Save jPod!

jPod is an amazing cult classic book by Douglas Coupland, and it was created into a clut classic television show by CBC, a Canadian station. The show is amazing itself, very intelligent and hilarious.

The problem is this: the show was canceled only months after its premier because the viewers were not traditional, mostly watching online. And on top of that, when they moved the time to a Friday night, the television viewers went even farther south. It's a great show, despite the viewers; It's tailored for people who like Juno, Arrested Development, The Office and other "intelligent" comedies if I may.

So I'm asking this:

Please watch jPod. You can watch it here on The WB site.

Please sign this petition to get jPod back into production.

Please spread the word about it on to your family, friends and all over the internet. It's a great show, and it's fan base could grow beyond cult but in America, at least, it's widely unknown because it never got a traditional broadcast. So please spread the word to your family, friends, all over the internet, about this show. I'm sure you will like it, a lot of others will too, and WE NEED jPOD BACK!

Hmmm

Don't take this like I'm complaining, because I'm not. I love my new friends in Vancouver. I couldn't ask for more...except I sort of am.
One thing I miss about Newport is my friends. Actually, that is almost all I miss when I think about it really hard. I have the most amazing friends in Newport, and I wouldn't trade them for the worlds and alternate worlds from Dr. Who. I love how diverse my friends were in Newport, how...everything. Guys and galls.
Well, all I really have up here are galls. No guy friends. Or none yet. Or no really good friends that are guys. Yeah, that one. I miss having friends that were male, because it's different when they aren't...female. Except, it's so hard finding friends for me. I'm so picky, I guess. They have to be smart, have to know who they are, do more than just sports...Someone with a good taste in life, art, music, people. Just my Chris, Sam, Kevin...
Hmmm...and it seems that every time I do seem to make friends with someone of the male gender here, they are already seniors! Goddamn.


hahaha.

Woah

A Seperate Place - Unifinished

Romulus Temulous was a wonderful sweet fellow who frequent glasses when reading and peered over them to see distances with delight. He had the face of a handsome young man and wore his favorite pea coat when he stepped out. You could have almost seen the sun part way, for the sun shine down on the world with great happiness, when Romulus slipped into view.

-Now, how do you do? Mr. Faulkner asked as Romulus stepped into his store with a bounce and a hop. Romulus is a fellow of a bit beyond average height with lean muscles and broad shoulders. His face, long and elegant, is cut in half by a broad nose that led from a tall forehead to full, pursed lips, all of which was framed by hair unruly the deepest shade of brown imaginable. Most notable is the austere aura his body and face gives off, marked by welcoming warm body language and an attitude towards people and life unrivaled in friendliness and kindness.

-Quite fine myself. Et tu?

-Dandy as always, Mr. Faulkner said back with his old crooked smile.

Little Athy –who was named so to cease confusion with his footballing older brother Athy- came into the store with a smile on his part. A young boy no older then ten he was at the moment, he wore brown trousers and scruffy brown shoes to boot.

-Romulus!

-Hi there Little Athy, how are you doing today?

And little Athy skipped out of the store with a lemon sweet pushed neatly in the pocket of his cheek that Romulus bought for him.

-Oh, what a kind gentleman, that fine young Wharton, young maidens swooned as Romulus popped down the sidewalk, elegant white borzoi in one hand, a bag in the other, and a spiffy silk hat propped on top his head. With a pea coat tightly wrapped on his body, the New England autumn winds were blocked out elegantly by an authentic haut-couture piece of art.

And it wasn’t just those young maidens that swooned over Romulus. No, not at all: all the young maidens, widows and all the fair ladies in town in their right minds swooned over Romulus. And in their goodness, they had sense in it: white borzoi, bag and hat in hand, Romulus stepped into his large townhouse, welcomed hastily by man and woman servants with the finest tea served in the finest china ready on hand for him. In the finely furnished home Romulus housed himself in his life and style was nearly handed to him on a silver platter whose smith had no rival.

-A pity, the fine young maidens said, shaking their heads with a smile as Romulus passed, buttock waving adieu from side to side.

And a pity it was, as his fine gentlemen’s hand was taken in matrimony by the late mayor’s daughter, Elise Hillary Harrison. A local artist and school teacher fueled by an inheritance of her deceased parents, Elise lived a fine life as a philanthropist. Oh how her parents would have been proud of her so.

-Darling, is that you? Elise implored from the reading room as Romulus stepped into the parlor for tea and lunch.

-Yes, Angel, it is I.

Elise lithely pounced on top of him, and though their portrayal was grossly out of fashion at the time they made it obvious that their love was all but untrue.

-Oh bother, how lewd, a man servant groaned to another woman servant. Elise was kissing and Romulus kissing back, not vigorously or violently, mind you, but little pecks here and there. Elise’s flat bosom strongly contrasted Romulus’ full buttock, allowing great closeness between the two. On top of the flatness, Elise is quite smooth and skinny and straight but with the slightest curve: a nice youngness to her elongated ladylikeness. People say she most resembled her mother in the beautiful straight nose she wore, but her strong blue eyes and think-lined, curved mouth they say she got from her father.

-Darling, my leg.

Many spoke of the late Harrisonses: they grew from a colorful background of intellect, but it was the late Mr. Harrison that worked his way steadily up to the position of the city’s mayor. Along the path they accumulated a healthy sum. The late Harrisonses loved each other dearly, eloping at a young age against their parent’s ill blessing. But that didn’t deter their parents from changing their opinions on the two’s position as man and wife, nor the town: many who knew the Harrisonses simply loved them as neighbor and has mayor and family.

-Is it hurting again? Should you need aspirin? Should I fetch you some?

But not all were too keen and too fond of the Harrisonses, a select few especially disagreed with Mr. Harrison as mayor. His eagerness for equality and fairness, their love of justice for the right, not the rich, and their advent, progressive, individualistic ideals rubbed some folk the wrong way.

-No, Darling, but if you could kindly get off of it.

So those select few took things wrongly in their hands and attempted to rid the city of the Harrisonses. The young man Greene and his dim older brother went into their house past’s summer night and laid a bullet into each Mr. and Mrs. head. Elise was spared life with just a bullet to a leg as she hopped, tears flowing freely, to the neighbors for help.

The young man Greene was put to death by outraged fold who felt that fifteen years in the infirmary was not enough as a punishment. His older brother laid behind bars for ten years, as he didn’t truly understand much of what happened.

-It is quite sad, woman gossiped over tea and biscuits, he is a kind man, dim as he is he would normally harm not even a fly, he just loved his family and brother too much to say no.

“All was finally well,” many thought after all the commotion ended. Happily married to Romulus Wharton, Elise was quite well, apart from her leg that frequent her with problems, Elise was quite well Romulus was quite right himself, cucumber sandwich being chewed upon in the pocket of his cheek and Elise in hand, Romulus was quite right himself.

-The dinner tonight, did you remember?

Romulus crewed thoughtfully on a bite nodding lightly all the while.

-Cook is attending to that, he said after swallowing.

-The flowers, you picked them up?

-Yes, Angel.

-The wine, you didn’t forget the wine, did you?

Elise was quite anxious, for her dinners and soirées were well known and attended, and because it had become gradually harder to walk, Romulus had to attend to chores she would normally take care of.

-You could have taken the car if you don’t trust me Angel.

-I could have, she said back playfully, but seeing you suffer is worth my panic.

The dinner went quite perfectly. Mayor Yates showed up with his portly wife, the socialite neighbors and friends showed up and many others of the high A-list members of society came. Everyone at least gave off the aura of enjoying themselves wholesomely through a seven course meal centered on the finest stake to ever grace the custom Wedgewood servers and mild talk.

-How has the office been treating you? Miss Caroline of the 89^th avenue boutique asked Mayor Yates. The light of the fireplace flickered warmly from behind the Mayor’s back as he bit into a stake everyone mentally deemed to large for the 40-some aged man who was less then a third of his wife’s mass.

-The office? Mayor Yates said after swallowing his bite. The office, well it’s been quite nice. If you call the commotion of an impending second world war and all the miscellaneous things people worry over because of it and all the things I do to calm the city nice, oh it’s been nice.

