and Jerry don’t want to be like that. They don’t want to be the people who didn’t do anything. And so, their “What would Jesus do?” mindset kicks in. The two gain a sudden burst of energy. They move through the sea of men and women. They go to the where the east towers once stood. Their ears and eyes search for signs of life. A shrill cry is heard. Marian runs over to it. “Over here!” she yells. Jerry and her pick a spot and start hauling away wreckage with their bare hands. They dig like little machines, getting closer and closer to the crying...then a hand suddenly pops up. Marian and Jerry take a hold of it and pull up. A scrawny girl rises with a plume of dust. She coughs and wipes the tears away from her cheeks. “Thank you,” she says. 23

It’s the second day of January. The temperature is as cold as ever, and the street is coated with a shiny layer of ice...but it’s no problem for the tank which easily rolls with its steel treads. It stops in front of Marian and Jerry’s house, aiming its cannon right at the garage. Inside, Jerry is looking through his window. He pulls it open and yells outside. “Hey! Would you mind pointing that thing somewhere else?” The hatch on the tank opens. A head sticks out. It’s ‘clever’ Joe, one of Jerry’s friends from the army. He’s a Jack of all Trades; knows almost everything about the army and military. “We got work to do!” says Joe. “Get dressed and get your butt out here!” Jerry slams the window shut. He goes to his armoire and swings the doors open. There’s a sticky note on his Kevlar helmet: “Cleaned this for you yesterday. Love, Marian. XOXO.” 24 “So,” says Joe, “you think the president’s gonna send us off to some foreign country to fight?” Jerry’s mind seems elsewhere. He looks out the tiny rectangular window of the tank and watches people in their cars staring. “Well?” asks Joe. “I don’t know,” says Jerry. “I hope not. I’m going to propose to my girlfriend soon. You know her. Marian. I haven’t really come up with any good ideas yet though. I’m still thinking.” Joe doesn’t say anything. He concentrates. His eyes dart left and right, looking at the LCD monitors. “These new vehicles are awesome,” he says. “You can drive with only one person. I love technology. God bless our scientists.” “Are you even listening to me?” asks Jerry. Joe nods. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you. You’re getting married, you’re madly in love. Blah, blah, blah, what else is new?” Jerry rests his chin on his hand. “I guess you don’t care,” he says. “Well, whatever. Let’s just get this mission over with.” “It won’t be that easy, my friend,” says Joe. “The broadcast signal came locally, but I doubt it was done live. I’ll bet my pennies that SOB isn’t even a thousand miles within this region. He probably just hired some stiff to push a button.” “I’m hungry,” says Jerry. “Let’s grab a couple burgers.” Joe shakes his head. “Sorry, buddy. Can’t do that. If we leave this thing alone, some moron’s probably going to try and steal it. FYI, this town has a very high crime rate.” “We don’t have to get out,” says Jerry. “They have drive-thrus.” Joe spins the tank around. “Well, I guess this mission couldn’t get anymore frivolous than it already is.” The two go to a local burger joint and wait behind a couple of cars. Less than a minute passes and it’s their turn to order. Jerry gets out of the tank and leans down. “Chucky Cheeseburger,” says the speaker. “How may I help you?” With his hand around his mouth like a megaphone, Jerry gives his order. “I’ll have a large coke. A large orange soda. Three mini pies. An ice-cream cone. And, uh, ten hamburgers. No pickles, please. I hate pickles. They’re slimy and sour... Got that?” The speaker crackles like a broken record. “Can you repeat that?” it asks. Jerry cringes. He tries to keep his cool but loses it. “What year is this?!” he

screams. “Don’t you have a better system for taking orders?! I mean...really! We have all this modern technology and you people can’t even fix up your drivethru?! How much money would it cost to upgrade this system, anyway?!” The person inside the restaurant replies in a monotonous voice. “Sir,” she says emotionlessly, “I make minimum wage. I smell like grease. I paid $90,000 to get a computer science degree...then found out all the jobs were taken by people from India and China. I’m not here by choice. The last thing I need is somebody talking down to me. If you’d like to eat elsewhere, be my guest. There are a lot other places which serve dead cow on a bun.” Defeated, Jerry changes his order to something simpler. “I’ll have two burger combos. Hold the pickles.” “Thank you,” says the speaker. “Please drive to the first window.” Joe takes the tank to the window. The astonished burger flippers look up in awe. “Dude! That thing must use up like a thousand gallons of gas!” Jerry pays for the food. “That’s a pretty close guess,” he says. “You’re only off by a couple numbers.” “Hurry up!” yells Joe. “We have a villain to catch!” Jerry takes the bags of foods and slinks back into the tank. He pulls the hatch lid close. Jerry and Joe can be heard as they drive off onto the road. “So,” says Jerry, “you think we’ll actually be able catch that SOB who blew up the square?” Joe replies with a solemn tone. “Any decision based on fear is a decision that leads to doom... By the way, did you get extra packets of ketchup?” Jerry slaps his forehead. He forgot to ask. 25 The sweet scent of flowers enters Marian’s nostrils as she returns home from work. “I have a surprise for you,” says Jerry from somewhere in the house. “Close your eyes my love.” Excited, Marian kicks off her boots and throws down her jacket. She closes her eyes and follows her nose into the dining room. “Open your eyes,” says Jerry. Marian opens her eyes. In front of her is a fancy dinner on a table, complete with: red wine, roasted pheasant, wild rice, cloth napkins, and romantic candle light. Thoughts start to run through Marian’s head. “God,” she thinks, “this is it! I think he’s going to propose to me!” Jerry takes Marian by the hand and leads her to her seat. He sits down right after. “M’lady,” says Jerry in a debonair English accent, “shall we eat to our happiness?” Marian giggles. “Yes, m’lord.” She picks up the glass by her plate and takes a sip of wine. Jerry looks into Marian’s eyes. He looks hungry...but not for food. Suddenly Marian throws aside her glass. She opens her arms and is grabbed by Jerry and taken to the floor. The two roll around and kiss like teenagers in high school. They’re slathering saliva on each other with their tongues. Their bodies twist like warm pretzels. Legs move up; hands move down. Something naughty is definitely about to happen. Marian takes off her shirt. As she lowers down onto Jerry, her golden crucifix dangles over his nose. Restraint kicks in. The lusty romp is halted. “What’s wrong?” asks Jerry. “How come you stopped?” “I can’t,” says Marian. “We’re so close to the finish line. I don’t think we should cheat now.” Jerry groans, but he reluctantly agrees. “Alright,” he says.

“You’re absolutely right. We shouldn’t be doing this. But, man! I really want to! I’d sell my soul for you.” “That’s nice,” says Marian as she puts her shirt back on, “but I don’t think I want my boyfriend to spend an eternity in hell for three minutes in heaven.” Jerry folds his arms playfully. “What makes you think I can only last three minutes? Baby, I’m in the army. Stamina is my middle name.” Marian stands up with Jerry. They go into each other’s arms and rub noses like Eskimos. “Don’t kid yourself. You could never last,” replies Marian. “Because my love is explosive. Touch me the right way and I’ll give it back to you times ten.” 26 Jerry lies in bed with his arms behind his head. He looks at Marian who’s sound asleep. He spreads his fingers and touches her stomach salaciously. Temptation is strong. Marian is a beautiful woman, both inside and out. Only a man with an iron will could resist her. “Try to forget about it,” Jerry says to himself aloud in his head. “We have to wait. We can’t force her to do something she doesn’t want to. It’s the right thing to do. We must stay strong. Respect your girlfriend’s wishes. She’ll be your wife soon...maybe even the mother of your thirteen children!” The inner-monologue switches from angel on the shoulder to devil on the shoulder. “You’ve been going out for more than three years and you’ve never even got to third base! You gotta do something about this, Jerry. You gotta man up and show her who’s the boss. If you let her call the shots now, what will happen in a few years? You don’t want to be whipped, do you? Yeah! Wake her up and give her your demands! Sure, she has work in the morning...but so do you! It’ll all even out! It’s fair game!” Jerry rolls away from Marian and puts his hands on his head in guilty aggravation. “I love her,” says Jerry. “Even if we could never have sex... I’d still want to be with her. She’s irreplaceable.” “What’re you talking about?” says Marian. Jerry gets startled and flips off the bed. “Marian?” he whispers. Marian doesn’t respond. Jerry breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh,” he says. “You were just talking in your sleep. I thought you overheard me. Whew!” Jerry stands up. He combs his hair back with his hand. He glances at Marian then heads to the bathroom. Inside, he takes a seat on the toilet. Jerry picks up a magazine and reads an article on how to satisfy your man. After a few pages, his eyelids grow heavy and he dozes off. 27 Jerry is inside a payphone booth...the only one left in town. “Ten grand,” replies the secretary. “That is the minimum cost.” Jerry fidgets. “That’s a lot of dough,” he says. “I thought these types of things were done for free. I mean, it’s in the name of love. Do you really have to monetize the world of romance?” The

secretary of the newspaper is unrelenting. “This is a business,” she says. “We have more important stories to sell than some cheesy wedding proposal.” “What kind of ‘important stories’?” asks Jerry. “Well,” the secretary continues, “there’s the hunt for that masked man. You might’ve seen him; the fellow in the skeleton costume. There’s that.” Jerry exhales. “I already know about that. I’m in the army.” The secretary perks up. “You’re in the army?” she says. “Why didn’t you say so? If I had known you were a solider...” “So you’ll place the ad for free?!” Jerry exclaims with excitement. “Lord no!” says the secretary. “What’re you, nuts? It just means you’ll get a discount. A full 5%! I’d say it’s pretty generous on the account of the fact that you kill people for a living.” Jerry gets a bit offended, but he remains calm. “I’ve never killed anybody,” he says. “I’ve only been in the army during peace times.” The secretary bursts out in laughter. “Good luck with that! They’re gearing up for a war! You’re gonna have to kill somebody eventually!” “Where did you hear that?” Jerry asks. “I never heard that. How’s that possible? They wouldn’t!” The secretary’s raspy voice gets smugger than before. “Baby,” she says, “this is the newspaper. We know all. We see all. It’s going to happen whether you like it or not. You think some foreigner can blow up 1,000 people and not have his country invaded? Think again! Although, I do suspect there might be some ulterior motives...” Having enough, Jerry hangs up the phone. He collapses against the walls of the phone booth in despair. “I’ll never come up with a proper marriage proposal!” he cries. “Never!” A stranger appears outside and knocks against the glass. “Excuse me,” he says, “are you done in there? I need to make a business call.” Jerry gets up. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m done.” He leaves, walking away with a lowered head. 28 The president is in the oval office trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. A strong looking man with chevrons on his sleeves enters with a manila folder tucked under his arm. It’s marked “confidential.” He tosses it on the presidential desk. “What’s this?” asks Mr. President, looking curiously. “They’re documents,” says Rob, the secretary of defense. “They’re plans for mission IA.” Mr. President looks confused. “What mission?” he asks. “I don’t remember any mission.” Rob rolls his eyes as if he’s dealing with some sort of mentally challenged person who can’t speak English. “The plans,” he repeats with a stern voice. “Don’t you remember those papers you signed last week? We are planning to stymie security threats to our country by inundating regime change.” “What does that mean?” says Mr. President while scratching his head. Rob folds his hands in front of him and bends forward. “We are going to destroy the aholes who attacked our country and send ‘em back to the slimy pit from where they came.” “Gee whiz!” replies Mr. President. “Do we really have to do that? Can’t we negotiate this over a cup of coffee or something? I’m sure it was an accident. Sometimes things go ‘kaboom’ by accident. Don’t they?” Bob jumps up and down

like a child having a temper tantrum. “I want to invade a country! Now! Now! Now!” Mr. President stands up. “Stop this at once!” he shouts with his finger pointed to the floor. “I will not tolerate my secretary of defense jumping up and down in the White House! This is a serious place of business! Now, you settled down or I’m going to have to ask you to leave...and no pouting! I will not have it!” Bob folds his arms, covering the chevrons on his sleeve. “You don’t have to be so mean,” he says. “I’m just trying to honor the tradition of war. Excuse me for being a little sentimental.” Mr. President pats Bob on his shoulder. He apologizes. “I’m sorry. I know I signed those papers, but maybe we could be rational about this situation. We don’t want to go into something we can’t pull ourselves out of. I know you’re scared...but you have to stay strong...for the good of our nation.” “Gold,” says Bob, “we’re running out of gold.” Mr. President puts his arms back and leans against his desk. “We’re what?” he asks. “We’re running out of gold,” says Bob. “It’s an important commodity to sustain our economy, and the country we plan to occupy is full of it. It’s all in the ground and they’re not even going to use any of it... Do you know what would happen if we ran out of gold?” “No,” replies Mr. President. “Tell me. What happens if we run out of gold?” Bob has an exaggerated look of worry on his face. “Well, the electronic industry will collapse. It’ll cause a domino effect which will create extensive job losses. We’ll go into major a recession. And you know what will happen? People will die. They’ll starve without money for food.” “Is that true?” asks Mr. President. “Is gold really that important in the creation of electronics?” Nodding slowly, Bob reassures Mr. President with confidence. “Yes, it is. Computers need it to live.” Mr. President looks ill at ease. “What do you say?” Bob asks. “Shall we proceed with mission AI as planned? It’s up to you, Mr. President. It’s up to you to save the country.” Mr. President turns his back to the secretary of defense and stares wistfully out the window. “I don’t know,” he says. “I need time to think about it. Let’s see what events unfold.” 29 The snow crunches beneath their feet. Mr. Whitaker and Jerry walk down a narrow trail between the trees. They hold their hunting rifles against their chests. “Is this really necessary?” asks Jerry. Mr. Whitaker wipes the fog from his tinted glasses. “Keep your mouth shut and keep in mode, boy. This is war. We’re in battle. You can’t be talking all unnecessarily.” There’s a rustling in the bush ahead. Mr. Whitaker gets behind a tree. He waves for Jerry to follow him. “Get over here,” he says. “Don’t dilly-dally during combat. You’ll be a cadaver if you do that.” Leaning against the bark of the pine, father and son wait for the right moment to spring. Mr. Whitaker uses a mirror to watch the bush. “What is it?” asks Jerry. Mr. Whitaker replies. “I don’t know; could be big though. I think we have to flush ‘im out. Pick that stone up from the ground.” Jerry bends over and picks up the stone by his feet. “Okay,” he says. “Now what, dad?” “That’s not my name,” replies Mr. Whitaker. “Call me by the proper name for a response.” Jerry sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Blue Falcon. What do we do now,

Blue Falcon?” Mr. Whitaker crouches and pulls the bolt back on his rifle. “When I give you the signal, I want you to throw that stone. Lob it like a grenade...right into the bush. The thing will pop out and I’ll pump it full of lead.” “I thought I was supposed to do the killing,” says Jerry. “Didn’t you bring me out here so I could shoot something?” Mr. Whitaker frowns. “You don’t understand ‘combatics’ enough,” he says. “You need to see an example first. Right now I’m trying to teach you how to utilize military tactics in real life situations...not like those simulators they put you on. And this ain’t no paintball neither. This is man versus nature. It’s as close as you can get to the real thing...okay? Get ready.” Mr. Whitaker looks through an iron sight and aims his rifle at the joggling bush. “What’s the signal?” asks Jerry. “You never told me what the signal is.” Mr. Whitaker scratches his nose. “Is that the signal?” says Jerry. “No,” replies Mr. Whitaker. “Why would that be the signal? I’m just scratching my nose. Use your common sense. I raised you better than that. The signal is when I cough.” Jerry gives a thumbs-up. “Ready when you are.” Mr. Whitaker clears his throats and coughs. The stone flies up into the air and lands squarely in the bush. Thump. Two startled raccoons dart out onto the trail. Bang! With a single shot Mr. Whitaker kills the both of them. A pool of blood forms. The warmness melts the snow around. “Omigod,” says Jerry as he steps out to look. “I can’t believe you, dad.” Mr. Whitakers stands over the raccoons. He flips them onto their bellies and looks at their genitalia. “Oh my,” he says. “These robber-cats are boy and girl. I think they were mating.” Jerry puts down his rifle and grabs some snow. He starts covering up the furry little bodies. “What’re you doing?” asks Mr. Whitaker. “You burying them? They’re not human, son. There’s no need for rituals. Animals have no souls...that’s why we eat ‘em for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” “Poor guys,” says Jerry with a sullen face. “They were just trying to get romantic with each other.” Mr. Whitaker points his rifle down and leans against it like a walking cane. “Boy,” he says, “you ain’t going to do very well in a gun fight. You got too many emotions...probably from your mother’s side. She’s always been a sucker for the sentimental.” Jerry sighs. 30 “How was hunting with your father?” asks Marian as she fills in a crossword puzzle in the paper. “Bad,” says Jerry. “We shot two raccoons, four squirrels, and fifteen empty beer bottles... What a way to spend a perfectly good Saturday morning. I could’ve watched cartoons... So, what did you do while I was gone?” “Nothing exiting,” replies Marian. “I’m just trying to complete this dumb crossword puzzle. What’s a nine letter word for ‘political belief that is not right’?” Jerry goes into the living room and sits down. He grabs the remote. “That’s easy,” he says with a confident smirk. “Stupidity.” “It fits,” says Marian, “but I don’t think that’s it.” Jerry crosses his legs. “Come and watch some TV,” he says. “Put that pencil down and let your brain chill out for a couple minutes. It’ll do you some good. You’re always thinking too much.”

Marian gets up from the kitchen table and goes to the living room and sits down by Jerry. She stretches her arms on the back of the couch. “What’re we watching?” asks Marian. Jerry turns up the volume on the television. “Are you ignoring me?” says Marian. “Huh?” replies Jerry. “Oh! No, no, no! I would never ignore you. Marian comes first, not TV. I turned it up ‘cause I’m having a hard time hearing what’s on. The rifles left a little ringing in my ear.” Marian leans her head on Jerry. “Do you ever wonder what life is about?” she asks. “I mean, why are we here? What’s it all about?” Jerry turns his head to Marian. “And you think I have the answers to that? Maybe you should read your bible again. Heh. You look so cute when you read. Sometimes you move your lips when going over big words.” “I haven’t figured it out,” says Marian lost in thought. “It’s not all together for me. I mean, there are a lot of things I don’t understand. Sometimes it makes me wonder. I’m not getting the answers I need. There has to be more to life than just waiting to get into heaven...or hell, whatever your choices may be.” “You don’t take the bible literally,” says Jerry. “It’s a book full of stories to teach us lessons and guide us. You can’t take every single word for fact. You have to read between the lines. Mathew, Mark, Luke, John, Paul, and Ringo were writers. Don’t you think they had some understanding of symbolism and metaphors? Of course, they did. They knew the craft. That’s why Jesus hired them to jot down his life story.” Marian puts her hands in her lap. “Aw,” says Jerry sympathetically, “don’t worry so much. I’m sure everything will work out in the end...it always does. Remember when we crashed our car a couple pages back. We came out alive, didn’t we? And we got to meet that creepy old couple. What a day that was!” There is only silence from Marian. She looks quite tense. “I’m sorry,” apologizes Jerry. “I guess I shouldn’t have pulled you away from your puzzle. I thought vegging out in front of a widescreen would do you some good...but I guess we’re not the same.” Jerry snaps his fingers. “I know,” he says. “How about I give you a sensual massage? I hear a properly done backrub is equal to a frolic in the sack. If yah know what I mean.” Jerry stands up. “Lie down,” he says with an assuring tone. “I’ve done this before.” Marian lies down. She takes a pillow for her head. Jerry starts kneading her back like dough. “This is just the warming stage,” he says. “It’s to get you in the mood...are you in the mood?” Before Marian can answer, she feels a chopping. Chop, chop. Chop, chop. It’s like a really weak guy practicing karate. “How is it?” asks Jerry. “Are you relaxed? It’s relaxing, isn’t it? I used to do this on my ex-girlfriends. They loved it. They would always go ‘ooh’ and ‘ah.’ I don’t know what it is. I just have a talent for this. Must be my army training. I’ve got better perception than most people... I know what others want.” As Marian gets pounded like a piece of meat being tenderized, her eyes shift to the television: breaking news. “Jerry,” says Marian, “can we hold off on the massage?” Jerry pauses. “Why?” he asks. “Am I doing it wrong? Did I offend you with the ‘ex-girlfriends’ remark? I can see how that might upset you...imagining me, the love of your life, with women other than you. But if you

must know, I didn’t really do anything with them. We’d usually just watch movies and eat over-buttered popcorn. I’m not very creative when it comes to dates.” “Your massage is great,” says Marian, obviously lying. “But I need to sit up. The fluids are collecting in my head. I don’t know what’s happening. I think the couch is tilted. Can you feel it? Probably not, you’re standing up. It’s noticeable when you lie down.” Marian sits up. Jerry takes a seat beside her. They go back to watching the television. “This is the right decision,” says Mr. President via satellite. “There’s no other way around it. If we cave in and retreat, the bad guys win. So please, have faith in your government. We’re looking out for your safety. Be patriotic. Be heroic... You’re either with us or you’re against us.” Jerry jumps off the couch and scoots close to the television; his face only inches away. Mr. President continues. “I know that physical retaliation is not the ideal solution, but folks, our backs are against the wall. And there’s a monster with its jaws wide open, hungry for our blood. We need to pull the trigger to keep from being eaten. There’s no way out of it. The future of American depends on our ability to command respect around the world...and that will require sending troops overseas...not at this very moment, but soon. The time will come.” 31 “I think the time has come,” says Jerry. “I have to propose to you. I’m probably going to be gone for a while... I want to get it out of the way.” Marian claps her hands in delight. “Oh! I can’t wait! Are you going to do it here? Okay, hurry up. I’m getting the chills.” She puts down her snow shovel. “Not here,” says Jerry. “I’m going to surprise you... Why would I do it out here on our driveway when we’re shoveling heavy mounds of snow?” “I don’t know,” replies Marian as she grunts and spoons some snow onto the side. “I think the best time to do anything is now. There’s no time better than the present!” Jerry gets down on one knee. Marian’s face lights up. “Marian,” says Jerry. “I am not going to propose to you today. Trust me. The waiting will be worth it. Just as I wait for the night ‘till we consummate, I hope you’d wait for me to propose.” “Can I least get a rough estimate of the time?” asks Marian. “Within the week,” replies Jerry. “So clear your work schedule, something is going to happen... Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but something will happen. I’m going to be down on one knee and looking into your eyes. I’ll say those magic words and you’ll melt like margarine into my hands. Yes... I think that’s how it’s supposed to work.” 32 The outdoor skating rink is empty. There’s nobody in sight. Of all 3,500 square feet, it’s only Marian and Jerry, holding hands and spinning around on their blades. “This place is so empty,” says Marian. “Kids aren’t into physical activities these days,” says Jerry. “Don’t ask me why. I guess shooting zombies and killing Orks is a lot more appealing to them.”

Marian and Jerry twirl around. “Do you have something planned?” asks Marian. “I have a strange feeling we’re doing ‘Ice Capades’ for a reason.” Jerry roars with laughter. “My dear, what paranoia you have!” He breaks away and starts to skate backward. “Where are you going?” asks Marian. “I thought we were doing couples!” “Watch this!” says Jerry. He waves around like a figure skater; then suddenly does a perfect axel jump. “Wow!” exclaims Marian with a clap. “I didn’t know you could do that! Do it again!” Jerry grins. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I’m not really an expert!” Marian nods emphatically. “One more time! I’ll get it on camera!” Reaching into her back pocket, Marian takes out a camera. She looks through the viewfinder, waiting to take a picture at the right moment. She gives an a-okay. “Alright!” says Marian. “I’m ready! Any time now!” Jerry rotates gracefully on the ice. It’s like he’s been doing this for years. Skating to the corner of the rink, Jerry tries for an axel jump...but he stumbles and falls on his side. “Augh!” he screams. “I think I broke something.” Panicked, Marian drops her camera. She skates forward, drops to her knees and slides to Jerry. “Where does it hurt?” Jerry points between his legs. “Right here!” he says. Marian puts her hands on her hips and gives a face. Jerry continues. “I’m serious! Don’t look at me like that. Come, take a look. Something’s wrong. Maybe I pulled a groin muscle. I bet I damaged my crotch rocks.” Reluctantly, Marian looks. There it is, her engagement ring, encased into the clear ice. Jerry gets on one knee. “Will you marry me?” Without words, Marian hugs Jerry tight. “Yes!” she cries. 33 The girls in the beauty parlor stare at Marian’s engagement ring. They speak as loud as they can; competing with the noise of the space-age looking hairdryers their heads are under. “That’s a lovely ring!” shouts Sheena. “When my husband proposed to me, he didn’t even have anything to put around my finger! We were so broke! Our dates were terrible too! We’d always watch drive-in movies on the rooftop! I became an expert at reading lips!” “How much do you think it’s worth?!” asks Janice. “Must be at least a couple grand!” Marian holds her hand high so everyone can get a better look. “Apparently,” continues Janice, “the ring should cost at least two month’s of the man’s salary! That’s what my mama told me! Boy was she mad when she found out I got a gold plated ring with a fancy piece of glass!” The hairdryer above Marian’s head shuts off. She gets up and waves the girls goodbye. “Well, I have to go. I’ll be back next month. I’ll let you know about the wedding, just as soon as we plan it!” “Sure thing,” says Sheena. “By the way, do you have a toaster?” Marian nods with a smile and leaves the beauty shop. She goes through the front door. As she steps onto the sidewalk, Joe appears whistling. “Marian,” he says. “Marian, is that you? Uh, Jerry’s wife, am I right? How are you? I heard he proposed. Did you, uh, say ‘yes’?”

“Who could refuse a man like that?” says Marian. Joe raises his hand like a school kid. Marian ignores the joke and covers her head. “Let’s go for a stroll. It’s freezing.” Joe starts to walk. “Motion, motion,” he says, “it makes you warm.” Marian keeps her arms close by her body as the wind blows with snowflakes. “Why don’t you get behind me?” suggests Joe. “It’ll block the wind to keep you toasty, and it’ll protect your hair. Two birds with one stone.” Marian gets behind Joe. “This is weird,” she says after a few seconds of walking. “It looks like I’m talking to myself.” Joe falls back. The two are now side by side. “Is that better?” he asks. “Yes,” says Marian jokingly. “But now I’m cold as an ice cube!” Joe pats Marian lightly on the head. “Your sense of humor couldn’t get any cornier,” he says. “But I love it; reminds me of my cousin back home!” “Back home?” asks Marian. “I used to live in Australia,” Joe says. “Didn’t Jerry tell you? My dad was a chemist for a pharmaceutical company in Brisbane. You know where that is, don’t you?” Marian rubs her chin. “Know where Australia is? I think I do. It’s part the United Kingdom, right?” Joe is in disbelief. “You can’t be serious,” he says. “Please, tell me you’re kidding.” “Relax,” says Marian. “I’m just yanking your chain, mate.” Joe’s relieved. “So,” continues Marian, “why did you come to America? To live the quote unquote dream?” Joe looks down at his feet. “Do you really want to know?” Marian feels the pain in his voice, but out of curiosity says “yes.” “My dad was an alcoholic,” Joe tells. “That’s why I left Australia. He wasn’t physically abusive or anything like that, but he’d always call me names; just a really negative person. I was going insane. If I didn’t get out of that place...I swear I would’ve committed suicide. I just wanted to move as far as way as possible. So I chose the USA. It’s the furthest place from Oz.” “That’s awful,” says Marian. “Do you keep in contact?” Joe shakes his head. “I tried to, but he makes it so hard. I remember one time I phoned him up on his birthday, and he told me I was a little prick and hung up. Since then I’ve cut off communication with him... But still, I do feel a little sorry for the poor sap. My mom left him just last month. The last straw was when he called her a whore for talking to the postman. Unbelievable.” “I think I should go now,” says Marian uneasily. “I have some things to do. Maybe I’ll see you later, okay?” Joe puts his hands in his pockets. “Sure. Tell Jerry I said ‘hello.’” Then he departs down a dim alleyway. 34 “Hello,” says Mrs. Hopkins. “Is Marian there?” Jerry covers the lower end of telephone receiver with his hand. “Marian!” he shouts. “Your mom’s on the phone! Pick it up in the kitchen! I’m going out with the guys!” As Marian walks down the stairs, Jerry heads toward the front door... but not without giving his fiancée a goodbye kiss on the forehead. “See yah later,” he says while exiting. “I’ll be back before you know it! And once again, tell your dad ‘thank you’ for his generous gift!”

The door shuts. A honking is heard outside accompanied by Jerry’s voice. “Love you, honey!” Marian goes to the kitchen and picks up the phone. “Hello,” she says. Mrs. Hopkins clears her throat. “Marian. How are you feeling?” Marian yawns. “Not bad, mom, but all this wedding stuff is really tiring me out. We haven’t even done anything either. All we did was decide on a date.” “That’s certainly the hardest part,” says Mrs. Hopkins. “Deciding when to get married is tough. You have to make considerations for all types of things: the weather, cost, when people will be most available, unlucky numbers. It’s a real headache. Most people are used to having dates chosen for them. It’s taken for granted.” “Mom,” says Marian, “I’m so worried.” Mrs. Hopkins can be heard switching the phone, from the left side of her head to the right. “That’s common. All women go through it. Marriage is a big responsibility. It’s not like being a teenager in love. You can’t sleep with thousands of men. It’s different. It’s an adult relationship.” “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” says Marian. “Sorry,” says Mrs. Hopkins. “I’ve never really been good at these heart-to-hearts. I actually called on behalf of your father. Mr. Doctor wants you to swing by his office and do a mammography... I shouldn’t need to explain this. You know the women in our family have a history of breast cancer. You should’ve went by now.” “Oh mom,” groans Marian. “I have other things on my mind than that. Plus, dad’s office is all the way out in the boonies.” Mrs. Hopkins insists. “Marian,” she says, “it’s very important that you catch it early. The earlier you catch it, the more treatable it is. Don’t die because you’re afraid of the diagnosis.” “How optimistic,” says Marian sarcastically. “I’m serious,” lectures Mrs. Hopkins. “An early diagnosis saved your grandmother’s life. If you leave those things unchecked, they’ll fester and grow. So go and see a doctor. It doesn’t have to be your father. Just get looked at. You won’t regret it. And y’know what? I’m sure everything will be fine. You’re young, what’s the worst that could happen?” 35 The doctor’s office is cold; a dichotomy of color, only white and silver. It feels barren and lifeless. If this were a place in cosmos, it’d definitely be purgatory. “Good evening,” says Dr. Horowitz as he walks in. “How are you?” Nervously, Marian stands up. She extends her trembling arm for a handshake. Dr. Horowitz’s grip is firm. “You look worried,” he says. “Is it because I’m a man? Worry not. I am extremely professional. I’ve been doing this for many years. And I know much more than a mammography technician.” “That’s not it,” says Marian. “I’m just uncomfortable with doctors.” Dr. Horowitz slaps his forehead. “Of course,” he says, “how silly of me! I apologize for being so presumptuous. Please, follow me to the x-ray machine.” Marian follows Dr. Horowitz to the mammography machine. It is a tall beige rectangular piece of equipment...expensive and sophisticated-looking in all degrees. Dr. Horowitz puts a black square under a plate...a cassette of film. He instructs Marian what to do. “Alright,” he says. “Take off your clothes; everything except for your underwear.”

