Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad, Iraq. His work has appeared in print and online journals globally and has poems translated into several languages. He has been nominated for Best of the Net 2018. He is the author of The Bleeding Heart Poet, Love On The War’s Frontline, Gas Chamber, Wounds from Iraq, and Roofs of Dreams. He lives in Montreal, Canada. Cried on My Own I said a few silly jokes, people laughed at me I shared my pain, people judged me I tried to focus on my happiness, but I failed terribly I learned to write poetry and cried on my own Write My NameO Baghdad, write down my name on a list of young dead civilians being alive doesn't always mean everything is alright with me I talk with tears falling on my heart I listen with tears falling on my face I see with tears falling on my spirit my life has been worse than it seems my shadow loses me whenever I want to walk to the cemetery, only because I have missed my friends who are no longer around me; nor longer in this world O Montreal, forgive me for my weakness I am just tired of being strong for too long write my name on the waiting list of death So, I can sleep with my open wounds Sensitive |
John (“Jake”) Cosmos Aller is a novelist, poet, and former Foreign Service officer having served 27 years with the U.S. State Department serving in ten countries (Korea, Thailand, India, the Eastern Caribbean (Antigua, Barbados, Dominica, Grenada, St Kitts, St Lucia, and St Vincent) and Spain. Prior to joining the U.S. State Department, Jake taught overseas for eight years. Jake served in the Peace Corps in Korea. He grew up in Berkeley but has lived in Seattle, Stockton, Washington DC, Alexandria, Virginia and Medford, Oregon. He has traveled to over 45 countries and 49 states. He has been writing poetry, fiction, and novels for years. He has completed four SF novels and is seeking publication. His work has appeared in numerous literary magazines online. His poetry blog can be found at https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com |
the year that was
The world watches in amazement
Longest shut down in history
Watching it all in Korea
contemplating escaping the cold winter
February
World watches as North Korea and the US
Walking back from the brink of war
escaping the cold winter blues
revisiting Vietnam after 15 years
March
The chaos president continues his chaos tour
the world begins to ignore his constant insane tweets
heading back to DC inspecting property
seeing old friends glad I retired
April
the chaos King’s policy remains a shamble
as the Mueller team closes in
in Korea I write a poem a day
and begin to become a publish writer
May
watching from afar
the chaos in DC and the world
traveling to DC to inspect property
celebrating my wife’s big 60
June
the President walks away
from a non deal with the North Koreans
I am back in DC
end up cruising to Alaska
July
watching the insanity in DC
while visiting Alaska, Seattle and Yakima
visiting my father’s grave in Yakima
communing with family ghosts
August
the dog days of summer the world is consumed
wars, rumors of war, trade wars
retuning to Korea
surviving the August sauna like summer
September
The whistle blower sets off a bomb
the president lies no quid for quo perfect all
trying to avoid watching the news
hiking in the Korean mountains with old friends
October
the President flitters about my crisis after another
the UN diplomats laugh at him national humiliation
returning to DC yet again more property blues
celebrating my 64th year orbiting the sun
November
the House starts formal impeachment hearings
watching fascinated by the impeachment drama
entering my third NoVoWrMo competition with Timeless Love
ending the month sudden surprise trip to Okinawa
December
the year ends on a high dramatic
President Trump becomes the 3rd impeached President
hiking enjoying the late autumn like weather
contemplating my wealth at the end of the year
Jordan Almond writes amidst the joy and chaos of life as a stay home mom. She loves to travel and share the world with her husband and two sons. Together they enjoy the outdoors, epicurean adventures, and a love for growing things. Jordan and her family currently reside in Texas with their three rescue dogs. |
Shadow Found
The oaken giant heaving in the wind.
The window broke,
Water like waves
Breaking in.
The waves of sound
Long forgotten in eerie tunnels.
They say water can
Remember.
Can it ever forget?
Our world told
And told by currents
In the bedrock.
They say she was a legend.
Then again, legendary
Only in darkness.
Never come into the light,
The shroud is safer.
Eyes cast at my shadow,
But what do they see?
They thinks it’s me
Across the room.
They think it’s me,
It is a lost shadow
In a place where
Boys don’t cry.
Street lamp glow
And boots in the dark.
All is in shadow,
But nothing is lost.
Until it is gone and
The stage is set.
“The show must go on”
You can see it in their eyes
They can’t help you
Find your shadow,
They only know a you
Painted with sunlight
Dapples and smiling eyes.
This you, is new.
This shadow lingers yet
Evades.
No one will help you
Until you are crying
On the floor with a
Bar of soap.
The Lady in the Garden
And your newest ineffable discovery of how to prevent yourself from metamorphosis.
I had to tell you about the baby over the phone So that we could still come over.
The summer garden, caressing me with wild tendrils reaching toward the
Path, blossoming though Fall was poised to consume the bloom.
I remember helping you after they plowed, the smell of wet earth
Exposed. The dirt by the fence. Your cutoff jeans. The tanned
Muscles in those arms working the earth. “I could smell you.”
They said. The boys that wanted to help you work.
The death of the hen Penelope, a dumpster grave.
You love the butterflies. Anticipate their annual presence.
You name the birds, wait for the seasonal ebb and flow of visitors.
Your garden, densely thicketed, boasts promises of food and shelter.
So many plants. And my how you can make them grow, your magic stick opening
The terra womb. I can smell you now, in the garden. You smell the same.
My mother, my motherhood is punctuated by flowers, okra,
Cucumbers. Punctuated by you, the sound of your voice and
That smell. I sing the same songs you once sung, and think of us.
I wonder why someone would want to die, the stench of vomit
On blood stained concrete, sixteen eyes that will never forget.
Remembering is easy, especially those things we try to forget.
Olfactory shackles won’t let go, no matter how much earth stretches between.
Your tanned legs, running. That smell of your hair as you kissed me
In the morning. He said you look like a deer and she hated you for it.
How you needed to be free from those weighted chains, free to run.
I smell you now, even here, even when geography is stretching out
Between us. The waterlogged earth is unfamiliar but I think of you,
And smell that smell. Your musky motherly scent keeps me from forgetting
You amongst petals and beating wings. I see you there, those wiry arms
Stretching, reaching, tucking a gray hair back behind your ear as you prune
Amidst the butterflies, the smells mingle. There are memories fluttering round
As tears fall, watering each petal with a soulful drip. Wings beat soundlessly in
Mild consolation. That smell again. You are there, here. Your wings beating
Soundlessly. You will never stop, and I can offer only momentary solace
A singular embrace, endless love to the Lady in the Garden.
Ndaba`s poems have been widely anthologised . Sibanda is the author of Love O’clock, The Dead Must Be Sobbing, Football of Fools, Cutting-edge Cache: Unsympathetic Untruth, Of the Saliva and the Tongue,The Gushungo Way and When Inspiration Sings In Silence. His work is featured in The Anthology House, in The New Shoots Anthology, and in The Van Gogh Anthology, and A Worldwide Anthology of One Hundred Poetic Intersections. Some of Ndaba`s works are found or forthcoming in Page & Spine, Peeking Cat, Piker Press , The Ofi Press Magazine ,SCARLET LEAF REVIEW Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Amazon.ca and the Pangolin. |
Rita`s Latest Work
With charm and wit, what a work of art
Rita`s novel was an epidemic of language
Her words a contagion, so was her image
Aunt`s Words Versus Rita`s World
seemed to be on a mission
to thrust Rita into a fleabag
she felt like an unwanted email
in spam filters, a candidate for
deletion, a masked vicious virus
as if she had a leprosy of deceits
she was easily avoided by persons
she called friends ,family and bosoms
she was in an acerbic quandary, an island
where she loved without being loved back--
dealt justly in an injustice and a drippy sack
she tried to talk to them but none chimed in
and the wayward way her boyfriend acted up--
signaled one emergency away from a breakup
her aunt told her that not every day is pleasing
but she had to be pleased with life and its pigsty
that she had to be honest in the face of dishonesty
A Village High-flier Or Failure?
folks fast wrote her off
querying her intelligence
questioning her aptitude
querying her station in life
questioning her gender too
querying her day-dreaming
mentioning her rustic roots
her goals were long-term--
what a mere waste of time!
who the heck did she think
she was to board that train?
for her it was a proud process
powered by Practice & Practice
one player was Perseverance
the goal minder was Resilience
or was it? –or perhaps never mind
for process was powered by passion
it was not about great grades today
heavy defeats and pains played with her!
at times the train was too hot, too cold
sometimes too slow, if not still, silly, strident
her tired train bawled: grit, grit, grit and grit
as she journeyed her bumpy and mucky journey
college authorities slapped her with a mountain
of rules ,roles, responsibilities and examinations
she didn’t fluke them, and there was no coincidence
she didn’t achieve her grades by luck rather than skill
fees felt like forks fooling and slitting her pockets apart
when she fell pregnant, critics chorused: end of the road!
she wadded in muddy waters, her intellect drowned, drained
there was no stroke of good fortune, but ridicule & refutation
when she held her paper, her key, Purpose gleamed a smile
and congratulated Practice , Process , Perseverance with pride
Interview of Douglas Cole
poems by Douglas Cole
Paperback: 105 pages
Kelsay Books, 2019
ISBN-10: 1949229262
https://www.amazon.com/Blue-Island-Douglas-Cole/dp/1949229262/ref=sr_1_22?crid=3KK3UAKXRMCWJ&keywords=the+blue+island&qid=1559899239&s=books&sprefix=The+blue+island%2Cstripbooks%2C245&sr=1-22
Cristina Deptula, editor and founder of Synchronized Chaos literary magazine (synchchaos.com): “We publish art and writing from around the world and develop a monthly theme out of everything we have received. I met Douglas Cole at the Association for Writing Programs conference this past spring, and he struck me as a kind soul. His poetry reflects a genuine appreciation for life.”
