She was all pigtails and flushed cheeks the night she decided to leave me. We sat in my classic 1978 Ford Bronco, my pride and joy. She had her foot up on the dash, her red gypsy skirt riding high, showing off her brown tanned leg. Pink Floyd was the soundtrack to our break up that night. And until this day, whenever I hear the song ‘Wish You Were Here,’ I can almost smell the scent of the wet asphalt, that humid night. It had been a sultry, hot day and we had hoped for rain. The dark grey clouds appeared and gave us a slight reprieve, huge fat drops that sizzled when they hit the asphalt and went away almost as quickly as they came. The dark, ominous clouds stayed though, thick and full of rain, mirroring the way I felt that night, the tears that brimmed under the surface.

She told me she wanted to do so many things. Her restless spirit yearned for adventure. She wanted to explore the pyramids, work in impoverished countries, island hop in Greece, walk along the Thames, start a charity, be a Bedouin in the desert, live in the mountains, write a novel about her travels. Her list was endless and exhausting.

I pleaded with her. Told her I would join her. But deep down I knew I had already lost her. I could almost see, reflected back in her dark brown eyes, the sights she longed for.
She told me she still loved me but this was not the right time for us. When the right time came, she would contact me, and it would work because it was meant to.
“I’ll meet you on a sunny road somewhere,” she whispered drawing me close.
I didn’t believe her though. It was just something to say, to make it hurt a little less. She left me that night and took a piece of my heart with her.

I never received one letter. Her adventures came back to me through the grapevine. She was living in Africa, helping sick children, dating a Morrocan man. Rumors slowly faded, as friends moved away or dropped out of my life, as friends do.

I moved on of course. I dated other girls but they never lasted long. Finally I married, and then not much later, divorced. I never really forgot her. On hot humid days I would think of her, how she looked on that last night. Her smooth brown eyes as she looked at me over her shoulder, one last time.

I had come home from work early the day it came. Jumbled up with all the other bills I didn’t notice it right away. It was an airmail envelope, a rarity in these days of email. Ripping open the envelope as I kicked off my work boots, I opened the small piece of lined paper inside. It only contained a few words.

‘It’s time ….meet me on the sunny road?”

I was floored, my mouth hung open, my stomach clenched in a tight knot. I scanned quickly down to the bottom of the page where she had included an address, a date and time. The address was not far from here. A road close by, that led to the river we used to go swimming in, together.

*************************************************************************************

I feel giddy as I sit on my hood, on the shoulder, waiting. I remember that humid night, the last time we saw each other. The smell as the big fat drops of rain hit the asphalt. Eucalyptus trees line the road, their stark white trunks a contrast to the drab, olive green of their leaves. A blue sedan drives towards me and stops across the road. Is this him? Has he even received my letter? The sun beats down hot and I’m blinded by the glare of the sun hitting the car’s side mirror. My stomach is butterflies, flitting here and there. He steps out of the car and it is him, just the same. He runs across the road, that lopsided grin, and grabs me in his embrace. His lanky arms envelop me and I look up into his blue eyes. The same crinkly blue eyes I had looked into a lifetime ago. And I am home.

It had been the day from hell.

My boss, who is a firm believer that management is a blood sport, decided to indulge his passion by setting his ever-so-loyal minions against each other. When it was finally time to leave the “arena”, my parking access badge wouldn’t work, forcing me (and the six cars behind me) to back up so that I could switch over to the lane run by a live person. The commute home was highlighted by a blinding flash – a flash that could only mean that my picture had been captured in Technicolor by the Department of Transportation. My copy would arrive in six to eight weeks, accompanied by my formal citation for running the red light and a bill of $75 for services rendered.

As I pulled into my driveway, I couldn’t wait to get out of my suit, grab a beer, then settle down in front of the TV. A couple of beers and some sports highlights would go a long way towards erasing the day’s stress.

Before I had the key out of the ignition, my wife was standing in the doorway waiting for me. From the look on her face, I knew she had something exciting to share. We’d been trying to have a baby for several months – could our dream be coming true? Could my little swimmers have finally won the race?

I grabbed my briefcase and rushed over to her.

“Honey, I have great news,” she said, throwing her arms around my neck. I held her tight, waiting for confirmation of the impending event.

“My mom’s here for a visit,” she continued. “She’s going to be here for a week. Isn’t that exciting?”

The room spun, then everything started to go black.