Shyly, Marian takes off her clothes. She only has on her granny panties and her engagement ring. You can see the pale parts on her body where she hasn’t darkened from the sun. “Alright,” says Dr. Horowitz. “Come forward. Put your left breast on the plate.” Marian follows his instructions. Dr. Horowitz steps on a pedal by the base of the machine. Another plate above comes down. It compresses Marian’s breast and flattens it. Horowitz steps away and walks behind a glass “window” in the back of the room, presumably to protect himself from radiation. He presses a button on a large flat computerized panel. The mammography machine takes a photograph. 36 Seated comfortably in her armchair, Marian reads one of Jerry’s books, a novel by Tom Clancy. Her attention is fixed on the page. Not even the ringing of the phone interrupts. But when she hears Jerry’s voice calling, she snaps out of her hypnotic state. “Marian,” says Jerry, “there’s a phone call for you.” “Is it Maurice?” Marian asks. “Tell him I’m not available for overtime.” Jerry replies. “I don’t know who that is. Do you want me to bring you the cordless phone?” Marian leans her head back to the sound of Jerry’s voice. “Yes,” she says, “thank you.” Jerry’s offhand remark is heard faintly through the walls. “Rats.” Feet beat against the floor as Jerry makes his way upstairs. He comes out from the basement with phone in hand. “Marian,” he says. “Where are you?” Marian jokingly snaps her fingers. “Butler,” she replies, “I’m in here!” Jerry goes into the living room and hands her the phone. She puts down her book. “Hello,” says Marian. “Ms. Marian Hopkins here.” Jerry stands by. “Who is it?” he asks. “Ms. Hopkins,” says Dr. Horowitz, “I have something to tell you.” Marian gets a sinking feeling in her gut. “What is it?” she asks apprehensively. “Your results,” says Dr. Horowitz, “I’ve got your test results.” As Marian listens, she lowers down and curls her body, then she hangs up and drops the phone to the ground. “What is it?” asks Jerry. “Why’d you drop the phone? We just got that.” Marian’s eyes glaze over. She puts her face into the palms of her hands. Jerry crouches down beside the armchair. “Marian? What’s wrong?” 37 As Marian lies on a pale blue operating table, the anesthesiologist places a translucent mask on her face. She breathes in the vapors through her nostrils and gently loses consciousness. Marian’s spirit floats up from her body. She spins in the air and looks below at the surgeons performing her double mastectomy. “What’s happening?” she asks, looking at her translucent fingers. There’s no answer. Nobody can hear her voice. A fan in the corner of the room blows against Marian. She is pushed into another room in the hospital. There is a mother in a coma, surrounded by her weeping husband and children. The words of their language aren’t understood, but somehow Marian

can feel the thoughts in their mind. “Come back to me, my darling,” cries the husband. “Come back to me.” As Marian looks, she is suddenly impelled upward. She floats through the ceiling and outside the hospital. She looks down at the people walking outside. They look small, like mini figurines in a curio cabinet. Marian rises higher and higher; above the clouds. She finds herself at a large golden gate, staring at a flaring but comfortable white light. “Mazal Tov,” says St. Peter. “How are we today?” Marian steps onto the cloud in front of her and transforms back into a solid being. “Is this heaven?” she asks. “No,” replies St. Peter. “You’re in hell.” Marian’s stumbles back, nearly falling in shock. “HAW! HAW! HAW!” laughs St. Peter. “Just joshing. Step forward, please. I need check for your name on the list... Let’s hope you’ve been a good little girl.” As Marian stands tensely with her arms by her side, St. Peter unfurls a scroll. His eyes move rapidly down the list with his feather pen in hand keeping place. “Marian Hopkins?” he asks. “Yes,” nods Marian. “You’re not on the list,” says St. Peter. “I’m sorry. That means you’ll have to go to hell... I’m not kidding this time.” A trapdoor collapses beneath Marian. She falls through the clouds and plummets toward the earth. She catches on fire from the friction of the atmosphere. Her screams are bloodcurdling; filled with agony and torture... Then Marian awakes from surgery. The operation is complete. “How are we feeling?” asks the surgeon through his sky-blue mask. 38 Standing in front of a tall mirror in the basement, Marian looks at her chest. It’s scarred and flat. Both her breasts have been removed. A part of her womanhood is gone. She’s alive, the cancer’s gone, but it feels like she’s dead. There’s a ghostly look on her face. Marian turns to the side, profiling herself. She straps on a brassiere and stuffs it with scrunched paper towels. Suffice it to say, it isn’t the same. Marian takes off the phony breasts and leaves them on the floor. She puts her shirt back on. She turns to leave, but her legs suddenly freeze. Her eyes are still, staring at the empty space between the steps of the plywood staircase. “GODDAMNIT!” screams Marian with fury. She spins around and marches to the mirror. With her bare hands she pounds on the glass. Marian collapses onto her knees. She buries her face into her arms. Tears and blood drip, running down her chest like paint on a blank canvas. 39 Karen sits down in front of Marian, placing down the two mugs of coffee. “So,” says Karen, “how’re you feeling these days?” Marian takes a long sip of her coffee and gives her best friend a pair of narrow eyes. “Karen,” says Marian, “I look like a man. I have no breasts...not even a little bump. I look worse than a prepubescent girl from Bhutan. Do you know how that feels? It’s like somebody

put their hand down my throat and ripped away my soul. I can barely look Jerry in the eyes.” “I don’t even know how to reply,” says Karen. “That’s the most brooding dark thing I’ve ever heard. And I can’t comfort you by telling you that ‘I know how it feels.’ And I’ll be damned if I can say somebody has it worse than you. Although, I fail to see how contrasting misery would make you feel better. Why people do that is beyond me.” Marian puts her mug down and lays her head on the table. “Things are happening, Karen. But they’re not moving in the direction I want. For years I’ve been living in a world of happiness, living carefree and with the love of my life, now I’ve gotten a dose of reality. This is the slap in the face to wake me up from my dream. God is telling me I’ve been too smug. That’s what it is. He’s giving me a lightning bolt. Zap.” “Don’t say that,” says Karen. “You’re not being given a lightning bolt...it’s more like a test. Your faith is being tested. It’s being pushed to the limits, and you have to hang in there to see things through. God doesn’t do things haphazardly. It’s not without reason. Anyway, you should be thankful. You caught the cancer. It’s dead. It’s out of your body and you’ve defeated it. At least you’re alive, Marian. Most people who get cancer die. And the ones who don’t die have to pay a hefty medical bill. You’re lucky you were fully covered by insurance. In America that’s a rare thing. It’s not like France or Canada. If you can’t pay up you die, simple as that.” Marian stirs her coffee with her finger, like she’s not even listening. “I don’t think you’re paying attention here. I’m ugly! Marian Hopkins, former prom queen, is the flat-chested town dyke! Not that I think there’s anything wrong having different sexual preferences. I’m just trying to make a point here.” “What’s your point, again?” asks Karen to the melancholy Marian. Marian bangs her head on the table. “Don’t you see?! Don’t you see?! My love life is over! The sweet life is gone! I’m not attractive! I’m not even half-decent! Nobody wants me! You think Jerry is going to look at me in the same way? He’s been waiting a third of a decade to get a grab of my goods...and I don’t even have that anymore.” “Doesn’t he love you?” asks Karen. “If he does, it shouldn’t matter. Yeah. I agree, things won’t be a perfect ten under the sheets, but he’ll get used to it. If you’re in the dark, it doesn’t matter. Everyone looks the same without illumination.” Marian starts to cry...but not a silent cry, a loud wailing, like a spoilt child. She’s sobbing like it’s a competition. Karen tries to keep things cool, but everyone in the café is gawking. “Oh sweetie,” says Karen to a weeping Marian, “I think we should leave now. How about we go to my place? We’ll relax, unwind, and have a big tub of ice-cream. How about that? Just you and me?” The crying continues, getting even louder. “Would you mind!” says a nasally voice from a corner in the café. “I’m trying to enjoy myself. A little silence would be appreciated. Tell your drama queen friend to be quiet and let the rest of us have some peace.” Karen is infuriated. She stands up and rolls up her sleeves. “Who said that?!” she yells. Marian’s crying quiets down as she wipes the tears from her cheeks. “Finally!” says the nasally voice. Karen marches over to a man with a

slumped back. She taps him on his shoulder. A well dressed man puts down his newspaper and turns around. “Can I help you?” he says in the most nasally of voices...then a fist flies across his face. Karen knocks him right off his chair. He lands on the cold tile floor and writhes in pain. Karen goes back to her table and takes Marian by the hand. “Let’s go!” she says. “We don’t wanna be around these animals.” Marian looks back at the man. “What did you do?” Karen tucks her chin down like a fighter and rushes through the door, pulling Marian along in haste. “I made two wrongs right,” she replies. “I made two wrongs right.” 40 “Why don’t you kiss me anymore?” asks Jerry. Marian covers herself in blanket. “Do we have to have this conversation? I’m not in the mood. Okay?” Jerry stares at the ceiling. His hands are folded, resting on his stomach. “Is this about your body?” he asks. “Marian, I love you no matter what. I don’t care if you’re green with scales.” “That’s a load of you know what,” says Marian. “If I was green with scales, you’d be headed for the door to visit the gun shop.” Jerry closes his eyes, not really sure what to say. “Marian, you’re being silly. Look, I still love you like I always did. Nothing but a couple of mammaries have changed.” “What if I cut off your penis?” ask Marian. “What would you say to that? Would you feel the same as before?” Jerry thinks. “Would you still love me?” Marian doesn’t have much of a response. “Yes,” she says. “Why wouldn’t I?” Jerry turns to his side and opens his eyes. He looks at Marian’s figure under the sheets and puts his hand on her hand. “I’m not going to lie to you. I’m a man. Being physically attracted to women with curves is something that’s in me. But the curve I miss most on you wasn’t on your chest...it was on your lips. I miss your smile, Marian. Remember? Remember when you used to wake up each morning and show me those pearly whites? What happened to that?” “What happened to it?” asks Marian. “Somebody stole it. They took it and threw it into the trash can. Now it’s gone. So let’s just forget about it. It’s not coming back.” Jerry sighs. “I just wish you’d understand me. I don’t care whether you have breasts or not. The thing I care about is you. If you’re not happy, how can we have a happy marriage?” “Maybe we won’t get married,” replies Marian. Jerry rolls onto his stomach and rests his head on his pillow with his arms underneath. His eyes well up. He has nothing more to say. 41 Mr. President and the secretary of defense, Bob, step out of their armored limousine and head toward the United Nations Headquarters surrounded by a dozen plus body guards. The two are barely visible, surrounded on every side with protection. They go into the UN Security Council chamber where they are met by a plethora of different high ranked individuals. It is a large airy room with a

hundred chairs fashioned into a circle, back-dropped by an impressive and strange, almost medieval looking painting. Mr. President and Bob sit side by side. The Secretary General, Liu Nan, begins the meeting. “Today’s meeting is assembled to address the issue of the United States of America’s request for permission to ‘infiltrate’ the newly developed independent nation of Kagistan in order to combat their purported acts of terrorism. Furthermore...” “Boo!” the country of South Africa interrupts. “Please, refrain from commentary,” asks Liu Nan. “Every time we come here,” says South Africa, “it’s always about the Americans and their wars. This is ridiculous! We shouldn’t even be here. They should just learn not to fight. Their petty squabbles are destroying our planet!” “Regardless,” says Liu Nan, “we are not here to point fingers and make accusations. We must first hear them out. Then we will debate whether or not their planned actions are justified. So would you like to speak, Mr. President?” Mr. President straightens his back and clears his throat. “As you may know, our nation has been under attack. Thousands of people have died. Our intelligence has indicated that the nation of Kagistan is harboring terrorists and weapons of massive destruction. It is therefore our prerogative to take any necessary action to prevent future crisis. Our people deserve security, peace of mind, and above all, justice.” “Justice?!” screams South Africa. “What sense of justice do you have? What about the innocent lives you destroyed in wars like, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Somalia? Do you ever think about all the crying orphans you’ve created? Answer me that.” Bob speaks up. “That is collateral damage.” South Africa is outraged. “You have no right to do what you do. You must be stopped.” Bob points at South Africa. “Don’t act like you’re a bunch of saints. You’re the ones who kept Mandela in prison for 27 years. Nelson Mandela!” “Let’s not get into a squabble,” says Mr. President to Bob. “We’re here so we can stop the masked man, Al-Skeleet.” South Africa lifts the glass of water on the table and takes a sip. “The presence of Al-Skeleet is not enough to justify a full scale war.” “We are not going to have a full scale war,” replies Mr. President. “It is going to be small and contained; only using force where necessary. That is a promise to all of you. Trust our nation to make decisions.” South Africa scoffs. “Yeah, that’s believable. What reason should we have to believe what you say?” “Now, now, now,” says India, “America is a good country. If they need to defend their-selves, who should we be to step in the way?” Africa glares at India. “You’re just saying that because you want to invade Pakistan!” Liu Nan puts his hands together and claps to get attention. “South Africa! Any more of these malicious outbursts and you will be asked to leave. Stop acting like a child.” South Africa lowers its head in shame.

42 With hands in her pockets, Marian slowly walks through a quiet street. She breathes in the cold air and exhales tiny clouds of carbon dioxide. Tired, she stops on the sidewalk and sits down on the concrete. Her legs are folded, tucked against her body. From the white of the horizon, Jerry appears in the distance. He squints and sees Marian sitting alone. He runs over to her with long strides of his legs. “Marian,” he says while lowering down, “why are you sitting there all by yourself? You don’t want to catch a cold, do you?” Marian barely looks up. “What do you want?” she says. Jerry sits down beside her, placing his back against the wall. “What do I want, Marian? I want you... I want you to come back and stop all this nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with you. I look at you in the same way I did when we first met. You’re just as beautiful.” “What else?” asks Marian. Jerry thinks. “Well, you’re a unique woman. And I don’t mean that in a trite sort of manner. You really are different. You’re not like other people. You have a good heart. You’re considerate. You’re generous. You’re loving. You always do the right thing and put others before you... That’s why I’m going to marry you, even if it’s against your own will. I’m being selfish, but I love you, and there’s nothing you can do stop me.” Pushing against the ground with her hands, Marian gets to her feet. “Let’s go,” she says. “I’m not feeling too well. I think I need to lie down somewhere.” Jerry gets up. “Okay,” he says. Marian and Jerry walk down the sidewalk; they take a corner and disappear out of sight. 43 The C-130 Hercules sits on the runway with dignity, spinning its four propellers with a hypnotic motion, ready for action in some far off land. “I guess this is it,” says Jerry, looking up at the large gray body of the transport aircraft. “Wish me luck.” Marian hugs Jerry, squeezing him as tightly as possible. “Return home safely,” she says. “And don’t get your legs blown off either. I’d really appreciate that.” “Will do,” says Jerry. “Will do.” He lets go of Marian and walks toward the airplane. He waves goodbye and gets inside. The door shuts. The C-130 runs down the asphalt and takes off like a bird in the sky. Marian yells. “I love you, Jerry! Don’t forget about me while you’re gone! I’ll be waiting for you!” 44 Some hours have passed. Jerry is seated beside Joe in the windowless airplane. They listen to the hum of the C-130. Nobody says anything; far too nervous to speak. Somebody turns on a radio. The broadcast is full of static, but the words can be understood. “Fellow Americans,” says Mr. President, “we are entering a new era; a new time of hope. With our troops being sent to Kagistan to locate the infamous Al-Skeleet, we will soon achieve our goals for liberty and freedom;

because nobody in our country should have to die for the evil and sinister motivations of an individual person. There will be justice, there will be...” The radio gets kicked over and bursts onto the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” cries Edward, one of the soldiers. “I was listening to that.” Chris takes out a pack of cigarettes and starts to smoke. “Ain’t nobody wanna listen to your radio. So get off your high horse and let the rest of us enjoy some peace and quiet.” Edward stands up and puts his hands on his hip like an overbearing school teacher. “How dare you! How dare you! How dare you break my radio!” Chris puts out his cigarette and rises from his seat. He’s huge fellow. Well over six feet tall. “I don’t like the way you’re talking to me. It’s getting on my nerves. So why don’t you shut up and sit back down? We’ll all be better for it.” Joe whispers to Jerry. “Ten bucks on the gargantuan.” Edward pulls his fist back. “Don’t make me do it, man! I swear! I’m ready to start the war right now!” Chris snickers and folds his arms. “Why don’t you try it?” With a scream, Edward throws a punch, but Chris sticks out his foot and trips him. He falls to the floor and bashes his chin. “Ow!” cries Edward. “You tripped me! That’s dirty pool!” Chris steps on his back. “If you wanna get beaten to a bloody pulp, I suggest you continue flapping your lips...but if not, then you’d best be quiet. I’m telling you and everyone right now, I’m not here to make friends. I came to fight, to shoot, and to see a man die in my arms. Don’t make this any worse than it has to be.” Chris lifts his foot. Edward gets up and goes back to his seat without a word. Jerry and Joe stare at Chris as he crosses his legs and leans back smugly. “Jesus,” says Joe, “that SOB is going to make this government vacation a nightmare.” Jerry dismisses it. “Don’t worry, he’s just a bully. I know those types. They can only pick on others smaller than themselves...but give a little shove back and they fall down and cry.” Chris gives Jerry and Joe the evil eye. The two shudder from fright. 45 Inside the church, in a confessional, Marian is confessing to the priest. “I’ve been having thoughts. I don’t know why I’ve been having them, but I have. What can I do about them?” The priest can be heard shifting on the other side. “What sort of thoughts. Would you care to elaborate?” Putting her finger on her chin, Marian thinks but hesitates to say. “Yes?” says the priest. “I don’t think I can tell you,” replies Marian. “It’s too embarrassing.” The priest reassures her. “My child, everything said within these walls is confidential. Nothing will be exposed. Even if you have committed murder or rape, I am not permitted to tell. So long as you are truly sorry for your sins and speak with honesty, God will forgive you for your sins. Now, what is it you want to tell me?” “I’ve been having thoughts about other men,” says Marian. “I...I...I haven’t imagined doing anything dirty with them, but I think about them. I’ll admit that much. It’s just that, the thing is, my ‘husband-to-be’ is in another country and he has been for a while now. I’ve just been so lonely. Yesterday I actually had a man

over. I met him in the book store. We talked about different things, like politics and economics. He seemed pretty nice, but when we sat on the couch, he started coming on to me. I have no clue why, I’m not attractive. But anyway, he shouldn’t have been there. I pushed him away and kicked him out the house. God, I feel so guilty.” “What is there to feel guilty about?” asks the priest. “It seems quite normal to me. You’re alone and you wanted company. There is nothing wrong with that. Everyone desires to be loved and to have friendships...man or woman.” Marian continues. “I know that, but I feel bad. A part of me wanted to embrace his comeons. It was hard not to veer into dark territory, if you know what I mean.” “There is no need to ask for forgiveness,” says the priest. “You have done no wrong. Thought crimes are not the sins that the church rebukes...no matter how bad they may be. Though, I would be careful. What seeds you lay in your mind may grow. Try to occupy yourself with something other than members of the opposite sex. Try to spend some time with your family or a close friend.” “Thank you, father,” says Marian. “I feel much better now.” The priest nods on the other side. “Think nothing of it.” Marian gets out of the confessional. She steps onto the red patterned carpet and leaves the church. 46 “I brought your favorite,” says Mrs. Hopkins as she places a silver tray of fresh chocolate chip cookies and milk onto the coffee table. “Thanks, mom,” says Marian. Mrs. Hopkins takes a seat. “So, how are we today?” Marian takes a cookie and bites into it. “Mom, do you always have to talk like that? I’m not one of your psychiatric patients. I’m your daughter.” “I’m sorry,” says Mrs. Hopkins. “Where’s, dad?” asks Marian. “He’s at his office,” Mrs. Hopkins replies. Marian drinks some milk. Mrs. Hopkins puts on her glasses. “Marian, my daughter, I want you to know something. I’m here for you. I always will be. I know you’re going through a hard time right now, but I have to tell you something. I hope it doesn’t hurt you, honey...but I’m going to be moving somewhere else soon. I hope that doesn’t upset you.” “You’re moving?” asks Marian. “Where? Do you need any help? A friend of mine at work has an uncle who owns a moving company. He can probably help you and dad. He’s really quite...” Mrs. Hopkins cuts off Marian. “Marian. I’m sorry. Your father and I are getting a divorce.” Marian chokes on her cookie. “What?!” Mrs. Hopkins pats Marian on her knee. “Don’t be so sensitive, dear. These things are quite common. One in two Americans get divorced at least once in their lifetime. It was bound to happen. Ah, I guess we rushed into things too fast. That was a problem.” “But,” says Marian, “you said you loved dad. How can you just decide to separate like that?! Don’t you think you’re being a little rash?!” Mrs. Hopkins speaks slowly, almost in a patronizing manner. “I’ve thought about this for a long time. We’re not in love. Actually, we never were. We only got married because of you.” Marian is in shock. “What’s that supposed to mean? You got pregnant with me and decided to marry?! Why didn’t you tell me this before?! Why now?!” Mrs.

Hopkins picks up a glass of milk from the tray on the coffee table. “You were such a fragile little girl. I didn’t want to let you know at that time. What kind of parent would I be if I told you that you were an accident? How horrible. But now you’re an adult. I think this is the appropriate time.” “This is not an appropriate time!” exclaims Marian. “Don’t you know what I’m going through right now?! I came to you because I thought you’d cheer me up like a mother should. I didn’t wanna hear about my parents’ upcoming divorce and how I was an accident! This is...this is...this isn’t the right!” “Calm down, Marian,” says Mrs. Hopkins. “Why don’t you lie down, hmm? We’ll talk about your feelings and find out what the root of your hostility really is.” Marian kicks her feet like a little kid. “Mom! You and dad are getting a divorce! My boyfriend’s in Kagistan risking his life for our country...and I have no breasts! You call this hostile?! I’m going crazy!” Mrs. Hopkins shifts away, looking at her only daughter like she’s another person. 47 The light of the moon shines through the Venetian blinds of the master bedroom window, casting a blue shadow of bars. Marian takes off her slippers and flops face forward onto the bed. She lifts her head and looks at a picture on the nightstand of her and Jerry kissing on a rollercoaster. Marian turns and lies on her back. “Where are you?” she whispers. 48 The Kagistan weather is hot and humid. Jerry pauses to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Joe taps him in the ribs. “Don’t stop now,” he says. “We’re almost there.” The troops go up a steep trail surrounded by large Kapok trees. They are being lead by the very contemptible Chris. His sharp voice is jarring against the serene sounds of the jungle. “Will you men hurry up?! This isn’t ballet class! I will not have any stragglers on my team! If we’re not at the peak of this mountain in half an hour, I am going to raise some serious hell around here!” “Gee,” says Joe to Jerry, “I wonder what that’ll be like.” Chris stops and turns around. “What’s your name?” he yells at Joe. Joe stammers. “J-J-Joseph O’Neil...but my friends call me Joe.” Chris pokes Joe in the chest with his thick finger. “Listen up, Joseph O’Neil. I’m the team leader. I’m the boss. And this little mission is being led by me. So I don’t want to hear your stupid commentary! Keep your mouth shut and keep quiet!” Jerry steps in front of Joe. “I don’t know what your problem is, mister. But you better treat each and everyone one of us with respect. This isn’t the internet. You can’t use your foul-mouth bullying tactics to push us around. We’re not your helper monkeys. We’re human beings. And you’ve been abusing us for too long, and I can’t take it anymore. I’m putting my foot down, Chris.” Chris snickers and folds his arms. “I know what this rebellion is about. It’s about your ‘little woman’ isn’t it? Oh, I see through your façade. You’re having a tough time in that hard head of yours, so you wanna take it out on good ol’ Chris. Well, lemme tell you something, you overemotional sack of feelings...your

girlfriend is at home cheating on you. You think your faithfulness and selfrighteousness will keep away the grubby hands of all those perverted men? She doesn’t know what you’re doing, and she doesn’t care. So get over yourself. Let go of your sentiments. This is a time of war. We are at war!” “Your incoherent ramblings,” replies Jerry, “aren’t going to squelch how we all feel about you, Chris. I know what you’re doing; this is what you always do. You’re trying to get psychological on me and play on my doubts. You’re acting like the devil, but it’s not going to fool me. My girlfriend and I are perfectly happy. I love her and she loves me. There’s nothing you can do to convince me otherwise.” “Jeez,” says Chris. “You really are sick. How can you love a woman with no breasts?” Jerry grits his teeth. In a fit of rage he lunges forward with his arms out and grabs Chris by the throat. The two lose their footing on the loose dirt and go tumbling down like a pair of emptied oil drums. They spin and spin ‘till they hit the bottom. “You’re in for it now!” yells Chris with a punch. Jerry blocks his face as the blows come down. Joe, Edward and the others run down. They grab onto Chris and hold him back. “Let go of me!” Chris shouts. “I was winning the fight!” Jerry wipes the blood from under his nose and steps back. “Calm yourself down,” says Edward to Chris in a forceful whisper. “You’re going to bring attention to our location. Do you want us to be caught?!” Chris stops squirming. “Okay!” he says. “You can let go of me now. I’m calm. I’m cool. I got some good punches in. I’m fine. The revenge bone is out of my system.” The men reluctantly let go, but as soon as they do, Chris runs for Jerry. “I’m going to kill you!” he screams. “You son of a bitch!” The men tackle Chris and pin him to the ground. “Stop it!” says Joe. “We’re wasting our energy fighting each other! Let’s concentrate on the enemy.” Chris pleas as his arm is being twisted. “Alright! Alright! Truce! Let’s call a truce! Just get off of me and I promise to behave myself! No shenanigans. I’ll be a perfect little angel. And I won’t kick your asses, even though I want to, really, really badly. Is it a deal? Okay, guys?” “No, you need to be taught a lesson,” says Edward. “You need to be straightened out. You’re like a dog who can’t stop humping the couch. Something on you has to be cut off. What do you think, Jerry?” Jerry isn’t paying attention. His head is turned; ear pointing toward the trees. “Shhh,” he says. “I think I hear something.” The men let go of Chris. Chris gets up. He pulls back the slide on his handgun and whispers. “Everyone stay back here. I’m gonna check it out. If I’m not back in ten minutes, retreat and get reinforcements from the base. Don’t try to be a hero!” The men nervously nod in agreement. Chris disappears into the thicket of the jungle. Edward counts down on his wristwatch. Everyone waits with anticipation. “Do you think he’ll be killed?” asks Jerry. Joe clasps his hands together. “Don’t get my hopes up.” Three and a half nerve racking minutes pass. Joe gets buzzed on his walkie-talkie. “You guys,” says Chris through the walkietalkie, “there’s nobody here. I found a shortcut up the mountain. Come into the trees. There’s a clear path behind all the bushes. It’ll save us a lot of time. Over and out.”

“I don’t know,” says Joe. “Do you think we should do as he says? He seems so calm and rational...not like him at all. I say we leave. If he’s fine, he’ll return.” Edward puts his hand on his chin, thinking. “I did sense some stress in his voice. Maybe we should leave and get reinforcements. It might save us some trouble.” Jerry puts up his arms in protest. “Men! If one of our friends is in trouble, we should not abandon them! If he needs helps, it’s only right that we at least make an effort to try!” “You’re right,” says Edward. “Get on the walkie-talkie and ask him what’s going on.” Joe contacts Chris. “Chris. Joe here. Are you in trouble? You sounded a bit distressed.” There’s no response. “I told you,” says Edward, “something is definitely up. Let’s make haste and get out of here. I have a boding feeling.” “No,” refuses Jerry. “I am not leaving ‘till I know that he’s okay. As much as I despise the guy, he’s still a human being. We have to take care of each other. I’m...I’m going in.” Joe tries to grab Jerry, but he quickly goes into the trees and disappears. Edward takes out his binoculars, trying to watch over, but the foliage is too dense and thick to see through. It’s dark like night. “I can’t see a thing,” he complains. “Stupid trees are in the way.” Then suddenly Jerry appears, but running and screaming his head off in between the trees. “Run!” he shouts as bullets whiz over his head. “Run, everybody! Run! It’s an ambush!” Joe, Edward and the others panic and dash down the trail. Before Jerry can catch up with them, he catches his foot on a tree root and trips, falling to the ground. Al-Skeleet’s minions surround him. There is no escape. “What should we do with him?” asks Vazul with gun pointed down. “Should we kill him like the other...or should we take him prisoner?” Mosiki crouches down and look at Jerry’s dirtied face. “We will let the boss decide that.” 49 The grocery store is crowded. People are gearing up for Easter weekend and they are buying a crap-load of eggs. Marian wheels her chrome cart around the shoppers and stops in front of the fruits and vegetables section. She examines the tomatoes. She rolls them in her hand, gently pressing them to check for firmness. “I can never tell if they’re good,” says Marian. “They can’t be too firm or too soft,” says a soothing voice. “They gotta be somewhere in the middle.” Marian looks behind and sees a man holding a hand truck with different types of produce. He’s tall and muscular, well shaven, and has the perfect tan; something right out of a fashion magazine. “Hi,” says the man with a devilish smile. “I’m Terrence Van Witterhorn. I own this place.” Marian is flustered by Terrence’s charm, but duly taken in. “I’m Marian,” she replies. “You have a really lovely place here. I love...the selection.” Terrence takes off his apron. “I’m going to a party tonight. Would you like to come? It’ll be a lot of fun.” Marian brushes her hair back nervously, unsure of herself and unsure what to say. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asks. “Why not?” replies Terrence. “Do you have some sort of prior engagements? If you do, I completely understand.”