Jeffrey Alfier, author of The Red Stag at Carrbridge, The Storm Petrel and many more books of poetry, as well as Founder and Co-editor of Blue Horse Press and San Pedro River Review, observed: “The Blue Island is a cornucopia of a book, ranging from fine lyrics to long narratives, filled with everything from fantasy to hard-eyed examinations of life. You’ll find so much here, so don’t miss out.”
Smallwood: What gave you the desire, impetus, to write your latest collection of poems which you divided into such sections as Ascent to the Gallows?
Well, it’s definitely different from the collections that came before. Looking back, I can see that Interstate is inspired by driving, the road, and the landscape of the Pacific Northwest. It’s a kind of travelogue, both external and internal. Then, Western Dream came about as a sort of comedy set on the West Coast. I wanted humor to be a strong part of the personality of that collection. The Dice Throwers is a mythologized autobiography, and Bali Poems is a dreamy collection I wrote on a trip to the island of Bali. The Gold Tooth in the Crooked Smile of God is a set of snapshots over five years, made up outcasts, misfits and characters on the fringes of society, with a strong Alki flavor. In contrast, The Blue Island is theatrical, cinematic, the way “Ascent to the Gallows,” is a kind of movie. I was glad the folks I asked to read it for blurbs caught on to that. Not that I’m attached to readers seeing the same way I do, but The Blue Island is a quadruple-feature. I’ve always wanted to make films, studied film in college, thought and dreamed in technicolor. So, among the other books, The Blue Island comes most specifically from the desire to make a movie….
Smallwood: Has being a resident of the state of Washington influenced this collection?
At first, I thought, no. But that’s only true in regard to the “Ascent to the Gallows” section, which is largely set in Paris, France. However, that’s only because that section is a movie within a movie based on the Louise Malle film as I dreamed it (without watching it), based solely on listening to, riffing on, and extrapolating from the Miles Davis Soundtrack. But when I look again, think again, I see details that come straight out of the Northwest landscape. The other sections, too, have definite details, locations and images that are specifically Northwest. I have to admit it, the landscape of the Northwest is all over my writing.
Smallwood: You’ve published other poetry collections such as: https://www.amazon.com/Gold-Tooth-Crooked-Smile-God/dp/1947021273/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Douglas+Cole&qid=1559898967&s=books&sr=1-1 When did you begin writing poetry and have you had other genres published?
I began writing poetry right off the bat. Always. I love it, love the freedom of it. But I also write and have published fiction and “non-fiction.”
Smallwood: What work won the Best of the Net Award? Nominations for a Pushcart and other awards?
A poem called “Trunyan,” from Bali Poems, was nominated for a best of the net. A poem called “Rattlesnake,” from Interstate, was nominated for a Pushcart. And a story called “Flight,” which is an excerpt from a forthcoming novel, was nominated for a Best of the net and a Pushcart.
Smallwood: How would you describe your writing style?
It starts as a stream of consciousness, a mind movie. When I decide to make it public, I think I go through a process of making anything like style transparent, so that you just read and get lost in the dream. If you wake up and think, oh, that was beautifully written, that’s my ego getting in the way.
Smallwood: What are 5 magazines in which you appear among so many?
Well, five journals I’ve published in that stand out because they’re pretty well known (at least to publishing writers) are Midwest Quarterly, Mid-American Poetry Review, The Chicago Quarterly Review, Chiron, and Bitter Oleander. Those were journals I wanted very much to be in and sent a lot of stuff to over the years. But there’s another five that stand out for me even more because they were the first to publish anything of mine when I didn’t have any publishing credits: Raven Chronicles (now closed) published a poem of mine I submitted when I started sending work out thinking that a few publications might help me get into graduate school; that journal was just starting out and was located in Seattle. I felt very proud to be in that journal. Then there was Slipstream, which was the first glossy, perfect bound journal I was in, and then Jeopardy, Louisiana Literature, and a journal (I don’t think it’s around anymore) called the Mandrake Poetry Review, which was published somewhere out of Prague…I think it was? I can’t remember, but they took seven poems of mine, and I just felt like a superstar. That was a fun moment.
Smallwood: How does being a writing teacher relate to being a writer, as I can see it being both good and bad:
I’ve only experienced it as a positive relationship. If I say something as a writing teacher, like, for example, ‘you should be ruthless in revision,’ I apply it to myself. It’s good to practice what you teach.
Smallwood: Do you have social media to share?
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/douglas.cole.372
I have an Instagram under the name Duderonimous (I know that sounds ridiculous…) I haven’t used it much and don’t follow many people.
I’ve also got a Twitter I started as part of an assignment I gave to a writing class. We all had to make a Twitter account. It was just for fun. For a while, I used it to write prose poems for myself because I liked the limit on the number of characters you can use. I thought of them as American millennial haiku. Then, when someone actually started to follow it, I stopped that and just use it occasionally to make publishing announcement.
I also have these:
https://www.amazon.com/Douglas-Cole/e/B00Y96SZ5S/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1520611517&sr=8-2&fbclid=IwAR0ZMn_OsGydI5FiZXvZTuCqvzLsmjI0Ge6nO97tnHF8t9RXT_i5IMPBGiI
https://www.awpwriter.org/community_calendar/user_view/42412?fbclid=IwAR0ia9OCWfymUrgJzvb-89t9-IytlrCYeT5xO772tKScauYR3nChGE1rEJc
https://douglastcole.com
STRAY CATS
Chuck slumped onto the old armchair, “A cool place, you’ve got here,” he said and cast a glance at the sofa bed.
Taylor wasn’t pretty, the hair was too curly , the dimples too marked and her black eyes twinkled with an impish glance. The pendant earrings, the beads and the long flowery dress made her look like a nomadic girl in her early teens.
An intriguing little creature though, Chuck thought and pulled her in his arms, “Why don’t you unfold that couch so we can start the best part of the night?”
“Do you always get down to it so fast?” she replied coldly.
Perhaps, she should have let him out in the rain.
“Forgot it’s far past midnight, love?”
“No, but I don’t like it that way anymore,” she said and lit the few candles placed here and there on the shelves.
“All that stuff is not for me. My girls know it and have learnt not to be so fussy,” he said conceitedly.
Was it a provocation or a challenge? She enjoyed talking with him at the bar, even let him put his arm around her waist and his hand caress her thigh, but that didn’t imply she wanted to go further.
She gazed at him; although a bit weird, he didn’t have the aspect of a maniac. His excessive self-confidence more likely masked a good amount of insecurity. If it hadn’t been for the cheerful smile that brightened his face, he would have appeared pathetic.
“Useless trying to undress my soul, sweetie, for there are too many layers, but I might give you a few hints if you really want to know.”
Chuck was a writer and therefore broke as fame seemed to take its time. In the meanwhile, he gave a hand to a chap who owned a bar in order to make enough money for the rent, cigarettes and a few drinks. His expectations and lack of ties made him feel comfortable with himself. In one way or the other, he carried on as a stray cat, free and wild. His scratches were for his mistresses only, whom he loved teasing.
“Girls have always liked me though,” he bragged, “just like you do.”
Taylor listened half amused, half disturbed. His irony had a certain charm; he was right, she did like him.
“Let me scratch you too, and I swear you’ll love it, doll.”
The thought of sleeping with him was alluring. Temptation was pending on her like a rapturing doom.
By now he was sitting very close, his breath on her face, and their lips almost touched. Never had she felt more vulnerable. A passionate kiss with the blaze of true love followed, as the rain kept hitting the panes, so intrusively as to become a constant reminder of the vainness of the moment.
A genial performance supported by a long experience, thought Taylor on awakening from the Casanova spell and pushed him away abruptly.
Her resistance annoyed him, it hurt him. His consolidated artistry had been unmasked. Insisting would have been useless. Besides, did he really care?
He was getting nervous; coming up had been a mistake.
“I’ll go, but before I do, I want to have some fun, babe,” he whispered, then quickly snatched Taylor’s scarf and tightened it around her neck.
“What the hell are you doing?” she gasped.
“Have to do something if we aren’t going to bed,” he sneered, “What did you expect if you invite a stranger up in the middle of the night? Sex or murder is the only possible answer.”