“Honey, are you OK? Mark, can you hear me?” The panic in her voice kick-started my breathing. I took a couple of deep breaths and the room returned to normal.

“I’m sorry, Vicki,” I said. “I don’t think I heard you right. Did you say that your mother is here?”

“Yeah, isn’t it exciting? And she was so sweet about it! She wanted to surprise us for our anniversary, so she flew out from Chicago this morning. She’s going to stay an entire week!” In her excitement, Vicki didn’t notice my sudden pallor.

“That’s great, honey,” I said with considerably less enthusiasm. I pushed past her in a desperate attempt to get to a chair. The edges of my vision were fading again, and the thought of a week of “quality time” with my mother-in-law was having a strange effect on my legs.

“We’re going to go to the outlet mall tomorrow, to the art museum on Wednesday, to the…”

“Mark!” I cringed as I heard a familiar screech.

“Mom,” I replied dully.

“Stand up and give me a hug,” she said, pulling me from my chair. I dutifully stood up as she wrapped her pudgy arms around me.

“Is that the best you can do for your favorite mother-in-law?” she asked.

I reluctantly gave her a quick hug.

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” I said in a monotone voice.

“I’m so excited to be here! I thought this would be the perfect anniversary present for you. After all, this might be the last one that you two celebrate without the patter of tiny feet,” she said with a wink.

Disengaging from her embrace, I headed to the fridge for a beer.

“Oh no, you don’t want to drink that! Not if you’re going to give me my first grandchild any time soon! Here, have a Diet Coke instead.” The beer disappeared.

The rest of the night was a blur. I vaguely remember dinner and hours of mother-in-law dominated conversation. Pleading a headache, I finally fled to bed.

The bedroom door closed softly as Vicki joined me.

“Are you ready to work on that grandchild?” she whispered. My “headache” disappeared as her shadowed form moved towards me.

“Goodnight, kids. Have fun!” Vicki froze as her mother’s voice drifted through the wall.

“I think that grandchild will have to wait,” Vicki whispered.

I groaned softly. It was going to be a very long week.

------------

Thanks to Galoot for inspiring this!

The factory was as large as a football field and efficiently computerized. The product base compounds arrived in railroad cars, and were quickly deployed to the beginning of a long and complicated line. The large extruders were midway in the process, and it was here that RDx1954 and RDx9853 first met.

They literally bumped into each other.

"Whoa! What was that?" said a bewildered RDx1954, as he looked around at the organized chaos on the conveyor belt. "Where the heck are we?"

"Not sure. Get OFF me," squeaked RDx9853, "You are standing on my... my..."

"Well, I'm not sure what this is!"

RDx9853's squeaking voice was abruptly cut off as the two pieces fell into a giant hopper. RDx1954 happened to land directly on RDx9853, and they became connected. No one seemed to mind, as quite a lot of the other pieces were connected as well.

It just felt right, somehow, to hold on to the familiar. RDx1954 and RDx9853 became great friends, and were rather infamous. If there was fun to be had and trouble to be found, the two buddies were right in the middle of it.

Eventually they ended up on another conveyor belt and with a rather large THUMP they were jolted apart. RDx9853 watched with horror as his buddy disappeared down a tube towards another hopper. RDx1954 struggled to jump back onto the conveyor belt with RDx9853, but it just wasn't possible.

RDx9853 sat down, and thought "I'll never see my buddy again."

RDx9853 was abruptly sucked up into the painting machines and before he knew it, he had 3 white stripes on his side. The stripes dried almost instantly and he couldn't help but wonder what they were for. Then with a lot of fanfare and excitement, RDx9853 found himself sealed into a BSP (Bag, Special Parts) with other intricate pieces.

The BSP was inserted in a MB (Medium Box) and packed in cartons of 12. They were loaded on railcars and shipped out to stores across the country. The box that RDx9853 was in was eventually unloaded in a large brilliantly lit store, and he was fortunate to be placed towards the front of the shelf. He could watch the people going by, and sometimes, they would actually pick up his box and stare intently into it. RDx9853 always tried to look his best and would turn his white stripes towards the viewing area.

One day, RDx9853 found himself zipping across a barcode reader and into a shopping bag. He was leaving the store! He had been bought!

"Oh, how proud RDx1954 would be, to see me being bought!" Thought RDx9853, "I wish he was here to share this moment with me."