“Don’t accept his invitation,” Marian thinks to her-self. “You’re only letting in Satan’s temptation. It doesn’t matter how long Jerry’s been gone. You cannot talk to men. Men are evil and they are only after one thing.” The inner monologue of rationalization continues, even as Terrence waits for an answer. “I don’t have any breasts. There’s no chance in Hades anything would come out of this. What’s the worry, Marian? You’re a perfectly capable logical woman. Will you really be subdued by a man just because he has a perfectly chiseled body and hair that could be placed on a pedestal? No way. That’s ridiculous. I think you should accept. Of all the things that have happened to you, you deserve to relax and have fun. Times have been hard! Party like it’s 1999!” Marian finally opens her mouth. “Yes,” she says. “I will go with you to your party.” Terrence reaches into his back pocket and takes out a business card. He hands it to Marian. “Dress casually,” he says. “Call me before 6:00 PM, and I’ll come to your house and pick you up. Is that okay, Marian?” 50 Marian dumps out the contents of her purse. She picks up Terrence’s business card. Sitting with a phone, she dials his number. It rings for about half a minute, then a haggardly voice answers. “Hellooooo,” it says. “Who is this?” Marian thinks she has the wrong number, but answers anyway. “Oh. This is Marian. Marian Hopkins. Is...” “Mom!” says Terrence in background. “Is that for me?” Terrence’s mom puts down the phone. “No! It’s nobody. I was just about to hang up. Mind your own business.” Terrence picks up the receiver. “Hello?” he says. Marian sheepishly replies. “Terrence? Is that you?” “Yes. It is me,” Terrence jokes. “Are you ready for our date tonight? Shall I come get you now?” Marian is a bit taken aback. “You never said this was a date. I...I can’t go on a date with you.” Terrence apologizes. “I’m sorry. I think we have a misunderstanding. I call everything a date, whether with a guy or a gal. Because what is a date, anyway? You go out and you have fun, right? It’s all the same to me.” “I agree,” says Marian while hastily putting on a pair of earrings. Terrence replies with glee. “I’ll be right over,” he says. “I just have to give my mom her meds; then I’m out the door.” “Medication? What’s it for?” asks Marian with sympathy. “It’s nothing really,” replies Terrence. “She just has Alzheimer’s. No big deal. It’s a common disease.” Marian is curious. “What’s it like living with somebody who has Alzheimer’s disease?” With a big sigh, Terrence gives a summary of his experience. “It was kind of funny at first when my dad was around,” he says. “We’d play games with her and things like that. But of course, like any untreatable disease, it got worse...and it crushed my soul. She doesn’t even know who I am. Every time I leave and come back, I have to explain to her who I am. I don’t even tell her that I’m her son anymore. It takes way too long. I just tell her I’m a caretaker or something like that. It seems to work.” “That’s so sad,” says Marian. “That’s life,” replies Terrence bluntly. “It’s full of problems and headaches. But you know what? I don’t feel sorry for myself

one bit. There are a lot of other people out there who have it much worse than I do. I’m a very fortunate person. I own my own business. My employees respect me. I’m living in one of the best countries in the world. I couldn’t ask for more.” Marian whimpers. “Come get me, please.” 51 Marian stands in her house, staring through the window at the front. She waits for Terrence with anxiety, her knees trembling ever so slightly. The doorbell rings. Marian takes out a pocket mirror and does a last minute check on her face. She puts it away and then answers the door. “Hi,” says Terrence with flowers. “These are for you.” Marian takes the flowers. “But you said this wasn’t a date.” Terrence slaps his forehead. “No. That’s a gift for the birthday party. We’re going to my friend’s birthday party. I know. I’m an idiot. I forgot to mention it. But that’s why I brought the flowers, so you have something to give to my friend. She’ll really appreciate them.” She? For a moment Marian gets jealous, but remembers who she’s really in love with. “Oh! That’s very thoughtful of you.” Terrence takes Marian’s hand and leads her outside. There is a limousine on the driveway. “Omigod,” says Marian. “Is that your limousine?” Terrence runs over to the limousine and opens the door. “C’mon, there’s plenty of room!” Marian gets in, followed by Terrence. It’s spacious inside. Everywhere is black, lined with leather. A partition separates contact from the driver. “How do you like it?” asks Terrence. “Where are the seatbelts?” says Marian as the limo starts to move. “There are none,” Terrence replies. “That’s the design. But don’t worry, it’s safe. I swear.” “How can you afford this?” asks Marian. “Remember?” says Terrence. “I own a chain of grocery stores.” Marian leans back into her seat. It’s soft. “You said you owned one grocery store. Well, that’s what I thought.” Terrence opens a mini bar and takes out two bottles of...root beer. He tosses one over to Marian. “I didn’t wanna scare you away by coming off like a braggart,” says Terrence while guzzling his soda. “So I omitted a couple of facts about myself. White lies. I hope you’re not angry. Are you?” Marian shakes her head. “No. I understand. Talking about money is always a bad way to start a relationship...I mean a friendship. Yes, a friendship. Talking about money is a bad way to start a friendship. It’s not polite.” “I think it’s okay to talk about money,” says Terrence. “How do you succeed in something if you don’t talk about it, right? My dad always taught the value of a buck. If I had any questions about money, he was always open to discussion. Nothing seemed to be off topic for him. He was very cool like that.” Terrence tries not to reach into his past. He doesn’t want to show his emotional baggage, so he shifts focus to Marian. “Yeah,” he says trying to be as sincere as possible. “So what’s your story?” “What do you mean?” asks Marian. “Your breast cancer,” says Terrence. Marian is surprised. “How did you know I had breast cancer?” Terrence rolls down the window behind him, just a little crack to let in some fresh air.

“My sister had a mastectomy, too,” says Terrence. “She used to act just like you. She was shy; real self-conscious. She always dressed down and wore baggy clothes. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with the way you’re dressed right now, but I don’t think it does your beauty any justice.” Marian is dumbfounded, but Terrence continues. “I’m rambling,” he says, “but what I’m trying to say is, there’s way more to a woman than just her chest. Yes. I admit. Men are really attracted to a woman’s upper-regions, but that’s not all they look for. Believe it or not, a lot of them care about love, and not just sex.” The partition in the limousine comes down. “We’re here,” says the driver in a thick English accent. “We’re at the party.” Terrence opens the door to the limousine; then he and Marian get out. The driver puts his head out the window. “When shall I pick you up, Master Terrence?” Terrence looks a bit embarrassed. “I told you not to call me that,” he says. “It sounds weird.” The driver chuckles and loses his English accent. “Sorry. I like to pretend I’m from another country. It just seems so classy. Anyway! Call me when you need me!” The limo speeds off. Marian and Terrence walk up to a five garage home. They are greeted at the door by a cute over-energetic girl in pigtails. “Hi!” says Jean. “How are you, Terrence? Who’s your little friend? She’s awful pretty. Oh! Are those flowers for me? Wow!” Marian gives Jean the flowers. “Happy birthday,” she says. “May God bless all of your days.” Jean’s head bobbles side to side. “Don’t just stand there, Terrence and company. Make yourselves at home. We’re just getting started. Come in! This party might get wild and crazy! Oh! Oh! I hope one of the girls hired a stripper! That would be like the totally best present in the world!” Terrence and Marian go inside without any further comment. The house is a visually dizzying place. There are colored lights, striped walls, disco balls, fake fog, and even bubbles. It looks like John Travolta’s nightmare; a mishmash of retro eccentricity. Out of nowhere a guy in a lampshade appears. “What’s happening!?” he yells. “How yah been, Terry!? Life treatin’ you well!?” Terrence puts his arm around Marian. She doesn’t notice, distracted by the noise and funk. “Very well,” he replies. “I just opened my hundredth grocery store last week. We’re in two states now.” Lampshade guy sways back and forth, obviously intoxicated from some sort of unruly substance. “Argh!” he exclaims. “That’s grrreat! You probably have like a million billion dollars!” Terrence looks at Marian; her face uneasy. “So!” banters lampshade guy. “What say you and me get hammered!? We’ll celebrate together; get down and dirty like it’s the Willenium! Woo! It’ll be totally awesome!” “No, thanks,” replies Terrence facetiously. “I don’t drink alcohol...it’s against my religion.” He takes Marian by the arm and pulls her away. They go upstairs where they won’t be bothered by lampshade guy. “Wow,” says Marian looking below, “there are some real characters here. I imagine this is what a poor man’s Playboy party would be like.”

Terrence stands behind Marian. With his strong hands, he takes hold of her body and spins her around. He plants a kiss on her lips, pressing into her face. Marian pushes away and steps back. “What’s the matter?” asks Terrence. “What’s the matter?!” repeats Marian. “I’m engaged to be married!” She shows the ring on her finger. “How could you be so disrespectful and rude! You said this wasn’t a date! I didn’t come here with you to be manhandled like some 5th street prostitute!” “Don’t lie to yourself,” says Terrence. “You knew that I liked you...but you came with me anyway. This was a date and you knew it. And you are not going to make me feel guilty. I did what you wanted me to do. I read your signals like a book!” Marian grabs her head, frustrated and confused. “It’s not fair! You can’t do this to me! You can’t exploit somebody when they’re in a vulnerable position!” Terrence watches Marian storm away and stomp down the stairs. As she makes her way through the house, she bumps into a girl holding a cake. It flies up into the air and gets stuck onto the ceiling. “Sorry!” says Marian with a cry, then she runs out the door. 52 Vazul holds a tall pillar candle in his hand as he walks through a long, dank, dirty cavern. He stops at the end where there are people, prisoners chained to the walls. Amongst them is Jerry...but not the Jerry that we are used to. This is an individual who has endured both mental and extreme physical anguish. His body is atrophied; full of lacerations and scars from the abuse of Al-Skeleet. “How are we feeling today?” asks Vazul derisively. Jerry lifts up his drooping head. “They’re going to find me. They’re going to find me and free me. You’ll see.” Vazul laughs. “Ha! We are in the middle of nowhere! You think those cowardly friends of yours will be able rescue you? Even if they track you down by some miracle, you will be a corpse by then! Nobody can endure such wonderful suffering!” Vazul takes his candle and drips the hot wax onto Jerry’s head. Jerry closes his eyes and cringes. “Stop!” says an echoing voice. “You are not permitted to do that!” Vazul turns around. Mosiki appears out of the darkness. “I do not remember giving you permission to torture the prisoners. That is not your job. Put down the candle and leave.” Ashamed, Vazul places his candle on the floor and leaves. “Thank you,” says Jerry as Mosiki walks over to him with an AK-47 gripped in his hand. “There is nobody to thank,” he says. “I am only obeying orders. This is what I have been told.” Jerry somehow manages a grin. “Your intentions aren’t what I’m thanking. It’s your actions.” Mosiki is intrigued. “And what is meant by that?” Jerry explains with heavy breathing. “Everyone has good intentions...but good intentions don’t make the world better. There are a lot of people throughout history who have had good intentions...but still managed to screw up.” “Like who?” asks Mosiki, intrigued. “Mao Zedong is a good example,” replies Jerry. “He had great intentions with his ‘Great Leap Forward.’ He wanted to improve the productivity of his country. But what happened in actuality? The

idiot ended up inadvertently killing millions and millions of his own people through a man-made famine... There’s a fine line between stupidity and evil.” Mosiki glances at the prisoners by the walls. “Well,” he says, “that’s life. We are all made to suffer, both man and animal.” Jerry closes his eyes. “What are we going to today?” Mosiki wets his lips and whistles. The minions of Al-Skeleet appear from out the corners of the cavern. They line up like well disciplined soldiers. The age of these men range wildly: from children to old men. Speaking in another language, Mosiki commands them. “Unlock the prisoners,” he says. “Don’t let any of them escape. We have work to do.” The minions free the prisoners from their shackles. They collapse to their knees, but are prodded with rifles and guns to stand up. 53 It’s a cloudless day. The sun scorches the backs of the prisoners. They work relentlessly with little rest and little water, digging holes in the ground with their cheap Chinese-made shovels. Vazul watches over everyone carefully. He paces back and forth with his machine gun. “Why are we digging these holes?” asks Jerry to the man beside him. “I don’t know,” says Robin. “Maybe it’s some kind of battle tactic.” Jerry throws back a clump of dirt with his shovel. “I don’t think it’s a battle tactic. It doesn’t make any sense.” Mosiki whistles. He orders the prisoners to stop digging. “Finally,” says Robin. “We can get some rest.” Vazul tells everyone to stand in front of their holes. They comply without thought. “Put your hands into the air,” he says. “Stand still.” Jerry, Robin and the rest do as they’re told. They lift their arms up. The sweat and blood from their palms run down to the side of their bodies. Mosiki takes out a handgun and shoots a prisoner in the back of the head. He falls into the hole in front of him. “I knew it!” whispers Robin. “They’re going to kill all of us! We should make a run for it!” Jerry shakes his head. “No. If you run you’re going to die for sure. If you stay, there might be a chance. Maybe they killed him because he did something.” Another prisoner is shot...then another and another and another. “You’re a fool to stay,” says Robin against the sound of dropping bodies. “I’m making a run for it. Are you coming with me or not?” Jerry shakes his head. “I can’t take that risk. I have somebody back home. She needs me.” Robin drops his shovel and makes a run for it. “Stop him!” screams Mosiki. Vazul reloads his AK-47. He aims and squeezes the trigger. Taka! Taka! Taka! Robin crumples to the ground like a stepped on soda can. Blood pours from the holes in his back. “Okay,” says Mosiki, “enough digging for today.” As the prisoners are whisked away by Vazul, Jerry looks back at Robin’s twitching cadaver. “Wait!” he says. “I have to say a prayer for the dead.” Mosiki glances at Vazul. Vazul shrugs. “Okay,” says Mosiki, “make a prayer for a dead. Then we are going back. And hurry up. You have one minute. Any longer and you will be shot.” Jerry stands on a hump of dirt. He hastily thinks of a prayer to say. “God our Father, your power brings us to birth. Your providence guides our lives, and

by your command we return to dust. Lord, those who die still live in your presence. Their lives change but do not end. I pray in hope for my family, relatives and friends, and for all the dead known to you alone. In company with Christ, who died and now lives, may they rejoice in your kingdom, where all our tears are wiped away. Unite us together again into one family, to sing your praise forever and ever. Amen.” The prisoners bow their heads in silence. 54 The soldiers’ lodge is quiet. Night has fallen and the men are completely exhausted. The only person awake is Joe. He’s in bed, on the top bunk above Edward, writing in his journal. It’s illuminated by the glow from his headlamp. It gives off a bluish white light. He murmurs with each stroke of his pencil. “Dear Journal. Today was a rough day, like any other. I lost two friends of mine. They were hit by the same grenade. It pained me to watch them die. The medic couldn’t do anything. The shrapnel hit their vitals. A piece of metal, as we found out, went straight through one of their hearts. I don’t know what you think, but to me, that speaks profoundly of our situation here. We are not only dying of wound trauma, but separation from our loved ones. Sometimes I think that God put us on this earth to...” “Will you be quiet!” says Edward from below. “I’m trying to sleep. Your mumbling is annoying the hell out of me. Can’t you write in your journal in the morning?” Joe looks down. “It is the morning.” Edward looks at his watch: 12:45 AM. “I don’t know where you get the energy from,” he says, “but I definitely could not write after a 14 mile hike in the frigging jungle.” “That’s physical energy,” replies Joe. “It’s not the same thing as mental energy.” Edward fluffs his pillow. “I really hope this war ends soon. I wanna go back home.” Joe closes his journal. “I don’t know about you, but I have a feeling the only way to go back home is in a coffin...or if we find Al-Skeleet.” “Ha,” says Edward, “that’ll never happen. This is jungle territory. It’s like frigging Vietnam; bushes, bushes everywhere. A bloodhound couldn’t make heads and tails of this place.” Joe lies down and cracks his knuckles. “What gets to me about Kagistan is the boredom. Even when we get time off, which is only once a week on Sunday, there’s nothing to do around here.” “I hear the guys made up a game to pass the time,” says Edward. “It’s called count the bodies.” Joe closes his eyes, getting sleepy. “Which bodies...ours or theirs?” Edward responds with a snore. He has finally dozed off. 55 Carrying a tray of simple food, dry toast and orange juice, Marian goes into her basement. Her father, Mr. Hopkins, is on his computer surfing the internet, whittling away his time playing online poker. “Dad,” says Marian, “you shouldn’t be gambling. It’s a waste of money.” Mr. Hopkins takes his tray of food. “There aren’t any animal ingredients in here are there? Sometimes bread is made with eggs.” Marian sighs. “No. I made sure everything was vegan. You know it’s pretty much all I had. Everything seems

to have some sort of animal in it. Did you know those digestive cookies I like so much are cooked in beef tallow?” “It’s pure evil,” says Mr. Hopkins banging his fist on the table. “Are you talking about the way people treat animals or your poker game?” asks Marian. “Both,” says Mr. Hopkins emphatically. “Dad,” says Marian, “how long are you going to be here for? Now, I don’t mind your company, but I haven’t told Jerry about this. I don’t know if he’ll agree to this situation.” “Why don’t you ask him?” says Mr. Hopkins. “I tried,” replies Marian, “but I haven’t received a response yet. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore.” Mr. Hopkins presses buttons on his keyboard. “Aw, don’t be silly. I’m sure there’s a good reason for it. He’s out in the middle of nowhere and there’s a war going on. The post office probably got nuked to smithereens.” Marian face goes long with worry. “I don’t know. I have my doubts about that...maybe this is a sign from God. Maybe we weren’t meant to be together. Look at you and mom. You seemed so happy...turns out you stayed together because of me.” Mr. Hopkins shuts off his computer and turns to Marian with a somber face. “Marian,” he says. “Love is not an instantaneous. It’s not like a cup of noodles that you pour hot water onto. It needs time to grow.” Marian sits down on the basement steps. “It’s hard to take advice about romance and love from somebody who can’t keep a marriage together.” “Yes,” says Mr. Hopkins, “that’s exactly it. I’m a failure. I’m giving you advice on what not to do. And part of what you should not do is to expect results right away. Love is like a plant. It needs water and soil and sunshine. You can’t just put it in a dark corner and expect it to thrive. See, that’s the attitude I had with your mother. I never worked on it. I thought ‘love is either there or it’s not.’ I was wrong. It needs to be discovered, and it takes effort to maintain and to grow and to blossom. At least those are the conclusions I’ve arrived at. But it’s too late for me, I guess. Not too late for you, though.” Marian stands up. “I’m going to take a nap,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll just be upstairs.” Mr. Hopkins is left alone. He turns his computer back on and continues to play online poker. 56 A teacher and her class of children swarm around Honest Abe in the Lincoln Memorial. They admire the size and detail of the white marble statue in front of them. “In this temple,” reads one of the kids, “as in the hearts of the people for whom he saved the union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln in enshrined forever.” “Okay, children,” says the teacher. “Stand in front of the statue. We’re going to take a photo.” The students stand in front of Abe Lincoln. The teacher takes out her camera and looks through the viewfinder. “Jason,” she says, “stop making funny faces. Have some respect for the founding fathers would you.” As Jason straightens up, the teacher places her finger on the shutter button. She carefully focuses the lens. “Everyone say ‘cheese’!” The children say “cheese.” As the teacher pushes the shutter button to take a picture, the Lincoln

statue’s head suddenly explodes. Marble rains down on the students. They shriek as bits of rock hit them in the heads and faces. 57 White House Press Secretary, Julie Montgomery, stands behind a podium, taking queries from the media. “Yes,” she says, “we will be repainting this coming summer.” A large man in a brown suit stands up. “Ms. Montgomery, what does this have to do with the economy?” Julie straightens her papers. “You asked about the economy,” she replies. “Paint is part of our discretionary budget. We use thousands of gallons of the stuff. A total repaint is half a million dollars.” Reporter Shanna Witz raises her hand for a question. Julie acknowledges her presence with a “yes” and an up-tilt of her chin. “Shanna Witz with DNN,” says Shanna clearing her throat. “In light of the most recent terrorist attack, what are the President’s plans to stymie foreign threats to protect the nation’s overall security?” Julie takes a minute to process the question; then sidesteps with a vague answer. “There’s no reason to worry about further terrorist attacks, because simply said, the situation is under control. We’re mavericks. We’re paving new paths to freedom. I don’t think we could’ve done a better job.” “And what about the motivations for a war in the first place?” asks Shanna. “We haven’t been given an absolute clear answer on that. We’re told the occupation of Kagistan is to protect us...but what is it really about...gold?” Julie glares. “Ma’am, we would not risk the lives of our young men solely for gold. It’s a fungible commodity. We can get it from Canada or Russia. It doesn’t matter. I think you’re oversimplifying the situation. A war can be started for a number of reasons. Some of them make sense, and some of them don’t. It’s a fools’ game to try and pinpoint the exact reason for anything. As long as we win, that’s the important thing.” Shanna rubs her forehead as if she’s got a headache. “Can’t you bureaucrats just give a straight answer? All I want to know is why we’re there!” Julie plasters a fake smile on her face. “Oh you! So many questions! There are too many to answers. You really should hook up to the World Wide Web and ‘Google’ it. You’d be surprised. The answers are quite accurate. I went on that ‘Wikipedia’ and found so many things. You should try it out. It’s like magic.” Shanna Witz slumps in her chair, defeated by the enigmatic answers. 58 A boxy white and blue truck stops in front of the driveway. The postman gets out with a sack of parcels hanging over his shoulders. He goes up the walkway and stops in front of the mailbox. He drops in a couple white envelopes with some junk mail. Whistling a happy tune, the postman saunters away and goes back into his truck, leaving the street at leisurely pace. Marian comes out of her house. With a pair of slippers cushioning her feet, she looks in the mailbox and takes out the letters. One of them is from Kagistan. “Dear Ms. Hopkins,” it begins. “We regret to inform you that Jerry Whitaker has,

for several days, been missing in action. His whereabouts are unknown. Please take solace in the efforts that he made to protect your nation. A search and rescue effort will may be warranted if condition of absence persists.” 59 Dudley sits beside Marian in the lunchroom. She’s reading the letter from Kagistan. “What’re you doing?” asks Dudley. Marian grunts. “Mm, nothing important.” Dudley looks over her shoulder and reads, catching a glimpse of the content. “Jerry’s MIA!? Oh! I’m so sorry. But who knows? Maybe he’ll turn up?” The food on Marian’s paper plate is uneaten. She isn’t hungry. She gives a heavy sigh. “Marian,” says Dudley, “if you’re depressed, maybe you should take some time off from work. I know how you feel. I remember when I was a kid...maybe about 5 years ago...I lost my dog. It was a complete nightmare. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. Nothing was the same to me. I became depressed. But later we got a new dog. Everything turned out fine.” “My boyfriend isn’t a dog,” says Marian. “They’re not the same thing. I can’t go to the pound and pick up a new one.” Dudley agrees. “I’m not saying it’s the same, Marian. I’m saying I know how it feels. Losing anything you love is hard. Letting go is difficult.” “I’m not going to let go,” says Marian, angrily crumpling the letter in her hand. “I’m going to do something about it. I don’t know what, but I can’t just sit around here and let the world take away everything I deserve. Life has been pushing me around, and I don’t like it. I’m mad as hell, Dudley!” 60 The army’s recruitment center is filled with eager youngsters, of which includes Marian. She is at the back of the line awaiting her turn. “So,” says a young man who looks like a surfer dude, “what’s your deal?” Marian looks around. “Are you talking to me?” she asks. The surfer dude chuckles. “F’sho! Who else would I be talking to?” “I don’t think I understand your question,” says Marian. “What do you mean ‘what’s your deal’?” The surfer dude gestures with a hang-ten. “What’s a girl like you doing in this line? Girls don’t join the army. F’sho. They do stuff like cooking and cleaning. At least that’s what my cuz tells me.” Marian pokes the surfer dude. “Your cousin is a misogynist and a meathead. In that order.” The surfer dude bends back in defense. “Chillax, lady. His words, not mine. Personally, I believe in equality. If a woman wants to bayonet some terrorist, f’sho! I’m all for that. Just don’t wail like a hound dog when the blood flies.” “Okay,” says Marian, “and what’s your deal? Why are you here?” The surfer dude simpers. “My pop caught me smoking a joint in my undies. So he gave me an ultimatum: get out of the house, get a job, or join the army. And I could not refuse the last offer. Like, dude, what an experience this is gonna be! Seeing the world, shooting bad guys! I can’t say ‘no!’”

“Being in the army isn’t like the movies,” says Marian. “It’s serious business. It’s war. Do you really expect it to be fun?” The surfer dude looks into the corner of his eyes, thinking. “...F’sho! Why not, ah!? We got tanks and plane and trains and copters and all that junk! It’s gonna be fun! F’sho!” Marian sighs with a roll of her eyes. She ignores the surfer dude. The line shortens, and soon enough, it’s her turn to signup for the army...to be all that she can be. The recruitment agent greets her with a handshake and an overly broad smile. “Hi,” he says. “How are you? How can I help you?” “I’d like to sign up for the army,” replies Marian. The recruitment agent looks on his computer. “Sorry,” he says, “we’re all out. The intelligence and recon positions have been filled...would you like a button commemorating your visit? It has a picture of Uncle Sam!” “I don’t want an intelligence and recon position,” says Marian. “I want to be a foot solider. Now, don’t tell me you have nothing left. A roadside bomb killed five guys yesterday. So sign me up.” The recruitment agent guffaws. “I’m sorry! This isn’t the GI Jill recruitment center! We don’t need women in the battlefields! Go home and do something constructive! You’ll never survive more than an hour in Kagistan!” “If I want to risk my life for my country,” says Marian, “that is my choice. You can’t tell me to go home based on my gender...because I’m not going home. It’s Kagistan or nothing.” The recruitment agent leans back on his chair. “I have good intentions when I say this... Get out of here. Turn around and don’t come back. Trust me. You will thank me in the future.” 61 Mr. Hopkins saunters through the hallway in a royal blue bathrobe. He stops outside Marian’s room and knocks on the door. “Marian,” he says. “Are you in there? I wanted to take a bubble bath, but I can’t find Mr. Bubble. Do you have any in the house? It would be nice if you did. You know, to soothe the pains of separation from my lovely wife, AKA your mother.” A faint sobbing can be heard. “Marian,” says Mr. Hopkins, “are you in there? I’m sorry for that comment. I didn’t mean to upset you. Can I come in?” There’s no answer, but Mr. Hopkins goes into the master bedroom anyway. The door creaks as he enters. The sobbing noise gets louder. Crouching down, Mr. Hopkins spots Marian under her bed, weeping her heart out. “What’s the matter?” asks Mr. Hopkins. “Why are you crying?” Marian is in denial. “I’m not crying,” she says. “Girls don’t cry. That’s boys. You’ve got it all wrong.” Mr. Hopkins gets down on the floor and lies by the bed. “So what’s this about?” he asks. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Marian moans. “Tell America he sucks. He’s a sexist SOB and I hate him.” “Don’t say that,” says Mr. Hopkins. “Now, what’s really bothering you? Let papa know, maybe he can fix it.” Marian wipes her tears. “There’s nothing you can do, dad. I’m not 9 years old anymore. You can’t kiss it better and give me an ice cream cone.”

Mr. Hopkins stretches his arm out and grabs a box of facial tissues from the nightstand. He hands it to Marian. “Here,” he says, “blow your nose, honey.” Marian takes out a tissue and blows her nose. “Now,” says Mr. Hopkins, “would you like to tell your papa what’s the matter? It’ll make you feel better. I know it helps me when I get things off of my chest.” Marian gets out from underneath the bed. Mr. Hopkins stands up. The two sit together on the edge of the mattress. “I miss Jerry,” says Marian. “We were supposed to get married. It’s...it’s not fair. Why does this have to happen to me?” Mr. Hopkins puts his arm around his daughter and pulls her in closer. “Have faith, Marian. Don’t lose hope. If a door closes, God always leave a window open...right?” “I have a confession, dad,” says Marian. “I tried to sign up for the army today...but they rejected me. That’s why I’m all...well, you can see. I don’t need to explain.” Mr. Hopkins is a little startled; his little girl, fighting in a war against savages? It doesn’t make any sense. “Why in the world would you want to be in the army?” asks Mr. Hopkins. “Don’t you know it’s a death sentence? Why do you think I became a doctor? To avoid ‘The Draft’!” Marian is irresponsive. She doesn’t like what she’s hearing. She doesn’t like the discouragement. “You’re lucky you were rejected,” says Mr. Hopkins. “You’ve been saved from a world of trouble. Believe me. I don’t know why you wanna fight a fictitious war for your country, but it’s not your place.” Marian pushes away from her dad. “What do you mean it’s not my place? What is my place? To be a widow? To stay at home and hope things get better on their own? That may be for you, but it’s not for me. I have to do something.” “Do something about what?” asks Mr. Hopkins with a pressing voice. “What are you trying to prove? Is this some kind of feminist thing?” Marian shouts. “No! No! No! It’s not a feminist thing, dad! I’m not trying to prove anything to anybody or myself! I just want to see my boyfriend...my husband to be! He’s out there somewhere, probably half dead, and I’m just here twiddling my thumbs like some stupid ninny!” Mr. Hopkins mulls over his daughter’s words, unsure of what direction to steer the conversation. Should he rebuke her or should he support her? “No,” he thinks. “There’s no use arguing. Support her. It doesn’t matter. Nothing’s going to happen. She can’t get into the army, anyway.” “Do what you need to do,” Mr. Hopkins says disingenuously. “I support you. It doesn’t matter what decision you make, risky or safe. I want to be there for you, Marian. I’m not going to treat you like a child and forbid you to do something you want to. I can’t watch over you forever. You’re an adult. I’m living in your house. I at least owe you my support.” Marian hugs Mr. Hopkins. “Thanks, dad. I know times have been hard on you too. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And this...this is almost too much... knowing you support me in all my endeavors...it’s almost enough to make me forget about all the troubles of the world.” Mr. Hopkins feels ashamed, but doesn’t want to admit what he’s really feeling inside. If Marian ever went to fight in Kagistan, he couldn’t forgive

himself. Letting your only daughter put herself in grave danger is not what a good father does. 62 “Wait up!” says Karen to Marian as they go around the park’s running track. “I’m not as fast as you!” Breathing heavy, Marian slows down, but just enough for her best friend to barely catch up. “What’s the matter with you?” says Karen. “You’re so hyperactive today. I thought we were supposed to be having a leisurely jog.” Marian’s arms swing back and forth with a vigor. “There’s nothing the matter with me, Karen. I’m just trying to improve my fitness level, that’s all. Is that so bad?” Karen’s legs are starting to ache, but she doesn’t want to get left behind. She should be every bit as fit. “Marian,” Karen says, “what’s on your mind? I know you’re up to something. I can feel it; 15 years of friendship has given me BFF intuition.” “Promise you won’t tell anyone,” says Marian. Karen takes Marian’s hand and latches their pinky fingers together. “Pinky swear,” says Karen. “I won’t tell a soul. Now, what is it? What’s this big secret you’re hiding? Were you born a man? I’ll be honest. I never suspected a thing.” “I’m not a man,” says Marian, “but it is funny you should mention that.” Karen starts to wheeze. “Hurry up and tell me. I’m on the verge of collapsing.” Marian spills her guts...so to speak. “I’m going to join the army!” Karen isn’t surprised. “You already told me about that. They gave you the boot, didn’t they?” “This is different!” exclaims Marian. “I’m actually going to get in. I’m going to be a real life US soldier.” Karen searches inside of her head for an appropriate response. “Are you serious?!” she says. “That’s...that’s kind of a surprise. So what happened? I thought you said they told you there was nothing there for you.” “They did,” replies Marian in a long stride, “but that’s where the genius comes in. I’m going to pretend to be a man. I am going to be the modern day Joan of Arc, except nobody, excluding you and me, is going to know.” Karen is skeptical. “What if they find out? Forgive me for doubting your prowess for scheming, but you do not look like a man at all.” “It’s not that hard to disguise myself,” says Marian. “All I have to do is chop off my hair and talk in a deep voice. I don’t have a chest, and they’re not going to inspect between my legs. I don’t see how I can get caught. The plan’s bulletproof.” Karen tugs at her shirt, trying to air it out. She totally soaked in sweat. “I know what this is about. But let me tell you something, Marian. You have to take into consideration what Jerry thinks, too. You can’t risk your life like that. It’s not what he would want. He loves you too much to force you to make a sacrifice like that.” Marian looks at Karen. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it.” 63 The night is silent, and so is Marian as she stands in her bathroom, naked in the mirror. She turns on the faucet and takes out a fresh bladed shaver. She runs it

across her head. Long hair falls to the floor and starts to pile up into a neat little hill. Some of it gets blown away by the heat coming from the register. No more than 15 minutes later and the transformation is complete. Marian looks like a man from head to toe. She is bald, flat-chested, and hairy on her legs. Without looking at her lack of appendages, you could never tell. As far as we are concerned, this is a young man who is ready to fight. 64 Confetti sprinkles down as Mr. President waves to the people in a parade to honor the veterans of America: past, present, and future. Sitting in the back of a convertible, he has his arm snuggly around his wife Gladys, holding her close for the all of the cameras to see. But in the back of the crowds, unbeknownst to those in front, is another watchful eye. This one, however, has far more sinister motivations than sharing an image with the world. “He’s almost in position,” says a shadowy figure speaking into his trench coat. “It’s now or never.” A voice replies filtered through a walkie-talkie. “Yes. I will proceed.” Up in a tower, a man is watching the parade with a pair of binoculars. He sees Mr. President and his wife, Gladys, generously blowing kisses to the cheering attendees. News reporter Shanna Witz paces along with the convertible. She points her microphone for an interview with the president. “Mr. President,” she says, “could we get a few words? How are you feeling today?” Mr. President turns his head. “I’m feeling great,” he says. “I feel real proud to support our vets. They deserve the five star treatment. But do you know what? I still don’t think that this is enough. There’s so much more we can do to help.” “That’s great,” says Shanna with a nod, “but what are you going to do about the war? Don’t you think it’s time we pulled out our troops and took our boys back home?” Mr. President turns his head and waves to the people on the opposite side. He completely ignores the question. “Mr. President!” badgers Shanna. “I’d like to know what you think!” The car speeds up and leaves her behind without an answer. Back in the tower, the man continues to watch through his binoculars. He squints and focuses on Mr. President’s well coiffed head. “This is it. This is the time. America will have its justice. We will no longer be pushed around and prodded and manipulated by false information. This is the moment of truth.” The man in the tower puts down his binoculars and takes out a sniper rifle. He looks through the long black scope. His hands tremble as he tries to carefully hold his gun in place. The wind howls as it passes through the crack in the window. The man is nervous, but his finger contracts and squeezes the trigger. Beep! Beep! Time outside seems to slow down. The watches on people’s hands can be heard against the silence. Tick tock. Tick tock. Thousands of white balloons float down and stop the parade. One of them falls into the lap of Mr. President’s wife, Gladys. She picks it up and reads the bold lettering: “LIAR.”