A loud clap of thunder made the panes shutter. The light went off and for a few seconds Taylor struggled against her improvised enemy in the room illuminated only by the flickering candlelight.
She was almost cadaverous, when he loosened the scarf and laughed heartedly.
“Simply a nasty game, but don’t worry,” he assured, “I’m leaving, you’ll be alright now.”
Frightened and dismayed, she burst into tears.
Her unexpected reaction disturbed him; somehow, he felt compelled to stay.
“I had a French boyfriend once, I loved him deeply,” she uttered, “He, too, liked teasing me.”
“He dumped you, I bet.”
“He died,” she shouted, “committed suicide… I still miss him.”
And continued as if following a bygone dream, “He came to the cabaret where I used to sing… I was his chat noir… That’s how he called me.”
“I suppose he let you scratch him.”
“He did, because he loved me.”
The affairs that followed were so squalid that they ended up frustrating her. From then on, she was after affection only.
“I bet you’ve never really cared for anyone,” she cried angrily and fixed her impish eyes on his.
She was expecting to be contradicted, but he just lowered his glance.
Chuck was beginning to feel stuck, his most dreaded feeling. It was time to beat it. He got up and headed towards to the door.
“You’re going nowhere, man,” cried his hostess and pointed a gun against him.
A loud shot resounded in the little room and the fellow dropped to the floor.
Taylor stood paralysed with the toy weapon in her hand.
“Chuck, no, no, you can’t be dead, you can’t,” she shouted.
After a moment of deep silence and deadly stiffness, he grinned, “No worry, baby, I’m still here, but that was a truly nasty trick. I almost had a heart attack before detecting it was a fake.”
The good scare diverted him though; they were even. Never would he have imagined that the little lady could be so naughtily exciting. She did have guts, after all.
Chuck thought of her affair with the French boyfriend, certainly something passionate and overwhelming as he had never felt. Maybe, he was too insensitive, vain, a total creep; perhaps, that was the reason of his failure as an artist and as a man.
Had he been given the chance to change and didn’t spot it? The thought that he might be totally immune to feelings perplexed him.
It was still raining, but the room wasn’t cold; his glance fell on the blanket folded on the sofa; his straying around like a feral animal had suddenly lost its lure. He would have relished sitting beside her, simply hold her hand with the blanket on their knees and gaze at her sad face.
“You have to go, Chuck, no use staying longer.”
“Wait, Taylor, perhaps, you’re right, we could get to know each other a bit further. I’ve been too forwarded; it’s just that I wasn’t prepared for something that goes beyond a casual acquaintance,” and chuckled nervously, “I’m not too familiar with stories that have, let’s say, a beginning, a middle and even an end… Seems mine had only beginnings.”
Although neither of them had reached their goal that night, in one way or the other their feelings had been stirred; each had taken a first step even if the destination remained partially
unknown. Unfamiliar emotions followed and somehow affected them more than they could realise.
Taylor’s glance assured Chuck she believed him. He hoped she would let him stay.
Her words disappointed him, “No, it’s too late; you’ve missed your chance.”
“Is that a good reason for you to miss yours?
With a helpless look, she handed him his jacket. Probably, she would miss him, but the fear of suffering in one way or the other was too strong.
Chuck was about to take her in his arms and tell her how he would have wanted to see her again, but he simply looked out of the window. The rain kept falling merciless.
“Hey, you can’t send me away in such a storm.”
“Call a cab.”
“Can’t afford night fares, but I’ll go if you really want me to.”
Still hesitant, he headed towards the door, opened it and was about to walk out when he turned round and with his brightest smile asked, “Say, do you mind lending me an umbrella? It’s pouring cats and dogs out there.”
Curtis A. Bass (Curtisstories.blog) is a writer of short stories from the American south. He writes in a variety of genres such as science fiction, horror, mystery and young adult. He has been published in several online and print journals. When not writing he prefers to stay active ballroom dancing or downhill skiing. He is currently working on his first novel. |
Escape to Paradise
“Go away, Dusty!” she shouted through the door. She was aware he could hear her through the cheap thin material.
“Come on, baby. Let me in,” he wheedled.
“You’re not supposed to be here. I have a restraining order.”
“Yeah, my daddy’s getting it dismissed. Come on, babe. I just want to talk.”
Jenna closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The results of their last ‘talk’ had not yet healed, leaving lingering yellow and green marks on her face and arms.
“I’m calling the cops!” she yelled.
“And what are they gonna do? They’re all on my daddy’s payroll.”
“My lawyer said I could call the State Troopers. They don’t kowtow to your family.”
“You don’t want to make me mad, Jenna. You know how I get. You just bring the misery upon yourself. Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Go away! I’m done with you. I don’t ever want to see you again. Can’t you get that through your thick head?”
“You know I can’t do that, honey. We belong together. You and me. You belong to me. And I aim to keep what’s mine. Now open this fucking door!” Jenna had just finished dialing 911.
“911 Emergency. What is the nature of your emergency?”
“There’s a man trying to break into my apartment,” she whispered.
“Are you able to get out of the apartment?”
“No. He’s at the only door.”
“Do you know the identity of the intruder?”
“Yes, my ex-boyfriend. I have a restraining order against him.”
“I’ve already dispatched the police, in the meantime..,”
“No. The police are on his daddy’s payroll. They won’t do anything. Can you send the State Patrol?”
“Sorry, ma’am. We’re only connected to the police. Your police department is not owned by any family. They will protect you. I suggest you get into the most secure room you can and barricade the door. The police should be there in five minutes.”
Wham! Jenna dropped the phone at the sound of Dusty trying to break the through the door. She could hear the faint squawk of the 911 operator still trying to talk to her. Jenna scurried into the kitchen, clawed open a drawer, and pulled out the revolver she had just bought. Rechecking that she had loaded the gun and that the safety was off, she put her back against the wall directly in front of the door. With arms extended, holding the gun with both hands, Jenna pointed it at the door. The end of the revolver trembled violently.
“Dusty, go away! I have a gun.”
“And what do you think you’re gonna do with a gun? I ain’t scared of you, girl. You ain’t got the balls to shoot me. We gonna have us some fun. You ever heard of being pistol whipped?” Wham! A huge crack appeared in the door.
Wham! The thin veneer of the door shattered. Dusty pushed his arms through, knocking the plywood out of his way. He leered evilly when he saw Jenna ten feet away, scared out of her wits. She usually thought he was so handsome, and he usually was. But when he got that evil look on his face, she knew she was in trouble. He forced his way into the room. Before he said anything, Jenna fired the pistol at him three times. All three missed, mostly because she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes as she fired.
“What the fuck, girl? You gonna pay for that.”
Jenna fired the remaining three shots. At least one hit him because Dusty went down howling in pain. Bright red appeared on his thigh. She could hear sirens in the distance.
Dusty looked at Jenna through the grimace of pain on his sweaty face.
“You have just signed your death warrant, bitch.”
***
The police swarmed in a few minutes later. They immediately recognized Dusty and knew what was what. Jenna was disarmed and taken into custody. They called an ambulance for Dusty. She called her lawyer from the police department. Since she was in her own apartment, had a restraining order and a broken-down door her lawyer could bully the night cops into not booking her but releasing her to him. Mr. Randall would probably fire them.
As he drove her to a friend’s house he said, “Too bad you didn’t kill the bastard. Save us all a lot of trouble.”
“He said he is going to kill me. He means it, too.”
“Well, he’s going to have to wait. Violating the restraining order, breaking down your door, communicating threats. We might put him away for a while this time.”
“No, we won’t,” Jenna said with defeat in her voice. “His daddy will just paper over it. He’ll be bandaged up and out on bail by morning. He’s never going to stop. Not till one of us is dead.”
“That’s just defeatist talk. Come on. There’s a new judge who isn’t owned by the Randalls and I think I can get this before him. We might get that ass some serious time.”
“You really think so?” For the first time there was hope in her voice.
“Yeah, I do. Here we are.” He pulled up in front of Arlene’s house. Arlene was Joyce’s half-sister. Joyce was Jenna’s best friend. Joyce’s apartment would be the first place Dusty would look. Dusty didn’t know Joyce had a half-sister which made it a perfect hideout. Arlene opened the door as they got to the porch.
“Come on in, honey. That bastard acting up again?”
“Ms. Connors, thanks for taking Jenna in like this. Remember, for both of your safety, the Randalls mustn’t find out she’s here.”
“I ain’t scared of Dusty Randall. Let that punk set foot on my property. I got a shotgun and I don’t miss. I’d love a chance to blow his ass clear across North Carolina.”
“I love your fighting spirit but please, lie low. Good night, Jenna. Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He left.
***
When her lawyer called the next day, the news was as expected—not good. They had released Dusty on bail that morning. He never went to the jail. His family arranged for him to be held overnight at the hospital. The Randalls were making noises about suing her, but her lawyer explained NC law was on her side. The broken door, the recording of the 911 call and the all-important restraining order proved that she was within her rights to defend herself, with deadly force if necessary. The good news was that he had the case placed before the new unbiased judge. The bad news was that the case wouldn’t be heard for another month. Until that time, Dusty was free to do as he pleased.