RDx9853 found himself consigned to the darkness not long after being bought at the store. His box had been covered with paper, and it was rather dark. Occasionally, the wrapped box would be picked up and shaken, but other than that, all the pieces got a little bored. RDx9853 tried to keep everyone's spirits up by inventing new games and telling jokes.

But then, oh glorious day! The box was unwrapped, the BSP was opened and at long last all the pieces were assembled in their proper place. RDx9853 took his position with pride, and vowed to hold it without complaint. All the pieces held together relatively well for the most part, but there was some dissatisfaction and complaining. RDx9853 became known as a wise piece, a great negotiator, and was generally looked favorably upon.

One day, after not being disturbed for quite some time, the pieces were suddenly tossed into a giant box with all kinds of other assemblages. As you can imagine, this caused a lot of separation and fear. The worried pieces began to quarrel and argue. As he listened to the voices rise in anger, RDx9853 thought he heard a familiar voice.

RDx9853 managed to make his way over to where the voice was coming from, and much to his surprise, it was RDx1954! After all this time - there he was! The two pieces connected again just like they had never been apart.

"Hey, buddy! Where have you been?" said RDx9853.

"Oh, here and there, here and there," said RDx1954 with a smile, "You know how it is. Old Legos never die, they just get reconnected."

The airport was crowded with its usual traffic of business travelers, vacationers, people seeing people off, people picking people up, and people who lived nearby who came to people-watch. Men in suits jostled women juggling babies and luggage. A woman on a motorized cart almost ran over a family of four as she rushed to her gate. An abandoned luggage trolley blocked the entry to another gate, and at a third the line for the security check threaded its way halfway across the terminal.

Jenny noticed none of this. She ran a nervous hand over her face, as if making sure her lipstick hadn’t smudged onto her forehead in her anxious state. She juggled a welcome sign in one hand, and her four-month-old daughter in the other.

It had been a long year. The day before her long-time boyfriend had been shipped off to fight in Iraq, she had found out she was pregnant. It had taken some fast talking at the courthouse to get them to waive the waiting period for a marriage license, and even faster talking to get a judge to squeeze a ceremony in her already tight schedule with no notice. Every step of Jenny’s pregnancy had been alone. She had her mother, and his, of course, but they were little solace the day she’d started bleeding, or the day she fell at work. Their joy could not erase her loneliness the day she told the ultrasound technician that there would be nobody accompanying her when she found out the baby’s gender. They could not coach her through the utter devastation she felt at delivering their first child without Joe by her side, and weren’t there to help her through those first few difficult weeks of sleeplessness and diapers and bottles. She’d had to select the nursery decor on her own. She had put together the crib, folded tiny clothes into neat piles for the dresser, sorted baby toys from toddler toys, written thank you cards, and perused baby name books, all on her own. Letters were few and far between, and there had been a very difficult three weeks while she waited to hear from him after she saw on the news his unit had fallen under enemy fire.

And yet, now, here she was, waiting outside gate 83, watching the scrolling lights above the entrance announcing that Joe’s flight was on time. Three minutes more, and the plane would land. She watched the windows for signs of his flight, but there were so many planes that there was no way to tell which was his. One rolled past the entrance ramp to his gate, only to stop at another one a few gates down. Another merely circled around to destinations unknown. Finally, a voice on the loudspeaker announced the arrival of Flight 92 from Atlanta. She held her breath as the first few people came out of the gate. The first time she saw camo, her heart leapt in her throat, only to lurch back down in disappointment when she realized it was just a surly teenager. Finally, she saw combat boots. Looking higher, she saw the uniform, and finally, the name patch and smile she longed to see.

Their eyes met. There were tears in his, and she saw them shift to the baby in her arms. The short distance between them felt like miles. The crowd seemed suddenly aware of what was happening, and shifted. Nobody was too busy to notice their surroundings now. Nobody wanted to stand between a soldier and the family he was returning to. They gathered around and watched as he made his way to his wife and child.

“Welcome home,” Jenny whispered around the lump in her throat when he finally reached her. “I’d like to introduce you to your daughter, Liberty. You told me once that’s what you were fighting for, so I wanted to make sure that’s what you came home to.”

Joe took the baby from Jenny, and wrapped his free arm around her. As he kissed his child for the first time, someone began to clap. Suddenly, the entire terminal was filled with applause for a soldier and his family.