And how did the dining folk break into a mild chuckle. It was, on the most part, forced and faked, because truly it wasn’t as funny as the Mayor thought it was. Everyone just felt the need to be, as Holden Caulfield once said, phony, and suck up to the mayor that everyone in the very backs of their heads agreed was truly an idiot. And there was his fat wife, who quickly downed her plates and steak and was encroaching on his. Truly, no one really enjoyed them as much as they thought others did.

The fireplace served as a constant throughout the dinner. There was one in every room, and they were always ablaze. Dinner ended with liquor glazed apples, and when that was consumed and leftover apples were eaten “secretly” by Mrs. Yates, everyone piled into the parlor and sat themselves talking small talk as the Stetson son, who was just barely an adult, lightly played the piano as his parents conversed with other adults. Romulus felt more comfortable around the younger crowd, though he was only twenty-five and three years above the mean of the crowd that conjugated around the twenty-four year old Ben and his piano playing, and naturally Romulus was there with them joining in their own light talk. They had to talk lightly, as it was, because those boys talked quite dirty sometimes.

-Did you see Betsy? Geoffrey Johnson said mentioning the young girl around their own age who just grew her own set of bosoms. The girls and ladies of the dinner felt that the young men were too crude and prudent for their own good, and joined in with the adults away from the piano.

Geoffrey was Romulus’ best friend and Romulus his, always together from a young age though he was three years his junior. The two were opposites also: though Romulus looked like a great athlete, had the sculpted body of a Michelangelo to prove it so, he was otherwise an untalented being, confined to the works of his mind and hands. Geoffrey, on the other hand, was quite an athlete, but lacked any greater cognitive and creative qualities to his existence.

-Phew, who didn’t? Replied Jon Harrison, Elise’s younger cousin, with a whistle.

Geoffrey blew a kiss at Betsy Yates, who noticed and mouthed a “fuck you,” and Geoffrey offered a dramatic gasp.

-Romulus didn’t, Ben said after thought.

-Because Romulus has his own girl.

-And a damn fine girl she is, said Tyler O’Riley, a husky athletic young man whose family builds sky scrapers. Everyone around the piano meaningfully nodded in agreement.

Romulus blushed and threw a menacing smile.

-Your and your families are no longer invited to our dinners.

-Ha! The likes of that happening, my ass! Samuel Raulfe, son of the powerful and rich George Raulfe of R&E Contractors Co., quickly threw out as he tossed back his head and powerful head of dark hair.

-Yeah, Elise won’t not let the lot of us come for her little get-togethers, Jon said back. Romulus knew defeat when he saw one, and through his playful exasperated expression the others found victory.

There was a general sway in the direction of applauds and small cheering, and Romulus was caught off guard by a beautiful white cake with delightful candles that gave off the wildest of sparks brought in Elise. The room broke into a celebrative song that Ben accompanied on the piano.

Happy birthday to you

Tra lala la la la

Happy birthday to you

Tra lala la la la

Happy birthday our dear Romulus

Tra lala la lala la la

Happy birthday to you

Tra lala la la la

There was another general applauding, louder then the last, and Romulus flushed a light red. Elise stood there with the greatest of smiles on her face, all the while the cake was in her extended arms. The greatest of smile ended up being an expression of pain and agony.

-Hurry and make a wish, my arms are going to fall off, she said.

-Oh!

Romulus thought thoughtfully for a full few seconds, and blew out the candles. Elise set the cake on the nearest table and shook her arms free of pain.

-I believe I asked for no form of celebration.

-No celebrating your birthday? My ass! Geoffrey announced loudly to the whole room.

-Geoffrey! Language! He growled back.

-Come, Elise said as she took his hand, present time.

Romulus shot her a look of dismay and shock, and all she could do was pull a meek innocent smile and she led him upstairs into the dining room as the rest of the crowd followed close behind, chattering about how well they caught him off guard and how much they surprised him and how happy he will be when they open their present to him or how they picked the gift with Romulus perfectly in mind. Inside the dining room, there was a nice pile of gifts wrapped neatly in gold and blue and yellow and silver.

-What? No, come on, I said I didn’t want anything, Romulus said turning around to the group behind him.

Obviously some people can’t see a plight of being humble when it’s shoved in their face, and Mrs. Yates spoke up:

-Oh, how rude, rejecting gifts.

And everyone secretly rolled their eyes, some at Mrs. Yates idiotic outburst and others Romulus’ humblism.

-Just open the presents, we spent good time and money on them, Elise said with the crowd agreeing on her statement wholly.

Romulus stepped up to the table, which was promptly cleared of dishes and centerpieces and chairs by servants and set up with gifts. He surveyed the table, looking for a small item he felt wouldn’t be too over bearing. Though he loved to shower himself, Elise and others with extravagant gifts, he couldn’t stand receiving them. Though he loved to have people over in his lavish home and dine on exquisite meals of the finest cuts of meat, he felt bad being the center of others purchases, saddened to think of people who couldn’t afford a glance at the gifts he were to open and keep and love all to himself. He picked up a small rectangular box, which could be nothing but a pen or cufflink. He gently lifted the lid, and behold, it was a wooden fountain pen, with a small ink well.

-That one is from me, said Mr. Yates.

-Thank you, Romulus said back, closing the gift box and putting it into a started pile of opened presents next to the one of unopened ones. Though he hates receiving gifts, because of the reasons before, he also hates being disappointed and disappointing: all those people who think they know their presenter so well truly don’t, and that pen was, frankly, a horrible gift. He would have enjoyed a set of cufflinks much more.

-I’ll be sure to use it, soon.

The night wearied on as Romulus opened gift after gift: a tie from the Stetsons, brown oxfords from the Raulfes, a collection of well read authors and stories from the Johnsons, and an accumulation of other apparels, trinkets and books. Romulus quite liked the books, and clothes, especially the shoes. He hesitantly thanks the entirety of the guests and hesitantly pushed them out of the door fearing another onslaught of surprises. The wrapping and boxes were swiftly put away in the garbage and recycling by the servants, the books stacked neatly in the library and the clothes tucked away in the wardrobe by Romulus, who pulled out of the stacks “James Joyce: A Collection,” which he received from the Friasons, to read before bed. Romulus, much like Elise, was a well read person, who prized his great sense of style and handsome face only second to his intellect. Settling down under sheets and comforters, silk and linen none the less, he opened to the first selection of works by James Joyce, “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.”

-You’ve already read that one Darling, Elise said peering over his shoulder from her own reading, and it’s in the library, too.

-And I plan on reading this and all the other gifts, and keep them all, if you are trying to get at selling or giving the ones I already have away.

Romulus Wharton is a wonderful sweet fellow who peers at books before bed next to Elise through his glasses with delight. He prefers to make people happy, a happytologist: a spreader of kindness and joy, as he puts it.

2

-Romulus Darling, my Song Bird, Elise said as she shook him lightly, wake up. She was all dressed for the occasion of living as Romulus was in bed, “James Joyce: A Collection” between his fingers at page 23.

-Romulus Darling, don’t be lazy now, early bird gets the worm they say.

Romulus moaned and stretched in bed, the sheets and comforters pulling between his limbs as James Joyce fell with an fwap on the rugged floor.

-What time is it, Starling? He managed to utter through a yawn.

-Only past 11’oclock, she said.

-Oh! Why didn’t you wake me? I have to… shower! I– clothes, clothes… clothes yes! Dear, is there breakfast? Shower!

And how did Elise love to see her handsome, muscular and yet lean-at-once young husband jump about trying to get ready for the day. She just inspected him as he ran from the wardrobe to the closet to the bathroom to the vanity with the greatest erotic look in her eyes.

-Hello? Dear? He said when he noticed she had not said a word.

-11’oclock Sunday, my big Song Bird, she said barely able to maintain a stable face through the cracks of laughter.

-Oh, well that’s good.

Truly, it was okay he woke up at 11’oclock Sunday. Many would go to church on Sunday, and expected many others to go also, because only the damned neglect to go. But Romulus said to Elise, straight forward and up when they first found their relationship something of a serious matter:

-Elise, dear.

-Yes?

-You do know I am not a religious man, do you?

And Elise didn’t mind it at all. He had perfectly good reasons against the religion of Christ, and fought vigorously against those who proclaimed America a religious state. Elise was born into a progressive, individual thinking family, but they were however a religious family of the Roman Catholic faith. She was a strong follower of Christ and God and the Pope, insisting that though religion does bring about much plight to the world it has done more good then bad. Romulus however disagreed with the statement, but said that he doesn’t care if she was a pagan shaman, and only hoped that she wouldn’t mind if he was a pagan shaman himself. Quite naturally, her progressive, individualistic ideas overruled her religious ideas and she didn’t care. In fact, his atheism and staunch faith in science has begun to have her question religion, and he was quite content wit being damned. Elise still finds herself at church at least every Sunday of the Julian calendar, whether weather permits or not.