“He knows where I work. I can’t take a month off. He’s going to find me and kill me.”
“We’ll work something out,” he said.
***
On Monday morning, Jenna drove her five-year-old Honda Civic to the State Employees’ Credit Union where she worked. She didn’t see Dusty’s Camaro anywhere in the parking lot, but still waited for the security guard to come out to escort her into the building. She worked in an office, not as a teller, so Dusty would have to get past the security guard and locked doors to get to her. She knew he was crazy enough to try it, though.
After work, the security guard walked her out to her car. As she pulled away, she thought she saw Dusty’s blue car a few blocks behind. Since he didn’t get any closer, she figured he was trying to tail her to her apartment. As planned, she drove straight to her attorney’s office in a highrise. It had the benefit of a gated parking lot. The gate guard watched as she entered the building. Once inside, she went through the building, out another little-used service entrance, across an alley to where Arlene was waiting. Tomorrow Arlene would bring her back to enter through the side entrance and she would take her car to work. Jenna knew this would not work for long. Dusty was a lot of disagreeable things, but stupid was not one of them. Crazy, but not stupid. That’s what made him so dangerous. He would figure out there was a ruse and discover it. But she had a few days.
***
“Aruba? You think I can afford to go to Aruba?” Jenna exclaimed over the phone to Joyce. It was Wednesday evening.
“Yes, you can. My brother and his fiancée are having to cancel. They can turn the tickets over to us. They’re willing to let them go for half-price. It’s a steal. And it leaves this Saturday. You can get away from dickhead and relax. By the time you get back, it’ll be 14 days closer to the hearing. Less than a week to go at that point.”
Jenna was hesitant. She had vacation time and her boss at the credit union was very supportive and concerned about her situation. It was a near certainty that she would approve the time off. But a cruise? Such a luxury seemed almost obscene considering the trouble she was facing. But then again. Fourteen days without having to hide, look over her shoulder, be constantly on edge would be heaven.
“How much?” she finally said. Then, “I’m in.”
***
Jenna packed in her apartment on Thursday night with a State Trooper guarding her. She realized she hadn’t obsessed about Dusty for several hours and was feeling a little happy again. Just one more day to go.
***
As she ate her lunch on Friday at her desk, as she usually did, Jenna heard a commotion out in the lobby area of the credit union. Someone was shouting. She walked over to the security station near her office and looked at the console which had a view from all the security cameras in the building. Sure enough, in the lobby was Dustin Randall, red faced, probably a little drunk facing off against two security guards. He ranted while they just impassively stood in front of the door that gave access to the rest of the offices. Her boss showed up beside her.
“That asshole needs to get shot, and not in the leg,” she said. “You’re doing the right thing to get out of town for a few weeks. Send me a postcard. I can stick it on my refrigerator as my inspiration to get back into my bikini.”
As they watched the camera footage, Dusty seemed to wind down his rant and give up. He turned as if to leave, but it was just a feint. He swung back around with a roundhouse punch aimed at the first security officer’s jaw. The officer reacted in time and only got a glancing blow. Immediately the guards jumped on Dusty, taking him to the floor. In no time they cuffed him, with him screaming obscenities and Jenna’s name, waiting for the police to come pick him up. Jenna revised her estimation of Dusty. Looks like he is stupid, after all. Well, she thought, this will keep him tied up until tomorrow. It looks like I will get away.
***
“Wow, I didn’t realize how big it is,” Jenna gaped at the Ocean Flyer, pride of the Cormorant line, as they were boarding.
“Yep, just us and 2,000 of our closest friends,” joked Joyce.
Once on board, they hustled up to the Lido deck for the buffet lunch. Sitting at a table, looking out over the palmed resorts of Fort Lauderdale, Jenna momentarily wondered if she was just having a wonderful dream. She was so afraid she’d wake up to find Dusty breaking down her door. This is paradise.
“Forget him,” Joyce said, placing her hand on Jenna’s. “At least for the next 14 days. Relax, unwind, get drunk, flirt with some cute guys. That’s what vacation is for.”
“You’re right. Tell the waiter I’ll have a margarita. And find me some cute guys.” They both laughed gaily.
***
There were so many activities on board the ship they hardly knew what to do first. They would be at sea for two days before any island stops so they’d have plenty of time to explore. Jenna found one activity that she considered a must.
“There’s an orchestra playing ballroom music in the Queen’s Lounge after dinner. Let’s go.”
“Ballroom? Seriously?”
“Yes. I took lessons for a couple of years, BD, Before Dusty. I let that get away. I want to reclaim something that he has no part of.”
“Okay,” Joyce said dubiously. “But you’re buying the drinks. And if it’s all old folks, I’m outta there.”
***
It turned out there were mixed ages in the lounge and several single men. That immediately caught Joyce’s eye. She and Jenna were attractive young ladies, so they quickly caught the attention of the men present. A very attractive fortyish man came to their table.
“I’m Jack, a ship dance host. May I have this dance?” He held his hand out to Joyce. She giggled girlishly and accompanied him to the floor. Two minutes later, after she had walked all over his feet, he sadly returned her to the table.
“Sorry, guess I should have told you I don’t know how to dance,” she said to him sheepishly. Jenna could tell he was biting his tongue. “You should ask Jenna here. She’s a bona fide ballroom dancer.”
“Joyce! I am not. I haven’t danced in two years.”
“It’s like riding a bicycle. It comes back easily. May I?” the host asked. Jenna allowed him to lead her to the floor. She could tell it was a foxtrot.
“I only know American style foxtrot,” she said. It impressed the host she recognized it was a foxtrot and that she knew there was a difference in styles. He beamed, took her in dance hold and moved off. Slow, quick, quick. Jenna found that it came back. They floated around the room effortlessly. This is what dancing is all about, she said to herself. It’s like flying. Just skimming along, free and easy. We’re like Fred and Ginger. Oh, how I have missed this. When the host returned her to her table, he commented it was one of the best dances he’d had recently and hoped she would allow him to dance with her again later. She smiled and assured him he was welcome anytime. She felt like she was glowing.
“Ooh. He likes you,” Joyce giggled. “And so debonair. Looks like Cary Grant.”
After another song, a young man, upper twenties, their age, came to their table. He was cute, and Jenna found his nervous look endearing.
“I’m nowhere near as good as you, but do you want to dance? I’m Drew, by the way,” he said to Jenna. It was a rumba. Jenna figured even a novice could probably handle it.
Drew proved that he had a basic understanding of the dance. He only stepped on her a few times, but mostly he did basic moves. This gave her an opportunity to talk to him.
“So, are you enjoying the cruise?” was all she could think to say. She grimaced at how trite it sounded.
“Slow, quick, quick,” he said. “Can’t talk. Counting. Slow, quick, quick.” She giggled and allowed him to finish the dance without further interruption.
He returned her to her table and asked Joyce to dance, but she said no. She decided she wasn’t a ballroom dancer and was content to just watch. Plus, she was on her third hurricane.
Drew came back a couple more times that evening to ask Jenna to dance as did Jack. The third time Drew returned her to the table, Joyce asked him to stay awhile.
“Shtay awhile,” she drawled. “It’ll shave ush all time.” He looked at Jenna and she just grinned. Joyce was a lovable drunk. Drew pulled up a chair and sat by Jenna.
“Look at that old couple,” Jenna pointed out a couple in the crowd. It was a waltz so nearly everyone was dancing. “They aren’t doing anything fancy, but they look so happy. They’ve probably been dancing with each other 50 years. It’s so romantic to be so comfortable and in sync with someone. Her eyes are closed. She’s probably remembering the handsome boy she fell in love with.”
“Her husband or some other guy?” Drew asked. Then he winked and laughed.
“Oh, you,” Jenna chided and swatted his arm lightly.
“You are such a romantic,” he said. “It’s nice to find that. I’m afraid I don’t see it all that much.”
“Drew. You have a southern accent. Where are you from, anyway?”
“Well, I grew up in Winston-Salem. That’s in North Carolina. Now I work for a bank in Charlotte. Me and my buddy Bill decided to take a cruise together. He’s probably up in the disco putting moves on underage girls. He’s a mess.”
“Hey, we’re from North Carolina, too. Just outside Greensboro. And I work in a bank. Well, at least, a credit union.”
“Wow, howdy homegirl,” he laughed. They heard a snore and noticed Joyce was out.
“Well, I guess I need to get Sleeping Beauty to bed. Come on, girl. Up.” She grabbed Joyce’s arm and dragged her up. Joyce stumbled a little, and Jenna put her arm around her.
“Let’s go, babe. Goodnight, Drew. I hope to see you around the ship.”
“Night.”
***
Midmorning next day found Jenna ensconced at a small table on the Lido deck enjoying the sunshine and a breakfast of fruit.
