La Llorona

The cold wraps her arms around me and I think she's trying to pull me back away from the water. I still want to jump in, though.
The crying woman is there again. She stands on the opposite shore, waving her hand, beckoning me to swim to her. I place a foot on the ice. A loud crack echoes across the valley. The crying woman laughs.
She's whiter than usual tonight. He glow is like the moon. Her hair, long, dances with the wind. I want to go to her.
I shed my coat, and the cold's embrace becomes tighter. I shiver.
"I should go," I say.
The crying woman nods her head. She laughs again. All I hear is the wind whipping around my frozen ears. I step onto the ice. It moves. Another crack and I'm floating on a slick raft, bobbing on the shallow waves.
I reach back to the shore and grab a heavy rock. I put it in my pants pocket. I grab another. The ice moves. I take another step and my foot breaks through the ice. The water reaches my knee, stabbing through denim and biting my leg. I follow through with the other leg.
The crying woman hugs herself.
The cold isn't embracing me anymore. She slaps me across my face, and pummels me along my body. She's angry. She can't stop me. I climb forward onto the ice and force it to break. The ice floats away from me, leaving open water. It's up to my neck, and the cold now strangles me. I stop breathing.
The crying woman is smiling, though tears still descend down her cheeks. She claps her hands and it sounds like more ice breaking. The valley is silent.
"I'm coming to you," I call to the woman, but the wind steals my words.
She stops smiling and turns away.
"Don't go," I say.
The words fight to leave my mouth. My teeth chatter and my jaw clenches. Warmth radiates from my body and the night gets darker. The crying woman walks further on. I can hear her sobs now. I look back to the shore, and it is miles away.
"I can't turn back," I say.
It gets darker. I am not cold. I look back to where the crying woman stood and see nothing. I look up and see the moon, frowning. I want to sleep.
I inhale and go under.
The cold is angry.