Elise preferred to prepare meals herself, her own touch of homeliness to the relationship when the maids and servants did much else in the house. Only on occasions such as dinners or holidays did they hire a cook. She made a ham and egg breakfast for Romulus and a ham and egg brunch for herself. Ham cuts sizzling brown on a pan and the eggs poaching quickly was the way she liked to start a day, or midday in her case. Romulus sat at the breakfast table in a glass pained nook aside from the kitchen, reading from the daily and sipping freshly squeezed orange juice. Romulus himself is a staunch supporter of fresh juices, and is quite impartial to the idea of coffee first thing in the day.

-I can’t believe I’m married to a twenty-six year old, Elise sighed out loud with a smile.

-Quite a gentleman’s lady, you are, but don’t forget you are encroaching the age yourself, Miss. Twenty-four-year-old.

-Twenty-three-and-three-fifths as it is, I’m still not quite there yet, she said checking her face in the reflection of the toaster. Romulus laughed when he saw her.

-Hmph, she grunted in reply, a lady may be twenty-six but she can still look not quite twenty herself. What do you plan on doing on your first day as a twenty-six year old, by the way?

-Hmm, he sounded thoughtfully, I’m not sure. Stay home? That sounds nice.

-How boring! I’ve already gone to church, we should go out some where.

-To where, do you propose?

-Skiing? To the beach?

-What a large polar difference you proposed there. Sand, or snow? Hmm, he sounded again, how about skiing? First years snow has lain down on the mountains yesterday and the paper says it is the most seen this decade too.

-Fantastic, skiing it is.

And the young couple plus a weighted year set off in their black Cadillac up to the mountains, after packing skis and jackets and parkas and goggles and a light snack for the ride, who laid just an hours drive away. Past the city streets, under towers and warehouses and townhouses and street lamps and into the forest of mossen trees and ferns they went. Steadily climbing up in their car, they were met with the first snow of the season on the mountain road that lined the tops of trees and the sides of the road where the trees opened slightly to allow the precipitation.

-Beautiful, just beautiful, Elise said as she gazed around in awe as if a child in a toy emporium, when do you think the city will get snow?

-Soon, the paper says a high pressure front will be coming out way, with low temperatures.

-Just beautiful, she sighed slowly in reply, sinking in to the passenger seat satisfied with looking about.

Slowly they made their way out of the forested roads of trees and of moss and ferns. The trees began to thin, and the mosses and ferns were the first to leave part, and soon there were no trees but a few here and there on either side or much any to expect up front. All that was to truly expect was the looming mountain range and the snow that powdered down from all around lightly on top of their brethren that fell the night before. Elise was taken by the sight of the great snow fall in the decade’s history and the first snow fall of the years history and began to gaze open mouthed once more.

-Wow, fantastic! Wow!

-I hope you didn’t lose your skiing legs this past year, Romulus mentioned between her gasps.

-I hope you didn’t either, just because it is day one of twenty-six doesn’t mean lady luck is going down the slaloms with you.

-Ah, but she is, he said at once. Elise turned to him, confused by his retort, only to find his lip adjoined to hers for a moment’s second. His arm laid quickly behind her neck, his hand playing frequently with her dark blonde hair tied neatly in an up-do.

-You’re as much a ladies man as I a gentleman’s lady, she said with a roll of the eyes, only to find herself pecking him on the cheek with a kiss of her own.

They drove on up the mountain to the resort cabin, a large looming thing that stuck out as a brown mass against the pallor completion of the mountain side. Romulus’ arm stayed put up behind Elise’s neck, playing with her hair all the while his attention was set on the road ahead. Elise, on the other hand, was looking in mirrors applying makeup here and there, now too busy to gasp or exclaim.

-Darling, the goggles will ruin the makeup, and no one is going to care about a freckle or two up on the mountain.

-That’s what you think. You should truly get away from those young men and start listening to the adults talk, now and then. We don’t bite, you know.

-Is that a promise?

-Scots honor, she said rigidly back, mocking his near serious confirmative phrase he picked up in the scouts as a child and teen.

Brandy Alexander was the name of the cabin and resort, easily named after the founder, a nice entrepreneur who made a business off of hotels and resorts. His family was on trial for a while, because they were framed with his murder, but it ended up that it was his secret man lover who felt the need to kill him over a grapefruit or some sort. The business is still in the Alexander name, however, with the family cleared of all charges and Jose Hernandez behind bars for a few decades. Homosexuality was looked wrongly at before the advent of the 60’s and 70’s. Some how religious Elise and her family found ideas of homosexuals as equals to heterosexuals ideal. Great progressive thinkers they were, and oh how the world would have mourned of their loss even more if they were to be lived just a few decades more to change the world a bit more here and there, or all over as Elise says.

They easily pulled into the parking lot, easily marked with a large wooden sign proclaiming the resort as “Brandy Alexander.” They stepped their way out of the car, putting on their jackets and parkas and goggles over their foreheads and holding their skis under their arms. Under the goggle on Elise’s head makeup and coverall smeared. They stepped into the foyer of the building, high and grand with large wooden beams the shape of natural trees. The very large and majestic cabin was built during the depression, with president Roosevelt trying to pull his nation out of depression and fallibility struck a deal with builders of the nation to have local artisans work on contracted buildings and resorts on and off national parks he deemed national. The grand granite counter propped up lamps and plants and keeper books, behind the counter a tack board full of numbers and keys lined properly by floor and number, east to west. A kind young fellow, no older then eighteen, struck a grand, genuine smile that had no rival.

-Welcome to the Brandy Alexander, mister and madam, how can I accommodate you today?

-No room today, thank you - Romulus glanced at the table plaque - Romulus! How coincidental, I’m a Romulus also.

-Great name, our parents picked out, don’t you think so?

-Ah yes, very fantastic name. Now, were not here to stay over night, just a nice days ski would be in our best interest.

The couple trotted out of the cabin and up a path that led them farther up the mountain side to where the lift would began. Many others who would afford were among them, pulling in the lot were families and friends, school scholars and graduates, who felt the need to enjoy the years first snow also.

-What a nice fellow, that Romulus in there.

-Ah yes, Romulus said, seemed to truly enjoy his job.

A cool blow of wind came their way, and Romulus wrapped his jacket tighter around, pulling his woolen cap farther down his unruly hair. He took a step closer to Elise, who shuddered against the winds but both hands were too busy balancing her skis and poles to do anything about it. He promptly took the equipment, freeing her hands to tend to articles that needed editing. With a swift peck on the lips, she stepped down from her tippy toes and began to pull herself together.

-I swear, Romulus began.

-Swearing, it is a sin against god, a porky lady from the left said.

-I swear, he began once more, I’m going to grow the worst bruise if you keep up pecking me there.

-Hmph, porky snorted back with a toss up of her chin as she waddled to catch up with her full bellied husband and surprisingly gaunt sons.

-I swear, Elise said only so Romulus could head, she’s starving those two poor boys.

-Now, don’t think poorly of people you don’t even know Darling.

-But she-

-She, Romulus cut in with the greatest placid expression and a voice, a sing song voice, as sweet as honey dews, doesn’t know me either, nor you her. Please don’t think of people poorly or greatly based on a few words barely exchanged.

Elise sighed, defeated like many times before.

-For a man of twenty-six years, you sure speak and think like a man with years immeasurable.

-As long as that doesn’t affect my complexion, I’m all for it.

The young couple took quickly to the path, creating a tail behind the lift. They slowly took a step forward as the two or three people in the front of the line would take a seat in the lift that would take up meters up into the frigid air and slowly pull them up the mountain as the seat swayed to and fro in the winds. A step forward, and pause, and one more step forward and another pause. Ahead of them were only fifteen or so people, some of which looked like they skipped church and worship for an early man’s start on the mountain, with wind chapped pallor to their complexion and mantled snow pleating down their clothes. And a step forward, and then pause, and once more. Soon enough Romulus and Elise were seated uncomfortably on the lift.