“I swear I’m not stalking you. Really. Cross my heart.” Jenna looked up and Drew stood by her table with a tray of food.
“Well, good morning, have a seat,” she invited.
“Thanks. Where’s your other half?”
“In bed with an ice pack on her head.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s what she said,” she quipped. “How about Bill?”
“Oh, he’s out at the pool chasing a bikini.”
“Already? It’s barely past 10,” she asked with surprise.
“I guess the early bird gets the bimbo,” he said.
“You don’t seem to think much of Bill, sometimes.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I love him like a brother. It’s just he has no judgment. He just thinks with his, well, his smaller head.” Jenna couldn’t help but giggle.
After breakfast, Drew went to check on Bill. Jenna thought a walk along the deck would be nice. As she neared the front of the ship she saw people gathering at the rail and pointing. She went to see what was going on. Just fifty yards away she saw a family of dolphins leaping about playing and having a marvelous time. Everyone was exclaiming and taking pictures. She was as charmed as anyone. She looked up and saw people on other decks had also noticed the dolphins. About two decks up she noticed a handsome man, a very handsome man with an evil leer. He was staring at her. It was a face she knew all too well. It was Dustin Randall. She froze for a second and then bolted. She raced as fast as she could back to her room. Once inside, she bolted the door and slumped to the floor leaning against it. Her heart felt as if it would burst.
“What’s going on?” Joyce croaked blearily from her bed.
“Oh my god, Joyce. Dusty is on the ship.”
“What? He can’t be? How would he even know?”
“Hell, his family knows everything that goes on. They probably had your phone bugged or something. I just saw him on deck, staring at me.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Joyce. I lived with him for six months. I know what he looks like. He’s here. He’s come after me. What am I gonna do?”
“We need to see the captain.”
***
They soon found out that no one can just ‘see the captain’. The purser’s office directed them to the security office.
“So you think your boyfriend followed you on this ship?” said Chief Security Officer Nigel Scott.
“Yes.”
“Has he made contact or threatened you in any way?”
“No. But I have a restraining order that he can’t come within a thousand feet. Anywhere on this ship is inside that. And he knew I was coming on this ship.”
“What’s the name?”
“Dustin Lee Randall.” The security officer pulled up a computer file.
“No one by that name on the manifest. Does he have an alias?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, there’s no one with that name listed. And our security is too tight for any stowaways. Maybe you just made a mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake. You took pictures for our key cards when we got on. Let me look through the pictures and I’ll find him.”
“I can’t let you go through our files, miss. That’s about a dozen breaches in security protocols. And even then, there are about a thousand men on this ship.”
Jenna pulled out her phone. She didn’t have service on the ship but the camera app worked.
“Here’s his picture. Can you look for him for me?”
“Miss. I have more important things to do than look through a thousand pictures trying to find a person who isn’t even on the ship.”
“Oh, please. I’ll never be able to relax if I think he’s here. He’s said he will kill me.” She hated playing the damsel in distress, but this was an emergency.
“Okay, look. Go to the purser’s desk and buy some phone minutes. Send his picture to this number.” He handed her a scribbled number. “When I have some free time, I’ll try to run through the guest photos. All right?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Jenna followed his instructions and then locked herself in her room.
“So you gonna stay here in the room the rest of the cruise?” Joyce asked, hands on her hips.
“What else can I do?”
“Oh, babe. Get over it. Go and live it up. There’s like a hundred people around you all the time on the ship. He’s not going to try anything here. Plus, there are hunky deck crew, totally kissable, too, standing every few feet on the deck. They can surely take care of him. You’re safe here. Safer than anywhere else. Don’t let him take this away from you.”
“You think so?” Jenna was unsure.
“I’ll be right beside you. If I see him, I’ll scream bloody murder. Everyone will be watching. Probably taking video.”
***
Joyce had recovered by the evening, but sipping only ginger ale. She raised an eyebrow as Drew approached their table in the Queen’s Lounge.
“Mind if I join you ladies?”
“Please, sit,” offered Jenna. After a moment, Joyce gave Jenna a pointed look. A look that said ‘go for it’.
“I’ve got a roll of quarters I need to throw away. I’ll be in the casino if anybody needs me,” she said airily and walked away.
“Is it something I said?” Drew looked puzzled.
“No, just Joyce being Joyce.”
They danced to several songs. While he was nowhere near the skill level of the dance host, Jack, he was competent. Jack claimed a few dances, but he had to work the entire room. After about her fourth dance with Drew, Jenna said, “You should probably dance with some other ladies or people might talk.”
“Let them talk. I enjoy dancing with you.”
Jenna knew she was blushing, but it was nice to be getting positive attention for a change.
“You seem preoccupied. I hope I’m not boring you,” Drew breathed.
“Oh, it’s not you. I just had a bad moment today. I thought I saw my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend? Um, am I in the way?”
“My ex-boyfriend. He’s been harassing me. I think he’s on the cruise, the bastard.’
“I don’t want to get mixed up in any weird domestic stuff. Why don’t I go sit at another table?”
“Don’t go, Drew. He’s not going to cause any trouble. I alerted the ship. They’re looking for him. As Joyce said, we’re always surrounded by like a hundred people. What’s he going to do?”
“You sure. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“You won’t. You’re the nicest thing that’s happened to me in a while. I’m enjoying it.” Drew smiled self-consciously. She thought she saw a hint of a blush. It was adorable.
“We’re stopping at the private island tomorrow. Care to explore it with me?” he asked.
“I’ve already talked with Joyce about hitting the beach.”
“Bring her. If I can pry Bill away from his bikini bimbo, we can make a foursome.”
“Sure.”
***
Drew showed up at the gangway the next morning alone.
“No Bill?” Jenna asked.
“The bikini apparently held more promise. I swear she’s not even 17.”
The three of them left the ship and were soon walking along the sand under palm trees. It was the middle of January and here she was in paradise. Bright sunshine, sparkling water in a shade of blue only seen in the Caribbean, gentle breeze softly scented with tropical flowers and coconut. If only I could stay here forever, Jenna thought. Stay here with someone like Drew.
“Listen, you kids. I don’t need a sunburn as my souvenir, so I’m going to park it in a chaise under a palm tree. I’ve got a novel full of heaving bosoms to keep me occupied. You go have fun.” Joyce shooed them away. So they explored. Jenna had a delightful time. Drew turned out to be quite charming.
***
That evening the purser found her at her dining table and asked to see her for a moment.
“Security Officer Scott has checked the photo you provided against the passengers. It doesn’t match anyone on board. I’ve talked with the captain. Our security team will remain on alert, but we feel sure it was just mistaken identity. It’s happened before. Please try to relax. Here is a complimentary pass from the captain for a day in the spa. Please enjoy.”
Back at the table, she told Joyce that there was no sign of Dusty.
“I was sure I saw him.”
“Your nerves have been a mess, girl. You probably just saw what you fear. Kinda like your worst nightmare.”
“I guess.”
***
After dinner, they went back to the room to freshen up. Joyce said she had actually won money at the casino and would try her luck again.
“Anything beats watching you and Casanova make cow eyes at each other.”
“Joyce!” Jenna was shocked.
“Hey, I just call it like I see it. He’s way hunky. I say go for it. I’m okay with the old bra on the doorknob, but I’m not spending all night in the library. Make it a quickie.”
“Joyce! You’re scandalous. I’m not bringing Drew back to my room.”
“Okay. Go to his. But mark my words. Sex is in the air.” She leered playfully and left before Jenna could throw anything at her.
Jenna changed to a dress a little less formal than her dinner wear and headed for the lounge. She left her room and began walking up the long narrow hallway. You could see nearly the entire length of the ship here. It was dimly lit and kind of spooky. There was no one about except a gentleman coming from the direction she was heading. She started out. She suddenly noticed the man’s limping walk looked familiar. Her heart flew into her throat as he got close enough for her to make out his face. Dusty!
She turned and fled back to her room. She could hear his running steps behind her.
“Jenna! Stop, damn you!”
She zipped her card in the lock and quickly slipped in the room and bolted the door. As she leaned back on the door, sobbing, she slid slowly to the floor. Would this nightmare never end?
Once she was relatively together, she called the security desk. She explained that regardless of what they had told her, someone matching the description of her ex-boyfriend had just chased her back to her room. She realized she was sounding hysterical but couldn’t help it. Before long Security Officer Scott, her room steward and the ship’s doctor were in her room.
She accepted a sedative from the doctor. “He called my name. I know his voice. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”
“I’m sorry, miss, but I just don’t see any way he could have gotten on the ship. I have passed the photo you gave us to all ship’s personnel. If he is on this ship, we’ll find him. There is a suite available on the King’s deck. Entrance to the deck is key carded. We can upgrade you and your roommate there for extra security if you wish. No charge, of course,” the security chief offered.
The purser had paged Joyce, and she burst into the room.
“What’s happened? Jenna, are you okay?”
“No. Dusty IS on board. He chased me down the hall.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry, guys,” she apologized for her colorful language.