65 Marian enters the army’s recruitment center. She looks around. It appears to be empty. “Hello? Is anyone here? I’d like to join your fine institution.” Approaching footsteps can be heard echoing along the cold hard floor. The recruitment agent appears and gets behind his desk. “I hope you’re here to sign up,” he says. “Otherwise I’m going to go home and get some well needed Z’s.” Marian puts her heels together and stands straight. “I am here to sign up, sir.” The recruitment agent replies. “Good,” he says. “We’ve been running low on men.” “I won’t run away on you,” says Marian. “I’m dedicated to the mission.” The recruitment agent turns his head and points his ear. “Could you say that again?” he asks. “I’m dedicated to the mission?” says Marian. “Your voice sounds familiar,” notes the recruitment agent. “Have you been here before?” Deepening her voice, Marian replies. “No. I have never been here before. This is my first time. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you have a hearing problem of sorts. Maybe you should see a doctor. I think you might have tinnitus. It’s quite common in soldiers and people in the military.” The recruitment agent looks up. He eyes Marian’s body and scrutinizes it with care. “Could you step closer to the desk?” he asks. Reluctantly, Marian steps forward. She puffs out her body and stretches her shoulders wide to look larger than she really is. “Something about you looks funny,” says the recruitment agent. “Are you a drug user?” Marian shakes her head. “No, never, I’ve never done any drugs; only ones approved by the FDA.” The recruitment agent gets off his chair and stands. “Mister, I have a feeling you’re pulling a fast one on me.” “I would never do that,” says Marian. “I’m honest as can be.” The recruitment agent stands behind Marian...and suddenly grabs hold of her chest. “What the hell are you doing?!” screams Marian. “You don’t touch a woman’s...” The recruitment agent puts his head beside Marian’s. “Don’t touch a woman’s what?” he asks. “Nothing,” replies Marian as she remembers that she’s supposed to be a man, “nothing at all.” The recruitment agent gets back into his seat. “I guess I’m being paranoid,” he says. “I should lay off the energy drinks. Sorry about groping you. I thought you had breasts; thought you were a woman for some reason. I just had to check it out.” “No problem,” replies Marian. “Now,” says the recruitment agent, “if you could tell me your name and we will begin the application process.” Marian freezes. She hasn’t yet thought of a pseudonym for her male identity. She scans the room for ideas. There’s a poster on the wall: “The Last Temptation of Christ.” Directed by Martin Scorsese. “Marty,” blurts Marian. “My name is Marty Hopkins.” The recruitment agent types the name into his computer. “Alright,” he says, “do you have any identification?” Marian doesn’t know what to do. She pulls out a lame excuse she used to use when she was a teenager trying to get into clubs. “I forgot my wallet,” she replies.

The recruitment agent puts his hands together. “Could you go and get it?” Marian looks at her feet, trying to avoid eye contact. She hates to lie so much. “I meant...I lost my wallet. I don’t have it with me here or at my home. So, all my stuff is gone. I’m waiting to get my identifications reissued.” The recruitment agent doesn’t care. “Whatever,” he says. “As long as you’re alive and physically capable, that’s all we care about.” Marian lifts her head. “Really?” she asks. The recruitment agent types into his computer. “Okay, Marty! You are now officially in the army!” 66 With the wind blowing in her face, Marian looks out the airplane. She and a group of young men are the only ones left. It seems their hesitation has taken them past the drop point for their mission. They could wait and return to the army base, but Sergeant Sanders would probably give them more trouble than it’s worth. “Don’t get scared now,” says Marian in her head. “This was your choice. You made the decision. Don’t wimp out.” Then suddenly, before she realizes what’s happening, Marian finds herself sailing through the sky. “Sorry about that!” says Caesar, screaming over the wind. “I thought you could use some encouragement!” The men are scared out of their wits. It’s the first time they’ve done any real skydiving. All their training was done on a high-tech simulator. Yes. It seems like a strange way to create a world-class military bent on policing the nations, but the government has been running low on war enthusiasts, and the majority of their citizens are entirely deft at learning through video games. Their virtual intelligence is through the roof. “This is crazy!” says Caesar. “A month ago I was flipping burgers, now I’m flying through the sky like some cholo!” Tucker, the kid with the beady eyes, spins around and floats over to Marian. “What’s your name?” he asks. Marian looks down. “This isn’t the appropriate time for casual conversation!” “Pull your ripcords!” shouts Caesar. “We’re at 2,000 feet!” Marian, Tucker, and the others pull their ripcords. Their parachutes are released and their descent begins to slow down. “Wahooooo!” yells Julian. “I can’t believe it! I’m going to live!” The men and Marian land in the trees. The war “newbies” find themselves dangling well above the ground. It isn’t that high, considering what they’ve just been through, but the drop would be enough to crack your skull open. “What do we do?” says Lance with his squinty looking eyes. “We’re stuck! Whose idea was this, anyway?!” “Relax,” replies Caesar. “We just got to cut ourselves out.” Hastily, one of the soldiers reaches into his boot and takes out a knife. He starts sawing at the straps of his harness. The others look in horror as the clumsy and rushed fool drops to the ground and lands on his head. He twitches initially, but then stops moving. “Omigod!” cries Tucker. “Did you hear that snap?! That schmuck just broke his neck!” Lance screams at Caesar. “What’s your problem, man?! Why’d

you tell that idiot to cut his straps, huh?! Now he’s dead and he’s probably in hell! All thanks to you!” Marian tries to calm everyone down. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe he’s just knocked out. I’m pretty positive. We’re wearing helmets, aren’t we? He should be fine.” Lance retorts. “I’m not taking orders from some prepubescent kid with a high pitched voiced!” “Can we stop bickering?” asks Julian. “This harness is riding up in my crotch. Anybody got any ideas?” Caesar starts to kick his legs back and forth, two at a time. “What’re you doing?” complains Lance. “This isn’t a jungle gym!” Caesar ignores the comment and continues. Soon he’s swinging like a pendulum, and he is almost able to grab onto an adjacent tree. The others see his technique and copy; several minutes later and they all got hold of a branch. They cut themselves free from their parachute and safely climb down to the ground. “You’re a genius,” say Julian to Caesar. “That or you watched too much Tarzan.” Lance scoffs. “Ah, any idiot could’ve thought of that.” As the men get into a heated exchange, Marian makes her way over to the body. She gets on bended knee and flips the soldier over. She feels his neck for a pulse and listens to his breathing. He’s definitely dead. “Poor guy,” says Marian in a low voice, “didn’t even make it into combat.” She takes the deceased soldier’s dog tags and puts them into her pocket. The jungle is quiet. The men have ceased arguing. They join with Marian as she gets to her feet. “What’s the verdict?” asks Julian. “He’s dead,” replies Marian, “but at least he went peacefully. I think the fall was an instantaneous kill; neck snapped clean.” Lance kicks the body. “Forget the stiff. Let’s get out of here and find the others. We can’t straggle around and fight the foreigners with only five people.” Caesar gives Lance a shove. “Have some respect, you little prick! What if that were you on the ground, huh?” Lance replies. “It’s not, so I don’t know why you got your panties all in a bunch. Anyway, we’re in a war zone. You don’t think any more of us are gonna die? You gotta be kidding yourself. Get used to it, buddy. Things are going to get a lot worse. And you’re probably going to be the next one to die, Mr. Caesar. So don’t count yourself as special just because you’ve established yourself as the De Facto leader. Yeah, that’s right. I know Latin.” “This is crazy,” says Julian. “Why are we at each other’s throats? We should be a team. We’re on the same side.” Tucker agrees. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. We should be doing the jitterbug together, not screaming and yelling like fishwives. We need to be professional.” “We should bury the body,” says Caesar. Lance pinches his nose. “No, thanks.” Marian steps forward. “I’ll help you carry the body.” Caesar lifts his goggles onto his forehead. “What’s your name?” he asks. “I didn’t catch your name on the airplane.” Clearing her throat, Marian replies. “Marty,” she says. “My name is Marty Hopkins. What about you?” Caesar points to himself. “I’m Caesar.” Then he points to the others. “And that’s Lance, Julian, and Tucker. One of them is from New York City. I bet you’ll never guess which one.”

67 “Face it!” screams Lance. “We’re lost! Can’t you see that?! We’ve been going around in circles for hours! There’s that grave we made for that frigging soldier!” He points to the makeshift cross stuck in the ground. Caesar defers to Julian. “What does the map say?” Julian spreads the map out with his hands and searches it with his eyes. “I have no idea where we are... It just doesn’t make any sense. We only stayed in the plane for an extra couple minutes. We should’ve been less than a mile off.” Tucker sits down. “Lord, I’m so thirsty. Can’t we take a break? This place is so hot. I’m dying of thirst.” Caesar looks back at the rest. They seem to be tired as well. “Alright, everyone take a rest. I’m going to go searching for water. I swear I saw a river or pond around here somewhere. I’ll let you know when I find it. Just keep your walkie-talkies on. I will contact you if the signal’s strong enough.” Marian and the others rest while Caesar goes to search for water. “Anybody else thinks this is a suicide mission?” asks Julian. “Shut up,” replies Lance. “Just be quiet and enjoy the rest.” Tucker closes his eyes. “Boy, I hope I don’t have to shoot anybody,” he says. “I’m really not looking forward to that.” “What’re you insane?” asks Lance rhetorically. “That’s what you were hired for. If you don’t do them in, they’ll do you in. That’s how this works. It’s eye for an eye.” Marian massages her throat. “An eye for an eye,” she says, “makes the world go blind.” Lance pulls his feet up to his chest and unties his shoelaces, loosening his boots. “You’re all dumb. Jesus Christ. What kind of jackass becomes a soldier to save the world? I know that’s what you think you’re doing. But let’s be honest. The only justified war was WW2. Everything else was a bull-crap and lies.” “What about the civil war?” asks Tucker. “I think that was a justified war.” Lance shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, “they used that war to introduce income tax in America.” Julian yawns. “How do you know that?” Lance crosses his legs. “I have an MBA,” he replies. “Studied business and economics. It’s fascinating stuff. It really gives you a perspective on life; makes you think.” “What does it make you think about?” asks Marian. “It makes you think about how pointless life is,” says Lance. “We’re slaves to the machine. Everything we do is centered on money. Why do we go to school? To get a good job. Why do we want to get a good job? To get money. And once we get that job? We work ‘till we’re in our graves; living in fear and trying to hang on to our shreds of material and fabricated security. Yup. Complete futility.” “Really, what’s your point?” asks Julian. “The point is,” replies Lance, “we’re all here for the money. And I don’t mean individually, I mean this whole war is a friggin’ facade. Uncle Sam is just trying to protect his interests. He’s sending us out to die for the economy, so we can secure his precious gold mines. Why do you think soldiers are being set to go cave hunting? They’re mines.” “If you honestly believe that,” says Tucker, “then why are you here? This doesn’t pay much.” Lance folds his arms. “What can I say? I like living on the edge. It gets me excited. It’s like making a business deal. It just gets my blood flowing. I’m sure you understand. Everyone has their own way of getting high. This is mine.”

“I don’t buy into that,” says Marian. “You’re lying.” Lance swats away a mosquito by his ear. “What do you know about people? You barely look 18 years old. You probably didn’t even graduate from high school. Pffft. Loser.” Julian tries to deflect the insult. “Ignore him,” he says to Marian. “He’s just mad because he lost all his money on the stock market. Yeah. Uh, so what’re you here for Marty? Myself, I just came because I wanted to visit another country and get paid for it.” “I’d prefer not to tell,” replies Marian. “See,” says Lance, “I knew this kid was dumb. He doesn’t even know why he’s here. Dummy’s lost.” Marian snaps back. “Shut your mouth. All you do is talk. I came here for a good reason, okay. I came here to find my boyfriend.” The group is silent. Then Lance starts to roar with laughter. “I know something was up with you! You’re a queer! Omigod! I can’t believe it!” Marian blushes. Julian and Tucker go to her defense. “If that’s the choice he wants to make,” says Julian, “that’s none of your business.” Tucker adds. “Yeah, stop being a screw-head.” Lance stands up to stretch. He looks at the others as he twists his torso. “So, now what? You’re defending this bum chum? What he does is sickening and wrong. It goes against everything I stand for. Y’know, it’s against my religion.” Julian quips. “I didn’t even know you had a religion. I just assumed you were a Godless heathen.” “I’m not gay,” says Marian. “But even if I was, so what? There’s nothing in the Bible that says it’s wrong. In fact, I have my Bible with me. Would you like me to read you a passage or two?” Lance rolls his eyes. “And here we go! You got this Bible thumper started!” Regardless of the comment, Marian takes a mini Bible out from her pocket. She thumbs through the pages and stops. “Corinthians 13: 4-7. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” “You’re taking that out of context,” says Lance. “And that Bible you have is probably outdated. They have newer better versions. Also, that’s not even my religion. I’m not a goody two-shoes Christian. Couldn’t you tell? I’m a Satanist. I worship the devil. Boo! Are yah scared?!” Caesar returns. The men stand up. “Where have you been?” asks Tucker. “You were gone for almost three hours.” Caesar brushes back his damp hair. “It’s a jungle out there...but I did find some water. There’s a little lake nearby. I left a trail of pebbles along the ground. All we have to do is follow it. It’ll take twenty minutes to get there...tops. But I have to warn you. There’s something you might no want to see.” 68 Caesar leads the men through the jungle. They’re following a trail of pebbles. “Are we there yet?” asks Lance. “Stop complaining,” replies Julian. “Your complaining isn’t going to get us there any faster.”

“You don’t know much about business,” says Lance. “The right motivation can get a company moving. You know about Ray Kroc? He’s the man behind McDonald’s. No, I know. He’s not the founder...but it was his vision which made it into the empire it is today. Do you know how large McDonald’s is? There’s probably one here, probably right around the corner.” “I sure could go for a strawberry sundae with peanuts,” says Tucker, “and a nice juicy all American cheeseburger. Extra pickles, please.” Marian keeps her head down and steps along the pebbles. “It’s funny you say that,” she says. “I once wanted to open up my own restaurant. It was supposed to be a cruelty free restaurant where we only made food that came from ‘humane’ sources. Okay. I admit ‘humane meat’ is kind of an oxymoron. However, I think if we’re going to eat things to live, we should at least give them a modicum of respect for their sacrifice.” “You’re such a hippy,” says Lance. “I don’t know where you came from Marty, but I’m getting a real strong feminine vibe here. Everything you say is eloquent and well thought out; not like a man. You don’t grunt, you don’t scratch. And I’m not trying to insult you. I just can’t put my finger on it. You seem to have what the cowardly French call ‘je ne sais quoi.’” “I don’t know what that means,” says Caesar. “What’s the translation into English?” Lance replies. “I know not what.” Caesar is a bit confused. “Alright, that’s strange; using a phrase you don’t understand. Does anybody else know?” Lance smacks his forehead. “What’re you daft? I answered your question, man. ‘Je ne sais quoi’ means ‘I know not what.’ That is the translation from French to English, idiot.” Caesar, like the others, is starting to get exasperated by Lance’s relentless and arrogant attitude. “I don’t like you,” says Caesar to Lance with bluntness. “If I had the chance to kick you off a building... I wouldn’t do it. That’s not Christian of me, but I would certainly slug you across the face if I could. I admit. I’m tempted.” As much as Marian dislikes Lance, and his supposed Satanism, she feels he’s been picked on too much. “Guys,” she says, “can we not quarrel amongst each other. We’ve been doing it ever since we met. Let’s make a pact. We’ll work as a team... No! We’ll work as a family!” The men readily nod with agreement. “Fine,” says Lance, “but I’m not going to change any diapers. You shut up yourself and I’m out.” Caesar takes out a machete from his backpack and hacks off the branches and leaves in front of him. He leads Marian and the men to an open area with a lake. “Brace yourselves,” he warns. Tucker suddenly throws up. There is a mountain of naked bodies on the far end of the shore. They are surrounded by flies. Some of them appear fresher than others. “We shouldn’t be here,” says Marian. “We need to turn back.” Lance steps into the lake without any hesitation. He fills his silver canteen as if nothing’s wrong. Tucker wipes his mouth. He becomes dizzy looking at the bodies; listening to the buzzing of the flies. The smell is horrendous. It’s like a combination of sulfur and burnt hair. The sight is indescribably nauseating. “Go and fill up,” says Caesar. “Better to quench your thirst than to die of disgust.”

Marian and the others go to the water. They use their hands as scoops and drink as much as they can. They keep their heads low to avoid seeing what is in front of them. “Is this water even clean?” asks Julian to Caesar. Caesar assures everyone. “Don’t worry. I saw some animals drinking here earlier. If animals drink the water, it means it’s safe. At least that’s what my uncle used to tell me.” “Are you off your rocker?!” screams Lance. “That doesn’t mean the water’s clean. Their immune systems are different than ours! What if...what if these people died from drinking this water?! Maybe that’s why the bodies are there!” Tucker throws up again. Julian’s face looks a little white. “No, no, no,” says Caesar. “I inspected the bodies. They died mostly from gun wounds and trauma. I’m not sure, none of them have their clothes on, but I think they might be villagers; ah, poor people caught between the hullabaloo. Mm, just regular war stuff, I guess.” Lance starts having a fit. “What in the name of Satan is wrong with you?! If they died from gun wounds...you led us into a trap! There’s probably some people nearby who are just dying to gut us like fish!” “Well,” replies Caesar, “what do you want? Do you want the water to be poisoned or do you want this to be hostile territory? Either way, you have to drink something. It was this or become severely dehydrated. And I’m telling you something, being shot is much more pleasant than dying of thirst. I made the logical choice.” Aggravated and confused, Lance stomps in the water like a child. “This is bull crap! We’re going to die! We’re going to be blasted to smithereens!” Marian washes her face. “I really think there’s something in the water. It’s making him go insane.” Julian tries to calm down Lance. “Lance,” he says, “stop worrying. Caesar obviously scanned the place before leading us here. There’s nobody around except for us.” “We’re going to be fine,” Caesar adds. “Now if you’re all done getting your fill, let’s continue looking for the others or get shelter for the night. Even though it’s hot now, I hear it gets real cold around these parts when the sun falls.” Marian isn’t listening to Caesar. She’s distracted. She’s listening to a munching noise; like somebody eating a mushy steak. “Marty,” says Caesar, “are you paying attention?” “Shhh,” says Marian with a finger on her nose. “I hear something. I think we’re being watched.” The men quickly get into crouching positions. They whip out their guns. Marian leads the way and follows the sound. She and the others are taken closely to the pile of dead bodies. Using a mirror, Caesar tries to get a better look to see what’s lurking behind, but a wafting steam blocks his view. “Watch my back,” says Marian. “I’m going in.” Marian edges forward with rifle in hand. She gets near the back of the mountain of rotting bodies. There’s a lion feasting on one of the fresh corpses. It turns its head and looks. Roar! It bolts forward and leaps on top of Marian. Marian struggles on the ground. She puts her rifle in front of her and blocks the big cat’s powerful bite. He chomps down on the metal like it’s a long piece of meat. “Don’t scream,” Marian says to herself in her head. “You’ll give yourself away.” Bang! Bang! Bang! Caesar puts away his handgun. He runs to Marian. “Marty,” he says. “Are you alright?” The lion’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

His mane is stained with blood. He drops to his side; onto the wet ground. Marian gets up. She brushes off the dirt from her knees. “I should be okay,” she replies. 69 Marian, Caesar, Lance, Julian, and Tucker sit around a roaring campfire under a clear sky with the stars and moon. “So,” says Lance, “what’s our plan for the morning? I say we locate the army base and recoup. No use exhausting ourselves for a silly mission.” Caesar strokes his beard. “I hate to say this, but you’re right. Men, we can’t waste our time looking for the others from the plane. We have no idea if they’re even alive.” “What are the chances we’ll find the base?” asks Julian. “It’s better than trying to find a group of moving people,” replies Tucker. “No, this is a good plan,” says Caesar. “I really think we might live through this. What do you think, Marty? You think we’ll live through this?” Marian thinks about Jerry. His image floats in her head. “I don’t know,” she replies. “I’m not really too concerned. There are other things on my mind beside my survival; strange as it seems.” Lance smirks. “You’re thinking about your boyfriend. I know it. What did you say? You came here to search for him? Ha! Good luck! First find out where you are!” “He’s not my boyfriend,” says Marian trying her best to keep incognito. “What I meant to say back there was; I was searching for my ‘best friend.’” Caesar turns the lion over the fire to cook its other side. “That’s admirable,” he replies. “Maybe after we get back to base, we’ll help you out. What’s one more person to find?” “Thank you,” says Marian. “You don’t know what this means to me. He is the love...uh...loveliest person you’ll ever meet. I’ve known him for a long time, but we’ve really only been ‘best friends’ for the last three years. Later on I hope we can take it to the next level...if he’s alive and well. Oh, I pray to God he is.” Caesar and Lance remove the roasted lion carcass from the fire. They place it down on a “plate” of leaves. Tucker starts carving the meat. The steam rises up. The aroma makes Lance’s mouth water. “I’ve never tasted lion meat before,” he says. “But I’ll say it look mighty tasty.” Marian is handed a piece of meat from Caesar. She takes it and bites into the flesh. It’s crispy, but soft on the inside. “How is it?” asks Tucker. “Not bad,” replies Marian. “It’s a little gamey.” She spits out a bullet onto the ground. 70 The alarm clock resting on the floor reads “1:24 PM.” Mr. Hopkins yawns and arises from his hammock in the basement. There’s a ring from the phone. He puts on his slippers and shuffles toward it. He picks it up with a yawn. “Hello?” Mrs. Hopkins is on the other side. “Do you know what time it is?” she asks in a nagging voice. To which Mr. Hopkins replies, “Quite frankly, my dear, I don’t really give a damn.”

Mr. Hopkins pulls away from the phone, protecting his eardrums from bursting by the shrill scream of his ex-wife. He tries to calm her down. “Please,” he says, “I was only kidding around. There’s no need to bite my head off.” Mrs. Hopkins takes in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know. I’m an adult. I should speak to you in a civilized manner. It doesn’t matter what we’ve been through.” “Now,” says Mr. Hopkins, “what are you calling for? What is this intrusion on my newfound bachelor-hood?” The sound of Mrs. Hopkins eyes can be heard rolling through the phone line. “I’d like to speak to my daughter,” she says. “If you could make an arrangement for that, I would be very appreciative.” “She’s not at your place?” asks Mr. Hopkins. “No,” replies Mrs. Hopkins. “Why would she be here?” Suddenly Mr. Hopkins comes to a realization. Putting his hand over his mouth, he is at an utter loss for words. All this time Marian had actually been missing. She wasn’t staying at her mother’s for an extended period as he had thought. “Hello?” says Mrs. Hopkins waiting for an answer. Mr. Hopkins crumples to the floor. “I don’t know where Marian is,” he admits. “She hasn’t been here for days. I haven’t seen her in almost a week!” Mrs. Hopkins can’t believe what she’s hearing. “You don’t know where your own daughter is?! You are living in her house!” Mr. Hopkins pulls at his hair. “Stop nagging me! She’s a woman, not a little girl. I thought she would have some sense of responsibility!” Mrs. Hopkins wags her finger. “You! This is why we separated! You only think about yourself! It’s always ‘me, me, me, me, me’! Why don’t you ever act like a father and be there when you’re needed?!” “I’m a good father,” Mr. Hopkins shoots back. “I don’t know about you, but if it weren’t for me, Marian wouldn’t even be alive today.” Mrs. Hopkins face turns red. “You promised you would never mention that.” Mr. Hopkins continues. “It was me who convinced you not to get an abortion! So don’t get all selfrighteous, babe! I did the right thing! I followed the Hippocrates oath, and thanks to me, we at least have somebody to worry about!” Mrs. Hopkins is irate, but she knows it’s true. “Fine, I’ll give you that. You stopped me from making a huge mistake, but that doesn’t make you better than me. You weren’t the one carrying around a human being in your body for 9 months. You didn’t have the burden of uncertainty. That’s something a man will never understand.” Mr. Hopkins concedes. “I’m not going to disagree with you. It was a tough decision to make. And, in spite of present situations, I’m still proud of you for that. You really could have said ‘no’ if you wanted to.” Mrs. Hopkins gives a half grin. “Yeah, you’re not so bad yourself.” “I’m going to go,” says Mr. Hopkins. “Maybe I’ll see you later. I’ll let you know if I find out anything about Marian. Okay?” Mrs. Hopkins replies in a softened voice. “Bye.” She hangs up the phone. Mr. Hopkins goes upstairs. He goes into the kitchen and sits down. He rests his chin on his hands. Fingers tap on the table as thinks. “Where could my daughter be?” 71

The blazing sun rises over Kagistan. Jerry and the prisoners carry Al-Skeleet on a palanquin through the jungle. They walk without shoes. The stones bruise and cut their feet. Mosiki and Vazul follow along, armed to the teeth as per usual. “Where are we going?” asks Jerry. Al-Skeleet puts out his hand, signaling to stop. Vazul walks over to Jerry and strikes him in the solar plexus with the butt of his rifle. Jerry wheezes but continues holding up the palanquin, knowing that if he were to drop it he would be dead. “Why do you always like to talk?!” yells Vazul. “Is it so hard to keep your mouth closed?!” Jerry apologizes. “I’m Sorry.” Then he is struck again, this time twice as hard. He feels like collapsing, but somehow manages to stay standing. The thoughts of returning to Marian give him strength. He has to survive. Al-Skeleet waves to Vazul to let the hike continue. The prisoners go on with carrying the palanquin. They keep their heads down with caution, making sure not to make eye contact with their oppressor. Despite the skeleton mask now covering his face, Al-Skeleet remains extremely protective of his identity. “We are going to a village,” says Mosiki. “We will be relaxing; drinks, food, women. Everyone here will get to enjoy themselves. You have worked hard and the great Al-Skeleet has seen that.” The prisoners are not relieved in the least. They are still wary, knowing at any moment they could be killed. 72 Jerry and the prisoners enter an empty village. It is a rudimentary looking place, filled with simple grass huts and stone structures. They are commanded by Vazul to continue, where they stop in front of a large building. The ornate decorations outside scream palace, but upon closer inspection it does not appear to be a typical Sultan’s abode. It is not made from conventional construction materials like concrete, brick or glass. It’s made out of something else...bamboo...or it is affectionately known, Chinese Grass. “Lower the palanquin,” says Mosiki. The prisoners do as told. They lower the palanquin with relief, but their shoulders and lungs still ache from the labor. Mosiki bellows in another language. “Open the doors! Your master has arrived!” An eye looks through a hole; then the double doors in front swing open, revealing a hedonistic paradise full of scantily clad ladies, alcohol, and exotic food. The prisoners’ eyes widen with delight. Jerry, however, is not so enthused. Despite his hunger, despite his thirst, only Marian now could make him smile. Al-Skeleet steps onto the ground and is immediately attended to, escorted inside and whisked away upstairs. Vazul goes in while Mosiki takes charge and leads Jerry and the prisoners into the palace. “Enjoy yourselves,” he says as a belly dancer passes by. “See the generosity of our people and what we want to give to everyone. But be warned, anyone trying to escape will be caught and punished accordingly... Now go and indulge yourselves!” The prisoners run off with delight, grabbing everything in their path. Jerry remains where he stands. “Are you not going to indulge?” asks Mosiki. “There is enough to go around; plenty of women.” Jerry rubs the right of his shoulder. “I don’t mean to offend you or to be ungrateful, but if I may die, I will die with the approval of Christ and God.”