Charlie idly watched the pedestrians from his cafe window seat, wondering if he'd recognize her. Doubtful, he thought, after all it'd been 64 years since that last lazy afternoon they'd spent together. At his age, memories start to fade, but there was no forgetting Stella. A classic beauty with flowing golden hair that had glinted in the bright Florida sunshine.

They'd been separated by the sudden onset of the war. Charlie's father was immediately deployed to Hawaii while Charlie and his mother were bundled up and sent to live with his grandparents in Michigan. Two years later, Charlie found himself in the South Pacific as well and thoughts of his golden-haired beauty faded amidst the horrors of war.

Returning home a decorated hero, Charlie did as many of his fellow soldiers did. He got married and moved on with his life. It was not till much later when time and experience had given him enough distance to handle the painful memories of war that he once again thought of Stella. Once he realized he had to be reunited with Stella, it took thirty years to locate the girl from that long-ago beach. This would fill the empty spot that had dogged Charlie for all these long years. His heart racing in anticipation, he took a sip of water and a deep breath.

And suddenly, she was there. The expression on her face was a mixture of hope and wariness. "Charlie?" she asked, holding out her hand.

Surprised, Charlie stumbled to his feet, ignoring the outstretched hand. Not trusting his voice, he simply reached out his arms and pulled her into a trembling but firm embrace. Hugging him back, her face lost the wariness and filled with joy.

Stepping back, Charlie waved her to the empty seat and waited for her to sit. Taking his own seat, Charlie opened the conversation to set them both at ease. "You look wonderful. What have you been doing all these years?"

As expected, she launched into a lengthy discourse, centered mostly in the details of small-town life. As she concluded, Charlie asked, "So you never married?"

"No," she replied, looking down demurely and patting her purse in a quick, nervous gesture.

Continuing in a gentle tone, Charlie asked, "Do you remember that last day together on the beach?"

"How could I forget?" she said, looking up at Charlie. "It was the day before Pearl Harbor. I don't know if you remember, Charlie, but you gave me something very special that day and I've kept it with me ever since."

His heart suddenly slamming inside his chest, Charlie struggled to keep his composure. "Really?"

"Yes," she said, reaching into her purse. "You didn't want to lose it while swimming. It was kind of funny, but you were so serious when you said, 'This is the most important thing I have. I am trusting you as if it were my very life.' " As she finished, she opened her hand to reveal the simple gold colored coin.

"Ahhhh, yes indeed." Charlie replied, gently picking the coin out of her hand. It looked remarkably the same, as if she had indeed kept it safe.

"I knew you'd come back someday Charlie. I knew. That's why I've been waiting."

"Huh?" Charlie tore his eyes from the coin. "Oh, right. Look I need to be going. I appreciate you meeting me." Looking back down at the coin nestled in his hand, Charlie whispered, "Stella."

A look of confusion on her face, the woman replied, "Charlie? I'm Sarah, not Stella."

Flipping a twenty onto the table, Charlie stood to leave. "I know. The coin is named Stella, which you would've noticed if you'd ever looked at it closely. This baby is the last coin I need to complete my collection of all the gold dollars minted in the US. By itself, it's worth about $120,000. Thanks for returning it."

And with the coin, featuring a rubenesque woman with flowing hair, securely tucked away in a case, Charlie turned and left the cafe and woman behind. He was reunited with Stella at last.

“I can’t believe you invited him to stay here!” Stacy screamed.

“Shhh,” Bob urged. “You’ll wake Joey.”

“Oh, so now all the sudden you’re concerned with our son,” Stacy continued. “But he obviously wasn’t on your mind five minutes ago.”

Stacy was referring to the phone conversation her husband had just concluded. She had been washing dishes and strained to listen to what he had been saying. Bob hadn’t been on the phone long, but she was sure the result of the talk would irreparably damage their family life.

“Why would you even think of allowing him to come here?” Stacy demanded.

“Well,” Bob countered, “after all he is –”

“What did he do?” Stacy interrupted.

“What do you mean?” Bob asked.

“You know what I mean. What did he do? Why was he in prison?”

“I don’t know. I think he stole some stuff from his neighbors,” Bob answered.

Stacy just stared at Bob. She was fuming, but couldn’t quite articulate her feelings. She didn’t know if it was Bob’s indifference or his insensitivity to her concerns that angered her the most. She plunged her hands into the hot water and began fishing for the dishrag. Finally, she blurted out, “Don’t you think that he’d probably steal from us as well?”

“I think he’s changed. He needed money for drugs. But he’s clean now.” Bob didn’t sound entirely convincing.