-Woah hoa, Elise said as the seat swayed trying to balance itself in the winds. She tossed with the slight tussle of the lift, and landed against Romulus who caught her. My hero, she exclaimed with a nod to the melodramatic pictures she had seen.

-My fair lady, he said, holding her tighter in his arm.

They ascended up and up closer to heaven, but as soon as it felt close enough to touch it with their mittened hands, their feet touched the snowy ground and they were forced to step down or descend. The snow glistened in the noon sun, trails of other skiers leading down the mountains where others on their outing were seen waiting in a tail, going up the lift and going down the hill: from one side they leaned, and before they went to far as to lose their balance they leaned fro to the other side, a back and forth motion that became a second instinct. If not tailing or ascending or descending, they others on their outing were up on the top near heaven looking down upon all else among Romulus and Elise.

“How beautiful,” Elise thought.

“Fantastic!” Romulus thought.

They both looked about as if to be clandestine about something, minutely taking in their surroundings of cold breezes glazing the mountain tops and clouds moving about them as if they didn’t exist, yet they felt they existed, more at the moment then ever.

-Are you ready, Starling?

-On your word, Elise breathed without movement.

And they took to the slope, slowly as Romulus had to keep behind for Elise. But he didn’t mind too much, because she would normally leave for the cabin for a drink and read after a few runs allowing him time to take the mountain to his own pace. They swerved here and there, laughing heartedly when Romulus over shot a turn and fell over his side face first.

Snow began to fall by their second run. Nothing hindered their outing, neither the cool winds nor the snow that powdered their goggles with dew. They would descend and ascend, together, having the time of their years, Romulus’ new year in a new age, as if it may be their last.

-I feel this is when I should go have a cup of coffee, Elise said after coming down from the fourth run down the mountain side.

-Are you sure? Romulus asked uneasily, scared that her departure would askew the delicate balance that served to their fun. Can you not face one more run?

-Starling, I’m tired. I’m thirsty, I’m hungry and I want to rest. Maybe later. Won’t you join me?

Romulus thought on it for just a mere second before coming up with his conclusive reply:

-Of course, why not?

The couple slid neatly as far as they could, taking off their equipment and putting them into the locker they rented for the day. Their wet and damp clothing were peeled off, layer by layer, as if build up like an onion to reveal a beautiful center of cashmere and wool and knit and weave. Romulus pulled warmly into his pea coat, stored freshly in the car, whereas Elise wore what she did under: a knit sweater and progressive trousers.

Stepping into the heated dining area of the cabin, they were welcomed by a server who sat them down in a booth for a late lunch. “And what would you like to start with?” the server asked?

-Tea, please, Romulus requested, and Swiss cheese sandwich.

-Coffee, black, and the chef’s soup.

-Our apologies, the chef is out with the flu for the while being, but broccoli and cheese soup is today’s special, prepared by his souse chef. Is that quite fine?

-Quite perfect.

-I’ll be back with your order soon.

The couple sat still for a few moments, tasting the water which had a sprig of mint and a wedge of lemon floating amongst ice cubes. It was a fantastic drink, if not for the situation of the environment with the slightly cool breeze and the minimal amount of warmth and shelter the mountain provided from the snow and ice. But apart from that, it was a fantastic complimentary drink, mint and lemon water.

-Honey Bun, get the steak. You need the energy.

-As you insist.

-Can I have a steak also? Asked the older looking boy.

-No you cannot, barked back the portly lady from before, you will have a salad.

-But-

-With no dressing.

-Darling, they were skiing all day, they may be hungry, the bellied husband tried to retort back.

-Look at them, the lady spat back waving her arms theatrically about the two boys, they need the exercise and they need the diet.

-Darling, no they-

-Who said you can have a word? She spat once more.

It was quite a scene, the lady was making about her family and other guests to the resort. The whole family was well kept, nicely dressed in the newest fashion, obviously for the two parents things were in dire need of modifications, or total and complete custom fabrication. The rich family harbored two gangly boys, maybe twins or not, but around 15 or 16 in age, but one older looking then the other in facial hair and deep cut facial structure. Deep in natural handsome features that would be even more exemplified with more mass as the boys were very gaunt in their outward appearance, quiet and shrew in demeanor.

-She’s starving those boys, Elise said snatching the attention of Romulus who was, up to then, focused on his water and straw.

-Darling, it is not of our business.

-None of our business? If she, for lords sake I hope she isn’t, but if she were to beat those poor boy’s, is it then none of our business? If she were to put forced labor onto those boy’s, is it still none of our business?

-Well, in those cases.

-Then why is starvation any different? She’s depriving them, she’s neglecting them. Just look at her and the husband, you can’t say they can’t afford food let alone it may be in their blood that the boys are skinny, naturally.

Befallen, Romulus began to shake his head lightly in concurrence.

-I agree, I agree Darling, but what do you propose you, and he thought for a quick moment, we do?

-I’m not sure, she replied. But they’re starving, Romulus, starving, she said with a deep saddened look that plead that he quickly think up a plan and put it into action. Romulus, simply convinced that something had to be done with mind tricks, sighed and pushed out of his seat. He eloquently walked up to the polar massed table that sat four with his head held up high and with the most propriety in his stride and a look of authority.

-Madame, Sir, he said with a stern nod to each. Gentlemen, he said with a kind nod to the two boys.

Taken by surprise, and, possibly due to a short memory, without recollection of their last run in, the mother said with the worst and most conceived jolly voice:

-Hello sir, how can we help you today?

Romulus got a good look of the family. They were now very obviously very rich, dressed in the best of the best clothing available to the world. The boys were dressed in sweaters and black trouser pants, the father in a suit that barely covered his belly, and the mother, oh god the mother: she had some how made very expensive make up look cakey and pancake like, her face made up like a tramp of some sort. She was very haughty in attitude and seemed to find her self superior to all else.

-Please beg me, but I couldn’t help over hear, and over see, your boys look quite, how do I put it, but your boys look quite neglected. Starved, actually, to tell the truth.

The lady was taken back, snarled and spat acid over Romulus:

-Neglected? I do nothing but love my two boys, don’t I Honey Bun? She nearly screamed.

-Yes, yes, of course, all we do is love them. But Darling, they are quite stau-

-Quite! Not another word. And you, she said turning to Romulus, who are you coming up here all big and mighty, accusing me of neglecting and starving my children?

-T.S. Rumsfeild, Romulus said seriously, jutting out a hand to be taken, and I have?

-Maude Bouvier Ralieghfeilds, she spat, what’s it to ‘ya?

-I’m with public and social services, I represent neglected and abused infants, children and teenagers, and I have right to assume that you, Maude Bouvier Ralieghfeilds, and your spouse, are neglecting your teenagers. As dictated by the government, I must report anyone who I suspect is doing any harm to their children. In your case you will be given a two weeks time to try and get things straightened out before you should expect a worker from our offices, who will inspect your family for any leftover negligence. In that case, you will be expected in court for a hearing over the custody over your two boys. This is a very serious matter, Mrs. Ralieghfeilds, and we recommend very strongly you take matters in changing your lifestyle drastically soon, for all your sake. That will be all, until two weeks.

Romulus began to walk back to Elise, when he turned around for one more comment:

-And if you are to, somehow, miss that worker, you will be expected in court regardless.

Dumb struck with what just happened, Maude opened her mouth in a reflexive motion to reply, but it hung open for her to jut it back closed mindlessly. The husband looked very nervous, sweating shine beads down his forehead, and the two boys looked thoroughly confused as if the word “negligence” and “starvation” hadn’t existed before.

-That was, amazing! Elise exclaimed under her breath as Romulus slid into the booth. She was elated that something happened, something that may benefit the world, a family, or two teenage boys.

-You think?

-I do think so, T.S. Rumsfeild, Elise said nearly erotically.

-I think I heard that name on a radio drama, Romulus laughed back, but do you think it all worked?

-I’m not sure, but it really scared the father. Elise paused with her eyes focused on her mint lemon water in concentration. Maude Bouvier Ralieghfeilds, she whispered, Ralieghfeilds. I think I’ve heard of them before, very rich people. They work for the federal government, or he does I believe not that the government wouldn’t allow a female to work for them. But I do not think he would risk such a threat with his prestige and job possibly at stake.

-That’s nice to know, I guess.

Romulus sipped at his water, quite pleased with his little game of cat and mouse.