It Means So Little

I had to marry her. Or else I would have lost her,
She sent me a letter while I was deployed. The jist of it being I don't know if I can wait any longer.
I called her the night I got it. I sang our favorite song:
"If you can wait 'til I get home," I sang. "Then I swear come tomorrow this will all be in the past,"
She stayed. I came home. We married. And now the irony that I sang her a breakup song has not been lost on me. I sit at my desk, typing her a letter.
I'm leaving.
I type, I should have never asked you to wait for me. I should have let you leave. I'm sorry. I just don't love you anymore.
It's been three years since we wed. I'm not actually sure when I stopped loving her. This morning, I watched her sleep, from across the expanse of a king-size bed, snoring lightly. I tried to see the girl I loved, the one I fell for in high school. I tried to remember what it was about her that made me beg her to stay. All I could see was a skinny, silent blond bundled up in blankets.
I type, memories are all we have now. When did we last talk?
A gigantic silence has grown between us, and the weight of it threatens to take down the whole house. It has a routine. I come home, and eat her cooking while she does homework in the other room. I wash my truck while the sun goes down and then watch TV. She's never around. I fall asleep on the couch. When I do get to bed, she's already quiet and breathing shallowly, facing the wall. She doesn't even move when I lay on the mattress.
"Good night," I usually say anyways.
I type, we haven't done anything wrong. But can we honestly call ourselves a couple? Do we even know each other?"
I hit and hold the backspace. The letter's too sappy. Too dramatic. I just want to tell her I contacted a lawyer yesterday. I'd tell her in person, but I don't know where she is tonight.
I hear the front door and then someone punching in the alarm code.
"Cheryl?" I call.
"Hey, babe!" she calls back.
Heels click against hardwood and linoleum, through the den and kitchen, and then down the stairs to my office. She walks up behind my chair, wraps her arms around me and kisses my neck. She smells nice.
"New perfume?" I ask.
"Yep. Beth got it for me," she says.
"Oh."
She's wearing a short and tight blue cocktail dress. Her legs look amazing.
"You went out tonight?" I ask.
She sits in the la-z-boy in the corner and kicks off her heels. She brings her legs up beneath her and lets her hair down. It pours down her shoulders like a fountain of gold. I catch my breath.
"How was your day?" she asks.
She pulls out and lights a cigarette.
"Good," I say. "Um, good. I got a lot of work done on those reports."
"Reports?"
"Yeah. The ones to track my unit's spending? There's been some discrepancies, and now Gunny is on my ass because they were due..."
I trail off. She's passed out. Her cigarette burns between her fingers. Her head bobs to the side.
"Babe?"
"Hm?"
She comes to and shakes her head, knocking off an earring. She takes a drag from the cigarette, There's a hickey under her left ear lobe.
"You went out tonight?" I ask again.
"Mmhmm. Beth wanted to."
"Oh."
The heavy silence is there then. I swear I hear the floor creak under it.
"Did you have fun?" I ask.
"Yep," she says quietly. "Maybe too much. Do you have any leave available?"
"Um, yeah," I say. The question surprises me. "Of course. Why?"
"We should take a trip."
"Yeah?"
She takes another drag from her cigarette and rubs her feet. Her toenails are painted pink. I love her toes. I think about giving her a foot massage.
"Yeah. I mean."
More drags.
"We need some time together."
I nod my head. I read what I typed. The confidence I felt while typing earlier is wavering. I delete a word. And then another.
"Where'd we go?" I ask.
She puts out her cigarette. She brush a few strands of her highlighted hair behind her ear. Her thumb brushes the hickey. It's fresh. Still wet. She wipes her thumb on her dress. We make eye contact but then quickly look away like strangers on the street. As if it were an awkward accident.
"How about Hawaii?" she says. "We never did get our honeymoon."
"We didn't."
"So, let's go."
She's back behind me with her arms across my chest. She smells so nice. I hit control-a and then delete.
"Were you writing me a letter?" she asks.
"Um. Yeah." I say and chuckle. I hope she can't hear that I'm holding my breathe. I don't know how much she read.
"Aw," she says and kisses my cheek. "Like you used to in high school!"
High school. I loved her in high school.
"Yep. But it was bad. I don't write like I used to."
"I'm sure it was great," she says and rubs my chest. "I wish I could have read it."
She hugs me tighter and gives me another kiss. I glance at her and see the hickey.
"I'm going to go get dinner started. Hawaii," she says.
"Yeah, Hawaii," I say. "Can't be too expensive. When?"
"Soon."
"Ok, soon."
She kisses me one last time and runs up the steps, leaving her heels on the chair. There's a slip of paper in one with a phone number on it.
I can't leave her. Or else I'll have to admit I've lost her.

The Revolution

The Revolution

            Aljandrr turned up the lamp and found a man straddling him in bed, holding a knife.

            “Hello,” he said, forcing his mind to alertness. “Can I help you?”

            “The revolution is here, my prince,” the man whispered and leaned forward into Aljandrr’s face. “And I know who you are.”

            He moved the knife through Aljandrr’s thick hair, parting it and grazing his scalp.

            “You have the royal tattoo, sire” he said.

            He spit into Aljandrr’s eye.

            “Your time has come. For the revolution!” He screamed and brought the knife down.

            Aljandrr bolted up, throwing the man off the bed. He leapt to the bedside and kicked the man in the crotch several times. The man shrieked and dropped the knife. Aljandrr grabbed the knife and stabbed the man’s heart. For seconds the assailant gurgled and choked on blood, and then his eyes rolled back. Aljandrr stood and stared at the body. Then he heard the crashing and screaming from the brothel’s floors below. Cursing his heavy sleeping, he bounded to the bedroom door; slamming it shut and praying nobody heard the fight.

            The revolution. The talks and rallies in the city center and at the docks for the past several months actually led to something. The Communalists cried for a change. Cried for an end to what they deemed to be mistreatment from the royalty and aristocracy. They swore for a bloody and fiery end to the status quo. And the throne waved away the concern. Nobody took it seriously. But now it was happening.