“I was just telling Miss Davenport that we can upgrade the two of you to a more secure deck.”
“It’ll be a bitch to move all this stuff again,” she groused.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Your steward can arrange for some porters to transfer your belongings.”
***
By nearly midnight, they had moved into the new suite.
“Nice digs,” noted Joyce. “We actually can turn around without bumping butts.”
“Yeah,” Jenna said wanly. She was a little spaced by the sedative. Joyce sat on the bed beside her.
“Jenna, level with me,” Joyce said seriously. “What’s going on? Did you really see Dusty? Or do you just think you did? I mean, be honest. How could he have gotten on the ship with no one knowing? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Not you, too,” moaned Jenna. “No one believes me. Do I have to turn up with a fucking knife in my chest to make you believe me?”
“Oh, no, baby.” Joyce tried to soothe her, taking her in her arms. “I believe you. If you say you saw him, then you did.” Jenna just folded herself into a ball in Joyce’s arms and cried.
***
Drew found them at a table during lunchtime the next day. He came up to their table, smiling.
“Ok. This time I am stalking you. What happened last night? I missed you in the Queen’s Lounge.” He suddenly noticed her pallor. “Oh god, what’s happened? The boyfriend again?”
“Yeah, he attacked her last night,” Joyce told him.
“Oh my god. I thought the ship said he wasn’t on board.”
“Apparently the ship fucked up,” Joyce said tersely.
“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“Well,” Joyce said. “I gotta take a leak. Stay here while I go.”
“Your friend has a way with words,” Drew murmured, trying to lighten the mood. Jenna just looked at him.
“She’s just angry. Dusty has ruined her vacation, too. He poisons everything.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this. You are such a nice lady.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll go back to my room.” She got up to walk away.
“Shouldn’t you wait for your friend?”
“Oh yeah. Walk me to the elevator? They restrict my deck entry. I’ll be safe from there.”
He walked her down to the nearest elevator.
“I know you’re feeling low right now. But I hope you come to the Queen’s Lounge tonight. It’s just not the same without you. I’ll miss you.”
Jenna made a half smile. “I’ll see.”
The elevator opened, and some people got off. She got in, with a group of people, pressing ‘King’s Deck’ on the panel. Drew seemed quite taken with her, she thought. She was somewhat taken with him, as well. Too bad the cruise was such a bomb. She could really do with two weeks of mindless flirting.
The elevator stopped. A few people got off, a few got on. When the elevator stopped on the Queen’s deck, most people got off. It required a key card to go further. As the last person exited the elevator, Jenna glanced in the mirrored wall and almost died on the spot. The reflection showed that Dusty was right behind her in the elevator.
“I said I’d kill you,” he hissed. He grabbed for her arm, but she evaded him, and dove out the rapidly closing door, screaming. By the time security personnel had arrived, the elevator was long gone. One of the deck crew lifted her in his arms like a child and carried her to sickbay.
***
Hours later, Joyce helped Jenna climb into the bed in their suite.
“It’s going to be all right, babe. Don’t you worry. Joyce is here and everything’s going to be fine.”
“No, it’s not. They think I’m crazy. You do, too. Everyone does. Maybe I am.”
“Now, that’s crazy talk. You know I’m with you on this. You just get some rest.”
***
The next day, the ship’s doctor, purser and captain came to see her.
“Miss Davenport,” the captain began. “We are terribly upset that your vacation has been marred by problems on this ship. My crew and I have done everything we can to ensure your safety, but I don’t know what else we can do. Tomorrow, we dock in Curaçao. There is an American embassy there. If you wish, my staff will assist you in contacting them to arrange air transport back to your home destination. Unfortunately, we cannot offer a refund since the voyage is nearly half over, but if you have purchased trip insurance, our ship’s doctor will assist you with filing.”
Jenna thought for a few moments. “Yes, I’d like to go home. Joyce, I want you to stay. There’s no need to ruin both our vacations.”
“Nothing doing, hon. We’re in this together. I go where you go. Besides, I’d have a crappy time without you here to enjoy it with me. Looks like it’s time to pack.”
***
“You up for dinner in the dining room tonight?” Joyce asked later that day.
“Yeah, I think so. Might as well use it while we can. I have enjoyed the food on this cruise.”
“You and me, too. A couple more days and I’d have to break out my fat britches.” Jenna had to laugh.
***
After dinner, Joyce said, “Come on. I’ll go with you to the Queen’s Lounge. You know Romeo will be there looking for you. And don’t worry. Neither of us will leave you for a second. Total protection. But you need to unwind a little.”
“You don’t like the music. I hate to make you go through that.”
“Oh, hell, girl. I’ve gone through much worse for a lot less. Just buy me a couple of hurricanes and I’ll be fine.”
As soon as they found a table in the Queen’s Lounge, Drew showed up.
“I was so worried about you,” he said to Jenna. “Are you going to be okay?” She had taken a half a sedative tab after dinner, so she felt she had a grip on her nerves. For now.
“Thanks, Drew. You’re a dear. I’ve enjoyed meeting you.”
“That sounds a lot like goodbye,” he said, puzzled.
“It is. I’m leaving the cruise tomorrow. The captain said I can get a flight back to the US from Curaçao. I just don’t feel safe on the ship anymore.”
Drew’s breath caught quickly. “Are you sure that’s the right thing to do? To just toss the whole vacation?”
“I don’t know what else I can do. Constantly look over my shoulder waiting for him to attack me? That’s not a vacation.
“Joyce, talk some sense into her. She’s just giving up.”
“Why do you care?” Joyce asked. Drew got quiet.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know I’m not allowed to have an opinion.”
“Joyce, you don’t need to be rude,” Jenna said. “Drew, I’d love to stay. I’ve had such a nice time with you, but it isn’t working. I’m a nervous wreck.”
“Well, it’s just that you’ve become kind of special to me these past few days. You seem to understand me and are so nice. Aw crap, I don’t know how to say it. I like you. And I’d like a chance to know you better.”
“Drew, don’t start. We’re from different worlds.”
“What different worlds? Charlotte and Greensboro are what, a couple hours apart? Maybe we were meant to meet.”
“Oh brother,” Joyce said dryly. “I’m on the Love Boat.”
“Well, at least, can we dance?” he asked. They danced several dances. Drew seemed determined to keep her dancing. He really is taken with me, she thought.
A rumba came on. Drew pulled her close, very close. She realized she enjoyed dancing this closely with him. His face was close to hers. He kept looking into her eyes. Oh god, she thought. This feels like one of those trashy novels Joyce loves. He leaned in, as if hoping for a kiss. What the hell, she decided. Give him a nice memory. She opened her mouth to him. Maybe the sedative was just kicking in, but she was feeling a bit lightheaded. Or maybe it was the kiss. Damn! He’s good at this. A moment later, he had his mouth by her ear.
“Oh, Jenna. I think about you so much. I’ll be lost without you. Won’t you reconsider leaving me?” he whispered in her ear.
“I’m not leaving you, Drew. It’s this ship. I can’t be on a ship with my ex. And I’m sure he’s somewhere on board.”
“Jenna, you’re tearing me apart.”
“Drew, please don’t make this any harder for me.”
They remained in the lounge until the band quit at 11, but Jenna could tell the life had gone out of Drew. She’d been unaware of how deeply he felt. She liked him, too, but he was way ahead of her. The ladies gathered their belongings to leave.
“Will I get a chance to see you tomorrow?” he asked. She would swear there were unshed tears in his eyes.
“We’re doing an early breakfast. I’ll be at Lido at 7.”
“Okay. Bye.” He looked down at the floor. She felt awful.
“Drew, you’ll be okay. Just do like Bill. Go chase some bikinis.”
“I’m not interested in bikinis,” he said like a truculent little boy.
“Joyce, go on. I need to talk to Drew.”
Joyce looked at Drew. “She has a curfew of midnight, young man. Not a minute after. Got it?”
He gave her a half-hearted grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
Jenna laced her arm through Drew’s. They strolled up the incline out of the lounge into the central part of the ship. He turned right, and they went through the double doors out onto the deck. There was a half moon out. It cast enough light on the water that you could see the outline of an island in the distance. It was quiet and romantic. Drew dropped her arm and propped both of his on the deck railing, looking down into the dark sea.
“Drew, I’m sorry.”
“Are you? Was I just a game?”
“No, Drew. You know I care for you.”
He petulantly snatched his arms off the railing. He jammed his hands in his pants pockets and started walking away, down the deck. Jenna followed.
“Drew, I’m not trying to hurt you.” He passed a windbreak and stopped again at the railing. She came up to him. It was darker here. He pulled her gently into himself. She had to admit she liked his arms around her. It had been a while since she felt safe in a man’s arms. He was leaning in again, so she helped and reached her mouth toward his. She also had to admit she liked kissing him. She was becoming lightheaded again. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken that half tab. But it was hours ago. It should have worn off by now. She realized she had trouble keeping her balance. Drew supported her.