“Ha! Ha!” Mosiki roars. “That is why I like you. You are different. You are not like the others. They live only simply to satisfy their own selfish desires. You have a higher calling. Will it be fulfilled here? I’m not sure. But whether you continue to live or die, I will see you with dignity.” With a barely visible smile, Jerry replies with a “thank you.” Mosiki nods and goes away. He goes upstairs, in the same direction as Al-Skeleet went only seconds earlier. 73 Mosiki gets to the top of the stairs where two armed guards step in his way. “You cannot pass with those weapons,” says one of them. “Is this a joke?!” yells Mosiki. “I am the right hand man of Al-Skeleet! I could have your heads for this!” The guards do not budge. “We have been given strict orders,” says the guard on the right. “Our instructions were explicit.” “Fine,” says Mosiki, “you may take my weapons.” The guards frisk Mosiki. They remove everything from his body; his grenades, his handguns, his knives, and even his bullets. “Can I go through now?” says Mosiki with anger in his voice. The guards wave him into the hallway. He walks along the green floor, his ears following the faint sound of giggling. Mosiki stops in front of an oversize doorway and looks through a crack between the vertically stacked bamboos. There is Al-Skeleet, relaxing, surrounded by a pair of tall, dark, muscular men in purple satin underwear. They are vigorously massaging his feet. “Disgusting,” says Mosiki. He leaves and goes to another room at the end of the hallway. It’s a normal looking bathroom, having all the regular amenities: a sink, a porcelain toilet, and a shower. Mosiki goes into the shower. He uses his elbow and smashes down on one of the large squared tiles. It shatters, revealing a hollow space beneath. With his scarred arm, Mosiki reaches inside. He takes out a pistol with a silencer attached to the muzzle. “Excuse me,” says a voice knocking on the door, “what is going on in there? I need to use the bathroom. My bladder is completely full. It is ready to burst. Please, hurry up.” Pistol gripped in hand, Mosiki invites the person outside to enter. “The door’s open,” he says. “Come on in. I just finished.” A heavyset man with a hairy chest saunters into the bathroom. His head swings right to left, looking for the person he just spoke to. Not seeing anybody, he forgets about it and goes to the toilet and takes a seat. His excess flesh spreads over the sides of the white bowl. “Aughhh,” he groans as he releases his excrements. “That is the stuff.” Suddenly Mosiki jumps out of the shower and shoots a bullet into the heavyset man’s forehead. He falls over and hits the floor. Mosiki puts away his gun and goes back into the hallway. Rushing with a strident pace, he returns to the room where Al-Skeleet is staying. He kicks down the door. It crashes down with a bang. Mosiki somersaults in and picks off the two men in their underwear. Al-Skeleet moves back on the bed and puts up his hands in submission. “Your time has come!” yells Mosiki. “Your reign of tyranny is over!” As he is about to shoot, the two armed guards from the stairs appear behind.

They aim their weapons...but Mosiki is quicker. He spins and shoots the both of them dead; one in the throat and one in the chest. Al-Skeleet jumps up and starts to make a run for it. In bare feet, he races to another room and locks himself inside. Mosiki shoots at the door, punching a hole through the center. His gut suddenly tells him to get down. As he lowers himself to the floor, hundreds of lead shots fly overhead. Al-Skeleet comes out blazing with a Jackhammer shotgun. Mosiki dashes to the window and leaps outside. His ankle can be heard twisting as it impacts with the ground...crunch! But his adrenalin ignores the pain. He runs as fast as he can, narrowly avoiding Al-Skeleet’s attacks from behind. After several minutes, Mosiki begins to hobble. The pain is starting to kick in, but he keeps as quiet as possible. He scans the village and hastily decides to hide in a small grass hut. He rolls underneath a bed frame. Al-Skeleet can be heard shrieking outside as he commands his minions to comb the area. Mosiki readies his pistol. Jerry enters the hut and sees him hiding down with his body pressed to the floor. “What are you doing there? Don’t know AlSkeleet is looking for you? Why didn’t you leave the village?” Before Mosiki can reply, Vazul appears. “You piece of American scum!” he screams. “Who are you talking to?!” Jerry is pushed out of the way. Vazul goes over to the bed. He gives it a kick and flips it over. Nobody is there. Mosiki is outside; having stealthily escaping by rolling under the grass walls of the hut. He lowers down and sneaks away. 74 The vantage point is breathtaking. It has a nearly complete view over the jungle. Caesar, looking through binoculars, can see the army base. It’s a grey speck, but still remains visible. “How far is it?” asks Julian. Caesar estimates. “It looks to be about 30 miles. Considering the terrain, it’d take at least two days to get there...if we’re lucky.” Lance sits on the ground and presses his head. “Two more days of this?” he groans. “I’d rather commit suicide.” Tucker bites his thumb. “Nobody’s stopping you.” Lances gives a phony laugh. “Haw-haw! That’s so funny I forgot to laugh!” Marian bends down and ties her shoelaces. “We better get moving, Caesar. I heard this is monsoon season. The rains could be coming in any minute.” Caesar puts away his binoculars and takes out a compass. It points north, in the direction of the army base. “Alright, let’s go. Maybe we can cut our time in half if we keep a vigorous pace.” The men move away from the cliff and go downhill. They walk through a twisting trail. “If we survive this,” says Tucker, “I’m going to write my girlfriend a long love letter. It’s gonna be the most poetic thing in the world. She’ll literally melt when she opens the envelope.” Lance looks disgusted. “That’s dumb.” “I don’t think it’s dumb,” says Marian. “I think it’s nice. Writing your girlfriend a love letter is romantic. I used to get a lot of them myself in high school, mostly from my girlfriend, Jerry...” Lance’s becomes suspicious. “Jerry!?” he repeats. “Uh, uh, Jerry,” Marian stammers, “it’s short for G-G-Geraldine.”

Caesar is bemused. “You got love letters from your girlfriend? Wow. That’s quite unusual. Isn’t it?” “I guess it is,” replies Marian as she wipes the sweat from her brow. “But she’s a passionate woman. Yes. Jerry, or Geraldine if you will, is always thinking up ways to spice up our love life. But I always tell him...I mean her...not to waste her time...but she does it anyway! Truthfully, I think she enjoys it. Oh! I remember one time I came home and she covered my bed in rose petals; top to bottom. It was just the sweetest thing. Our bed smelt like a garden for at least a month!” Lance sticks his finger in his mouth pretending to gag. “Blargh! Why would any self-respecting man enjoy something like that!? Rose petals? Why don’t you just ask your girlfriend for a crappy backrub and really bad sex? She may as well go the whole nine yards for you. You disgust me, Marty!” “You’re always complaining,” says Julian as he steps over a tree root. “Why is that?” Lance pokes Julian in the shoulder. “You don’t know me,” he says, “so don’t make judgments or assumptions. I know that’s what you’re doing.” Marian, Tucker, and Caesar are equally as curious. What has made this young man into the curmudgeon he is today? What is in his past? “If you keep your traps shut,” growls Lance, “maybe I’ll tell you a little something about myself; some very heavy stuff. But don’t you look at me with puppy dog eyes. I don’t want your pity.” Everyone agrees. “Alright,” says Caesar, “go ahead.” Lance takes off his helmet and tucks it under his arm. “I’m not really an MBA,” he says. “Everything I told you up to this point has pretty much been a lie. My name isn’t even Lance. It’s Eugene Botenheimer. I know. You’d think somebody with a name like that wouldn’t be a jerk, huh? Well, I’m not really the most social person in the world. I’m kind of an orphan. My mom was a pregnant teenager. She had me in a bathroom stall during prom night. I was left at a hospital under safe-haven law...but I never got adopted. I spent my entire life skulking around, going from foster home to foster home. I never had anything growing up. I mean, it was okay on a day to day basis, but there were times that really made me sad...and bitter. Christmas especially, it was the worst time of the year. I never got any presents, so I’d visit the toy store to make myself feel better. I’d play with all the stuff ‘till I got kicked out. Well, yeah. That’s pretty much my life. There you go. Now you know about me. My tough exterior’s just a façade. Thanks for opening up old wounds, everybody. It really made me feel better.” “I’m so sorry,” says Marian. “I didn’t know.” Lance shrugs. “It’s in the past. There’s no need to give me your sympathy. It’s long gone. I’ve left it behind. Just don’t call me Eugene. I hate that name. It shouldn’t even be on my birth certificate.” “Did you ever go looking for your real mother?” asks Tucker. “I did,” replies Lance. “It wasn’t anything like I expected. I thought I would be welcome. I thought my mom would instantly fall in love with me and have a barrel of tears of regret for leaving me on that bathroom floor. Nope. She told me to go away and to never return. She didn’t want me to ruin her life.” “Let’s talk about something else,” says Caesar with a frown. “You’re making me depressed.” As Lance is about to respond, a clap of thunder is heard.

Marian looks up; a droplet of water falls onto the center of her forehead. “It looks like it’s raining,” she says. “Should we take shelter somewhere?” “Take shelter where?” asks Tucker. “It’s the same all over the place.” Julian sticks out his tongue. “I love when it rains,” he says. “It’s like a giant shower.” Caesar covers his head with his hands. “God, I hope I don’t catch a cold. I hate being sick.” Marian corrects Caesar. “You can’t catch a cold from being cold or wet. That’s just a myth. The name ‘cold’ is a misnomer. You actually get sick from a bacterial infection caused by Rhinovirus.” Caesar tilts his head back and looks up. As if cued by another clap of thunder, the black clouds gather and the rain starts to pour down harder. Wind blows against the men as they walk forward. Their clothes sag and ruffle, soaking up the water. But regardless, the men slog ahead. They lift their feet through the ground that has now become mud. 75 Several hours have passed, but the rain has not letup. Marian and the men wade through waist high water. A dead bloated dog floats past Tucker. He jumps up and screams. “Holy crap!” Caesar pulls him along. “Don’t straggle. The torrent might sweep you away. Stick close by.” “I have an idea,” says Julian. “Why don’t we tie ourselves together? That way we’ll be linked as one. It’ll be like rock climbing.” Caesar takes out a large bundle of rope from his backpack. “Alright!” he yells over the lightning and thunder. “Let’s tie ourselves together!” Caesar puts the rope around his waist by pushing it through the belt loops of his pants. He passes it down. Marian and Lance and Tucker and Julian do the same. With their bodies now unified, they carry on through the water, even as it slowly inches up like a creeping spider. “How much longer ‘till we reach the base?” asks Lance. “Don’t watch a pot,” says Caesar, “or it will never boil!” The speed of the currents increases. It is getting increasingly difficult to make headway. Marian coughs. Her nose is bright pink, running with clear snot. It seems she’s caught a cold. “Everyone alright back there?” says Caesar pulling forward. “I don’t give a damn what Marty said,” shouts Lance. “I’m catching a cold from the cold!” Tucker throws up. The barf floats over to Julian. “Aw, gross!” he cries, trying to bat away chunks of who knows what. “Sorry,” says Tucker to Julian. “I get boat sick easily.” Julian leans forward. “We’re not on a boat!” To which Tucker replies, “Of course! But the principles are the same! It’s motion sickness! The motion of this brown water is making me sick! God! It’s like staring into a coffee pot during an earthquake! Or a toilet bowl full of drek! Nasty, smelly drek! Yow!” “Why did you say ‘yow’!?” asks Julian. “Something bit me!” replies Tucker. “Yow! Yow! Yow! There’s something in the water!” The others feel something nipping at their skin, too. They become startled and begin thrashing around. “What is this?!” yells Caesar. “Ow!”

Marian squints and looks in the water. A piranha jumps up and latches onto her nose. She screams like a girl and tears it off with her fingernails. Then in a flash of a second, Marian realizes that she might have given away her identity with her high pitch shriek...but the men are too distracted, too busy trying to defend themselves against carnivorous fish. “We gotta get up a tree!” shouts Julian. Caesar leads the men and takes them over to a thick low hanging branch. They successfully climb up, despite the slipperiness, and escape the piranhas. It seems, at least for now, that they have escaped some form of their own doom. “That’s some good thinking,” says Tucker to Julian sitting by the end. “You’re a real smart fella! I’ll give you that!” As Julian smiles the branch suddenly bows. He rolls back into the water. Thousands of Piranha swarm and they snip at his skin. In a matter of seconds, he is reduced to a fleshless being. He has been fed to the voracious creatures of the jungle and turned into a mere skeleton. The men are in shock, feeling vulnerable and defenseless. Caesar loads his gun and starts shooting at the water. “You lil’ bastards! I’ll see to it that each and every one of you is dead!” Marian pulls him back. “Stop! You’re not going to bring him back! He’s gone!” Caesar calms down. His gun droops to the side. “It should’ve been me,” he says. “I was leading this group. It’s my fault.” Lance tries to console Caesar. “Yo! Don’t blame yourself, man. None of this had anything to do with you. We would’ve been in the same situation, regardless of who decided to lead.” “I agree,” adds Tucker. “You didn’t know the branch was gonna bend. You tried your best, man. You can’t beat yourself up for this. Yeah. We’re all sad that he’s gone, but we need to move on and keep fighting...for him.” Marian has nothing to say. She rolls up her sleeves and lifts up the remains of Julian. She removes the dog tag from around his neck and puts it into her pocket. 76 “Bom! Bom! Bom!” goes the big drums. Mosiki struggles to breathe as he is carried in ritualistic fashion to a clearing, strapped to a wooden pole like a pig for a spit-roast. He is propped upright by the prisoners. Jerry stands back and watches as his only acquaintance in this land of destitution is readied for punishment. “Today, you will learn the meaning of pain!” screams Vazul. “Because those who betray Al-Skeleet are not given a quick and painless death! Your suffering will be prolonged and agonizing! You will bleed tears of sorrow! You will wish that you had never been born!” Mosiki’s face is stoic, and his body is still, but inside he is shaking like a leaf. “You can take my life,” he says, “but you cannot take my dignity!” Vazul cackles. “It is not your dignity I want, it is your remorse. Once I begin, you will beg for mercy within the first minute. You will cry to me for leniency, but I will not give it.” “Do as you like,” says Mosiki as he spits on the ground. “You will get nothing from me.” Jerry and the prisoners turn their heads. Al-Skeleet appears, being carried on a throne, he is quietly set down. He waves for Vazul. Vazul goes

over to his master. “Yes,” he says lowering his head. “What is it?” Al-Skeleet whispers. Vazul marches back to Mosiki. “Let us begin!” he says with a clap. The drums stop playing. Everyone turns their attention to the front. Jerry nervously bites his fingernails. Vazul takes out a long wooden cane. “Keep your eyes open!” he declares. “Keep your ears open! See and hear what the consequences of betrayal are!” Mosiki takes in a deep breath and mentally prepares himself. The first strikes lands on his chest, leaving a deep red welt. He clenches his teeth. The cane returns...over and over...the sound of flesh tearing can be heard. Vazul is unrelenting. His eyes are empty, free from any guilt. Jerry stares down at his feet, not wanting to see the inhumanity in front of him. But soon Vazul tires himself out. He is dripping with sweat as Mosiki is dripping with blood. “Have you had enough?” asks Vazul. To which Mosiki replies, “You are a coward. You can only beat on those who cannot fight back. You are like a man who prides himself on hunting an animal with the most powerful rifle.” Vazul pulls back his arms and slaps Mosiki across the face. Blood flies and splatters onto Jerry’s emaciated body. He tries to wipe it off, but it smears on his skin. “I am not a coward,” says Vazul to Mosiki. “I will fight you with my bear hands if I must.” Mosiki can barely speak, but he gives a shallow nod. “Come. Let us see what you are made of.” Vazul releases Mosiki who immediately crumbles to his knees, but with the strength of his will, he forces himself up. The prisoners cheer. Mosiki throws the first punch, but Vazul dodges it with ease. Then he counterattacks with a flying elbow. Jerry cringes as Mosiki falls to the ground. He is down, squirming in his own blood. Vazul towers over him with his hands on his hips. “If you lick the bottom of my foot like a dog,” he says, “I will spare you and let you live for another day.” Mosiki turns onto his back. With his last ounce of energy, he spits a glob of phlegm into Vazul’s eye. Outraged, Vazul takes out his pistol and shoots. The prisoners turn their heads, but still continue watching from the corner of their eyes. Mosiki crawls, pulling himself forward with his curled fingers. He stops by Jerry’s feet and dies. Al-Skeleet claps with delight. 77 The Kagistani night is dry and cool. Marian lies on her back, staring up at the stars. She closes her eyes and tries to fall asleep, but her worries pervade. “Where is Jerry?” she asks herself. And on the other side of this inhospitable country we see him curled in a ball, trapped in a cold clammy cave. He tries to comfort himself as he shivers, thinking about better times. 78 The traffic light on the street corner turns green. Jerry hurriedly pedals his shiny 10 speed bike across to the other side. He steers himself onto the sidewalk and

turns onto the interlocking walkway of St. Quentin High School. He goes to the front where locks his bike into the bike rack with a chain covered in translucent blue plastic. Jerry takes in a deep breath and looks up at the monolithic style building. “First day of school,” he says to himself. “Don’t screw this up.” He pulls the door open and goes inside. There’s a glut of anxious teenagers surrounding a bulletin board on the wall. Turning sideways, Jerry slips between the freshman and gets closer to the bulletin board. He puts on his glasses and looks for his name on the long paper chart. His first class is Science 109. “Hey,” says a chirpy sounding voice, “we’ve got homeroom together.” Jerry looks over his shoulder. There is an attractive redheaded girl batting her eyelashes. “I’m Candy,” she says. “What’s your name?” The bell rings. All of the kids disperse. Jerry stammers. “M-m-my name? My name is, uh, uh, uh...Gerald. Gerald Whitaker. But all my friends call me Jerry.” Candy twirls a lock of her hair with her index finger. “We should get to class. Don’t wanna be too late on the first date...eh-he-he...I mean...don’t wanna be late on the first day.” Candy takes a nervous Jerry by the arm and the two walk through the hallways. They keep their eyes open, looking for the right door number. Then, no more than a minute later, they come upon room 109. Looking through the square window, Jerry sees a wily-looking man emphatically waving his arms. His voice can faintly be heard. “The best thing about a career in science,” he says, “is being able to use your brain. In a lot of jobs you don’t get to use your brain. They basically look at you like monkeys.” “Should we go in now?” asks Jerry. Candy knocks on the door. The teacher, Mr. Brownstone, answers. “Welcome to Science 109,” he says in a high pitch voice. “It’s great to have you here! What are your names!?” Candy and Jerry answer. Then they are handed their class schedules. The two take a seat in the far back. 79 The first school day has ended and Jerry and Candy are hanging outside with the other kids. “So,” says Candy, “you got anything planned for tonight?” Jerry stares at Candy’s red hair and green eyes. “Nothing yet,” he says. “Why? Do you have something in mind?” “I’m having a party at my house,” says Candy. “Would you like to come?” Jerry hasn’t known Candy very long, but he’s already become infatuated; typical teenage boy, can’t refuse a pretty girl. “Yes,” he says. “That would be awesome. Should I bring anything? How about chips? People like chips, don’t they? You can’t just eat one!” Candy pats Jerry on the head like a puppy. “No need,” she says. “Just bring yourself. That’ll be enough.” Jerry takes out a pencil and notepad. “Now, if you’ll just give me your address, I can attend your soiree.” Candy laughs and grabs Jerry’s arm. She scribbles the info onto his skin with a blue Bic pen. 80

Jerry is standing alone in a corner. Candy is in the center of the room, being lavished with attention by all of the other boys. “This sucks,” grumbles Jerry. “Here I am decked out in new clothes from the Gap and all she’s doing is flirting with a gaggle of horn dogs. Seriously, I think she just had this party to inflate her own ego.” “That’s true,” says a voice with a lisp. “My cousin does like to get all the attention.” Jerry looks to his right. There’s a plainly dressed, teenage girl with braces. It’s Marian. “Yeah,” says Jerry, “I don’t like those types of girls. They’re so high maintenance.” Marian dribbles while talking. “So what kind of girls do you like?” she asks. Jerry leans back on the wall and thinks for a moment. “I don’t know,” he says. “I haven’t put much thought into it. While I can certainly say that looks play a role in my decision making; it’s not what I always go after. I think personality is underrated. Guys just seem to go for the curves and pretty faces. Not me, sister. I’m way deeper than that.” “Same,” says Marian. “Washboard abs aren’t the solution to everything. For me I want somebody who is affectionate and kind. That’s a rare quality these days...or maybe it’s just that way for the unattractive girls. Yeah. The pretty females are always being treated the nicest. Really, if you don’t look like you belong on a magazine cover, forget about it. You’re cat meat.” “What did you say your name was again?” asks Jerry. “Marian Hopkins,” replies Marian. “What about you?” Jerry clears his throat. “Gerald Whitaker,” he says “but all my friends call me Jerry... Actually, I don’t have that many friends. I’m an army brat. I move around a lot. Kind of annoying, but I think I’m here to stay this time... I hope.” Slow music suddenly starts to play. The lights go dim, and in a cliché stolen from a cheap television show, the boys and girls separate...everyone except for Marian and Jerry. They seem really comfy with each other. “Should we dance?” asks Marian. Jerry looks at the swirling colored lights. “No way,” he says. “I’m not in the mood. Like, who has a slow-dance party after the first day of highschool? It’s ridiculous.” With a lowered head, Marian replies. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll be going now.” Jerry grabs her by the hand. “Wait. Don’t go. We were getting along so well. Maybe we can do something on the weekend? Do you like movies?” Marian mouths open wide with a smile. Her braces shine in the darkness. 81 With a bucket of popcorn in hand, Jerry follows Marian up a flight of stairs. They look up at the lighted signs and search for their number. “There it is,” says Jerry, pointing with his chin, “theater #7.” Marian and Jerry go into theater #7. It appears they’ve arrived early. The place is nearly empty. And you know what that means...good seats! “Where should we sit?” asks Marian. “In the back,” replies Jerry. “It’s a good place to sit. It’s a vantage point. You have a view over everybody. If hell

breaks loose we can assess the situation...or at least that’s what my dad tells me. I think he’s got some serious issues.” Marian walks up the steps followed by Jerry. They sit in the far back, right in the center for a perfect view. The lights go low. The movie previews begin. The first trailer is for an action flick; lots of explosions and emphatic close-ups of people, below the hairline and above the chin. “Have you ever seen this movie?” asks Jerry. “No,” says Marian. “I don’t think it’s even come out yet.” Jerry shakes his head. “Not the one showing now, I mean the one we’re about to watch. The one we bought tickets for. Have you seen it before? I have to be honest with you. I really don’t think you’ll enjoy it. It stinks like horse manure.” “It does?” says Marian. “Then why did you recommend it?” With a smirk, Jerry puts up his feet on the vacant seat in front. “Any sort of art is subjective,” he replies. “It all depends on you. I didn’t like it, but you might.” Before Marian can respond, the feature presentation begins to play. There is a girl on a screen; a hitchhiker. She is standing on the edge of a foggy road with her thumb stuck out. As she waits for a ride, a rusty lime-green truck suddenly appears and stops. Its door swings open. The girl gets inside...where she is immediately hacked into pieces with an axe! A title made from blood splashes into view: “The Deadly Truck Driver.” Marian grabs a bunch of popcorn and stuffs it in her mouth. She chews loudly, watching the movie with genuine interest. Believe it or not, it’s the first time she’s seen a B-movie slasher film, and she’s really into it. Jerry on the other hand is bored, bored, bored. He leans his head on his hand. The “date” is not going the way he had planned. He only bought tickets to a bad movie so he could get some alone time and make a move, but no moment seems right; Marian’s too into it. Blast! The ruse should’ve worked! She wasn’t supposed to like it! A grueling hour and a half goes by. “The Deadly Truck Driver” ends and the lights come on. “Wow,” says Marian, “what a fascinating film. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. A bit violent...but I think there was an underlying message of ‘there’s no such thing as a free lunch.’ You got it, right? All those hitchhikers wanted a free ride, but they got eviscerated because of their selfish requests.” “We should get going,” says Jerry. “The ushers can be real tightwads.” Marian stands up. She checks her area to make sure it’s clean. The two leave the theater, seeming to be on odd ends with each other. Jerry wanted a romantic evening of whimsy and deviance, but it turned out to be nothing more than a friendly get together. “This sucks,” he thinks aloud in his head. 82 Huff! Huff! Jerry pants running down the hallway. He goes into the girl’s bathroom to escape the bullies. He hastily scans the bottoms of the pink painted stalls. No feet showing, he goes to open the first door. Nope. It’s locked. He goes for the next. That’s also locked; same with the third and fourth and the fifth. Panic starts to set in. “What’s going on?” Jerry asks himself. “Everything’s taken, but nobody’s here...right?!”

Jerry gets down on the floor and sticks his head underneath a stall. There’s a geeky looking kid with Horn-rimmed glasses standing on the toilet. “Occupied!” he exclaims. “Find your own place to hide!” The bullies are close by. Their bantering can be heard through the walls. They are about to enter. “In here!” says a girl’s voice. Jerry runs to the bathroom stall at the end. The door swings open and a hand takes him in. Marian is standing on a toilet like the others. “What’re you doing in here?” says Jerry. Marian pulls him up. “There are girl bullies, too!” A small gang of mean looking boys enter the bathroom. “Come out! Come out! Wherever you are!” exclaims the stocky one. “We know you’re in here!” The lanky bully points to the stalls and starts to rhyme. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a tiger by the toe, if he hollers let him go, eeny, meeny, miny...moe!” The last stall door is kicked open. Marian and Jerry have their lips locked together, kissing. “Whoa,” says the lanky bully. “I did not know you two were in here. I’m really...wow...just wow...” Marian gives a glare from one of her eyes. “Would you mind?” she says. “I am trying to have some private time here!” The bullies try not to stare. They reverse their steps and reluctantly leave. After they are gone, Marian and Jerry stop smooching. “See,” says Marian, “I told you it would work.” Jerry rubs the red lipstick and eye-shadow off from his face. “It’s a good thing you had that makeup kit! I can’t believe they actually thought I was a girl!” 83 In present day, men and women are seen leaving a funeral home. As they walk down the steps they are greeted by a cluster of people protesting the war. They scream and shout, holding placards above their heads: “Fighting for peace is like having sex for virginity!” “What is the meaning of this?!” yells the father of the fallen soldier. A hipster wearing a “Good Bush, Bad Bush” t-shirt starts to overflow with fervency. “Stop the insanity! Stop the war! The war is fake! The war is evil! Men and women are dying for nothing!” The father lifts the front of his fedora and gives an intense glare. He marches over to the hipster and points his finger like a knife. “Are you saying my son died for nothing? Is that what you think, huh?!” The hipster shouts. “If you had half a brain in your head your son would still be alive! Why’d you send him off to the slaughterhouse?! Does it make you feel better knowing that he’s dead because of you?!” With clenched fists, the father gnashes his teeth, trying to restrain himself. But the chanting of the crowd is making him see red. He lunges at the hipster and knocks him down to the asphalt with an unexpected jab to the chin. The protestors stare in silence; then they erupt into madness, not realizing the irony, with their fists swinging and feet kicking. Fortunately, the families they are “tangoing” with come from a pedigree of Irish boxers. They put up their dukes and return fire with a lethal flurry of hooks,

straights, and uppercuts. “Hit ‘em in their brains!” yells the father. “That’s the only way you can stop ‘em!” 84 Mr. President looks out the window of the White House. He stares at the grass leading to the road. His wife Gladys is standing in the doorway. “What’s the matter?” she says. “Ain’t yah gonna go out and hunt some quail with Bob? He’s really lookin’ forward to it; tells me he got a new shotgun.” “I’m not in the mood for fun and games,” says Mr. President. “Gladys, there are serious matters at hand. Two countries are in a state of unrest, and it may be my fault. I haven’t been able to sleep for the last three days. Gladys, what’s a president to do in a time like this?” “Do what’s in your heart,” says Gladys. “That advice has never steered me wrong.” Mr. President frowns. “I’ve done what’s in my heart, I’ve gone with my gut, I’ve followed my nose; seems the only thing I haven’t used is my brain. Am I stupid, Gladys, or just willfully ignorant? I have gravely misled my countrymen.” “You have not,” says Gladys reassuringly. “You’re just...you’re a maverick, that’s what. You can’t back down. You gotta stick it to those terrorists. Don’t let them win. Until Al-Skeleet is found, we’re not safe. Do you want your children to grow up in place where they have to worry about being blown to bits? I don’t.” “I know you’re just trying to make my feel better,” says Mr. President. “I appreciate that, but too many Americans are losing their loved ones. It’s not right. Daddies and mommies, and sons and daughters, shouldn’t be coming back home in coffins. I have to end this war. There’s no other way around it. I have to concede and admit that I was wrong.” Gladys moves away from the doorway. She walks toward Mr. President and joins him by the window. She takes him by the hand. “Honey, I love you. No matter what you do, I’ll always be there. Hell or high water, I’m your wife first, and first lady second. I’m behind you 100%, so you go what you gotta do. You have my support. Whatever feels right is what’s right to me.” Mr. President starts to feel better about himself. He raises his shoulders with a deep breath. He turns around and faces Gladys. “Today is a new day. I feel like a renewed man. I’m going to end all these shenanigans. I don’t care what anyone says. They can call me a coward. My decision is final. The boys are coming home.” “A wise choice,” says Gladys. She gives Mr. President a kiss on the cheek. “This is the reason I fell in love with you.” Mr. President strides across the beige carpet and leaves the oval office. He closes the doors behind him. His whistling can be heard from the hallway. 85 Without bodyguards, Mr. President leaves the White House. He strolls over to the crowd of protestors and addresses them with an air of confidence. They quiet down to listen. “Fellow Americans, I know that you do not like the way things are going. I know you are scared, and I know that you want change. Rest assured, as

your president, I will do my best to make it happen. So it is with great pleasure to announce that I will be ending...” “End this!” interrupts a charging protestor; and she slams a pie into Mr. President’s face. Mr. President stumbles back and falls to the ground, gagging on sugary apples. He wipes the sticky yellow filling away from his eyes...which are now filled with anger. “You think you people are so good?!” shouts Mr. President as he stands. “You’re all a bunch of cowards! That’s what you are! All you can do is march around and complain! But would you give yourself for your country?! No! Because you’re selfish, each and every last one of you! Our boys are dying out there, and they don’t need your second guessing! The war will continue as planned! And Al-Skeleet will be caught! So if you’re against us fighting for freedom, then go on home! Either you are with us or you are against us! What is your choice?!” Before the crowd can respond, they are surrounded by bodyguards wielding large canisters of pepper spray. “Get them out of here!” orders Mr. President. The protestors scream. They cover their eyes and cough as they are bombarded with a shower of stinging capsicum. The crowd disperses, trying to escape from being sprayed in the face and shocked with high voltage tasers. 86 The Venetian blinds seeing into the backyard close. Mr. Hopkins takes a seat at the kitchen table and sits alone in the darkness. A sliver of light shines into a corner on the counter, illuminating a pile of magazines and parcels. Mr. Hopkins looks and sees a green triangle sticking out from underneath. “Strange,” he thinks, “I never noticed that before.” Mr. Hopkins gets up and goes to grab the triangle, revealing it to be an envelope...from his dearest daughter, Marian. He stares at the blue script which says: “To Dad, Love Marian.” There isn’t a stamp or address on the front or back. It must have been left behind. With a knife, Mr. Hopkins opens the envelope and pulls out a letter. “Dear Dad,” it begins, “I’m sorry that I left without telling you where I was going. But I knew that if you knew, you would not let me go. You seemed receptive to the idea when I was rejected, but you have to be honest with yourself, you only did it to appease me; knowing that my chance to become an ‘infantryman’ was nil. And with that, you may have an idea of what I am about to tell. I’ve successful joined the army. I’m in a faraway country now, and I intend to eventually return...with Jerry. So don’t worry, dad. I’ll be fine.” Mr. Hopkins faints. His body crashes to the floor. 87 “We’ll never find the army base,” laments Tucker. “We’d sooner locate the fragments of the original ten commandments!” Caesar tries to reassure the others as they continue their trek through the jungle. “Have a little faith,” he says. “We’re almost there. Only a couple more miles and we’re home free.”