            Aljandrr ran to the window. A cry began to leave his lips, but he clasped a hand over his mouth. Outside was fire. There were bodies on the street. A crowd gathered in front of the brothel; mostly scared women clutching children and confused men deciding whether or not to join the mob tearing the building apart. The floor vibrated as the activity continued through the floors below. Aljandrr’s mind raced. No thoughts fully formed and he continued to stare out the window, his hand wetting with his breath. The door slammed open.

            “Brother! You are free! The revolution is here and you are no longer a slave to your whoredom,” a woman shouted to him and then jumped back out of the room.

            Aljandrr glanced at the body behind his bed. Thanking the gods the woman hadn’t seen it, he bundled it up in blankets and shoved it beneath the bed. He dressed and ran outside.

            “Dear lords,” he said as he saw the condition of the building.

            The doors were torn off and burning in the street. All windows were smashed, and fires were lit on the bottom floors. Companions were standing together, some dressed, some naked, and some bundled in their bedspreads. Some were crying. Some were shocked. Too many cheered and encouraged the destruction. A shrill scream of terror echoed from the building. Lady Antebi, the brothel mother, was dragged by her hair into the street.

            “We’ve found her,” howled a man grasping her head. “She tried to hide, but the fires choked her out!”

            He lifted her up against a wall, and two more men grabbed her arms and held her to the bricks. Aljandrr wanted to run and defend her. The woman had been good to him. She had been good to all her house children. She had been good.

            “This noble has been anything but! She has enslaved men and women of our city to a life of sleaze and contempt. She taught them it was right to give their bodies to the pleasures of others,” the lead aggressor continued to shout. “Her quarter of the city has been one of perversion. She collects profit from pawning people!”

            Lady Antebi cried and screamed for help. She fought the men holding her arms. More revolutionaries jumped in and held her still. The chief walked up to her, grabbed her hair and shoved her head up. He slid a blade against her exposed neck. Lady Antebi’s cries silenced and her eyes faded with remorse as her nightclothes sponged red. Aljandrr balled his fists to keep from reacting. He wanted to murder every revolutionary there, but instead bit his lip and shook. The revolutionaries let go of Lady Antebi’s body and let it fall onto the concrete. A pool of blood poured from under her.

            “All you who were caught in her disgusting claws are now free! Join us as we find the next noble! The revolution continues,” the chief called and stepped off down the street.

            “You’re monsters! You’re all monsters,” a companion screeched.

            Aljandrr sprinted over to her, and slammed a hand over her mouth. Those encouraging the horrendous acts glared at them. Some stepped toward them. Aljandrr shushed the woman.

            “Be quiet or you’ll be next,” he whispered into her ear.

            “She’s a supporter! She must be killed,” some called out then.

            “No! She’s merely shocked by the violence. She’s merely reacting,” Aljandrr called back. “I know her and I will calm her! But go with our leader, brothers and sisters! The revolution continues!”

            The crowd smiled like devils at his words, thrust their hands up and yowled into the night, and ran to catch up with the rest of the mob. When they were far away enough, Aljandrr turned to the woman and those who stayed.

            “Go to your families. Wait this out,” he said.

            “But we can’t just let this happen! We have to do something,” a male companion said.

            “There’s nothing we can do,” Aljandrr hissed. “We are outnumbered. We are in danger. Go to your homes, and keep your loved ones safe.”

            They hesitated. Their anger filled the air with and furious vapor.

            “Now!”

            They parted and ran to their homes. Aljandrr wished gods’ blessings on them. He then thought of his loved ones. Where was his husband, Ijordi? Where was his friend Pori and his family? As if summoned by his thoughts, Ijordi was running down the street to him. Aljandrr ran up and clasped on to him. He let some tears fall and some wails escape him.

            “You’re scared. I know,” Ijordi said and ran his hands through Aljandrr’s hair and rubbed his back. “It’ll be ok. You’ll be ok.”

            Aljandrr pulled back and looked into Ijordi’s face. “How would you know? What’s keeping me from being next?”

            “Nobody knows who you are still. You’ll be fine. Go home and wait for me there.”

            “Where are you going?”

            “I’m joining in.”

            “Ijordi, no. Please, no.”