“Oh that’s just great,” Stacy said, throwing the rag down on the counter. “I’m supposed to just sit back and enjoy having a drug-using thief have free reign over my house. I don’t think –”

Just then, Joey shuffled into the kitchen. He was wearing his footed pajamas and neither parent had heard him approach. “Mommy, why are you yelling at Daddy?”

“Oh, Joey! You scared me!” Stacy exclaimed.

“Hey big guy,” Bob said, trying to smooth things over. “Your mom and I are just having a discussion. Nothing to worry about.”

“But she sounds so mad,” Joey insisted.

“Nah,” Bob countered. “That’s just adult talk. Everything’s fine. Go give your mom a hug. And then I’ll give you a horsie ride back to your room.”

“Goodnight sweetie,” Stacy said, giving Joey a big hug.

“Night, Mom,” Joey said as Bob swept him off the floor and onto his shoulders.

Stacy stood and listened at the end of the hallway. Her two “guys” were giggling together about some private joke. She had to admit that Bob was an excellent father. He always seemed to have an extra ounce of patience just when hers was running thin.

When Bob returned, he pulled out a kitchen chair, sat down, and stretched out his legs. “Now where were we?” he sighed.

“You’re a wonderful man, Bob,” Stacy began. “And I love you dearly. I just don’t understand why you feel you have to share everything we’ve made for ourselves with a complete stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger. He’s my son,” Bob insisted.

“A son you’ve never met,” Stacy countered. “Why do you feel so obligated?”

“Look, Stacy,” Bob said, “I was young and stupid. I did many things I’d rather not even think about. But one thing I did has come back to haunt me. I’ve been talking with Gus for about a month now. He gets out of prison next week. I can’t simply turn my back on him. Not now.”

“Why?” Stacy asked helplessly, drying her hands on her jeans.

“Because back then I had no choice,” Bob explained. “When my girlfriend’s parents found out she was pregnant, they sent her away. I was told they forced her to give the child up for adoption, but I never saw her again.”

“Did you love her?” Stacy demanded.

“So that’s what this is all about,” Bob said with a sudden realization.

“What do you mean? All I want to know is whether or not you loved that girl,” Stacy said. Her bottom lip was quivering and she was close to tears.

When Bob stood up to wrap his strong and supportive arms around her, Stacy began to sob. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t understand. But now I do.”

And they stood there in the middle of the kitchen, holding each other, listening to the soft popping of the suds in the sink.

Click, clack, click, clack. I love the sound they make on the footpath as I walk along the usual route, from the train station to work. They are resplendent in this morning light. Bronze, open toed, with a stiletto heel. The shop next door to work is all windows and I look at my reflection as I pass. The shoes make me taller, part of their appeal.

“Oooooh nice shoes Penn,” the secretary smiles at me as I walk through the front door.
I smile back, “Got them on Saturday.”
“Oh have you worn them yet, you’ll probably get blisters?”
“Nah, they are actually really comfortable despite appearances,” I say, dismissing her comment.

More oohs and ahhs in the staffroom. Ladies crowd around to admire my latest purchase. Questions are thrown at me. I respond to them all.
“How much?”
“Where did you get them?”
“Nice, do they have them in black?”

Wow I like your shoes, Miss!” a girl squeals at me as I walk towards my classroom.
“Thanks Yasmeen,” I smile back at her. They are fabulous and they do look so good with my black trousers. I click clack down the hall and into my classroom, admiring my shoes all the way, already thinking about the clothing ensemble I can match them with, tomorrow.

At recess time, on my way down the stairs to the playground, I first notice the burning in the balls of my feet. I flex my feet back and forth and take turns leaning on one foot, while I watch children run around in their sensible, black school shoes.

Back in class, the burning continues, and as I pace around the classroom, I notice a new pain. My little toes jammed into these petite shoes are starting to clamour for freedom. I sit at my desk hoping to save my feet.

By lunch break my feet are screaming. Entering the staffroom I sit at the table, taking out my lunch. A new compliment about my shoes. I smile wryly, grimacing at my feet.
“Yeah, they probably aren’t the best shoes for work, though,” I admit.

Blisters have now formed on the backs of my heels. The back of the shoes rub against the blisters bursting them, and increasing the pain a thousandfold. I plaster band aids all over my heels. The burning in the balls of my feet has now increased. It feels like a blow torch is being held to the bottoms of my feet. My little toes are prisoners of war, being gripped in a metal vice.