Marian gives a deep groan. “A couple more miles, Caesar? Every time you say ‘it’s a couple more miles.’ Lord knows we should’ve stayed put. Maybe if we did, we would’ve been found and taken back. Now we gotta slog through the mud and dirt to do something we shouldn’t have been doing in the first place. Stay where you are, isn’t that the first rule of survival when you get lost?” “Marty’s right,” says Lance. “It is your fault we’re lost, Caesar. And y’know what? I don’t wanna follow you anymore. I call for a mutiny!” Caesar sneers. “Stop being an idiot. Nobody’s listening to you.” Tucker clears his throat. “I wouldn’t say that’s entirely true.” “What do you mean?” asks Caesar. “Well,” says Tucker with a bit of apprehension, “I’m a little tired of you, and I think this group needs some new leadership. I’m not trying to insult you. I just think we might do better if somebody else took the reins, so to speak.” “Fine,” replies Caesar, “who here wants to be the new leader? Who wants to usher in the new world order? Raise your hands if you would, please.” The only person who raises their hand is Lance. “Ha!” laughs Caesar. “Are you really going to pick that gringo over me? He can’t tell his head from his ass, much less take us where we need to go.” “I vote for Marty,” says Tucker. Lance looks at Marian. “Me too,” he adds. “The kid’s toughed it out without a single complaint. I think the boy’s got character.” Caesar has an indignant expression on his face, but he agrees. “Fine. Fine. Do whatever you want. Marty will lead us to glory. All glory to Marty.” “Don’t be sore,” says Lance. “You had your chance. You should’ve done a better job.” Caesar narrows his eyes and grumbles. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He turns to Marian. “Alright, Mr. Marty, what’s the plan? Where shall we go now?” Marian pauses and checks the jungle ahead at a crossroad. It all seems to be the same, but she decides to make a gut decision. “Okay. I’m not 100% sure on this,” she says, “but I think we should keep going straight. Is that okay? Does anybody have any objections?” “It’s better than any other direction,” replies Tucker. And with that, the men continue forward. They walk for about an hour ‘till they come to a mountainous wall. “Great!” exclaims Caesar with a frothy sarcasm. “We’re exactly nowhere! Worse than nowhere, a dead end! If this isn’t foreshadowing, I don’t know what is!” Marian approaches the wall covered in bush. She takes out a machete from her backpack and hacks away at the sinewy wood. A man-sized hole is revealed. It looks like an entryway. “What’s that?” asks Julian. Tucker exclaims. “Mazal Tov!” he says. “It looks like it leads somewhere! Come on, everybody! Let’s go in!” But before Tucker can go forward, Caesar pulls him back. “What’re you crazy? You don’t know where that thing goes!” Lance shines a flashlight into the hole. “It’s too deep to see anything,” he says. “I think somebody needs to go in and check it out. Not me.” Marian steps forward and volunteers. “I’m the leader. I should do it. Captain goes down with the ship.” Then she goes inside. “Wait!” cries Tucker. “We’re not on a ship!” Shining her flashlight, the innards of the hole become clear. It’s a tunnel. Marian is in a tunnel. “Hey!” she shouts back. “I think it’s safe! Come on in!” Caesar, Tucker, and Lance go inside. “Where are we?” asks Tucker looking

around. “It’s obviously a tunnel,” says Caesar. “Manmade... But what is it doing here?” “Screw this,” says Lance. “We have to go back. If it’s manmade, it’s occupied. If it’s occupied, it’s hostile territory. Goddamn it! Don’t you see we’re walking into a trap?! Nay, correction, we have already walked into a trap!” Caesar grips Lance’s shoulder. “We are going to follow Marty whether you like it or not. If you think this place is dangerous, arm yourself.” “I have one clip left,” replies Lance. “That’s not even enough to bust my way out of a paper bag.” Tucker snorts. “Then why’d you waste all your ammo shooting those animals? God, you’re such a schmuck.” Lance takes out his handgun and pulls back on the slide. “I’m from New York, okay. You see something moving in the shadows, you shoot it.” “Let’s go already!” says Marian as she starts to walk through the tunnel. “We’re wasting time!” The men follow behind with their flashlights shining. It gives the place a warm orange glow. “Hey,” says Tucker. “I got a scary story. My bubelah told it to me a long time ago. Anyone wanna hear? I think it might ease the mood.” “Okay,” says Marian, “tell us your story, Tucker. But don’t try to scare us by suddenly screaming in the middle of it. That’s a real cheap trick.” Tucker shakes his head. “Of course not, I’m better than that.” Lance grins. “Somehow I have my doubts.” “Would you let him tell his story already,” says Caesar. Tucker begins. “Thank you... So here’s what happens... Apparently it’s a true story... Anyhow, so there was this man, and he was an avid antique collector. He didn’t have a lot of money, but he always kept an eye out for interesting and unusual things. So one day he’s at a flea market and he sees a little kiosk in a far off corner. Naturally, having an affinity for the weird, he goes over there and meets with a small elderly gypsy lady; even older than the man himself. She looked about a hundred or so. So yeah, he looks at the items on her table. There are a bunch of tchotchkes and this big old camera in middle with a slot on the front. Like a Polaroid, except it’s about the size of a bowling ball. So the man picks it up while the stink eye is kept on him. He looks through the viewfinder. It’s a bit foggy, but in fair condition, considering its age. The man tells the gypsy lady he wants to buy it. They gypsy lady says ‘no.’ She tells him the item’s not for sale. So he asks why she put it there. The gypsy lady tells him it’s for when she gets angry. She says it’s a magical camera.” “A magical camera?” interrupts Lance. “You said this would be a scary story.” Tucker shushes Lances. “I’m not done yet... So she it’s a magical camera. And if she takes a picture of a person, and shows it to that person, they will die. And it will show them how they will die. The man’s curiosity is piqued. He wants to buy the camera. He offers the gypsy lady $100 in cold hard cash... Remember, this is a long time ago, so it’s a lot more money than today... The gypsy lady refuses, saying that he could never afford her price tag if she had one. The man takes out $500 from his pocket. It’s bound by a wide money clip. He slams it on the table. The gypsy lady is extremely offended. She points her finger and tells the man to leave. The man doesn’t care what she says. He bangs his fists on the table and demands the camera. The gypsy lady takes the camera ands points it at the

man, warning him she’ll take a photo. ‘Go ahead,’ tells the man. He’s not scared. So the gypsy lady takes a photo. A picture comes out of the camera. She places it down on the table so it can’t be seen. Then she slips it in an envelope and seals it. She hands it to the man. The man takes it and puts it in his coat pocket. Then a week later he’s sitting at home. He goes into his coat and takes out the envelope. He wants to look at the picture, but he’s too scared. He thinks that it’ll kill him and show him the way he dies. So he hatches a plan to find out the truth, and he leaves the house and goes back to the flea market. The man sees the gypsy lady in the same spot...but he doesn’t approach her. He waits for her to leave. When she’s gone he goes to kiosk and steals the camera on the table when nobody’s looking. He leaves and he goes back home.” “Are you done yet?” whines Lance. “No,” says Tucker. “Anyway, so he’s in his home. He uses the camera and takes a photo of his plant. A picture comes out from the slot of his camera. He takes it and faces it toward the plant. Then the plant suddenly starts to wilt. It shrivels and dies. The man looks at the picture. It’s the plant...in its present state, dead and dry like a prune. The man can’t believe his eyes. He puts on his coat and leaves the house. He jumps into his car and drives to the local park. He sees a bunch of kids playing basketball. He asks them if they would like their photo taken for free. The kids agree and he takes a picture. He looks at picture. The kids are looking to their right. There’s a car about to hit them. The man screams. ‘Move out of the way!’ But it’s too late. A drunk driver smashes into them, cracking each and every one of their skulls. The man jumps into his car and speeds home. He goes into his garage and takes a sledge hammer, and cracks the camera in two...but there’s nothing inside. It’s basically a shell.” “That’s not scary,” says Caesar. “I have to agree,” adds Marian. “It’s kind of weird, but not what I would call frightening.” Tucker isn’t finished. “I’m not finished,” he says. “So a couple decades pass and this man has become an old man. Not decrepit, but he’s aged; looks about mid-sixties. Yeah, so he’s sitting upstairs in his house while his grandkids are downstairs. Listening to them play; he notices his old coat from a long time ago, sitting in the corner. He stands up to go get it and rummages through the pockets. He’s surprised to find the envelope from the gypsy lady. He stares at it and mulls over whether he should look at the photo or not. Nope, he decides to put it away. The next morning he goes to an insurance broker. The man takes out a huge life insurance policy...way more than he can afford on a fixed income. Then a couple months pass. He’s really depressed and he’s lying in bed with his eyes fixed on a picture of his dead wife on the nightstand. The man takes out the envelope from the gypsy lady and opens it. He closes his eyes and holds the picture above his head...then he looks. It’s nothing. His eyes are closed. It just looks like he’s taking a nap. The man laughs, believing what happened all those years ago was just a coincidence. He goes to bed and sleeps...and when the morning comes, he doesn’t wake up. He died in his sleep!” Everyone bursts into laughter. “Omigod,” says Marian, “that’s the funniest thing I ever heard!” Tucker is annoyed. “What do you mean ‘funny’!? It wasn’t supposed to be funny! It was scary! I dropped a matzah ball in my pants when I was first told this!”

“Relax,” replies Lance. “It was entertaining. We got a good laugh out of it. What more do you want?” Tucker sighs. “Kids these days! They don’t understand subtlety! All that excites them is blood, gore, sex, and big bangs! I tell a masterpiece and I get mockery in return! Well! Quit mocking me!” The laughter ceases. Marian and the men stop and find themselves in a circular area leading to several unknown places. “Should we split and search?” asks Caesar as he twirls his flashlight. “No,” replies Marian. “It’s too risky. Remember, strength in numbers.” Caesar, still feeling rejected and guilty about Julian, wants to redeem himself. He volunteers to do a quick sweep of each entry. “I’ll check it out,” he says. As Marian is about to object, Caesar rushes off. But he returns in an instant. Yelling at the top of his lungs, he falls down to the sound of gun fire. He’s been shot; more than a couple hits in the back. Lance and Tucker take to their heels and race away. Marian jogs to Caesar and picks him up. She puts him over her shoulder. “No,” he says, “leave without me. You’ll never escape. There are at least ten of them. You have to get out!” “I’m not leaving anybody,” says Marian as she starts running. Her heart beats fast, like it’s never pumped blood before. “Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom,” it goes, pounding against the walls of her chest. Marian feels a sudden pain in her legs, but she ignores it as bullets ricochet off the walls; an unknown band of people pursuing. The chase seems endless. But hope isn’t lost, the tunnel is ending. There is a light shining, only less than hundred feet or so away. It glows onto Marian’s face. She charges forward...and trips on a crack in the ground. Caesar goes rolling down like a ball. The back of his head smacks against rock. “Leave me,” he says as Marian tries to pick him up again. “Even if you get me out of here, I won’t survive. I took too many bullets. Go on, Marty. Get out.” Marian takes the dog tags around Caesar’s neck and puts them away. She springs to her feet and runs as fast as she can. The aggressors are getting close. Their facial features can be seen as they emerge from the shadow. Caesar clutches a grenade in his hand. He bites down on the pin, ready to pull with his teeth. 88 An explosion is heard outside, followed by sharp shrieks of pain. Marian cringes. “Where’s Caesar?” asks Tucker. “I don’t know,” says Lance, “but I’m sealing off this tunnel.” Then he lobs a pair of grenades. They explode and rupture the rock ceiling, creating a blockade of rubble. “How could you do that?” says Marian. “Did you even know if he was alive or not? What if those cries were for help?! Well, I guess that doesn’t matter now...he’s definitely dead!” Lance rubs his nose like the cocky brat he is. “Marty, you don’t understand what’s going on here. Your head is still in the clouds. We’re in battle, kid. We can’t risk our lives because of some dummy who got left behind. He shouldn’t have run off like he did in the first place. It’s his fault we nearly died back there.” Marian goes over to Lance and slaps him across the face. He rubs his reddened cheek in disbelief. “You slapped me! What’s the matter with you,

Marty?! You a bitch or something?!” Marian shoots daggers at Lance with her eyes. “I’m just giving you what you should’ve got a long time ago, you little punk! I can’t even believe I sympathized with you earlier because of your stupid sob story! You know what?! Deep down inside, you are just a snake! You are slimy with fangs and nobody wants to be your friend! You orphan baby!” Lance pulls up his sleeve...and slugs Marian across the face...wap! She falls down to the dirt and cries. “You hit me! You domestic abuser! You can’t hit a woman!” Lance replies, somewhat confused. “What’re you talking about? Are you saying you’re a woman?! Boy, you’re one awfully mixed up kid, I’ll tell you that much!” “Lay off him,” says Tucker. “Woman or man, you should not be hitting somebody who is that much smaller than you.” As Lance turns around to respond, Marian gets up and jumps on his back. She wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes him like a pissed off hockey mom. “Ack!” utters Lance as he swaggers back and forth, trying to break Marian’s stranglehold by pulling her hands apart. But it’s no use, he’s starting to fade. He loses consciousness and blacks out. His legs collapse and he and Marian go tumbling down the hillside. Tucker watches in horror, biting his nails, not sure if they’ll survive. But fortunately, they reach the foot of the hill without serious injury. Except for a few cuts and minor scrapes, they both seem to be alright. Lance shakes his head and stands. Marian gets up defensively, ready to fight. “Bravo,” says Lance with a smile, “I didn’t know you had it in you. You took me down like a set of ‘Jenga’ blocks. I’m impressed, kid.” Marian and Lance exchange words of forgiveness and shake hands. Tucker comes down from the hill. “Hey,” he says, “I got some good news!” Marian dusts off her clothes. “What is it?” she asks tiredly. Tucker points with glee. They have arrived at the army base. “Finally!” shouts Lance with a jump and click of his heels. “We made it! We made it!” The men, or what is left of the men, walk on forward. They come up to an electrified fence which wraps around the compound. The three stand for a moment and look at the dull grey steel buildings with stars on them. “I feel like a putz for saying this,” says Tucker, “but considering what we’ve been through, this looks like a pretty sweet deal; a piece of America in the middle of nowhere. God bless!” Marian, Tucker, and Lance amble around ‘till they get to an entranceway where there is a gate and a booth. There should be a security guard inside, but it appears to be empty. “Hello,” says Marian while looking in and searching with her eyes. “Is anybody there? We got lost for a while, but we found our way back. We’d like to come in now. We’re part of the infantry. I’m Marty Hopkins. The other two guys behind me are Tucker and Lance.” Nobody answers. Tucker and Lance join Marian and look. Lance bangs on the grimy glass. “Yo! We’re starving to death here! We’re malnourished and dehydrated! What’s the matter with you?! Let us in! Uncle Sam’s orders!” Tucker opens the door to the booth and goes in. He glances down to see if anybody is playing a prank and crouching down on the floor. Nope. The place is

empty. Tucker sees a panel in front of him with a large red button. He presses it down and the gate to the army base swings open. “Never mind,” says Tucker. “Let’s just go in.” Marian leads the way. The men move forward through a thick mist obscuring their vision. It gives them a chilling feeling in spite of the warm weather. It makes them feel insecure. After all, there’s no telling what could jump out at them. But they are at the army base, what more could go wrong? They wander about aimlessly. A pair of yellow beams suddenly appear. Honk! Honk! A Willys jeep appears with two people inside: Joe and Edward. “Yo-ho!” shouts Joe in a friendly manner. “What’re you men doing here?” Marian, recognizing Joe, runs up to him and gives him a hug. Right now he’s her only last memory of home. “Thank God,” she says. “It’s good to see you, Joe.” “What?” says Edward jokingly, “no affection for me?” Joe clears his throat. Marian quickly lets go of him. “How do you know my name?” he asks. “And why were you hugging me?” Lance answers. “Don’t worry about him. He just has a mild case of dementia. We’ve been lost for I don’t know how long...maybe a week or two. Well, we were on the last plane and, uh, we kind of chickened out and jumped late. So we ended up way off map and we got lost like total idiots.” “Ah, lucky bastards,” says Edward. “Lucky bastards? What do you mean ‘lucky bastards’?” asks Tucker. Edward cracks his knuckles. “Al-Skeleet and his minions knew about the mission,” he explains. “They set up a trap and killed every one of those soldiers at the drop zone. They weren’t even prepared. None of them made it. Oh boy, and when we found their bodies by the lake...it was disgusting. I nearly lost my lunch. It was just a pile of steaming bodies; villagers and various hapless victims, of course, including our own. Man, we didn’t even recognize our boys at first glance. We had to look up photos from a computer database. There were so many them.” “No way,” says Marian in disbelief. “We were there.” Edward is surprised. “Wowzers. You guys must’ve really got lost. That place isn’t even close to here. It’s like more than 110 miles.” Lance is annoyed. “Never mind that,” he says. “We’re here and we’re tired and we’re hungry and we’re thirsty as hell. Where are the beds and mess hall?” “Sorry,” says Joe, “they’re not in operation.” Tucker looks worried. “What?” Joe continues. “We were gassed out. The terrorists leaked some noxious liquid into the venting system. We evacuated and moved location northeast. Edward and I are just here to check on some things and do a bit of recon. We think some of them might still be around here.” Lance jumps into the back of the jeep. “Okay then,” he says while grabbing Tucker in. “Time to stop pussyfooting around. Take us to the new base.” Joe adjusts his helmet, thinking what to do. Marian whispers into his ear. “Joe. Can we speak in private? I have to tell you something. I don’t want the others to hear.” “What’re you whispering about?” asks Edward. “None of your business,” replies Joe. Then he turns to Marian. “Okay, soldier. We’ll talk in private. But first, what’s your name? I’m Joe, as you already know, and the contemptible fellow beside me is my pal, Edward.” Marian introduces Lance, Tucker, and then herself. “I’m Marty, Marty Hopkins,” she says. Edward elbows Joe lightly in the ribs. “Hey,” he whispers,

“don’t you know a Marian Hopkins? You think they’re related?” Joe looks at Marian. “I don’t know, Edward. Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s right there.” Marian shakes her head. She starts to ramble nervously. “No. We’re not related. I don’t even know who that is. I’m an only child. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, you see. Actually, I’m an orphan. Mm, I pretty much don’t have any relatives. Uh, it’s a shame. Yeah. But I am completely alone and there’s nobody I know who is related to me. I have no known relatives, except for Abraham Lincoln. Uh, yeah. I think I’m like his 30th cousin or something. Uhhuh. Yeah. I did some research on the historical roots of my family tree, mm hmm, mm hmm.” “What are you talking about?” asks Lance. Edward scratches his head, completely bewildered. Joe hops out of the jeep. “I’m going to speak with this Marty in private,” he says. “You take the others to the new base. I’ll meet up with you guys later.” Edward slides into the driver’s seat and takes the wheel. “Okay, but how are you going to meet up with us if you don’t have any ‘vehicular transportation’? I hope you don’t expect that little scrawny kid to walk. His legs look like they’re gonna give out at any minute.” “Sanders left his Harley behind,” replies Joe. “He asked me to get it for him. So, I guess I’ll use that to take Marty to the new base...two birds with one stone.” Edward laughs. “Ha! Sanders and his damned Harley. He thinks it’s so special just because he lost his virginity on that thing. But really, who does that? We all know the traditional place is a car.” “Thank you,” says Joe, “that’s really going to make the ride back a lot more pleasant.” Edward shrugs. “It’s not my fault the sergeant’s a slut...but hey, at least it wasn’t pre-marital. So you got some sort of religious consolation there. I think you can live with it.” Joe dismisses Edward. “Okay, you can go now.” Edward steps on the jeep’s gas pedal and take Lance and Tucker away. Now it’s just Marian and Joe standing in the mist. “So what did you want to talk about?” asks Joe. Marian hesitates, not sure if she should reveal her identity. “Do you promise to keep it a secret?” she asks. “I promise to keep it a secret,” replies Joe, “if it has nothing to do with murder or another equally iniquitous crime such as the ravaging of a fellow human being.” Marian takes Joe by the hand and pulls him along. “Where are you taking me?” he asks. “I just need a little more seclusion,” replies Marian. “You never know who’s listening.” Then against a grey wall with ridges, Marian is about to reveal her secret. She opens her mouth, but Joe suddenly interrupts. “You know,” he says, “you really remind me of somebody I know. But I can’t put my finger.” The surrounding mist suddenly gets thicker, and only heads can be seen, seeming to accentuate the subtle emotions of the face: anxiety and fear. Joe continues what he was saying. “Oh, I know! You look this girl I have a crush on... I’m, I’m sorry, Marty. I don’t mean to insult you, but you just give me the same feeling I get when I’m around her. Even though we’ve never met before, I feel so warm and cozy. Is that a strange thing to say? It is. Maybe I’m going insane from the warfare. I think it’s taken a toll on my body.” “Look,” says Marian, “I...” Joe interrupts again. “I really like that girl. I just can’t stop thinking about her. And seeing you, for some weird reason, makes her

come to the front of my mind. Your voice, and the way you move, it makes me think about Marian so much. Oh boy, uh, you must really be weirded out now! But don’t worry! I assure you, I’m a total straight shooter!” “Wait,” says Marian, “this girl you like, what did you say her last name was again?” A strong wind blows against Joe’s hair, making him look in motion. “Hopkins,” he replies. “Her name is Marian Hopkins.” Marian blushes, her cheeks turn bright rouge. She hardly knows how to respond. “Oh! That’s interesting...” she says. Joe goes starry-eyed. “I love Marian. She’s the sweetest girl you’ll ever meet. She’s the perfect woman. Her voice, the way she smells, the way she looks, the way she walks; I just can’t get over her. I’ve been in love with her ever since I met her. Been going on for almost ten years now, and I think it’s sick, but I honestly don’t think it is going to stop any time soon. I swear. I’m addicted. She’s like candy. That’s what she is, sweet, sweet candy!” “And this girl,” says Marian in a slow voice, “I hope she’s not dating or seeing anyone, ‘cause you know, that would be coveting. You don’t want to do that, do you?” Joe nods emphatically. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t be doing it...but I am. Ugh, I admit it. Marian’s got a boyfriend. And even worse, they’re going to get married! It’s wrong, but I can’t help myself!” Feeling uneasy, Marian decides not to reveal her identity. She decides that she might be able to sway Joe’s opinion about her as an unbiased “third-party member.” But Joe is an obstinate and very patient individual. In any event, it’s likely he would still hold on to his feelings. The poor man is a hopeless romantic. The only solution to solve his angst would be to make a Marian Hopkins clone...but that’s probably not going to happen. Marian collects her thoughts. “Joe,” she says, “I think what you have is infatuation. It’s not love. Love is more than just a feeling you have inside of yourself. Love is a commitment. It’s hard work. It’s a sacrifice. It’s giving yourself to another person. I don’t think...” Joe starts to snivel like a child. “No,” he says, “you’re wrong. I am in love, and I would give everything of myself if I could. But I haven’t been given that chance. So it’s not fair to say what I wouldn’t do for her. I would give my life for Marian...” Marian suddenly starts to sweat. Her uniform clings to her body, sticking to the goose-bumps on her skin. Even though the weather is cool now, it seems unusually warm and humid. The army base feels like a sauna, but instead of the steam coming from a basket of rocks, it’s coming from a person. Looking down at his feet, Joe tries not to bring attention to the heart on his sleeve. “Don’t feel embarrassed,” says Marian. “We all get carried away. It’s human nature.” Joe exhales. “God, I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this. I bet you think I’m a whacko...or a sissy. I can’t decide.” “No,” replies Marian, “I don’t think you’re any of those things. I think you’re lost and you need to be found. Just move on with your life and forget about this girl. A person who doesn’t love you back is not worth loving at all.” Joe disagrees. “I never said she didn’t love me. Who says she doesn’t love me? You don’t know that... I don’t know that.” Marian pats Joe on the shoulder. “You ought to take my advice. A woman does not date a man because she loves another man. This isn’t a romance movie

where she’s trying to get your attention and make you jealous.” Joe resigns from the conversation and changes the topic. “So,” he says, “what is it you wanted to tell me?” “About what?” asks Marian. “You wanted to talk to me in private,” replies Joe, “to tell me something. What is it?” Marian plays dumb. “Uh, I forgot. Damn. I’m sorry. I wasted your time. But, uh, I don’t think it was that important anyway.” Joe turns and begins to walk. “Follow me,” he says. “We’re going now.” A strong wind blows away some of the mist, and the army base reveals itself; an empty, lifeless place. There is little color, only grey and the dull brown of the soil. Marian jogs behind Joe. She follows him to a secluded area with tall leafy trees where there is a “Harley-Davidson Fat Boy” sitting all by its lonesome. And it is a beautiful piece of machinery. Even though the sun isn’t out, the polished red paint still glitters. Lifting his leg over the long black leather seat, Joe gets onto the Harley while Marian sits at back. “Do I have to hold on to you?” she asks. Joe puts on a pair of sunglasses. “Only if you want to.” The motorcycle takes off. Marian puts her arms around Joe’s torso. Her body shakes as the engine roars. C02 spews from the muffler, leaving behind a cloudy trail. “You alright back there?” says Joe as he steers with his head lowered. “I’m fine,” Marian replies, “physically anyway.” The motorcycle hits a bump of dirt and hops into the air. It lands down with a thunk. “I’m sorry about holding you up back there,” says Joe. “It’s just that I’ve been bottling it up. I had to vent somewhere.” “No problem,” says Marian. “I understand.” Joe banks right. “So where you from, Marty? I’m from Australia. Well, no. That was a long time ago, when I was a kid. My real home is in America. Devils Lake to be specific.” Forgetting about her alter-ego for the moment, Marian responds with honesty. “Me too,” she says. “It’s a nice place, isn’t it? Very beautiful in the winter.” “Oh,” replies Joe, “you’re from there too? That’s great. I guess we have something in common.” Marian leans forward and puts her head against Joe’s back, thinking about the little towns she’s from and the memories of Jerry. She still wonders where he is and recalls, amidst the pandemonium of war, her original reasons for coming to Kagistan. “Do you know a Jerry Whitaker?” asks Marian, already knowing the answer. Joe starts to look sick. His face turns to chalk. “Yes, uh, you know him, too?” he says. Marian’s resting head can be felt nodding. “Yeah, he’s a very close friend of mine...best friends, actually.” Joe lifts his head a bit. “You’re his best friends?” he asks. “I’ve known him for a while now, but he’s never mentioned you.” “You probably never met me before,” replies Marian, “because I’m kind of a shy person. So he doesn’t talk about me, huh? Well, he talks about you. You know that? That’s how I knew you who you were when I first saw you.” “Oh, I guess that explains it,” replies Joe. “Hey, can I be perfectly honest with you for a minute?” asks Marian. The wheels of motorcycle spin through a muddy path. “Sure,” says Joe, “what is it?” Staring to the side, watching the trees go by, Marian sighs wistfully. “I didn’t come here to fight,” she admits. “I actually came here to look for Jerry. I got a letter. It said he was missing in action. I know,

most people probably think he’s dead. But I have a strong feeling he’s still alive, and I am going find him. So forget about this whole terrorist hide-and-seek. I’m really here for Jerry.” “I have to confess something, too” says Joe with a tone of regret in his voice. “I was with him right before he went MIA. We were fleeing from Al-Skeleet and his minions. But he got left behind. Marty, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I have to agree with the others. I doubt he’s still alive.” Tears run down Marian’s face. She denies it with every breath. “You’re wrong. You don’t know Jerry like I do. He’s a survivor.” 89 Edward sits in awe as he watches Lance and Tucker wolfing down their food; their plates piled high with every kind of dead animal you can imagine. Chicken, beef, fish, pork, turkey, you name it, it’s there. “So,” says Edward, “you guys are pretty hungry, huh?” Tucker lifts his bowl and chugs the creamy soup. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Seriously, I’ve never been hungrier. I feel like a camp survivor or something.” Lance uses his teeth to tear into an army grade slab of meat. Sergeant Sanders appears behind Edward. “How you boys doing?” he says. “Good,” replies Edward as he twists his body to look. “These men have very healthy appetites, Sarge.” Sanders sits down at the table. “You know,” he says, “when I was your age I could eat a whole bucket of fried chicken in one sitting. Of course, that was a long time ago. Now I’m concerned about my health. You known what they say, boys...if the bullets don’t kill you, the cholesterol will. Hawhaw! I always found that funny.” “How’s American doing in the war, sir?” asks Lance as he eats. “Are we winning yet?” Sanders punches into his palm. “I’ll be damned! We’re getting our asses whupped by a bunch of jungle monkeys! I keep trying to tell those fat cats that we should just nuke this place into a goddamn cinder! But nobody listens to me! Those bureaucrats don’t know what in the hell is going on here! They just sit in their leather chairs and push buttons!” “I don’t think a nuking would be the proper solution,” says Tucker as he sucks the sauce off his fingers. “What about the innocent people living here...and the animals? Doesn’t anybody care about the animals?” Sanders sticks out his index finger and continues ranting. “Son, I’ve been in two and half wars. Unless you got ‘em by the balls, you don’t got nothing!” “Double negative,” mumbles Edward. “What did you say!?” yells Sanders with a hand cupped around his ear. “Speak up, son!” Lance, Tucker and Edward stand at the same time. “We have to go,” says Edward. “I’ll see you later, Sarge. I’m going to show these boys around the facilities.” Sanders gives a stiff salute. Edward reciprocates. He and Tucker and Lance leave the mess hall. 90 As Joe scrubs his body without a thought in the world, Marian stands away from the shower area, sitting shyly on a wood bench, fully clothed. She has a white

towel slung over her shoulder, waiting for time alone. “You gonna take a shower?” asks Joe while he lathers his hair with shampoo. “I can understand if you’re a bit timid. A lot of men don’t like showing their stuff to other people. They’re insecure about their size.” “No,” says Marian, “that’s not it. I...I just have other things on my mind. I’m thinking about something.” Joe cleans his back with a scrubber. “I can tell when somebody is lying,” he says. “Just come and jump on in. If you’re worried about your body, I promise I won’t look. I’m only interested in the fairer sex.” Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Marian stands and then reluctantly strips down. She puts on her towel and goes into the showering area. She takes it off and places it on the tiled separation wall. “You need soap?” asks Joe as he tries to not peek. Marian turns on the water. “No, thank you,” she says. “There’s already a bar in the soap dish.” Marian, self-consciously, keeps an arm over her chest as she cleans herself. “I’ve been thinking,” says Joe. “Yeah, I do actually think... I’ve been thinking, maybe we should go and look for Jerry...together. I still don’t think there’s much of a chance that he’s alive, but it couldn’t hurt. Could it?” Closing her eyes, Marian takes her fingers and spreads out her short hair, letting it get soaked. “I have to do it alone,” she replies. “I can’t let it be anybody else’s burden. He’s my best friend, and I won’t have anyone sacrificing themselves for my own cause.” “He’s my friend, too,” says Joe. “You’re not the only one who cares about the guy. We all took a shining to him. I don’t see why you should be the only one who goes on a rescue mission.” Marian opens her mouth and lets the droplets of water catch on her tongue. “I don’t mean to insult you, but I don’t know if I trust your abilities. You left Jerry behind, and in all the time that you were here, you never found him. Sorry.” Joe tries not to get too defensive. “It’s not my fault,” he says. “I don’t decide what everyone should be doing. I just take orders. That’s what I’m here for. I’m a serf with a gun...but I don’t want to be...if you’ll give me the chance.” Marian bends over and soaps up the top of her foot. “I don’t know,” she says. “Let’s talk about this later.” 91 Inside a dimly lit room, Joe is standing in front of Marian, Edward, Lance, and Tucker. “Okay,” he says pointing to a map of Kagistan, “here’s the plan...” A hand shoots up into the air. “Yes,” says Joe. Lance protests. “I’m not going to do this,” he says. “Why should I risk my life for somebody else’s friend? I didn’t even have anything to do with this. I wasn’t the one who screwed up.” There isn’t really a rational answer to that, but Joe tries to plead. “Lance,” he says with slow voice, “you don’t have to be here. You can go. It’ll just be the four of us, maybe three if another wants to leave. But I’m telling you to think about this if it were you. Would you want help in your time of need?” Folding his legs and leaning back on his chair, Lance replies. “No, because I’m not a user. I don’t take advantage of other people. I may be a jerk-off, depending on who you ask, but I don’t go around crying for help. I stand on my own two legs. If I want something, I’ll get it. So don’t look at me and expect me to

sympathize with you because you think that’s what I would want if I were in that particular situation.” “I thought you wanted a medal of honor,” comments Tucker. “Don’t you wanna be a hero?” Lance bites down on his lip and thinks. “Nah,” he says, “I’d rather be alive. Plus, even if we found this Jerry character, what are the chances that’ll happen? You don’t get a medal for rescuing a nobody. You get a medal for jumping in front of the president and taking a bullet for him. You only get rewarded for helping out somebody rich and famous. I’m sorry, but that’s just how the world works.” “I’m not going to call you selfish, but I ask you to reconsider,” says Joe. “Aw, don’t be a coward,” adds Edward. “You’re going to die one of these days. You might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Why pass away because of old age?” Lance stands up and waves his hands in the air as if trying to brush everyone off. “I can’t take this anymore! All this nagging is giving a migraine! Stop trying to appeal to my ‘good nature’ okay? It’s not going to work. I’m not a saint. I’m not a good person. And I have no problems with that, so save your breath. I’m leaving.” Marian gets up from her seat and opens the door. With complete sincerity she looks at Lance. “I don’t want you to be here. And I don’t mean that because I don’t like you. You’re not like the rest of us, but you’re still a decent person. You do what whatever you want to do. I’m not stopping you. Jerry is my problem. I don’t want you to risk your life doing something that may not be for certain. Go if you want. Whatever you want to do, you have my blessing. I mean that.” Lance pushes the door close. He goes back to his seat and sits down with folded arms. “Fine...fine! I’ll do it. Let’s just hurry up, okay. Explain your stupid plan. I don’t have all day.” 92 The alarm on Marian’s wristwatch goes off. She awakes and presses one of buttons to turn it off. She throws off her blank and gets up. Fully uniformed, she goes to the other side of the lodge. Lance snores above Tucker, while Joe lies on his stomach below Edward. “Pssst,” says Marian, “time to wake.” The men are irresponsive. They lay limp in their bunk beds. The clock on the wall read “2:59 AM,” only about two hours before everyone’s regular wake time. Marian gently shakes Joe and whispers. “Joe, we have to go now. Are you awake? C’mon. You haven’t bailed on our plan, have you?” Joe swats at the air and mumbles incoherently. “Yes,” he says, “take me to your leader. I would like to meet your leader and strawberry shortcake.” Annoyed, Marian balls her hand into a fist and slams it down on Joe’s mid-section. He wakes up with a wheeze. His eyes bulge like a balloon. “Ah, wha-what’s going on!?” “Shh! We gotta go,” says Marian. “Did you forget?” Joe rubs his eyes and shakes his head. “No,” he says as he rolls out of bed. “I didn’t.” He wakes up the others. They look tired, but manage to stand and not fall in the darkness. “Damn,” says Lance, “you couldn’t have woken me up at a worse time. I was having the best dream. I was having an orgy with twenty women. I doubt I could handle that many chicks in real life, but it seemed to work out in my fantasy.”