            “The revolution continues, Aljandrr. I will be part of it!”

            Aljandrr let go of him and stepped back. He fought the impulse to smack Ijordi right there. To pummel him. But he remembered the words he gave the companions. He calmed himself and spoke in low tones.

            “If you must, then go. I’ll be at home,” he said. “But…”

            Ijordi turned to run, and halted.

            “What?”

            “Nothing. Just go.”

            Ijordi ran off. Aljandrr kept his thoughts controlled. Now he knew where Ijordi was, but where was Pori? A new vicious thought then mangled his mind. The royalty. His family. He looked toward the Manor, but buildings and trees blocked the view. An ominous orange glow shined into the sky above. Aljandrr’s stomach tightened.

            “Of course,” he said.

            He needed a better view, and ran to the Crest Tree. He could see the entire city if he climbed to the highest branches. He grabbed the rope ladders and scurried up to the canopy. He was greeted by fire. Half the city burned; boats in the marina, the villas in the hills. The Manor. The royal seat was surrounded in huge, high flames. Most of it lay in embers.

            “Of course,” Aljandrr said again. “That would have been the first place.”

            He was alone and let himself cry. He let himself shake. He let his thoughts careen. He didn’t know what to do. His family would all be dead by now. He may have abdicated and abandoned them, but he still wretched when he thought of his parents and siblings, no doubt in the same condition as Lady Antebi. He clutched to the thin veil of security in his secrecy. He had done well to keep his identity hidden. But how long would that last? The man who attacked him knew, didn’t he? He heard the rope ladder bang against the tree as someone else climbed up. Pori.

            “Aljandrr! What are you doing?”

            “They’re all dead.”

            “Yes, probably. Maybe. Come on,” Pori said. “We have to hurry. We’re going to grab a boat and sail into the harbor. The fishermen on the water haven’t been touched yet.”

            “What? Why?”

            “You’re not safe.”

            “I know.”

            “No, you don’t,” Pori said. “They’ve figured out who you are. They’re searching for you.”

Feelings are Stupid 2

Still not sure how I'm doing it. But I am, I guess. I know I shouldn't need a man to make me feel alive, but hell, I do. And I have no idea how to erase that urge.

Anyway. Feelings are dumb and I may have cried at another wedding tonight when this song played.

Driving Memory

"She's a good girl; loves her mama. Loves Jesus and America too."

I am in my 12th hour of driving and Tom Petty is threatening to lull me to sleep. I'd turn the radio off, but then the sleep breathing of my dog, Dulce, in the back seat will work their evil magic as well. I open the window and light my fortieth cigarette. It's dark. It's cold. I just want to be home.

There is something otherworldly, netherworldly, about Utah in the dark. Driving on a black road, surrounded by black sky, I am only reminded I'm even alive when street signs illuminate in my headlights or the damn check engine light flashes briefly. I am driving my car into the ground. A warm bed can't come soon enough.

"And I'm free. Free falling," Tom Petty calls out into the dark.

I am free falling. I am sleep driving and probably wouldn't notice if I drove off a cliff. How awful that would be for Dulce. Poor girl. I will stay alert for her sake. Awake for her sake. In about ten more miles, I will stop and stretch, and she can walk and pee. Poor girl.

As if through telepathy, she jumps up and yawns. I give her a milkbone; my hand waving blindly in the dark so I don't dare take my eyes off the road. These mountains will get you if you try to outsmart them. I've had plenty of close calls. Between semi-trucks barreling past me (I drive slow. Sue me.), and gigantic windmill turbines slicing through fog only yards above the road, I am thoroughly freaked out at anything. Still too sleepy to focus, though.

"Dear god, does Utah ever end?" I ask no one. Maybe Dulce.

She's finished with her milkbone and doing the awkward dance-climb into the front seat. She tries to get on my lap, and my hand catches her nose with every one of her prods. No lap sitting now, girl. Daddy needs to keep us alive. She falls into the passenger seat and licks the window. Poor girl is thirsty. She whines. Yep. Break time.