I spend the afternoon at my desk. The school bell rings and I usher the children out. As I walk to the train station, I try to ignore the throbbing in my feet. I practice deep breathing and counting to ten, until I start to feel like a woman in labour.

I don’t get a seat on the train. I curse the people sitting on the seats near me, looking contented and happy in their prudently chosen shoes. Uni students loaf about, leaning on poles or sprawled on seats, comfortable in their flip flops.

Finally an elderly lady gets off the train and I hobble over to take her now vacant spot. The man next to me is extremely rotund, so I barely have room to slide in next to him. He is sweating profusely and giving off a strong body odour. Nothing will make me give up my seat though. I close my eyes and think of my black Havianna flip flops at home. Black and rubbery, they represent salvation.

It’s a five minute walk from the train station to my home. It feels like I am walking on hot coals the whole way. I unlock the door, and kick each foot in the air, watching my bronze coloured shoes fly through the hallway and hit the back wall with a thud. I sigh with relief as my toes are allowed to once more take on their natural forms and positions. My flip flops sit where they always are, at the front door. Trustworthy and no nonsense they beckon to me. I slide my foot into one, then the other, as relief and overwhelming joy wash over me, like I’m being reunited with a long lost lover.

Josephine Rockwell had gone to Dwayne’s apartment for a nice dinner of spaghetti and wine, his specialty. It was their second year anniversary, and Dwayne had something to tell her. She dressed in her little black dress and high heels. Josephine made sure to put extra lotion on her hands, in anticipation of the only thing she felt Dwayne would talk to her about. Marriage- this is something she had wanted since a little girl. When she rang the doorbell she was surprised to see Dwayne in his normal torn jeans and t-shirt. She smelled the garlic of the dinner to come, and saw something disturbing in his eyes.

Dwayne took Josephine gently by the hand and led her to the table. As he uncorked the wine she could hear the rain begin to fall. She looked out the window to see it was already freezing to the panes. The wind howled as Dwayne handed her the wine and told her that he was seeing someone else. As Josephine’s glass soared by his face, he thanked God that he hadn’t yet given her the plate of spaghetti.

Sobbing, her chest heaving, Josephine ran out the door and into her car. She sat there listening to the freezing rain beat against the windshield as she relived the past two years. Finally, Josephine grabbed the ice scraper and walked outside the car to begin scraping the windshield. She was so wrapped in her own thoughts she didn’t hear the faint screech of tires down the street. She didn’t see the truck that had lost control. She didn’t feel the danger until she was pinned between the truck and her own car. Josephine only felt the warmth of her blood as it left her, then nothing.

-----

“Josie, Josie, can you hear me? Stick with me damn it!” There was a bright light as an EMT pried open Josephine’s eyes to shine in a flashlight.

“There’s no movement Ed, let’s just - ”

“Let’s just what?” shouted Ed as he slammed on her chest to begin CPR. Josephine had already been strapped to the gurney and was in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

“Let’s just let the doctors handle it, there’s nothing more we can do now.”

Ed looked at his partner, and then Josephine. Despite the damage done to her body, he could tell she was beautiful. Her driver's license showed she wasn't more than twenty-five. The one thing he hated about this job was when he had to watch young people die. They arrived at St. Vincent’s, sirens blaring, and Ed ran in alongside her gurney praying for a response.

-----

Josephine opened her eyes and saw green. Well, she thought it was green, but if this grass she was standing on was really green, then all other grass must have been grey. She was in a field, and saw some trees in the distance. The leaves swayed in a faint breeze that brought to her the scent of apples. To her left she saw a rainbow. Josephine hadn’t seen a rainbow since she was fifteen years old. Under the rainbow was a bridge. She decided to walk toward the bridge.

On the other side of the bridge, unbeknownst to Josephine, there was movement. Something had caught her scent and began running toward her. It began to fly over the green grass. Josephine, excited at the openness around her, decided to run. She felt each and every blade massage her feet. She ran faster, and the animal on the other side sped up as well.

Josephine ran straight to the bridge, but paused before stepping onto it. She was amazed that she wasn’t out of breath. She looked over the bridge and gasped. There stood Kasey, her first love. He stood on all fours, his tail wagging furiously behind him. Her little Kasey had taught her that she could love. His devotion and protection had seen her through high school, college, and her first boyfriend. Kasey was the best dog anyone could ever have. She knelt down and Kasey bounded across the bridge and into her arms. She lifted him up, holding on for dear life as he showered her with kisses. Laughing in delight, crying from overwhelming emotions, they crossed the rainbow bridge together.