Marian makes a face. “Yuck.” She takes out a flashlight and turns it on. The yellow beam cuts through the air, pointing straight to the doors. Joe jogs ahead of the others and takes the lead. “Follow behind carefully,” he says. “They watch this place like a prison. If you try to leave, and you’re caught, they’ll make you clean the toilets for a month.” 93 A spotlight swings back and forth from the watchtower. Marian and the men keep low as they can with military equipment on their backs. They crawl on their hands and knees. “When the lights shine on building walls,” explains Joe, “they go as low as 2 or 3 feet. So don’t lift up your head up. You might be spotted.” “My back is killing me,” Lance complains. “Why don’t we just get up and jet!?” Joe looks around a building. Seeing nobody he continues with his route, leading the way. “You can’t,” he says. “It makes too much noise. This ground is mushy. It makes a weird sound when you step on it too hard.” “You got everything covered,” says Tucker. “We really should stop whispering,” says Edward. “Somebody might hear us.” Marian nods. “You’re right. We should stop whispering. You never know.” The men move forward. Their hands blister while crawling across pebble and rock. “Does everyone know the plan?” asks Joe. “Okay, when the guards rotate, that’s when we make a run for it...on my count.” The guard in the watchtower looks like he’s going to doze off. He intermittently closes his eyes for several seconds. “Man,” says Lance looking up, “look at that lazy pig. He’s gonna fall asleep. Unbelievable! We’re relying on him for our safety!?” As the men wait for the right time to go, they are unaware of an approaching poisonous snake...a Bush Viper. It slithers behind and goes between Tucker’s legs. It reaches his hand and curls around it. “Stop touching me,” says Tucker. “Nobody’s touching you,” replies Lance. Tucker looks down. He jumps up and screams like a madman. “Augh! Snake! Snake! Snake!” The noise alerts the sleepy guard. He points the spotlight at the men. They get to their feet and go running for the gate as an alarm sounds in the compound. Marian is ahead of everybody. The fastest of them all, she gets through the front and arrives on the road. Taking a sharp left, she bolts forward. After running about ten minutes, she soon realizes that nobody is chasing her. Marian stops and looks back. She stoops behind a bush and peers through the scope of her rifle. Tucker is being hauled away by Sanders in a jeep. Telling by the excessive amount of finger pointing, he is probably getting a stern lecture on his shenanigans. “Pssst!” says a voice. Marian gets startled. Edward, Lance and Joe appear from behind a tree. “I thought you guys got caught!” she says. “Almost,” replies Lance. “I told Tucker to stay behind and take one for the team. It wasn’t that hard to convince him...it was his fault, anyway.” Edward rubs his leg and pants. “Anyone else got a cramp?” Marian stands and angles her rifle away from the others. “Where’s the last place you saw Jerry,” she asks Joe. Joe

glances back and drops his head in shame. “Aw, I think we went the wrong way. We should be going in the opposite direction. Sorry.” “Never mind,” says Marian. “We’ll just continue.” Annoyed, Lance kicks a rock. “I ran like a Gazelle for nothing!” Joe zips open a satchel hanging on his belt and takes out a pair of compact night-vision goggles. He puts them on his head. “Don’t use your flashlights,” he instructs. “We want to minimize our invisibility, otherwise we’ll be caught...and I don’t mean by Sanders.” The others take out their night-vision goggles and put them on. It makes the already green jungle look even greener. “Whoa!” Lance exclaims. “This is trippy!” Joe starts to walk. The men stick close by. They swing their heads side to side. Kagistan is a far different place in the night; not like day. It has a calming yet eerie feeling, as if being watched be the old man next door. “How do these things work?” asks Marian. “It uses infrared red light,” explains Edward. “It’s a light that can only be picked up by our cameras; not visible to the naked eye. It’s perfect for night stalking, although we can be seen by anyone who has the same gizmo.” Marian doesn’t seem overly concerned, but she wonders. “Do you think that Al-Skeleet and his minions have the same things? I mean, these things aren’t really top of the line. Are they?” “Not by any stretch of the imagination,” replies Joe with his rifle gripped tightly in hand. “They’re made in China. Not that I’m knocking the country, but they’re not exactly known for quality.” Lance snickers. “Yeah,” he says, “I bet they’re full of lead and melamine.” Marian tilts her head back and looks up. There is a black cloud above; though something about it seems funny. It’s sharp around the edges, moving fast; certainly doesn’t appear to be a cumulus. “What’re you doing?” asks Lance. “Are you looking at the bats? They’re huge aren’t they? Vampires I think.” “Those aren’t really bats,” says Marian with a gulp, “are they?” Joe moves a ring on the eyepiece of his goggles, magnifying his view. He looks at the “cloud.” The details reveal that they are indeed bats...and there are thousands and thousands of them. “Don’t fret, Marty,” he says. “Bats are harmless to people. Yeah. They look like rats with wings, but looks isn’t a reason to hate anybody.” 94 Half an hour goes by. It seems the men are nowhere. It seems they’ve been aimlessly led around. “Sheesh,” says Lance, “it’s been more than half an hour. Can you at least let us know what’s going on?” Joe takes Marian by the hand and pulls her along. He takes her to an earthed corner with broad hanging leaves. “What’s going on?” asks Marian. “You don’t expect us to find Jerry by walking around all night long,” says Joe, “do you?” He pulls back the sleeve on Marian’s arm and then pushes it through the hung leaves on the wall. It looks like it’s disappeared. But it is actually inside a crevice; a tubular hole. Marian can’t move her arm side to side or up and down. It’s a near exact fit. “I feel something,” she says. “It feels like a stone block or something. It’s rectangular.” “Good,” replies Joe, “grab onto it, and follow my exact instructions. Your arm is in a lock. You have to turn it in the right directions for it to work. If you

make more than three mistakes, a blade will come down and instantaneously cut off your arm. So pay attention, Marty” Scared, Marian tries to pull her arm out, but she’s stuck. “I can’t get out!” she cries. Joe is indifferent. “Listen to me. I want you to rotate the block...” Marian rotates the block. It makes a clicking noise. “No,” cries Joe, “on my command! I never said...you already a made a mistake! Okay! Never mind! We’ll start over! Just listen to me first. Don’t do a thing ‘till I say. Alright?” Nervously, Marian nods. Joe continues. “When I tell you to turn, that means a full circle. It means 360 degrees. I will give you instructions as left or right. Right meaning clock-wise, and left mean counter-clockwise. Got it?” Marian nods again. “Okay,” says Joe taking out a piece of paper to read from, “here we go. Now don’t screw this up... Turn right.” Marian follows Joe’s instructions as he says them aloud. She turns right. Then she turns left; then right two more times, one left, and a pull. Her arm is loosened and she takes it out. The ground starts to rumble. A huge doorway made of rock slides open. “You did it!” says Joe with glee. Marian wipes off the sweat from her forehead. Lance and Edward go over to the strange entrance. “Wow,” says Lance, staring in awe, “that is one big door.” Joe pats Marian on the shoulder. “I bet you were real nervous, huh,” he says. “Were you scared?” Marian can hardly speak. She lets out a deep breath. “Losing a part of my body again is not something I want to go through.” The others have no idea what she’s talking about. The men go inside the secret military location. A bright light turns on and illuminates the area. There is a fullyfunctional Huey helicopter sitting in the middle of the floor. Joe opens the door; then he and the men get inside. Edward, the certified pilot, takes the captain’s seat. “By the way,” says Joe turning to Marian. “I was just joking about that thing cutting off your arm.” Marian glares. Edward starts up the helicopter and grabs the cyclic control stick. The blades outside spin with rapidity, blurring into a solid circle like a spinning top. The men have lift and the Huey takes off. They float into the night sky and speed over the jungle. It’s like they’ve never seen before. Being above brings out the tranquility to this wild country, bathed in the light of the blue moon and the twinkling yellow stars. “Keep your eyes peeled,” say Joe. “Jerry could be anywhere.” Marian presses her face against the window. The oil from her nose smears the glass. “What if he’s dead?” she asks in a minute of self-doubt. “Do you think he’ll go to heaven? I think he’s a good person, but what about under the eyes of God? Who is? Aren’t we all sinners in some way?” “Save your worrying for when the sun rises,” says Lance while looking down. “Right now we got something to do. So if you give a damn about your friend, look down and shut up.” Marian doesn’t respond. She isn’t listening. Edward takes the helicopter over a snaking river. “Jerry was seen about 25 minutes from here,” he says, “so pay close attention. He’ll look about the size of a big ant.” Joe suddenly jumps from his seat. “I see something!” he yells with excitement. “East side! 3 o’clock!” Edward maneuvers the helicopter, stepping on the left pedal while pushing on the cyclic and collective. It rotates hard and touches down soft. The men hop

outside. Joe sprints forward to a body lying face down on the ground. He grabs the dog tags hanging by the neck and reads it aloud. “It’s Jerry! Guys! I found Jerry!” Lance tries to hold back a panicked Marian, but she breaks free and runs to Jerry. Joe shows her the dog tags. She reads them: “Jerry Whitaker.” There’s no mistake about it. The spelling is exact. Standing in the distance with Lance, Edward shouts. “Flip him over!” he bellows. “Look at the face!” Hesitantly, Marian and Joe flip over Jerry. They gasp with revulsion. His face is gone; burnt off beyond recognition. “I’m sorry,” says Joe sympathetically. “But at least you...at least we have closure now.” Marian gets on bended knee and reaches into Jerry’s back pocket. She takes out a brown leather wallet and pulls out an ID. She shows it to Joe. It’s a driver’s license with picture...but not of her husband-to-be. The deceased soldier is another man with the same name. He is not the Jerry Whitaker we know. “It’s not him,” says Joe with a trembling voice. “Holy crap, it’s not him. I thought for sure... Jesus Christ. Christ almighty. Christ on a cross. Good Go...” Marian interrupts the blasphemy. “Will you stop saying that stuff? It’s not helping our situation.” Joe nods. “Right, right,” he replies, “let’s continue searching.” Marian, Joe, Lance, and Edward get back into the helicopter. They return to the sky and carry on with their search for Jerry. Not much is being said, but as the men look out their windows, they each think different thoughts. However, when viewed thematically, they can be seen as the same thing...about longing and desire. For that is the core of the human being. We are driven by our yearning...our yearning for happiness. And that happiness comes from love. All the things we do in life are because we want to be liked, admired, and loved. Some may not admit it, but deep down, we know there is nothing better than a person who says that they love you without any conditions or rules. “What are you thinking about, Marty?” asks Joe to Marian. Marian snaps out of her stupor. “Nothing,” she quickly replies. “I’m thinking about nothing.” Lance is getting bored. He breathes on the window by his face and fogs up the glass. He uses his finger to draw a naked lady. Edward looks back. “Oh how mature. Where’d you learn that from, OCAD?” 95 In the wild shrubs is a heavy breathing, where there is a man hiding in the shadows with cold breath, watching the sky. His ears suddenly point up as he hears the sound of the Huey helicopter. It passes, blowing away debris on the ground; dead leaves and broken twigs. “Praise be!” says the man as he puts a rocket propelled grenade launcher onto his shoulder. He looks through the eyepiece and squeezes the trigger. The rocket shoots out and clips the tail of the helicopter with a loud bang. It causes it to spin out of control. The man laughs in triumph with a curled tongue. “It is good! It is good!” he shouts. “Praise be!”

“Oh shit!” cries Edward in the Huey. “We’re going down!” He twists the throttle and pulls on the collective lever, but it’s no use. The men are spinning uncontrollably, and it looks like they’re headed toward a mountain. Marian tries to keep her head straight, but she’s getting dizzy. Her vision is fading; turning to black. Then suddenly memories begin flashing before her eyes, and she’s taken back in time. 96 Standing in a muddy field, Jerry sees from the corner of his eye, a flashing red light. He follows it into a tall green tent where there is a rectangular phone sitting in the middle of a clean steel table. He picks up the receiver. A soft voice says “hello.” “Marian,” replies Jerry, “is that really you? You haven’t called in over a week.” Marian is slow, trying to think of an excuse. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ve had a lot of things on my mind recently.” A sinking feeling starts to overwhelm Jerry. “I don’t understand. What kind of things? What do you mean by that?” Marian sighs. “This long distance relationship isn’t going to work. I can’t spend all my time alone thinking about you. I need to get off this train.” Jerry nervously bites his lip, dreading to hear what more his girlfriend has to say. “We have to break up,” says Marian. “I’m sorry...” “I’m in the Peace Corps!” exclaims Jerry. “I’m doing my civic duty! How can you treat me like this while I’m trying to do my civic duty!? Huh!? Without me there would be no way!” Marian corrects him. “That’s not the Peace Corps slogan. That’s the United Way slogan.” “Stop trying to change the subject,” barks Jerry, “and tell me why you’re breaking up with me! It’s because of that guy, isn’t it!? What’s his name!? Cody! Ugh! Marian! How could you!? He’s in college! What a frigging ephebophile!” Marian is annoyed. “He’s not a...whatever you called him! And I’m not breaking up with you because of Cody! I’m breaking up with you because you’re neglecting me! I’m alone! I’m a lonely young female in her prime! I can’t wait around and let my eggs wither and die!” Jerry leans against the table in front of him. He growls and gnashes his teeth like a feral dog, but continues listening to Marian. “I’m not going to the prom alone!” she says. “Get your butt over here or we’re breaking up!” As Jerry is about to reply, a goat enters the tent and starts to baa. He shoos it away while Marian listens, wondering what’s going on. “Get out of here!” he yells. “This is a people place!” The goat leaves. Jerry gets back to the phone. “Marian,” he pleas desperately, “don’t leave me. I love you...but I have to finish my time here. I dropped out of high school, remember? Remember how my dad yelled at me? Told me if I didn’t do something with my life, my ass would be grass? I still don’t know what that means, but it sounds pretty bad!” “I’m sorry,” says Marian, “but if you’re not with me on prom night, I am breaking up with you...forever! So be here or...not be my boyfriend! That is my ultimatum, Jerry! What’s your decision!?” Scratching his chin, Jerry thinks. After several seconds of silence he replies. “I have to go, Marian. Goodbye.” He places down the phone receiver and quietly exits the tent.

97 Marian is spread eagle on her bed, staring up at the ceiling with a glazed look in her eyes. There’s a knock at the door. “Marian,” says Mr. Hopkins outside, “are you in there? I’d like to speak with you. I know you’ve been feeling down lately. I just...” “Come in,” says Marian. “The door’s open.” Mr. Hopkins lets himself in. He stands in the corner and props his hand against the wall, leaning, trying to look young. “I know why you’re here,” says Marian. “I think I should talk to mom instead. She is a doctor.” Mr. Hopkins straightens up. “I’m a doctor too,” he retorts in a somewhat morose voice. “Yeah, not the same type, but still just as educated. You know I was valedictorian?” Groaning, Marian flips onto her stomach and buries her face into her pillow. “Please,” she says, “is there a point to this?” Mr. Hopkins sits at the end of the bed and folds his hands into his lap. “I want to talk to you about the dynamism of relationships. Now I know you think I’m old, and I’m a geezer, and I don’t not know nothing about anything...but your old man has experience. I’ve been with many ladies; all types. Fat, tall, skinny, cross-eyed, green skinned, Asian, you name it.” “Green skinned?” repeats Marian. “Don’t be a wiseacre,” says Mr. Hopkins. “I’m trying to make a point here. You can’t lie around here all day and mope. If you want things to change with your boyfriend, you have to do something. It’s give and take; not take and take. Make a compromise, create a solution.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Marian. Mr. Hopkins lifts himself away from the bed and stands up. “One day you’ll understand,” he says. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next week, but it will come...it will come to you. And then I can rejoice. My teenage daughter will become a woman. She has evolved. Like a chick who spreads its wings and flies, there you are, soaring high above. Go through the clouds, my friend!” “Omigod,” says Marian, “are you on something!? Please, get out of my room before I call the cops!” Mr. Hopkins shuffles out the door. He continues to ramble. “Marian,” he says, “spread those wings! Don’t keep your love away! Let it shine unto the world!” With eyes closed, Marian covers her ears and hums, drowning out her father’s voice. 98 In high heels and a black dress, Marian carefully walks down her driveway. She opens the door to a rusted limousine and gets inside. Karen waves and smiles, her arm linked with a handsome young man. The limo starts to move. “Where’s your date?” asks Fergus to Marian, the young man beside Karen. Marian stammers. “Uh, uh, uh, I’m going to meet him there. He’s working late tonight. He’s trying to save up for a car. It’s a convertible; hot red. I hear it goes fast, 88 miles per hour in under 6 seconds.”

“Ugh, you don’t have to lie,” says Karen. “We’re all adults here.” Fergus snickers. “Adults? Where do you see adults? We’re barely eighteen.” Karen crosses her legs and sensually lifts her hemline. “You’re not an adult?” she asks rhetorically. “Well, then I guess we can’t go out anymore. I wouldn’t want to be labeled as one of those whatever-o-philes.” Fergus recants. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I was making a joke. You know me. I’m a kidder. I kid!” Karen uncrosses her legs, looking at Marian who is staring out the window. “So,” she says, “you think Jerry’s going to make it in time? I mean, he’s all the way in who knows where. You gave him a pretty tough nut to swallow.” “I know,” says Marian with a crack in her voice. “But he’s my boyfriend. He’s supposed to be here for me. Why is he gallivanting halfway ‘round the world? I know his dad told him his ass would be grass if he didn’t go...but what does that even mean!? It’s like he just rolled over and gave in. He left without even telling me! Talk about rude. I found out through a postcard.” “Maybe he had a good reason,” suggests Fergus. “What reason could he have to leave without saying ‘goodbye’?” asks Karen. “You’re just defending him because he’s a boy. Don’t be such a scum bucket. Can’t you see my friend is in pain? She’s all sad and lonely. Look at how pathetic looking she is. It’s like watching a puppy without a bone. She’s gonna be scarred for life. No boyfriend for the prom! Man, I wouldn’t be surprised if she grew up to become a spinster. Yeah. I can see it now. They’ll call her ‘Crazy Marian: The Lady with a Hundred Cats.’” Marian opens her mouth to respond, but before she can speak, the limousine stops. “We’re here,” says the driver. Karen, Fergus, and Marian get out. Karen looks back and waves. “Thanks for the ride, dad!” 99 Sitting alone at a large round table, Marian watches the other people dancing on the floor...but not directly, but by the reflection on her spoon. And it looks like everyone is upside down ‘grooving’ on the ceiling. “This sucks,” grumbles Marian. “I’d rather be homing watching TV.” She gets up from her seat and goes to the bathroom. “Damned banquet hall,” says a grunting female voice. “They don’t even have the proper facilities! This night is totally ruined!” Marian knocks on the stall door, the one designed for the handicapped. “Are you okay in there? It sounds like you’re having trouble. I can get some ‘Ex-Lax’ if you need it.” “I’m not constipated!” cries the female voice. “I’m having a baby! I’m pregnant!” Marian recognizes who she’s speaking to. “Stacy! Is that you!? Omigod! We have to call the hospital!” Stacy’s legs can be heard bracing against the inside of the stall. “I can’t afford that!” she says. “I don’t even have health insurance! Why do you think I’m in here...because I’m a millionaire?!” “Don’t panic,” replies Marian. “I read a book on this. I know what to do. Stand back, I’m coming in!” She rushes into the stall where Stacy is contorting her face; her legs up in the air, spread like a math compass, trying to push out her baby.

“It hurts!” cries Stacy. Marian grabs toilet paper from the wall and uses it to line the floor. “It’s going to get messy in here,” she says. “And I don’t want anyone to slip.” The music outside can be heard changing, from dance music to a slow R&B tune. It creates a calming mood as the lyrics penetrate through the walls. “Oh, my love, my darling...” Then Stacy’s baby suddenly pops out! Schloop! Marian dives down and catches it in her arms. She hands the crying newborn to Stacy. “What’re you going to name him?” she asks. “I think I’ll call him Eugene,” replies Stacy. “I like that name. It’s elegant, very British-like. Don’t you think?” Marian slowly nods in agreement, looking over the new mother and her new son. 100 As the last song of the prom plays, Marian treads through the banquet hall of dancing couples and leaves through the exit in the back. She walks down a concrete path, holding herself in her arms, wishing Jerry would’ve shown. The night is lonely, and though it is summer, it seems extra cold. 101 Sitting on the front steps of her house, Marian waits; but not for any particular reason, only to whittle away the time. Yes. She should probably go in where it’s nice and comfortable...but she doesn’t want to face her parents. She wants mom and dad to think that she had a great time at the prom. But most of all, she doesn’t want anybody to know that she’s crying on the inside. “Don’t be sad,” says Marian aloud, trying to console herself. “At least you didn’t have a baby in the bathroom. Yeah, Marian, there are a lot of people in the world who have it much worse than you do. Do not feel sorry for yourself. You are being selfish and stupid.” “You’re not selfish and stupid,” says a voice from the dark. Marian whips her head to the side. Jerry appears under the porch light with open arms. “Baby!” he says. “Did you miss me?” Marian jumps up and runs to Jerry...and starts pounding on his chest with her fists. “Why?!” she screams. “Why didn’t you come earlier?! We could’ve been at the prom! I could’ve been dancing under the big mirror ball! What’s wrong with you?!” Jerry stammers as he tries to explain himself. “It’s, it’s, it’s not my fault!” he says. “I tried my best! Do you know what I went through to get here? I walked for 13 miles without any shoes!” Marian looks down at Jerry’s bare feet. “What happened?” she asks with bewilderment. “Ah, it doesn’t matter,” says Jerry. “We’re together now, and that’s all I care about...don’t you?” Marian wraps her arms around Jerry. “Why did you leave?” she asks. “You know what you do to me? You make me love you and then you leave me. It’s completely sadistic.” Jerry gets a pained expression on his face. “I have to tell you something,” he says. “It’s about my dad.” “He’s not dying, is he?” asks Marian with facetiousness. “No,” Jerry replies, “that’s not it at all. Can we sit down for a minute?” Marian and Jerry sit

down together on the steps. The roughened concrete pushes against their skin, giving an air of subtle discomfort. “I have to be honest with you,” says Jerry. “The reason I went away was because of my dad. And...” Marian interrupts. “I know, you already told me.” Jerry continues. “No,” he says. “That’s not the whole truth. I didn’t tell you everything. I wasn’t put into the ‘Corps’ because I dropped out of high school. I was put there because...we’re different. Now you know what I’m talking about. My dad didn’t wanna see us together...but he didn’t want to come outright and admit to his, how do I put this delicately, his obsolete views. So he said either I go to the Peace Corps, break up with you, or get the hell out of his house. I would’ve gladly left if I had the money.” Jerry takes in a deep breath. “Marian, I’m trying to tell you something. I left the ‘Corps’ early to be here. I’m out of the house. I have nowhere to stay. I gave it up. I gave up the luxury. I gave up the life of the mooching son for you. Don’t you see how much I care about you, Marian? Please, don’t be mad at me. I wanted to go to the prom. I really did. If I could go back in time and make everything right, I would. Believe me.” Marian stands ands lifts Jerry. She takes him by the hand and puts her arm around his shoulder. She starts humming a song and swaying. Jerry smiles as he’s gently moved around in a circle, dancing with his girlfriend, surrounded by the illumination of fireflies. The two loves look into each other’s eyes and forget about their troubles and the world around them. They are the only ones there. 102 Marian awakes and returns to the present. She looks around. Edward, Joe and Lance are passed out. The helicopter has crashed landed on a plateau on the mountain. “You guys okay?” asks Marian in a haggardly voice. Edward lifts his head and wipes the blood from underneath his nose. “I guess we crashed,” he says. “Is everyone alright?” Lance gives a long groan. “What’s your definition of ‘alright’?” he asks. Marian checks on Joe. She puts her hands on his shoulders and gently shakes him. “Joe,” she says, “wake up.” Without a word, Joe gets up and jumps out from the mangled copter. The others follow without question. They stand outside, idling in front of the wreckage, wondering what next to do. “Oh fearless leader,” says Lance. “What shall we do?” Joe rubs the side of his head. He squints and looks into the distance. There’s a suspension bridge down far. It appears to lead into a valley. “Did any of you have a flashback?” asks Edward. Nobody replies. Joe walks forward and leads the men with a dented rifle in arms. He remains quiet, but seems alert with his eyes open wide, darting side to side with a subdued paranoia. “Is something wrong with you?” asks Edward to Joe. “How come you’re not saying anything? It’s bugging me.” Joe puts his finger over his nose. “Shhh” is his only response. “I think he might o’ busted his brain,” says Lance. “Or maybe he just wants us shut the hell up because we’re not goin’ for a picnic day stroll. What do you think?”

“I think your annoying,” replies Edward. “You mean ‘you’re’ annoying,” says Lance. “You spelt it wrong there. It’s Y-O-U-R-E, which is a contraction of the words ‘you’ and ‘are.’ When you say ‘your,’ you’re making use of possession. For example: Your grammar is terrible.” “Thanks for the tip,” says Edward sarcastically. “I’ll make a note of it for when I write my dissertation on the futility of existence.” Marian looks over her shoulder. “Does anybody get the feeling we’re being watched?” she asks. “I know we got attacked and there are obviously people lurking around in the bushes...but I feel like there’s a ghost on my back...a spirit. Do you guys have that heavy feeling? It’s weird. It’s like the room is shrinking and somebody’s tugging on my collar.” Edward shrugs. “That’s normal,” he says. “Everyone gets that in stressful situations. Some call it ‘the chills,’ but I think it’s actually your body warning you, telling you to get out. It’s like the pain you have when you touch a hot bulb. Your body gives you a hurt signal so you won’t do it again. Pain, in a strange way, is protecting you. Yes. I think that’s how God intended it to be... You guys still believe in God, right?” Marian holds up the crucifix tied around her neck. “It’s what keeps me going.” Lance laughs. “That’s ridiculous,” he says. “You think Jesus Christ is going to help us find your friend, Jerry? Reality check, Marty! Millions of people around the world are starving to death! But do they get any help from these ‘higher powers,’ even if they prey? No! Of course not! Nobody gives a damn about them...here and up there!” “Why must you always have to chastise my religion?” says Marian. “What do my personal beliefs matter to you, hmm? What’s the problem with the way I think? Is it so wrong to have a little hope? I believe in something better; beyond me and beyond this world. What’s so hard to understand about that? It’s not stupid like you think, okay. There’s a certain logic behind it.” Lance balks at the suggestion, but doesn’t shoot it down. “And what is the logic?” he asks. Marian continues. “Okay, God is the creator. That is the core belief. Some buy into it and some don’t. But I have a question for you. What would be more difficult to make: a painting or a dinosaur?” Edward smirks as Lance answers with an expression of confusion. “A dinosaur, of course.” “If you found a painting,” says Marian, “lying on the ground, a really beautiful one, what would you assume? Would you think that it was made by somebody, a person, or would you just think a couple buckets of paint dropped onto a canvas?” Lance raises an eyebrow, now intrigued with the discussion. “I would assume it was made by a person,” he says. “But what does this have to do with the dinosaurs?” “Okay,” says Marian, “when you answered my first question, you said a dinosaur would be more difficult to create than a painting. But you also said, in response to my second question, that if you found a painting on the ground you’d presume a person made it. So I present to you a fallacy in your logic. How is it that a simplistic thing like a painting has to be created by somebody, yet a highly complex creature, such as a dinosaur, is made by no one? Does that make sense? No, because that’s arrogance. It’s arrogant to think we are the only ones who can create and put things together.”