Through lunch a man around 40 in age stepped into the dining room. He cleared his throat noisily, as if to grab people’s attention. He spoke:

-I’m sorry to inform all of you that there has been an emergency warning for a severe blizzard and high wind speeds for tonight, and early tomorrow. We were informed to not allow anyone to travel down the mountain, or forbid going up.

-What does that mean? A man in the audience asked.

-Well, it means that you are stuck here for the time being, through tonight. Rooms will be in order, and for those who cannot afford the rooms for any reason, accommodations will be met to all Brandy Alexander standards. My apologies for being the bringer of poor news, and please have a happy stay.

There was a general commotion amongst the diners, moans and groans and people already feeling the effects of claustrophobia. People were nearly all over the place, of their voices and emotions were: some people were quite happy to be stuck up in the mountains, to possibly miss a day of school. Others were distraught with the idea of missing school, the idea of being stranded or the question of money.

-That is rotten, Elise said pulling her lips to one side, I was going to have tea with some ladies from the church tomorrow and talk about the books we’ve read.

-I guess, Romulus managed to utter while preoccupied with other thoughts.

-Is everything okay? You can just call in and tell the people at work what happened, right?

-Yes yes, that is all okay. I’m just not sure where my wallet is at the moment.

-What?!

-Don’t panic, Darling, don’t panic. We’ll just go look for it.

Romulus got up from his seat robotically and retraced his steps without emotion. His wallet has to be around here, “I made sure I had it before we came to dine,” he thought. Elise stalked close behind, looking over the floor. They made their way slowly past chattering tables and booths and bars and into the foyer where they soon retraced steps that weren’t even theirs.

-Has a lost wallet been dropped off here?

-I’m sorry miss, but if anything were to be reported or found it would be in customer service, down that hall slightly.

-Thank you, she said turning towards Romulus. I’m going to go check there, at customer service Romulus.

-Sure thing, I’ll look outside.

Elise nearly sprinted out of sight as Romulus pushed against large wooden doors with intricate animal and native motifs. He looked all over the ground, but the gusting winds blew snow all over and obscured his search to sight seeing of white blur. Fed up with the flurry of snow, Romulus gave up his search for the wallet within just seconds. Mr. Ralieghfeilds was waiting for him inside, a very dreadful look melted across his face. Romulus began to panic instantly, frightened by the confrontation he feared his heart began to race.

-Mr. Wharton?

-Yes? And instantly Romulus thought himself a damn fool.

-I, uh, I want to give you my personal word that I, we, will take better care of… of our children.

-Um, yes, thank you.

-I just don’t want anyone to have poor feelings of my family, my wife or my children. We truly love them, truly, but sometimes fissionability obscures her common sense. He paused for a second, as if to catch a silent breath.

-Anyways, he began once more, I found your wallet. You dropped it after confronting us, and I meant to give it back to you.

Romulus took the wallet in his hand and quickly stuffed it in his back pocket nervously. He had not only had a second coming with who he just confronted with negligence of their children, but his façade as T.S. Rumsfeild was seen through. But at least I have my wallet, he thought on the bright side of things.

-I just want to thank you, the man ended before walking away.

Romulus drew a deep sigh when he was completely beyond sight. He stood there, stunned or thinking deeply on a subject, but seemingly oblivious. He felt he was lucky he came out with his head still attached and for some reason to Romulus the threat of something from them beyond that last confrontation seemed unlikely. Elise came slouching into the picture, obviously distraught.

- Who knew people lost their wallets so often? I had to go through about a thousand wallets to see if anyone had in yours, and to no luck. She tried to break a smile asking, did you have any luck?

Romulus nodded a silent reply.

-What's wrong Tulip? Is something bothering you?

-No, Romulus drew out dreamily, ending in a brisk smile and a renewal in spirits, let’s get a room, and I think I’ll be going out for another run down the mountain before it’s terribly terrible outside. Won’t you join me?

-I’ll sleep on that thought.

3

Baby girl I got you

Mm bop be bop

Tra la tre lala la

Baby boy in my arm I got you

Mm bop bop

Tre la mm bop

It was quite a nice song the Williwaw Sisters, as they called themselves, sang. The bar, called Light Sliders, was itself a spectacle, one day a place no one bothered to notice in a bar strip where bars were constantly opening and closing, the next day a place where all the famous fled to spend their evenings and nights, and it was all due to the Williwaw Sisters. Part of it was because of the talent the two presented, both raw in singing and dancing talent, where one or the other could take up an instrument, any instrument it seemed, a piano, trumpet or guitar or French horn for the matter, and play it null effort as the other sang. Another factor to the popularity was that they were colored folk, mighty beautiful color folk in their exotic wildness: both charcoal dark with rich chocolate eyes that melted folks, nappy hair that was meticulously curled into waves against their head and a tall, skinny factor with silky skin that neatly draped over their flesh and bones.

The sisters, presumably twins, sang with rich crimson lipstick neatly spread onto their lips that parted way for their pearly teeth, tossing their broad noses up into their air as they struck a falsetto.

-Those colored sisters!

-You don’t say!

-Those colored sisters, they sure can sing their way around things!

-No way, lies.

-Take my word.

-I can’t, they are colored.

-Then go yourself, it’s quite a spectacle. Singing colored girls.

Sure enough people found themselves at Light Sliders, and word got around of the fantastic singing colored girls and how they would shake the world. Sure enough they shook the world:

A man from the country had traveled to the city for look of a job. He lived with his three white male cousins, all around the age of twenty-four or twenty-five, or so. I’m not sure why it matters, but I think is. He found a job, sure enough, and it wasn’t like working on the family orchard and farm in the construction, but manual and physical and hard and sweaty labor was all he knew. Soon enough he had gotten enough money to bring his younger brother from the country over into the city to live with them, saved up from working and splitting rent with his three cousins. He made just enough in the situation, along with the other now four. They were simple people, and they knew only a simple life as white males.

As to celebrate the youngest of the group coming into the city, they planned on showing him the city life, starting with the now very famous and very popular Light Sliders. A friend had gotten them into the bar avoiding the winding line outside. Though three of them had lived in the city their whole life, they were simple people and were themselves stunned by the eloquent bar with a dark interior matching the thick night outside. People were quietly chattering over drinks on red leather stools and chairs, chain smoking menthol cigarettes and marijuana as two colored sisters sang and played the piano.

Brew them to sleep

Gotta brew them a sleep

Not quite enough

Add some more sis

Of the five of them, only the three city cousins got drunk within an hour. The two country brothers started slowly at drinks making sure not to be drunk. The other three, however, felt that it was all their land, king of Light, feeling their insides fall out as one began the shake of the world:

-Hey, niggress, you sure you can sing as good as you can please a white man? One of the city cousins said as he tried to pull one of the sister’s dresses off from the front of the stage.

-Hey, that’s pretty funny ____.

The whole bar was stunned for just a moment as if a deer caught in head lights. It was an apprehensive atmosphere for seconds that felt like minutes as the Williwaw Sisters ceased singing. The sister fought for an uneasy second as the other slapped the city cousin across the face.

-I said neck me, nigger bitch.

The younger country brother was very distraught and embarrassed over his drunken cousins. He tugged at them pleading for them to stop and apologies to the dear ladies.

-Don’t touch me you pussy nigger lover, the tugging city cousin said, and with a turn he accidently, or purposefully, pulled the Williwaw Sister off her stage, pulling apart her dress strap so that she had to hold it up in fear and tears, trying to pull away.

An instant barely passed before a burly white man, no older then thirty with arms the size of tree trunks ran his fist across the city cousins face.

-You apologies to those two ladies, the burly white man demanded, looking down at the city cousin who then laid on the parquet flood with blood drizzling down from his nostril. He just glared back up, now a lion caught in head lights, pulled out a gun and with a twitch of his finger piled two metal bullets into the mans chest cavity. No one waited in silence this time, running towards the door in screams and fear as other people broke into fist fights. Through the chaos somehow one of the city cousins grew steady hold of another gun and tossed a few bullets into the Williwaw Sister on the stage in a drunken plight against singing colored folk. He was brought down by a man with a blow to the back of the head, and he down by another man by a fist to the gut. It was a hard and bloody battle, but the Williwaw side won with more sympathizers, easily handling the city cousins and their sympathizers with guns turned around.

The older country brother quickly grew impartial to the city and fled with his brother back home.

That was the year 1941.