“What’s wrong, hon?” he asked. “Like my kisses that much?”
She found that she couldn’t get her tongue to work to answer him.
“That’s okay, baby. You don’t need to say anything. Dusty said you always talk too much.”
What? her brain flared. She tried to struggle, but could not control her body.
“Shh, honey. Everything’s okay. It’s just time for you to take a swim. You’ve been depressed and talking crazy the past few days. I’ll say I tried to get to you but you jumped before I could stop you. I had a bit of trouble dosing your drink tonight. That bitch of a roommate of yours wouldn’t take her eyes off me. I can tell she’s hot for me. She’ll need consoling after you go overboard. She’s not bad looking. I can probably get her in bed in no time. Whadaya think?”
Jenna was paralyzed and could only look at him with eyes wide with terror.
“You were so easy. You just ate up my sad little boy routine. Dusty said you’d probably spread your legs for me before the week was out. I was hoping for some of that before you went over, but you had to mess it up. He ain’t even on this ship. He’s back in Greensboro. You were crazy to think he’s here, but it works in our favor. Now the whole ship thinks you’re nuts. Anyway, this is where we part ways.” He put an arm under her to lift her over the railing.
She heard a click and realized it was a gun being cocked.
“Stop right there, Mr. Wilson.” It was the Chief Security Officer Scott. “Release Miss Davenport and turn around slowly.” When Drew released her, she fell to the deck. The momentary deflection of the guard’s attention gave Drew the moment he needed. He jumped past the guard and raced down the deck. Two burly deck hands cut off his exit. They cornered him. With a crazed look back at Jenna, he dashed to his right and sailed over the railing. A deckhand ran to the side and threw over a life preserver, the other ran to the wall and rang the man overboard bell. The security guard came and propped Jenna up. “Good thing I kept an eye on you.” Once again, a deckhand picked her up like a child and carried her to sickbay.
***
Jenna was sitting by her attorney in a courtroom twenty days later. It was the beginning of February, so she was the only one in the courtroom sporting a suntan. She got it during fourteen glorious days in the Caribbean. Once she had realized Dusty wasn’t on the ship, she could relax. She realized she had experienced hallucinations, but they had seemed so real. The ship’s doctor said that was common in survivors of abuse. The final eight days had done her a world of good.
“Guilty,” the judge intoned. “Sentencing to be on…” he looked at the court calendar. “The 24th of February. Bailiff, take him away.” The bailiff led Dustin Randall in an orange jumpsuit from the courtroom.
“Your honor. I’m Mr. Mills from the District Attorney’s office,” said a man approaching the gate separating the attorneys from the courtroom. “We’d like to request a delay in sentencing of Mr. Randall until the disposition of our case. I have three warrants for the arrest of Dustin Lee Randall, his cousin Andrew Scott Wilson and his father, D. Jarratt Randall. We plan to charge them with multiple felonies including bribery, racketeering, wiretap, suborning felonies, conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to hire a murder, attempted first degree murder, kidnapping, assault with intent to kill, witness tampering. And there may be more.”
“Your honor,” the Randall lawyer objected. “These charges are all hearsay. A spurned woman violently attacked young Dusty and now they want to drag the Randall family name through the mud. The family has suffered enough. I move to drop the charges as baseless.”
“Objection overruled. The charges will stand. Sentencing is delayed. Since we relate the counts to the current tort, the clerk will calendar them on my court dates. Court adjourned.”
Megan E. Freeman's debut novel is forthcoming from Simon & Schuster/Aladdin, and her poetry collection, Lessons on Sleeping Alone, is published by Liquid Light Press. Her poetry has appeared in multiple anthologies and literary journals, and as commissions by the Los Angeles Master Chorale and Ars Nova Singers. Megan lives and writes near Boulder, Colorado. www.meganefreeman.com |
The rug you pulled from under us
was quite the magic carpet,
for where I thought we stood upon the floor
there’s only air
and gravity’s a cosmic joke
they play on married women.
All the plates I haven’t thrown and smashed against the wall
could re-shingle my roof.
the words pile up
on the surface of my skin
flaking off into cups of tea
handed smilingly across white tablecloths
to the outstretched hands of simple-minded actresses
they execute tour de force auditions
ingénues doing backbends
into leading lady roles
contorting themselves into obscenities
designed to charm and delight
I am a snake in the footlights
coiling around their sequined ankles
shedding my carmine skin
leaving trails of blood and pus
daring the handler to misjudge me again
All Fall Down
like basketballs
and pee-chee folders
spins on your
middle finger
wearing out the tennis player
like Bill Cosby
55 miles per hour
spinning at 45
chipmunk stand-up
like straw into gold
spun at the top
of the tower – blood
on the spindle and the floor
like silkworms
in the 3rd grade terrarium
spinning from memory
without knowing why
I’m an airplane
until you put me down
dizzy
spinning
faster than the earth
twist up the swing hanging
in the family tree
then spin
like a cordless drill
into the core
of the steep front lawn
heading for China
so fast the colors blur
obscuring the facts
of my face and our name
spinning
spinning
all fall down
appropriate
that the water you shoved me into
was deeper than you were
submerged
my tears mixed and became part of the larger pool
masking my distress and embracing my saturated self
long hair
floated up in gentle arcs around my head
like underwater plants with blooming tendrils
reaching for the surface
the aqua lens softened your face
one might mistake the steadiness of your gaze
for compassion
rippling in concentric circles around the splash I made
the sun
behind your head played tricks with your silhouette
alternating starry crowns and the urge to hold my breath
rather than emerge and inhale
the air that every inch of you consumed
BOBBY Z is a avid writer and Blogger, also has video’s, audio’s a podcast and has Authored the Book Tales Of The Junkyard Dog. A rather abrupt and unusual Collection of Poems providing insightful and comical commentary on life, the Convergence of the past and the present, and the trails and tribulations of Relationships---BLOG https://talesofthejunkyarddog.wordpress.com BOBBY Z THE JYD, 78 YEAR OLD VET, CANCER SURVIVOR, RECOVERING ALCOHOLIC (41 YEARS) AND ORIGINAL JERSEY CITY 50’S BAD BOY WHO TELLS IT LIKE IT IS FROM THE BELLY OF THE BEAST. |
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO DADDY’S LITTLE GIRLS
We didn’t know that TWO were on the way.
God has sent us a blessing.
We’ll never forget Jan. 18th their Birthday.
When they were born.
I put a sign in the window.
And called one Baby A and one Baby B.
One weighed 8-10- and the other 8-3.
They eventually became known as Joni & Bobbi.
One is a brunette.
The other has shades of red.
Both have blue eyes.
And never failed to turn a head.
The walks on Central Avenue.
Christmas shopping at the stores.
Making cards for Christmas.
Which I kept hidden in the drawer.
Now that both are Married.
And have always been a constant joy.
They make every day special.
And one has produced three baby boy’s.
One has hair so straight.
The other full of curls.
They shall forever remain in my heart
And forever be Daddy’s Little Girls.
THE SKY IS CRYING
THE WORLD IS ON FIRE---NO WHERE TO RUN
TOTAL DISRESPECT---OF WHAT WE HAVE BEEN DEALT.
MOTHER NATURE IS UPSET---TIME FOR THE PAIN TO BE FELT.
EARTH QUAKES AND TUSAMI’S---ARE NOW ALL THE RAGE.
THE SUN REFUSES TO SHINE---NO TIME TO TURN TO A NEW PAGE.
OVER POPULATION---3RD WORLD COUNTRIES HUNGER RULES.
ISLAMIC TERROIST’S PREVAIL---GOVERNMENTS CONTROLLED BY FOOLS.
THE SKY IS NOW CRYING---ITS MUCH TOO LATE TO RUN.
THE ANTI-CHRISTSILENTLY AWAITS.
WHILE THE MASSES AWAIT THE APPEARANCE OF THE CHOOSEN ONE.
MUSIC THAT SOOTHES THE SAVAGE BEAST
FROM THE “MET” TO THE “STREET”.
MUSIC THAT EXCITES AND DELIGHTS US.
LIKE A CONSTANT DRUM BEAT.
GOING TO THE BROOKLYN PARAMOINT.
TO FULFILL OuR MUSIC NEEDS.
ROCK’IN ROLL SHOWS HOSTED BY.
THE ONE AND ONLY ALAN FREED.
Gloria by the Cadillac’s
Dry humping at the Friday nite dances.
Listening to earth Angel.
While at the drive-in, doing a little romancing.
IT’S NO MORE DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL.
WHEN YOU GET UP WITH YOUR DAUGHTER TO SWIRL.
ITS NOW the ALL TIME FAVORITE.
BY THE TEMPTATIONS, “MY Girl”.
There was a time many years ago.
When the music temporarily died.
Buddy holly, Richie valen’s & the big bopper.
Are now appearing on that big stage in the sky.
Then there was the chambers brothers.
With a 60”S favorite “time”.
Or how about johnny cash’s
50’s favorite “walk the line”
Or bobby z’s version which he sang at the nco club at fort bliss
In 1963 and 64
I keep my pants up with a piece if twine
I keep my eyes open all the time.