Rumble strips shake me awake as my car veers to the right, and I stop at the bottom of a red giant. A sign blares in huge white letters that I am at a vista point. If it weren't so dark, I'm sure it'd be gorgeous. I hook Dulce to her leash and step out of the car. My phone vibrates.

"Is BryBry good?"

I stab at the screen with a frozen but gloved finger.

"BryBry is good. Stopping to walk dog. Maybe a nap."

I need a nap. I need to be home.

Abdication

"I hereby renounce my place in the royal line."
Aljandrr, or whatever name he was giving himself, watched the ink drip off the end of his quill and splash on the parchment. He counted the splatters of ink on his left hand. He dipped the pen and repeated. All the paper needed was a signature. Then he'd be free.
"I withdraw all connections I have had or will have with the throne and families thereupon."
Three years into the decision, and he hadn't yet made up his mind. All the deliberation, decisions and conflict of choosing to abandon his family had come down to this: his name and his seal.
"I make this choice of my own accord, and have not been coerced in any way."
His hands shook as he dipped the pen one final time. He took a deep breathe, held it, and then scribbled his signature.
"Brijton di Walker IV"
He crushed the quill in his hand and stood up, shoving the chair across the room. He walked over to Ijordi and grabbed him by the waist. He shoved his head into Ijordi's shoulder and let the tears flow.
"It's done," he said. "I just have to seal it and deliver it to the King."
"Your father."
"The King. I signed my name. It's done."
Ijordi rubbed Aljandrr's head.
"My Prince is no longer a prince then," he said.
"No."
"Then I guess it's time to start using your new name, Aljandrr."
Ijordi took Aljandrr's head into his hands, and with his thumbs wiped away the tears salting his cheeks. He kissed him on the forehead. He smiled.
Aljandrr thought it was a strange smile. There was shame there.
"Yes. Aljandrr Ivy. I am a commoner now."
He flinched as soon as he muttered the words. He forgot that Ijordi was still a servant and still used the tree name to signify it. And he just insulted him. Ijordi's eyes flared.
"You are a citizen," he said.
His words were stiff and he let go of Aljandrr's head.
"I'm sorry. It's going to take a while for me to adjust, you know."
Ijordi laughed and hugged Aljandrr.
"You will. You will do great, I know. The hardest part is over."
"And you still understand why I've done this?"
Ijordi sighed a deep sigh. He took Aljandrr's hands into his and kissed them. He rubbed the engagement band on Aljandrr's left finger, where it replaced the royal seal he wore before.
"Honestly, darling, I don't think I ever will. But I am here to support you and love you, like I promised."
Aljandrr smiled. He'd be ok.
There was a knock at the door, and the Courier entered.
"Prince..."
"No."
Aljandrr snapped.
"Excuse me, sir. I didn't realize you were finished. Master Ivy."
"Thank you," Aljandrr said.
"Master Ivy, are you ready to deliver the abdication? Your fa...the King waits."
"I just have to seal it."
Aljandrr walked to the desk and lit his sealing candle. He dripped several drops on the folded paper, and, retrieving his discarded ring from its box, pressed the royal seal one last time. He passed the letter to the Courier.
"Ok, let's go."
He took Ijordi's hand and they followed to the Royal Chamber. He couldn't help but notice the small look of shame on Ijordi's face again. He hoped it would mean nothing.

Aljandrr's Speech

“The council lies to you! Misleads you! Keeps you in ignorance!” Aljandrr

said.

            His voice boomed across the market and harbor, and he hoped it shook the Manor walls and windows.

            “Who remembers if my father lied? The King was truthful, honest, right up to revealing his own family’s location, which did lead to their death. Deaths, remember, at the hands of our Council!”

            Aljandrr spotted the loyalists in the crowd, and captured their eyes, glowing red like irritated insect bites. He knew he had them listening, even if they wanted to bash him for every word. He continued.

            “The Council steals from you! The taxes leave families without food, and ruin business!”

            “You should appreciate the taxes,” a voice called out. “They pay for the city!”