3

It was nearly affable, true happiness: Romulus was happy, true was that, but how unhappy he felt was disputable. As he sojourned in the cool winter of New England, disputing if there was anything else to be had in life. He had a beautiful wife, mon belle dame, wealth unknown and close friends and family. Yet, he felt incomplete, not that he wasn’t appreciative of what he did have, and not that he wanted more, more in the sense of more riches and cars and property. He wanted more feelings, to feel more: he felt numb, a bit, raising more and more as bile from the stomachs. The encroaching war of the world worried him, his young riches as an international contractor for classy buildings and homes based on the frightening economy that could fall underneath him any time. And it was falling, as the demand for mansions in the neo-classical styles or baroque restorations fell and fell.

Romulus felt the need to find who he was: a midlife crisis many years too early. He began to write essays of his thoughts, though his abuse of punctuation (he loved to frequent colons as much as possible, and many comma splices were used) led to its inevitable downfall. He began to paint, but he was not nearly patient enough to wait for anything to dry, and lacking any qualities of a great artist. Music was always ses belle dames forte, and singing and dancing was physically impossible. Romulus, instead, began to read more and more, becoming a reclusive character as on the radio stories of young deaths loomed greater over his shoulders separated by only seas and waters.

Elise noticed his new nature, and was worried.

-Dear?

-Hmm?

-Is there something wrong?

-I don’t know, why?

It was always I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know: Elise was ready to pull her eyes out if he said that once more. He began to apologize for his nature, saying that he just didn’t feel too right at the moment. Elise perceived it as winter depression, recommending that they go to somewhere warmer for the time being. It was a bit ridiculous, however, to travel for warmth as most of the world was being bombed and raped, abducted and killed: no one sans America, sans Romulus and Elise, would be relaxing. Elise pushed the idea, her own little prerogatives fueling some of it, and Romulus broke way and bought duel tickets to Oahu, Hawaii.

The couple had never seen the light of the western coasts, as they lived their whole lives on the east. A distant relative, a cousin of some sort who Romulus couldn’t seem to recall, had just passed and left him with what was now their vacation home. Romulus felt that his new acquirement was enough reason to go see the waters that had eluded them their whole lives. The winter season was near here, there, so soon it pushing many people to acquire passage into warmer countries, and Romulus felt his wife and he should take leave also.

Elise was quite excited herself. Though both her parents were dead didn’t mean that the last of her nuclear family was gone. Instead, all that was four: Wilson, thirty-four, Danielle, thirty, her and their youngest sibling Henry who was just barely twenty-two. They were all learned and well read people like she was, Wilson a professor of History at a preparatory school and the two older siblings also teachers, Danielle a school level administrator. The youngest brother, though the meekest and sweetest and kindest of all four of the Harrison children, and possibly the brightest in all fields of study of them, enlisted in the military. She frequently saw the two eldest because they stayed around the area where they grew up, as did Elise, but the military sent the youngest brother from place to place until he got to Honolulu on the island of Oahu of Hawaii.

Their warm wardrobe custom for a New England temper was going to be grossly out of fashion in Hawaii, providing too many jackets, scarves and sweaters that would serve them no good near the equator. In anticipation for the temporary home on Oahu, they went out and bought short sleeve shirts, shorts, and deck shoes in fantastic colors only suitable in warmth for Romulus. Elise herself bought dresses, some simple with white pleats across the chest and others extravagantly patterned with floral designs in lemons and mauves and rich reds, but all laid lightly against the skin, flowing seamlessly against skin and sky, suitable for the humidity and sticky heat many warned the two of. She also went out to acquire hats in various sizes, lengths and widths to shade out the sun. For the both of them, they bought sun glasses, a commodity commonly seen but rarely worn in New England due to the null need of them with the constant shade from clouds. The couple came back from fashionable boutiques and designers and department stores, bags full and wallets slightly emptier, all but neigh prepared for an adventure they anticipated with great glee.

The couple boarded an airplane off the tarmac landing, walking up a portable flight of stairs that was attended by a pimply looking man in his mid-thirties who only grunted a meek reply when saluted a greeting by passengers. A stewardess at the entrance of the airplane gave a polar greeting in comparison to the flight-of-stairs man: with a bright, full smile she colorfully said in a voice that seemed quite picturesque and faked that was none the less as thick as molasses and honey:

-‘lo, flight 209? She said with her cherry lips pulled apart to reveal ivory teeth as she extended slightly out awkwardly. Romulus realized that she was in want of two ticket stubs, and pulled them out of his pea coat pocket that Elise begged him not to take.

-Flight 209, the stewardess confirmed, please, your seats are straight down and to the left, A13, enjoy your flight. A stewardess will be shortly out to attend to any questions and needs you may have.

-Thank you, they both said entranced by the molasses shit the kind lady spat.

The awkward duo walked a few steps in and realized that everything was straight down. Though the two hard grown in wealthy families that had seen and been many placed, things seemed more difficult on their first trip alone, together, minus the other people that usually came with them. They found their seats with heavy feet, clumsily knocking into their seats with sigh blow of air.

-Here we go, Elise said jittering in her seat barely able to contain herself.

-Yup yup, replied Romulus, grasping one of his spouses hand in his own, holding it tightly, not to help contain her, no, because deep inside he was ready to burst in happiness and anticipation that he could barely contain himself. The atmosphere was thick with it all, with people looking early from wide to side, any sound snatching their attention. There were also some people in the airplane that were absolutely, full out excited that talked loudly. People got that way when they were excited, they spoke loudly when they were excited.

What was anyone to speak of on a luxury brand air flight that bounced from here to there in what was advertised to be “…the fasted flight from here to anywhere…” as the radio announcer had once said? Though there were stops and transfers in Chicago and Dallas and Portland before the initial leg of the trip that led the duo into Hawaii, things seemed to be going much faster with the ease of uneasy anticipation that boiled over from all the passengers ready to get out of sub-freezing temperatures and into a moist country with temperatures all averaging over 75 degrees.

-What did you purchase for Hawaii? Elise asked a young lady who sat next to Romulus. She struck her fancy in all her factors: a brunette of the most wonderful shade with hair that waved down her back easily, high cheek bones and rich eyes like that of an Orient framed with eyebrows that curved elegantly against her bone. She was in fact, radically, half-Orient, born from two radical aristocratic parents, though the European in her was more predominate until one reached her eyes and area. She was a student of law, still studying even at the shared age of twenty-three-and-three-fifths.

-Light shirts and trousers.

Even though Elise was an individualist herself, she was yet to be swayed with the females who begged for trousers and shirts like a male would wear. They were practical, she agreed, but highly unfashionable. But she trusted Benny, the girl with exotic eyes and an awkward name.

-You don’t say, no kidding. You have to model them for me, I can’t seem to picture it quite myself, when we get to Hawaii, of course.

-Sure, sure thing. They are quite, delectable, if you may, Benny said with a laugh. Elise joined in the laugh, though fueled less by the remark and more on the idea of fashionable shirts and trousers for females.

Romulus couldn’t find himself a friend to speak with during the flight, and found himself periodically joining in with Elise and Benny, or otherwise reading magazines provided or brought. He was quite bored, and there is little to speak of other then he found an ad for a new car model he now desperately wanted. He also craved a very dry martini before the first leg of the flight even fell.

But in time the flight fell in Hawaii. Elise made sure to meet up with Bonnie, who made sure to show Elise around (Bonnie was apparently a frequent of Hawaii.) Though Elise was quite happy with herself and a flight well spent gathering new trends and fashion tips, Romulus was horrified: he wasn’t allowed yet enough dryness in his drinks to allow him to gather time and toss it out the emergency exit.

After gathering their baggage from baggage claim they walked on with a difference in opinions of all things that happened: “How enjoyable!” one thought, where the “dreads the treads of flight and null dryness in martinis. The company is sure to get an angry letter of their lack of compliance.” Elise spoke restlessly on and on, driving Romulus up the wall. The heat was affecting him farther then it did Elise also, neglecting to take off his jacket claiming that it was “cozy,” as he put it.