She was a gorgeous fixation; a lanky, pouting, delight of a woman. Her eyes exuded a self confidence that held her strong in her abilities. The bandages fall from my face, and I look in the mirror. The hint of her has been highlighted; I can see the lips and cheeks of her. The eyes are almost right, but the swelling masks the face I knew.

Promises of fluid reduction and fading scars fill my head on the way home. I close my eyes and breathe in the air of a new nose, a better nose. I glance in the mirror, and see the youthful wisps of hair envelop me. I am taken back to long drives down by the shore; I can feel the warmth of the sun and the salty breeze on my checks. I turn into the drive.

I can’t help but head for a mirror, I must see her again. The image changes, passing through days and weeks. I almost didn’t notice her as I scrubbed the toothbrush back and forth. There she is staring back at me; as if she is in a time portal, seeing what I have done in order to be her. She looks at me with disappointment, not at all the reaction I expected. Her words to me are ones I would never forget, “Your beauty is only evident when you are proud to be the person you’ve become.”

I hang my head, the tears fall into the basin and swirl with the paste down the drain. All my effort to return to the woman I used to be, was a burden now relieved by the fading guilt of not loving myself. I look back to the mirror and see the piecemealed version. A deep breath and a sigh later, I am dressed and out the door. I am ready…

The metal of the cuffs chaffed his skin yet he hardly noticed because his mind was filled with thoughts of her. He wondered what the moment would be like when he saw her and she saw him. Would she look him in the eye?
He shuffled along the hallway chain clinking with each unnaturally short step as if he were an old man. What would she say? How would she feel to be face to face after so long? How would he feel? What if she didn’t come? He didn’t think he could take it if she didn’t come, she was scheduled to be here, but it was all up to her. Would she be here?
She had been everything to him once but he never knew what she thought of him. They had history and he had once owned photos where it looked like love in her eyes. He could hope only that she would be here not daring to dream she would love him. Had she ever loved him?
People were talking around him but he paid them little attention he only wanted to get to her to see her even if he could never touch her again. He wondered what it would feel like to have her touch him but no she wouldn’t be allowed to touch him. She had touched him many times but it was but a dream to him now.
How much had this time apart aged her? Would he know her, yes he would know her surely she had not changed enough to have him not spot her even if she were in a crowd. Everything had been about her, her looks, her smell, her love they had all been her in her absence did she know? What had she read? What had they told her?
The guard was opening the heavy door, was this it? Was she in the next room?
No, this was not a visitor’s room! Panic surged in his mind, he would not see her she was not here or they were keeping her from him, he needed her to be here. He struggled but the hands that were on him were too powerful to fight.
“Where is she?’ he asked in a child like voice.
They forced him on the table without a word. The fight went out of him as his cuffs and his leg chains were replaces with straps. The room was clean and bright and had a curtain across one wall. He perked up when he thought of what could be behind the curtain, was it her? Hiding from him? Maybe just maybe he would see her after all.
People were talking again but he just stared at the curtain willing it to open and reveal her. Now he could feel her there just out of view. The longing was almost too much to take his heart beat increased so much it was all he could hear. Open, open, open!
First with just a twitch then a real movement the fabric that screened her from him opened. His breath caught in his throat it really was her!
He would have known her anywhere. All the others had flaws when he got them close they were never quite right, never really her. His lawyers and everyone else couldn’t understand why he would even ask for her to be here, or why she would come. He feared she would come as much as he feared she would not.
Now here they were face to face.
He smiled at her, swallowed the lump in his throat and readied himself to speak.
“Hello Mother”
Was that a tear? Did she feel pain? No he knew well she felt no pain, he had killed her many times but she always came back, she was smiling at him. Smiling? Yes, he was after all her creation, the culmination of her sick and twisted games. They took him from her when he was eleven but by then it was too late, he was hers.
Her mouth was moving but he could not hear her words.
A heat surged up his arm, searing a pathway towards his heart.
She placed a hand on the glass.
His eyes were heavy he fought to keep them open to keep her in view. Her image blurred.
“Why!” he screamed
Same as they had all screamed at him when he took them.
His eyes closed.
All he could think was she had come to be with him one last time.