Because of you, I’d walk the line.
Because your mine, please pull the twine.
Music that excites you.
Makes you want to dance.
Music very special.
To help you when romancing.
Maybe it was “jerry lee lewis”.
Who left you rock’in and reel’in.
Or was it the righteous brothers.
With the greatest song ever ”you lost that loving feeling”.
Johnny ray, singing “that little white cloud that cried”.
The young rascals and the four tops had no flaws.
Janis Joplin & big brother and the holding company.
Bobby fuller singing “I fought the law”.
May have been jackie Wilson.
Causing the crowds to roar.
Or was it bobby Dylan.
Doing “knock’in on heaven’s door.
Danc’in to the slow ones.
Will always in our minds remain.
To another old time favorite.
The knockouts doing “darling Lorraine”.
From George thorogood with “bad to the bone”.
To elvis doing “blue suede shoes”.
Or how about screaming jay Hawkins with “I put a spell on you”.
And of course bb king signing the blues.
Whenever on the dance floor.
We always held her tight.
Especially when dancing to.
“in the still of the night:.
Words that leave you.
And sounds so gentle and sweet.
Music that arouses you.
Makes you jump to your feet.
How about the Beatles.
Doing sgt. Peppers lonely Hearts Band.
Or maybe joe cocker.
Doing a little help from my friends.
Or could it have been robert palmer singing.
“”doctor—doctor give me the cure”
I got a bad case of lov’in you.
Jersey city’s own, the Dupree’s.
With the classic “you belong to me”/
Or maybe the young rascals.
doing “people got to be free”.
From “rock around the clock” to “Johnny be good.”
May it never cease.
Music thru the ages.
Has “soothed the savage beast”.
Now that we have taken.
A stroll down memory lane.
Music tells a story.
Sounds that shall forever remain.
RELEASE ME
MY MIND TURNS WEAK, AND MY BLOOD RUNS COLD.
DESIRES THAT WERE ONCE ON FIRE.
COLLIDE WITH MY EMOTIONS, AND CONTINUE TO CONSPIRE.
DILUTED EMOTIONS, THAT FAIL TO APPEAR.
LONGING FOR SOMEONE, YET FROZEN WITH FEAR.
CONTEMPTIBLE THOUGHTS,THAT FLOAT THRU THE AIR.
YOU’RE A ROUGE IN DISGUISE, CONFINED TO YOUR CHAIR.
YOU SEARCH FOR JUSTICE, PLEASE RELEASE ME FROM THESE CHAINS.
THE MAGNITUDE OF TORMENT, CONSOLIDATES THE PAIN.
YOU REACH FOR THE LEVER, ALL SYSTEMS ARE GO.
TORMENTED EXPRESSIONS,CONSTANTLY ASKING WHY IS IT SO.
TORTURED MEMORIES, THAT SMOTHER YOUR FACE.
AS YOU SLITHER INTO THE DARKNESS, WITHOUT EVEN A TRACE.
THE 50’s
THE 50’s WERE SPECIAL….HARMONIZING IN THE HALL.
WALKING TO SCHOOL….UPHILL BOTH WAYS .
PEGGED PANTS AND BOX CAR SHOES……THOSE WERE THE DAYS.
PUT A NICKEL IN THE JUKEBOX…..WHAT DO YOU HEAR.
EARTH ANGEL & IN THE STILL OF THE NITE….STILL BRINGS A TEAR.
STICK BALL IN THE STREETS……PITCHING PENNIES & NICKELS AGAINST A WALL.
COLD WATER FLATS……WITH TOILETS IN THE HALL.
RIDING OUR BIKES….MOST OF THE DAY.
SKINNY DIPPING IN THE HUDSON RIVER….AND THE NEWARK BAY.
THE GIN MILLS WERE ALWAYS BUSY….ON A FRIDAY NITE.
LEATHER JACKETS WITH COLLARS UP…..ALWAYS READY FOR A FIGHT.
FALLING IN LOVE….AT THE FRIDAY NITE DANCES.
GOING TO THE DRIVE IN….FOR A LITTLE ROMANCING.
CONTAINERS OF BEER…..AND THUNDER-BIRD WINE.
THE ONLY SOURCE OF FALSE COURAGE….WE HAD AT THAT TIME.
TAKING THE TUBES TO THE CITY…..CATCHING A MOVIE AT THE SQUARE.
SNEAKING INTO #6 SCHOOL FOR A MID-NITE SWIM….ALWAYS READY TO COMB OUR HAIR.
THE NEWS WAS A NICKEL….EVERYONE HAD A PAPER ROUTE.
BURGERS AT THE WHITE MANNA….DOO WOP MUSIC & ALAN FREED AT THE PARAMOUNT.
BRASS KNUCKLES & SWITCH BLADE KNIFES….AND THE ALL TIME FAVORITE BASEBALL BAT.
ALWAYS READY FOR A RUMBLE…..AT THE DROP OF A HAT.
CHOPPED DOWN MERC’S & BAD ASS FORD’S. WE ALL HAD A DUCK’S ASS ON OUR HAIR.
WE WERE ALL JD’s…. BUT WE DIDN’T CARE.
THOSE WERE THE DAYS…. AND MAY BE LOST FOREVER.
THE ABOVE IS JUST A BRIEF REMINDER…..THE FIFTIES (50’s) WERE SPECIAL
& MAY WE ALWAYS REMEMBER.
SLEEPLESS NITE
UNFILLED SCHEMES.
DRIED UP EMOTIONS.
IMPOTENT DEVOTION.
FAULTY EMBRACES.
FEELINGS WITHOUT TRACES.
CONCENTRATED HOSTILITIES.
YET YOU RESEMBLE TOTAL TRANQUILITY.
CONFINED TO A LIFE OF UNBALANCED REGRET.
CAN’T PROCEED BECAUSE YOU CAN’T RELENT.
OCEAN’S OF CONTAMINATED THOUGHTS.
LEAVE YOU VACANT AND DISTRAUGHT.
TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF YOUR INNER SOUL.
SENTENCES YOU TO A LIFE OF BEING ALONE.
TRAPPED IN A CYCLE OF TOTAL DESPAIR.
ABANDONED BY OTHERS, CONFINED TO YOUR CHAIR.
VOID OF THE ABILITY TO EXPRESS REMORSE.
CONSUMED BY THE THOUGHT THAT ALL WILL BE LOST.
THE LIGHTS ARE DIMMING AND THE BAND WILL NOT PLAY.
SOMEONE APPROACHES WITH NOTHING TO SAY.
THE TIME HAS COME TO JUST SLIP AWAY.
CONSTANT PROCRASTINATION CAUSES A DELAY.
MAYBE TOMORROW THE TIME WILL BE RIGHT.
FOR NOW GET READY FOR ANOTHER SLEEPLESS NITE.
VISIONS OF GRANDEUR
INFILTRATE OUR MINDS.
LEAVES US YEARNING.
FOR THAT SPECIAL TIME.
CONSOLIDATING OUR DESIRES.
WAS IT A DREAM OR WAS IT REAL.
DID IT OCCUR.
OR WAS IT SURREAL.
DAYDREAMING.
BEYOND OUR GOALS.
LEAVING US VACANT.
LIKE LOnG LOST SOULS.
A KNOCK AT THE DOOR.
REVEALS NO ONE THERE.
VISIONS THAT COME AND GO.
MAY BE TOO MUCH TO BEAR.
EMOTIONS IGNITED BY DESPAIR.
RELINQUISH OUR DESIRE.
TO RELEASE THE PAIN.
LEAVING US UNINSPIRED.
VISIONS OF GRANDEUR.
ONCE FOREVER IN OUR MINDS.
SHALL REMAIN HIDDEN FOREVER.
FOREVER CONFINED.
The Black Eagle
The black eagle kicked Heaven's face,
And the earth caught wild fire,
Gliding down tearing up the hissing winds,
With his armoured open palms.
Eagle,
The black eagle cut the air into pieces,
With his muscular strength,
And slapped the Earth's face,
Red waters run down her face.
Eagle,
The black eagle scrolled his bloodshot eyes,
Down spying the walking chicken,
Peeled his sharpened fingernails,
And swooped down at a blind chick.
Eagle,
The black eagle deafened his sharp ears,
As the mother-hen clucked angrily,
Pacing up and down the chimney breast,
Like a woman whose house is engulfed in flames.
Eagle,
The black eagle beat his open palms back,
Sliding through the winds like lightning,
Flapping, clapping, with the chick in his giant palms,
Sharpening the pencil of his concave iron-lips.
Eagle,
The black eagle tore the innocent chick,
Apart, part by part, the chick's shut eyes
Opened wider than the Gates of Hell,
Murmuring, dying in the palms of death.
Eagle,
The black eagle is the bird of the king,
From the roof of the skies, white fire filled,
To the bottom of the earth, black fire filled,
Bird of the king is the king of all birds.
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