They hailed a taxi cab outside, Elise’s new cream colored dress fluttering in a mild breeze as she held tightly on her wide brimmed hat in one hand and the other gripped on the handles of bags. She hopped up and down the sidewalk immediately outside of the terminal, whistling and waving here and there, trying to get any cab drivers attention. Romulus was left to attend to the other bags, a mountain-fold of bags comprising of all things Elise couldn’t leave in New England, with his messy hair matted against his forehead. He breathed heavily like a panting dog that was yet to be watered, his hands growing weary of the weight Elise left upon him. When she finally drew a cab and called for Romulus to come over with the remainder of the bags, all he could find himself uttering was “urhhg.”

-You’re dying in that jacket, mister, I can see it right now and you’re just a few steps out of air conditioning, the cab driver spoke up as he proceeded on to the address Romulus drew out of his jacket pocket. He was a nicely built young man, who looked more like an actor then a cab driver. He had that all too popular sun-kissed tan and jet black hair that was most likely natural based on the roots, Elise later deduced.

-No kidding, I’m dying.

-Well then, what are you doing not taking it off?

-He claims it’s cozy, Elise added.

-Cozily dead! The driver exclaimed with a laugh shaking his head in disbelief.

-Hummingbird, Elise said, he’s right. Take it off. We don’t want to have to bring you to the hospital right away in Hawaii because of a silly heat stroke.

-Madam has a point.

-Please, my Hummingbird? My little sheep?

Romulus seemed rarely attentive, the heat blushing his face red as salty sweat pleated down his face like a urinal flushing. He ran over the idea moments after it was proposed and took off his jacket tenderly to what he though was a radical and ingenious self created idea. Underneath was a white long sleeve shirt that was crisp from the store, allowing the heat he much needed to pass.

-Gosh you look like you’re truly dying, Darling, Elise exclaimed.

Romulus passed enough heat to function by the end of the trip, which brought them up on a hill that over looked the beaches of Oahu.

-Oh lordy, you’re the people who own this place? The cab driver couldn’t help exclaim.

The home was a large three story like no other: it was like a colonial house of the south on the mainland, but there was something different about how it extended out instead of up, and how it was very open on the inside and out, where it extended to an outside living area as if it was just a part of the inside. Keep walking around and you couldn’t even notice when you went in or out. It was also green, and according to Romulus, just darling.

-You didn’t just call a house darling, did you Darling?

-I’m not sure, he said back dreamily.

The cab driver popped open the trunk and they all took out the bags, tossing them lightly onto the front of the wooden deck that circled the entire home. They paid the cab driver, with a nice tip for helping with the bags and being just friendly, though Elise felt it was a gyp of some sort that he wasn’t some chubby Hawaiian native or something that talked funny or played the ukulele.

Romulus fumbled for the keys out of a bag, finding it with much difficulty to the point where Elise snatched it out of his hands when he did find it and opened the door herself. The opened door came with a bust of a warm-cool breeze that blew all over the couple, and when they stepped into the home they were blown away: there were cool colored chairs and sofas and plants all ready in place, a boxy winding staircase that led through all three floors, and the most exhilarating thing: ceiling fans in every room. Romulus was too busy drinking a dry cool breeze as Elise went about in the house.

-Hey there, I didn’t expect you too early, a deep rich voice said nearly next to Romulus’ ear. He jumped, most accordingly, and almost into the speakers arm.

-Hey! Who are you! He shrieked in a crackling voice. In front of his nose was a Hawaiian lady, who was large and much taller then Romulus. She had wonderful black hair that was graying here and there and rich dark skin and contrasted her colorful clothes of light fabric and wonderful floral and fauna themed prints.

-Call me Mama the house maid, please, that’s what Lenore called me.

-Lenore?

-Your cousin, dearie, ain’t you her cousin that she let the house with?

-Oh yes, of course, but I didn’t know that there was a house maid that came with the home.

-No maid comes with no house, dearie, is slavery still around in the mainland? No, I just take care of it as always, as instructed until you got here, though I did get mightily lonely without Lenore, Mr. DeJoules and the children around.

Elise made her way around the circular layout, deeply evolved and in love with the home, when she nearly ran into Mama in her obliviousness.

-Well, hello there, Elise sounded high, are you a neighbor?

-No, dearie, I used to take care of the family that lived in here.

-Oh.

Romulus is a wonderful fellow, and though he lapses here and there in action and opinion his heart is in the right place. Truly, he is only second to Brutus in having a heart in the right place. He can see into peoples souls, what they want, and more importantly, what they need.

-You can live here, all year long, Mama. If you would like, of course.

-Dearie, you joke? Thank you so much handsome, I don’t really have no family to go to, and I don’t feel too right to house keep for any other family now, not anymore. Mama looked sympathetically, pathetically, at Elise, her eyes full of hope and twinkling with love and warmth as if to convince her that she would be better off with her there.

-Mama, we would be love to have you stay here.

-Oh wonderful! She said, tears pouring out of her right eye and building up in her left as she took Elise is a hug. Her built body and hunching back was formidable, but her hug was gentle. To foil her outward appearance, without her family to take care of or a family to go back to, she was truly lost, unsure and scared.

-Darling, Elise said as they were unpacking clothes in the master bedroom. The room was furnished to the barebones, low and wide furniture waiting to have pictures placed on top, plants placed beside and clothes put inside of them. Even with people in the room and clothes beginning to flow into the closets and wardrobes, it still lacked that touch of human life, such as pictures and plants and decorations.

-Yes?

-It’s about Mama. Does she want to be paid? For taking care of the house and things?

-She said she doesn’t want our money. She said that as long as she’s allowed to live here she’s grateful enough, and anyways we should be charging her rent.

-Are we?

-No.

There were the sounds of more zippers and shuffling of linen and silk and light colors of blue and beige and creams and off whites, as Elise dictated against just white clothing. They rattled through drawers and closets and went swiftly through hangers as they set away their belongings.

-Darling, Romulus spoke up.

-Yes?

-Do you still want to stay here? With Mama being around?

-Of course, why not? She’s lonely, and even if she’s around it’s more of a perk then a hindrance. And I’m not going to miss little Henry for anything like that.

-Okay.

There was even more shuffling of clothes, and then they were done there and moved to their toiletries. They unzipped the plastic lined tote full of shampoos and shaving creams and toothpaste. Inside was a separate large bag full of makeup and other womanly products that Elise frequent in her days. I’ll take it to the bathroom for her Romulus though without really thinking, because that’s just the kind of person he is, naturally. But Elise went for the bag at the same time, and they were tugging on it as if it was by the zipper to the larger bag somehow. Oblivious to each other, they tugged so hard it came apart, and eyelash curlers and rouge and lipstick went flying all about, and only then did they realize what had happened. Elise was angered, then flustered, and Romulus was embarrassed and began to panic in apologies. Elise only began to laugh and kissed Romulus lightly on the lips.

-Hush, she said.

Romulus kissed her back, and they began to feel each other up slowly. They stepped on top of eyelash curlers and closet hangers and deranged towels as they managed their way onto the bed. But there was a quick rap on the door as they were just getting hot.

-Is everything all right in there?

They were still laughing now, and Elise was flushed with hiccups, blushing at her own sight in the mirror with her now unruly hair.

-Oh yes, please don’t mind our rowdiness.

Mama seemed to put her mind into gear, or her mind flew into the gutters, and she squeaked a gasp.

-Ek! Apologies, please, sorry to interrupt.

The couple couldn’t help but gasp and giggle as they put themselves back together, putting hair into place and buttons back into holes and straps back on top of shoulders. They made little sounds here and there, a tee hee and a shh as they opened the door.

-As I came to say, Mama began, dinner is ready as soon as you two love birdies are.

-Dinner? Romulus asked alarmed. You didn’t have to, we were going to set that up for ourselves.

-Ah, no problem dearies. I seem to be cooking a feast for a family still, and no good to have perfectly good food go to waste, no?

-Romulus, if the food is already prepared, let’s just not waste it then, no? Mama is right.

Romulus thought on it for a short while. There wasn’t too much to think of: Food should never go to waste, no matter how disposable your income is, Romulus and Elise wholeheartedly agreed on it, especially with a war going on and people all over the world starving. And on top of that Mama seemed very willing and welcoming in sharing her meal.

-Why not? Romulus agreed.

They walked down the hall, past the living room and into the dining room that was more like a sunroom, with glass up and above and all around. There was food piled high on the table in the center with: fruits grilled and fresh, soups warm and cold and colorful preparation of fish out of the world. The aroma was piercing, a sweet drifting scent of fruits that completely masked any smell of fish that any other chief would have harbored. On the head and tail of the table sat a set of dining ware, dishes and bowls and spoons and forks.