            “Sure, you’ve been told that,” Aljandrr said. “But what is the state of our city? Crumbling walls and roads. School children who don’t read. A harbor threatening to dry up without fish. Boats drifting on the water as the ropes rot from the basin. Our food was once plentiful! A surplus! And now we ration! We once had medicine and now our children die!”

            Aljandrr choked on the last line, which fought him. His thoughts returned to Pori, the fisherman, whose daughter died in arms. He didn’t want to think of her. He didn’t want to remember her pained, bloated face as she rasped her last breath, unable to even mutter a cry. He fought tears, and closed his eyes. His head dropped and the crowd went quiet. He opened his eyes to see them leaning forward, as if trying to listen to his tears fall. He cleared his throat, and brought his head up. He did not wipe away the tears.

            “Did my father steal from you? Did any of the slaughtered aristocracy? How often did guards come to your homes and demand your petty change at the point of their spears?”

            “Never!” a woman shouted.

            Bellows of agreement followed her cry. Aljandrr hit a nerve. He pressed on.

            “The Council kills. Murders. The Council threatens other nations and causes them to cut off trade and arm their borders. We used to be the center of the world! My father was not just King of Walker’s Rest. He was king of the globe!”

            There was movement in the back of the crowd. Aljandrr saw people being thrown like pillows kicked from a bed, weightless as linen bags in the wind. The crowd dissipated as if smoke in a fan. The guardsmen were coming to take him, Aljandrr knew, and shot a look at Levi’i, his protector. She leapt on the stage and covered him with a blanket, pushing him off the stage.

            The guards still came, and those who fought them were instantly beaten. Aljandrr saw a man get a spear through his stomach. His blood spattered a nearby woman, who grabbed her children and sprinted through the market. A guard began to chase her. Aljandrr looked away before he saw the guard catch up to her. Aljandrr cursed his nonviolent oath, and bit his lip for being unarmed.

Aljandrr's Arrest

“I called the guard, Aljandrr” Ijordi said. “They’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

            I froze with dinner in my mouth, and focused on deciding whether I’d swallow, choke or spit it out. I chewed. I let silence fill the room while tasting and savoring the bite. I knew it would be my last, if what I thought my arrest would bring were true.

            “We were talking about the beach, Ijordi,” I said.

            My mind threatened to collapse, and I forced it to avoid anything to do with Ijordi’s revelation.

            “I said I wanted to collect sea glass, and I asked you what your favorite color would be.”

            Ijordi stood and slammed his hands on the table. My food leapt from the plate, which followed it to the floor with a clang. My water glass toppled and spilled across the table. It rolled along the wood until also falling to the floor. The echo tried in vain to compete with Ijordi’s frustrated breathing.

            “Will you just hear what I said,” he said. “I turned you in. You’re going to prison!”

            “I heard what you said,” I said.

            I mopped up water with my napkin.

            “There’s just a lot to process.”

            “Well, process it. You have a little over ten minutes before they come to take you.”

            “Who?”
            “The guards!”

            “Oh, right. Because you turned me in.”

            Ijordi growled as I giggled. I knew it was a mean thing to do, but I wasn’t going to make this easy for him. I knew he was making a rash decision, and I was going to start his payment for it. I reached down and picked up the plate. I picked up the knife, and then the fork. And then I scooped up bits of food, one handful at a time, returning to a full sit every time.

            “I guess I should ask why?” I said.

            Ijordi started to speak, but I held up my hands.

            “But what would be the point? I’m going to die.”

            Ijordi spun from the table and stomped across the kitchen. I knew I hit a nerve, and was now convinced he hasn’t thought this plan through.

            “You’re not going to die,” he said.

            “No? I guess I’m unaware of how traitors and seditionists are treated by the Council upon arrest. I just know we usually never hear from them again.”

            “What? You think they’re going to torture you and kill you?”

            “At the very least, yes.”

            Ijordi was silent, and his head began to hang lower and lower. He was turned away, but I knew his eyes were watering. He started shaking. I walked up to him and hugged him from behind. I kissed the back of his neck.

            “For what ever it’s worth,” I said. “I forgive you.”

            He started to sob and there was a pounding on the front door.