“You Christians are always trying to convert people,” says Lance. “Myself being a former Christian, I would know. So tell you what, Marty. If I survive this ordeal, I will promise to go back to my religious roots. I’ll take up the faith again. But I doubt that’s going to happen, because God only works for those who believe in Him.” Marian has nothing else to say. She continues along with the men down a slope. They take a turn and step sideways along a thin rocky ledge. They tread slowly, trying not to look down. It’s hundreds of feet to the bottom. “Don’t slip and fall,” says Lance jokingly to Edward. Edward gives him the middle finger. “If I take a spill,” he says, “I’m taking you with me.” Marian keeps her head back, trying not to pay attention to the tremendous drop. “So,” she mutters with chattering teeth, “after we find Jerry, do you want to have some sort of celebration? I’m thinking a keg and chicken wings.” “If we find him,” replies Lance, “I am going to go crack his jaw with my fist and ask him why he had to be such an idiot.” Marian tries not to get defensive. “I doubt you could take him in a fight,” she says. “You think so?” shoots back Lance. “I’ll have you know I can bench-press twice my body weight.” “Twice of nothing is nothing,” says Edward with a smirk. “Don’t make me throw you off here,” threatens Lance half-heartedly. Joe glances back at Marian. “Gee, you’re awfully quiet,” says Marian. “I hope you haven’t taken a vow of silence. I tried that once, you know, just out of curiosity. I swear. I started going schizophrenic. The walls told me to paint them.” Joe nods with a firm grip on the jagged wall behind. As Marian steps to the left, she catches her foot on a crevice and slips...but Lance grabs her by the collar and pulls her back in. She is saved from an early doom, by the one person she can’t stand. “Thanks,” says Marian, “I owe you one.” The men twist around a bend and step off onto flat ground. They continue down a broad path. After several minutes their feet begin to drag. They gaze down in synchronization. The mountain’s spiral seems endless. The bridge, the only way off, still appears to be distant, still appears to be small; looking like a chocolate bar: dark, rectangular, and pocket-sized. “Jesus Christ!” yells Lance in a fit. “This thing goes on forever! Where are we?! Mount Everest?!” Edward rolls his eyes, choosing not to respond to the inanity. “We couldn’t be that high up,” says Marian. “The air’s thick enough to breathe.” “I wish I had superpowers,” says Lance, “then I could get off this godforsaken pile of dirt.” Edward picks at his teeth with his finger. “Sure thing, Eugene.” Lance snaps his teeth like a croc. “I told you not to call me that!” he shouts. “That’s not my name! What’s the matter with you?! Do you have Alzheimer’s or some sort of brain disease?! Can you not remember simple facts?!” “Oh, don’t be such a phony,” says Edward. “That’s your real name and you know it. So what if it sounds dumb? Get used to it. That’s what’s on your birth certificate.” Lance’s eyes narrow. They look like they’re on fire. “You wanna know who’s a phony?!” he says with a finger pointed to Marian. “This SOB right here! I lifted his wallet and saw his frigging ID! You know what?! His name isn’t even Marty! It’s Marian Hopkins! He is a she!”

Upon hearing the name “Marian Hopkins,” Joe stops and spins around. The ringing in his ears is gone. He gazes into Marian’s eyes and recognizes her face. “Marian!” he cries. “Is that really you!?” Marian stands stiff like a statue, and before she knows it, arms are wrapped tight around her body. “I can’t believe it!” exclaims Joe. “This whole time I didn’t even recognize. But yes, now, now I see it! I’m such a fool...I...” Joe suddenly remembers what he told Marian. He remembers everything; how he confessed his feelings; how he poured out his heart. He starts to feel vulnerable. The embarrassment is overwhelming. It feels like everyone is reading his mind and they’re all jeering at his feelings of love. Joe recants with a bellow of false laughter, trying to make it all seem like a big fat joke. “Lance!” he says with an excessively broad smile. “I can’t believe you fell for it! Oh lord! You’re so gullible! I planted that fake ID! It was all a prank! And you took it, hook, line, and sinker! You actually thought Marty was a dude!? Oh my God! That was totally photo-shopped! I had one of the boys fix it up and slip it into his wallet! Man! You are hysterical! You should have seen your face! You actually thought you found out some big secret!” Both Lance and Marian are confused, but they go with it anyway. “I knew it!” says Lance. “I was just trying to pull one over on Edward! My acting was good, wasn’t it?” Edward sticks up his nose and scoffs. “Pfft! If that’s your idea of a joke, well, I feel sorry for you. You’re a bunch of dry-wit twats.” A sudden roar falls from the sky. The men tilt their heads back and look up. A squadron of airplanes speed past and drop a load of napalm below. The jungle lights up like a busy metropolis at night. The trees catch on fire like candles. The flames cast an intense, orange glow onto the mountain...and it does not smell like victory. “Damn,” says Lance. “Smokey the Bear is going to be pissed off.” Marian sniffs the air. “It smells like a gas station.” Edward takes out a pair of binoculars. Half of it is smashed, so he looks only through one of the sides. He sees the bridge. Its wood surface is ablaze. “I think we have a problem,” says Edward to the others with a disappointed tone. “The bridge is out...like a frigging light bulb.” Joe snatches Edward’s binoculars. His jaw slowly drops as he watches the men’s only way out perish into a cinder. The bridge breaks in half and crashes into the surrounding walls of rock with a resounding thud. “We’ll have to climb down,” says Joe with a grimace. “It’s the only way off. We can continue our search for Jerry after that.” “I don’t think we’ll ever find Jerry,” says Marian with a long face of defeat. “I bet he’s dead.” Joe throws up his arms in protest. “Don’t ever talk like that!” he says. “You don’t know that. He’s probably out there waiting for us. We can’t give up. We have to keep going. It’s like that war movie by Steven Spielberg; the one where they go searching for that guy. What’s it called? ET! It’s just like ET...we need to find Jerry and take him home!” “Your movie analogies don’t move me,” says Lance, “but we do have to get down this mountain. So the next move we make isn’t up for debate. Let’s get out some rope and start hauling ass. Does anybody have any rope?” The men give each other a hopeless stare. They have nothing. Aside from their weapons and

miscellaneous items, their bodies are bare of any essential supplies. There is no rope. And if there was, it was left in the wreckage of the helicopter. “We’ll continue the way we were going,” says Joe, “and we’ll climb off by the bridge...where it used to be. It should be low enough to get down safely, just using our hands. Is that okay with everyone? Because that’s what I’m doing.” There are no cries of protests. The men follow Joe and carry on trekking through the mountain. The temperature gets warmer as they slowly descend. 103 There’s a knock at the door. Mr. President gets up in his royal blue bathrobe and goes to answer it. He looks through the peephole. There is a neatly dressed man in a tuxedo with a silver cart of food and drinks. “Mr. President,” says the hotel server, “your platter of Kobe beef and wine has arrived. It’s well done, just like you asked.” “What’s the secret password?” asks Mr. President. “Only then can I let you in.” The server flips his hand and looks at his palm. There is a scrawl of writing on his skin. “Password,” replies the server. Mr. President opens the door. “You have chosen wisely,” he says. “Come in at your own risk.” The server steps into the room. He wheels the cart of overpriced edibles to the table where Mr. President takes a seat. He lifts a domed lid and reveals a steaming slab of tender beef surrounded by baked potatoes and chives. “Wow,” says Mr. President jokingly, “this looks better than a last meal!” A smug look washes over the server’s face. He takes out a corkscrew and plunges it through the top of the green wine bottle in front. He yanks out the cork and slowly pours the Bordeaux into a tall burgundy glass. “Shall I pour two for a romantic evening?” he asks. Mr. President shakes his head. “Not today, son. I’m afraid I’m eating alone tonight. The missus is out running some errands with the boys. It’s a shame, I know. She won’t be getting to taste my meat.” “Would you like me to turn on the television?” asks the server. “When I’m lonely, I find it keeps me company.” Mr. President shakes his head, twice as hard as before. “No way, no way! I do not want to watch that thing! I tried it once...and oh boy, you should hear the stuff they say. It’s awful, just awful. I mean, where are the manners these days? How can anybody insult the leader of their own country? They’re the ones who elected me...twice!” “With all due respect,” says the server with cautiousness, “the country is in shambles right now. Mr. President, there are men are dying in a fruitless war and we’re in the midst of a recession. Surely you must understand their anger. Don’t you?” Mr. President’s body shrinks. His beaming expression withdraws and his lips invert into a frown. “I know. Everyone hates me. I ruined the country. I’m a complete dunce.” The server recants on his statement, hoping to save his tip from diminishing. “No,” he says, “you misunderstood me. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, since you’re the president, people naturally blame you. You’re an easy target. But it doesn’t mean their accusations are true. Humans are like that. It’s in their nature. They like to point fingers and blame everyone for their troubles except for themselves. They don’t like to take personal responsibility...and that’s

something beyond your control...anyone’s control. Mr. President, I assure you, their criticism is without merit. You are a great leader, and when you die, your face will be on the back of a crispy green USA bill. Trust me. You are not giving yourself enough credit.” Self-esteem returns to Mr. President’s face in the form of a smile. He reaches under the flap of his bathrobe and takes out a hundred dollar bill, which he happily hands to the server. “Thank you, Mr. President,” says the server as he puts away the money with a grin. “Let me know if you need anything else. Call anytime. It’s no inconvenience. I’ll be working all night.” “Good to know,” replies Mr. President. “I will if I need to.” The server nods and leaves. A faint whistling can be heard as he strolls through the hallway. Mr. President licks his lips and spears his plate of Kobe beef with a polished fork. But before he puts it into his mouth, he notices a long string of hair stuck under his food. “Damn it,” he exclaims. “Why can’t these hotels get their act together? Now I don’t even have an appetite. Ah, well. Maybe I’ll take a bubble bath; haven’t had one of those in years.” Mr. President stands and puts his arms aloft to stretch and yawn. He removes his robe and shuffles to the bathroom where a large, oval, ivory tub awaits his arrival. He turns on the faucet and lets it fill with hot water. It gets to the top, nearly spilling over the edges. Mr. President lifts his leg and slides it inside. “Ooh,” he says while submerging the rest of his body, “nice and hot.” As Mr. President relaxes, a gentlemanly looking fellow suddenly appears in the bathroom. He has a pistol gripped in his right hand with a silencer attached. “Hello, Mr. President,” says Charlie the hit-man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Mr. President casually pours bubbles into his water. “Is it time already?” he asks. “I had no idea. I lost track of time. I shouldn’t have prepared a bubble bath. Now it’s going to go to waste.” “Take your time,” says Charlie as he leans back on the counter behind. “I’m in no particular rush.” Mr. President connects his index finger and thumb, forming a ring. He dips his hand into the tub water and lifts it out. There is a circle of iridescent soap film suspended between his fingers. He blows into it, creating a bubble which floats gently through the air. “How clever,” comments Charlie with a sly grin. “How long have you been doing this?” asks Mr. President. “This is my first time,” replies Charlie. “Well, no. I’ve killed dozens of people. I mean it’s my first time where somebody put a hit out on themselves.” Mr. President tilts his head back and stares at the textures on the ceiling. “So,” he says, “what sort of people do you usually kill?” “First of all,” replies Charlie, “I don’t kill people. I execute them. I’m an executioner. Killing denotes an intention of malice, that which I do not have. This is simply my job, Mr. President. I’m a normal guy. I like nachos and I watch football on Sunday...just like you or anybody else.” “I understand,” says Mr. President. “It doesn’t matter what your job is...teacher, doctor, janitor, actor, chef...we’re all just human beings. Aren’t we?” Charlie agrees with a nod. “So about your question; what kind of people do I kill? Well, if I have to think about it, mostly lawyers and politicians. I don’t know why. People just hate them. Maybe it’s because a lot of them are rich and powerful. I

guess that creates a lot of jealousy. I’m sure nobody would give a damn about them if they were poor. Ever step over a homeless person lying on the street?” “No,” replies Mr. President. Charlie shrugs. He raises his pistol. “So shall we get this over with? I know I said I wasn’t in a rush, but I just remembered, my kids prepared something for my birthday. I can’t miss that... Do you have any last words? Any regrets? Anything you’d like to get off your chest?” Mr. President sinks into the water. “I regret getting married to Gladys.” Charlie is surprised. “Isn’t that your wife?” Mr. President explains himself. “I know it sounds rotten,” he says, “But we were never in love. We only got married because it seemed like the right thing to do...politically. We ruined each other’s lives for our careers.” “That’s sad,” says Charlie. “But I guess that’s part of the reason why I’m here.” Mr. President continues. “I was in love with someone else. You know what it’s like being in love with someone you can’t talk to or touch? God, I have no idea how I managed to stay faithful all those years. I was always a little tempted. I guess my kids kept me together. Anytime I had errant thoughts, I imagined them running up to me and hugging me. Being faithful...now that, I do not regret.” “What happened to your jilted lover?” asks Charlie. “My jilted lover,” replies Mr. President, “passed away two days ago. Congenital heart disease...literally died of a broken heart. Ha! I never knew that was possible.” As Charlie listens to Mr. President’s melancholic story, he hears the sound of approaching footsteps. Not wanting to be caught, he pops two bullets into Mr. President’s chest. Mr. President dies immediately. His mouth still open from an unfinished sentence, blood oozes from his face and body, staining the ivory tub and coloring the water apple red. Charlie leaves the bathroom and fleas through an open window. Gladys enters the hotel room with a plate of brown food that looks like shattered floor tiles. “Howard,” she says in a chirpy voice, “are you in here? I came back early. I brought your favorite...peanut brittle!” Not receiving a response, which is unusual of her normally gregarious husband, Gladys exits into the hallway. She goes elsewhere to look for Mr. President, thinking he might be in the lobby or outside smoking a cigarette. 104 We return to Kagistan where Marian and the men are still climbing the mountain. They’re two-thirds down. Their descent is slow, being carefully done, only with bare hands and feet. The lingering smell of napalm and ash drifts into their noses. “I’m getting dizzy,” complains Lance. Edward looks down and places his toes in a foothold. “We’re almost there,” he says. “Less than 500 feet to go.” Marian winces as she cuts her hand on a sharp piece of rock. “Oh no!” says Joe, overtly concerned. “Are you okay!? Wait! Everyone, wait! We have an injury here! It needs to be addressed!” The men wait with little patience as Joe searches his pockets. He finds a handkerchief and wraps it around the gash on Marian’s thumb. “Thank you,” says

Marian. Joe blushes. “Okay,” he says to the others, “let’s keep on moving. We can’t waste any more time.” Lance exhales from exhaustion. But less than twenty minutes later, and everyone is safely on the ground, back in the seclusion of jungle. Their feet sink into the black chalky dust from the firebombing. The place looks like a pet cemetery; dead animals littered everywhere, innocent creatures caught in the conflict of man. “Jesus,” says Edward, “look at this place. It’s a graveyard. I think we should have a moment of silence.” The men nod together and agree. Marian lowers her head with the others. As she stares down in quiet, she notices a set of footprints...but they aren’t of the same pattern as on her own make of boots. They’re not standard issue. They’re different. They have a strange zigzag pattern which runs up and down. “Do you see that?” says Marian to Joe. Joe looks. “I think we’re being watched by somebody,” she continues. ”The footprints stop and turn around. What do you think?” Joe pinches the bottom of his chin like a detective. “I do believe you’re right,” he replies with a nod. “Ugh! You ruined our moment of silence!” screeches Lance. “Do we have to do it again?” asks Edward. “Hell no!” shouts Marian. “We don’t have the time. We gotta skedaddle and follow these damned footprints. It just might lead to Jerry.” And so the men, with Joe’s lead, follow the tracks. 105 Steam rises from the eye holes of Al-Skeleet’s skeleton mask. He stands with his arms out like a false prophet, absorbing the energy of his bowing followers, the minions, the sycophants, and the prisoners. As the morning sun begins to rise, it fills the cave with a penetrative glow of orange. “Praise be!” say the people in a monotonous tone. “Praise be!” Jerry suddenly rises to his feet. The others look with worry as he points with his boney finger. “I’ve had enough of this! You’ve gone too far!” he cries. “You’ve pushed me to the edge and I won’t take it anymore! You can beat me, you can whip me; you can hit me all you want... You can use me as a footstool, you can call me names, you can spit in my face... But you cannot make me worship you! You are not a god! You are less than a god! You are less than a prophet! You are less than a leader! You are not even the dirt under my bare foot!” Al-Skeleet lowers his arms. He runs his finger across the front of his neck, gesturing a death sentence; slash his throat. But Jerry doesn’t care. There is no emotion on his face except for anger. Not seeing his wife-to-be, toiling in the hot sun for a terrorist and laboring away as a slave, has diminished his will to carry on. For him, he would rather die free than to exist as a ghost of flesh and blood...because that is what he is...a mere specter of his former self. “Lower yourself,” whispers a prisoner, pleading with Jerry. “No good will come of this.” Jerry remains standing. His head stays up high, even as he is surrounded by several armed guards, even as his life could end at any moment. Vazul is beckoned by Al-Skeleet and whispered instructions on what to do with the nonconformist.

“Get rid of the cockroach,” instructs Vazul with a sneer. “Take him to the pit, but do not kill him. He will be sacrificed for the ceremony.” The guards take Jerry by the arms. They drag him along the ground as his body goes limp. His heels dig into the dirt, leaving behind a trail...of despair. 106 Jerry is pushed into a pit. He twists his ankle when he hits the bottom. He screams in pain, but the guards ignore him. They form a circle. Their bodies block the sunlight. “If I get out of here,” says Jerry as he gnashes his teeth, “I’m going to kill each and every one of you. I’m going to use my bare hands to crush your windpipes. And I’m going to have a smile on my face with a menthol cigarette between my teeth.” One of the guards kicks back dirt with his heel. “Shut up,” he says. “You’ll be dead in an hour.” Jerry wipes his face. Then reality hits. He stares at the cylindrical wall of muck which surrounds him...literally and figuratively. He thinks about Marian and what could’ve been. If only a different path had been taken, maybe things wouldn’t be the way they are now. But alas, that is wishful thinking. It is too late. Jerry is in a hole and there is no way to dig himself out. “I have to go to the bathroom,” says a guard. The others think he’ll leave and won’t return. “What if you don’t come back?” one responds. “There is no guarantee... You must do it here. Relieve yourself in the hole. It is right behind you. Go ahead. I promise. We will not look.” Jerry hops back and shields himself with his hands. A stream of red urine pours down and splashes erratically. “Are you enjoying it?” says the guard mockingly. “I ate many beets today. That is why I am colored. Haw! Haw! Haw!” 107 The footprints finally stop. They end at the bottom of a large structure...an ancient step-pyramid. “What is going on?” asks Marian. Joe and the others look up with a squint. There is some sort of ritual going on at the very top, but it is hard to make out. The men shuffle forward for a closer look. They cautiously sneak over to the first step of the pyramid, where above Al-Skeleet is wielding a dagger over Jerry on an altar table. He is surrounded by men dressed in brightly colored clothes; ballroom-like costumes. They chant in an unknown language, holding hands and tapping their feet with a rhythm. “It’s Jerry!” cries Marian. “I have to go get him!” She starts to run up, but is held back by Joe. “Stop,” he says in a whispering voice. “What are you doing?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” Edward and Lance lower down, perturbed by what they are seeing. A minion of Al-Skeleet is dropping hot oil onto Jerry’s belly, which makes a sizzling noise as it hits his skin. It sounds like an egg falling into a hot frying pan...sssst! “What’re you going to do to me?” asks Jerry, struggling to free himself from the ropes around his limbs. “Shhh,” replies Al-Skeleet in an effeminate voice. “The lamb cannot speak.” The chanting men suddenly stop dancing. They stand still and raise their arms aloft, as if making an offering to a sky. Al-Skeleet

holds up his dagger, ready to plunge it down. But he hesitates, seeing something in the reflection of its metal. A spot of light hits Lance in the eye. It’s a signal from Al-Skeleet to attack the “voyeurs.” The costumed men spin around. They take out weapons from under their garments and fire a hailstorm of bullets. Joe jumps in front of Marian and takes the brunt of the attack. He drops on the steps. He’s bleeding like a popped balloon. His bulletproof vest couldn’t handle all of that lead. Edward and Lance return fire to Al-Skeleet and his minions as Marian looks at Joe on bended knee. “Joe,” she says, “I’m so sorry.” Joe tears up. With his last ounce of energy, he utters his final words. “I did it for you...” Marian is enraged. She jumps to her feet and rushes up the pyramid, even as guns blaze in her direction. She chucks her only grenade. It explodes and knocks the minions away, clearing a direct path to Al-Skeleet. “You’re mine!” screams Marian with enragement. The prisoners below, at the front of the pyramid, watch with anticipation as Al-Skeleet is rendered weaponless. He takes a bullet in the arm, causing him to drop both his gun and dagger which tumble to the ground like pachinko balls. Marian leaps forward. She tackles Al-Skeleet, thrusting him to the floor. The two scuffle for a moment, then roll down the steps and hit the bottom with violence. They get up and circle each other like boxers in the ring. “You will never win,” says Al-Skeleet with clawed hands. “You are a man, weak and tiresome. You are made to be dominated.” Marian spits out blood from the corner of her mouth. “I’m not a man,” she says. “I’m a woman. Isn’t that surprising?” The prisoners cheer like they’re watching a sports game on TV. AlSkeleet takes off his skeleton mask, revealing his face. It is ugly and scarred all over, as if somebody bathed it in acid...but beneath the torn flesh and disfigurement is a woman. Her sad blue eyes tell a story of a once innocent person. The face of this woman is like a page from a diary. The leathery texture of her skin lets us know the torment she has been through. “What happened to your face?” asks Marian. “Why do you want to know?” says Aaliyah Skeleet with narrowed eyes. “Just curious,” replies Marian. “I was attacked when I was a young woman,” says Aaliyah. “I was dating a westerner. I was forbidden to see him by the elders. When I disobeyed them too many times, I was kidnapped. My father tried to perform an honor killing. My brothers and cousins doused me in gasoline. But I broke free. I ran to the lake and got on a boat. As I was rowing away, they lit a rock wrapped with newspaper and threw it at me. I jumped into the water, but my face was last to go in. And that is why I look like this...a monster.” “You didn’t have to become this way,” says Marian. “You could’ve been something better...a good person.” Aaliyah laughs. “You know nothing of people. They are products of their environment. There is no good or evil, only the reactions to what is given to them.” Marian doesn’t know what to think. All she knows, glancing at the withered prisoners, is that Aaliyah’s reign of terror must end. And so, with a burst of energy, she runs forward, screaming like a Zulu warrior...but clumsily trips and

falls. On her stomach, she feels Aaliyah jump onto her back. Her forehead is being grasped and her head is violently pulled up, exposing her soft neck. “So now,” says Aayliyah to Marian, “how shall I end your life? Shall I strangle you to death? Or should I break your spine? Or should I slash your throat with my nails? I can’t decide.” “Don’t do it,” begs Marian. “Turn back. It’s not too late. You can change. You can start a new life. You can be a new person. Break free from your past.” Aaliyah coils her arms around Marian’s neck, squeezing her with an abnormally powerful grip. Marian’s eyes bulge and turn bloodshot. Her skin turns from red to purple. She pleads one last time. “I’m sorry for what the world has done to you,” she says, “but I am not your enemy.” Aaliyah looks to the side, staring at her reflection in a puddle of water. The pupils in her icy blue eyes begin to dilate. She is suddenly overwhelmed with guilt and sympathy. But as more memories flood into her mind, rage, vengeance, and fury takes over her heart; manifesting itself into hatred. And Marian is strangled to death. “I am sorry it had to end this way,” says Aayliyah, “but I had no choice. I do what I must to survive.” She stands and begins to walk away...but finds herself surrounded by prisoners who have broken free. They pick up baseball-sized rocks from the ground and hurl them as hard as they can. Aaliyah is knocked out instantaneously when she receives a square blow to the temple. Her body crumples and lays spread out like a bird who could not fly and fell from a tree. It’s a sad sight to see, but this misunderstood villain is finally defeated. Hopefully those who have been affected by the tyranny will take solace in the bittersweet end of this chaos and madness. 108 Jerry comes down the pyramid with helicopters and tanks following behind. He runs to Marian and drops on his knees. He turns her over and shakes her body, trying to make her awake...but she is asleep forever. She is dead; a fresh casualty of war, there is no return for our heroine. “Marian!” cries Jerry. “Please! Don’t leave me! I love you! Remember?! We were supposed to be together forever! Remember?! We were supposed to get married?!” He collapses with tears. One of the prisoners grabs his hand, trying to pull him away, but Jerry holds on to Marian’s cold dead body; squeezing it within his arms as if a miracle might happen, as if she might suddenly wake up and the nightmare will be over. Desperately, Jerry clasps his hands together and shuts his eyes. As he cries with tears running down his cheeks, he prays and prays. He prays harder than he’s ever prayed before. “God, please. Don’t leave me alone on this earth. I can’t live without Marian. Please, bring her back to me. I beg of you. I’m on my knees. If only you grant me one favor in my life, may this be it. Are you listening? Are you there, God?” Nothing happens. Jerry rises from his knees and starts to walk away. With a lowered head, he drags his feet along the ground. They feel heavy like anvils, barely able to lift. But as all hope seems lost, a ray of glittering light suddenly

shines down. The wind blows and the clouds part from above. The sky opens up, revealing the sun. “Jerry!” cries a voice. “Is that you?! Is that really you?!” “Could it be?” says Jerry aloud in his head. Then he slowly turns around. Marian runs into his arms. The two embrace each other with tears of joy. But odd as it is, the two do not kiss. Being with each other now, after such long separation, is a euphoria in itself which is beyond that which words can describe. 109 Marian and Jerry hold hands on the airplane. They look out the window and watch as their hometown, Devils Lake, gets larger. “Marian,” says Jerry, “how did you know I was alive in that country? I mean, I don’t mean to be a downer here, but I could’ve very well dead. What was it that kept you going?” Marian leans her head on Jerry’s shoulder, snuggling against his sweater. “Sometimes,” replies Marian, “you find strength in tragedy. You get jolted one day and decide you’re not going to take it anymore. But really, all the motivation I needed was you. That’s it. My love for you...that’s what kept me going. When you were gone, I would close my eyes and think about you. I would imagine the way you smelled, the way you talked; the way you touched me. What gal wouldn’t risk her life for that?” Tucker, Edward, and Lance appear behind the seats. “Aw,” says Lance, “are you two having a private conversation? What about? Gonna make sweet love when we touch down? I know I’m going to. Gonna kiss the asphalt and thank God for putting me on this big blue marble.” “God? I thought you said were an Atheist,” replies Marian. “What happened to that?” Lance puts his arms around Tucker and Edward and pulls them in closer. “I made a deal with somebody,” says Lance with a smirk, “and He came through. So I don’t care what the naysayers tell me. I know what I believe is real. All the outside opinions are just noise. It’s my mind and it takes me to the truth; where I want to, where I wish to be.” “Ha! Wow,” says Edward, “that’s some real heavy stuff! Hey, maybe you should go on ‘The Oprah Winfrey Show.’ I’m pretty sure she’s into that sort of thing. Who doesn’t like a good story about a life changing experience? From Satan’s door to God’s gates.” Tucker suddenly starts to snicker. “Guys,” he says with eyes lowered down, “maybe we should give these two lovebirds some private time, huh?” Marian and Jerry are engaged into passionate kiss; their lips twisted together like a pair of plants grown in the same pot. “Welcome back to America,” says the Captain to the soldiers as the airplane lands. “Mission accomplished.” 110 “Dearly beloved,” begins the priest, “we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the presence of these witnesses, to join Marian Hopkins and Jerry Whitaker in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocence, signifying to us the mystical union which is between Christ and His Church. Which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with His presence

at the first miracle which He wrought in Cana of Galilee, and is commended of the Apostle Paul to be honorable among all men, and is therefore not to be entered into lightly or inadvisably, but reverently, discreetly, and in the fear of God...” Marian squeezes Jerry’s hand with delight. “Into which holy estate,” continues the priest, “Marian and Jerry come now to be joined and to unite two hearts and lives, blending all interest, sympathies, and hopes. I charge and entreat you, therefore, in entering upon and sustaining this hallowed union, to seek the favor and blessing of Him whose favor is life, whose blessing maketh rich and addeth no sorrow. Let us now seek His blessing...” The wedding march song begins to play on organ. Its slow pace seems to slow down time, filling the air with a sense of majesty and hope for a new future. Marian’s eyes, along with Jerry, start to well up. She looks around: at her family, at her friends, and the pictures of the lost ones from the war. She is overwhelmed with emotions. It feels like she’s choking; but in the good way that only love can do. A little boy dressed in a vest, Brian, walks down the red carpet with two rings on a velvet pillow. He presents the jewelry, beaming with pride. “Jerry Whitaker, do you take this woman,” asks the priest, “to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in the Holy Estate of Matrimony, to love, honor, comfort her and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep you only unto her as long as you both shall live?" “I do,” replies Jerry. The priest turns to his left. “Marian Hopkins, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in the Holy Estate of Matrimony, to love, honor, comfort him and keep him in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep you only unto him as long as you both shall live?” Marian gives a soft smile. “I do,” she says with a gentle nod. “You may now exchange rings,” instructs the priest. Marian and Jerry put their wedding bands on each others’ fingers. Jerry drops to bended knee and holds his bride’s hand. “Marian,” he says, ““there is no language in the world that cannot describe my love for you...which is ceaseless and never ending. I hope that we will always be together, in times of good and bad.” Marian lowers down, too, looking Jerry directly in his eyes. “Jerry,” she replies, “don’t ever stop being yourself. That’s all I want and all I ever need. Love me as I love you; today and tomorrow.” The priest clasps his hands together and announces, “I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss!” The people in the church wipe away their tears of joy with tissues and hankies. Marian bends Jerry over and plants a scintillating kiss on his lips. “Atta girl!” shouts Karen with hands curved around her mouth like a megaphone. “Don’t forget to come up for air!” Everyone laughs. Marian and Jerry run down the aisle with linked arms. They burst through the church’s front doors as newlyweds and close their eyes while being sprinkled with white rice and confetti. They hop into the black limousine which awaits them outside. “So,” says Mel as he tips his hat behind the wheel, “where can I take you two?” “Anywhere is fine with me,” declares Marian, “as long as we’re together.” The limo spins its wheels against the road and takes off through the swaying palm

trees. A sign can be seen at the back, plastered in the rear window: “Just Married!” Empty cans jingle behind; attached to the bumper with silver ribbons. 111 A cork pops into the air. A champagne bottle tilts, pouring into two long slender glasses. Marian and Jerry interlock arms and sip the Moet. The bubbles go up their noses. “Tingly,” says Marian. Jerry kisses her on the cheek. “My wife,” he says, “what shall we do on our honey moon?” The stars twinkle in the clear sky. The moon is full and bright. Marian leans against the yacht’s rail. She breathes in the scent of the ocean and watches fish jump through the water. “Does it even matter what we do?” Jerry takes her by the hand. He arcs his eyebrow with a devilish smirk. “I have an idea of what we could do.” “What is that?” asks Marian. She feels her hand being grabbed. Jerry takes her across the deck and he opens the door to the boat cabin. THE END