-Mama, where is your plate? Romulus quarried.

-Ah, in the kitchen. I normally eat in the kitchen.

-This is quite an abnormal situation, Romulus said as he pulled out the tail chair for Elise to sit in, so then let’s make it more abnormal. Join us, will you? Romulus was already pulling a seat on the side of the table that faced the ocean out front.

-Well, I don’t know, Mama said meekly, eyeing the open chair in Romulus’ hands as if it were the forbidden fruit was tempting her. She seemed torn between doing as her heart and brain were willed and wired. She jumped and swayed lightly on the ball of her feet against the direction of the chair and the kitchen.

-Mama, we would love you to join us for your dinner. Please?

Mama seemed near tears by then. It was known that Romulus’ cousin and her family had much love for Mama, because Mama made it known that she was as much part of the family as the next thing. She truly loved them also, proof enough. But they weren’t too avant-garde, as it was, and there was still a definitive border between master and servant sadly; for Romulus to break that border was to have God tell you to have the forbidden fruit, that it was okay and he wanted you to have it. Mama took her seat as Romulus announced he will grab her plates and what ever drinks he could find in the kitchen.

-Your husband, she began when the swinging door to the kitchen ceased movement, he’s quite something, no?

-He is, Elise said dreamily as she stared into the sunset. The purple sun of the Pacific Ocean wasn’t framed or obscured by any clouds, a sight to be seen by those used to the cool waters of New England. The shimmering reds and yellows and oranges and shades of deep purples reflected across the ocean as the strong ripping, tiding and ebbing of the waters broke the lights into all the warm colors imaginable. They went through the panes of glass and heavily across the steaming mean, draping all around the room that had the setting sun and abundant candle light serving as its only source of light.

-Such a gentleman, such a large heart and large soul, Mama sighed smiling, you did well, dearie. But word of advice, hold on tight. I’ve seen babies, children, so perfect and nice. And soon, they fight hard, they rebel. They want to feel the world after so much niceness, like a Catholic girl, no?

Elise drew a long, shallow laugh as she imagined Romulus as a Catholic girl.

-Mama, I hold on so tight already. I fear he may get fed up with me and run away to become a nun all the time, she joked.

Romulus came back into the room holding a set of plates and utensils, wine champagne and a juice pitcher balanced carefully, the sun glaze dripping down his face and light colored clothing. He squinted at the encroaching darkness of null sun that ran in the dining room quickly while he was out, and flipped up a light switch turning on electric lights, ruining the placid and candle lit moment and mood. Elise squinted to adjust as he set the dining set down in front of Mama, gesturing towards the drinks he brought.

-What would you like to drink?

-Wine please, Mama replied thankfully.

They all sat down restfully, Romulus with juice, Mama with wine and Elise with champagne. It was a family style dinner, and Romulus and Elise went head first into the food. Fruit, fish and rice piled high as they quietly downed bowls of soups. It was quite a sight to see, as Mama was carefully forking fish on her plate next to rice and pineapple eating slowly and thoughtfully. It was quite a meal, the head and tail agreed deeply, and no restaurant could possibly hope to withstand Mama’s wrath.

-So what do you two plan on doing on the island?

-I’m going to see my little brother, Henry, Elise said immediately.

-Oh, does he work on Oahu?

-Not exactly, no. He’s a pilot, for the air force in Pearl Harbor.

-Ah, a man of the country. Your whole family is full of wonderful, hearted people, no? Mama said with a great smile as Elise embarrassedly smiled back blushing, backing her face down into her plate.

-I miss him a lot, Elise began again as she played with her food and fork, I haven’t seen him in a year, not after my mother and father passed.

-Passed? So young, what went?

-Nothing, Mama, they were shot.

-Oh dearie, dearie, Mama began as Elise teared. She stepped out of her seat and took her in her arms, rocking her gently back and forth. It was amazing how much just a touch of Mama could do, for an ailing body, broken heart. Elise hadn’t even known Mama for a day, and she was as much as her childhood nanny as ever now. Shh shh, she cooed into Elise’s hair.

Romulus felt a bit left out, or, more awkwardly placed in the situation, sitting down at the head nibbling dinner as their new adult nanny, cook and councilor comforted his crying wife. But Romulus knew what to say:

-Elise, love, I tell you what. Let’s go see Henry tomorrow, yes?

That caught Elise’s attention quick enough.

-Let’s, she croaked out of her mucus sodden throat.

All seemed quite fine, in Oahu. The sun was setting volcanically against the backdrop of the ocean and beach as Romulus and Elise dined with a new friend they just knew they would keep for years to come. It was a new house to live in, a new city and a new environment, new people to meet and old people to see again. It was almost like starting a new life with fruits and soups and buttered fish to help their way through.

4

-I’m not too sure about this, Benny said uneasily as she walked closely behind Elise in the paved mat of the military base towards a low laying white building in midday. The sun was high and shining brightly, the wind quite stagnant this particular day making the air humid and sticky.

-Come on, you’ve got to be lonely. Meet some men, and what better place is there then a military base?

-I’m not sure, a bar?

-Never in a million years. Look, we’ve already got some customers, Elsie replied coolly as they walked past gawking heads of young men none older then twenty-six or twenty-seven. Elise was quite oblivious herself, because they weren’t open jawed just at Benny, no, but at both of them. Benny was tall and curvy, not too voluptuous in the bosom but had nice wide hips and a narrow waste and a fit body. Her black hair curved lightly down her back just a foot past her shoulders. She walked with her hips swaying back and forth much like Elise, but Elise was shorter and narrow, but had still had small breast. Elise and Benny wore both black trousers that fit close to the leg, Elise wore a frilly white shirt and Benny wore a green paisley pull over shirt.

-I don’t know.

-Trust me on this, you will find someone.

-They just look horny!

-But they’re looking at you, see.

The two were walking to the infirmary, where Henry spent a lot of his free time conversing with patients there and helping out with bed pans and changing sheets, or when he can just keeping people company. He had a way with people, and a knack at medical science; even with his limited formal knowledge of the human anatomy he knew a vast amount about the body and ailments and cures, and doctors and nurses urged him, recommending to his over officers, that he take up a medical job or post. He never disagreed, but he never agreed at the same time.

-You two darlings look lost, a smooth voice said from the side. A tall man with broad shoulders, blond hair, square jaw and a well built body came out of a dark alleyway between two buildings as Elise and Benny walked past.

-A bit, do you two need help finding anything? Another man said, equally tall, broad and built, but with a less athletic jaw and more of a movie star look with high cheeks, brown hair and wonderful eyes. The brown haired man seemed less interesting in getting the women’s attention and more on actually helping the two find their way.

-Where can we help you two darlings to? The blond man said smoothly once more.

-Oh, were not lost, Elise said coolly back as she kept walking with Benny still close behind.

-Could we keep you two company on the walk, at least, make sure you two don’t get into anything you might not want to get into?

-No thank you, we’re quite content with ourselves now, she replied once more.

-Steve, the brown haired man said, they’re not lost, let’s get back to work.

The blond man just stood slowed to a stop, contemplating the idea and nodded and strutted back into the alleyway with disappointment painting on his face. After a short while, Benny pressed against Elise’s back and squealed into her ear:

-Ohmygod!

-I know! Elise whispered back with a huge smile.

They reached the infirmary in short time, stepping out of the roasting sun and into the air conditioned foyer of the building. There were sparse plants here and there, nurses in bleach white scrubs walking quickly back and forth chattering the whole way, and two halls the led either forward or to the left, extending in a direction after fifty or so feet that would lead them together.

-Can I help you? A nurse said to the two who stood around looking around idly.

-Um, yes. We’re visiting Henry Thompson Harrison, can you point me in the right direction?

-Mm hmm, she said pointing down the hallway up front, keep going about half way, room 57, he should still be in there.

-Thank you, Elise said as she strode in the direction.

65, 64, 63, 62, she thought as she counted the rooms, pacing down the hall with Benny still behind, 61, 60, 59, 58, 57. She looked at the door and knocked gently on it, opening the door slightly to poke her head in. She found her self in a room full of people sitting in cots, four on both left and right sides of the wall, some with IV bags and tubes strung here and there, some reading and listening to the radio that was on and others yet sleeping and snoring lightly and one with a snort snore.

-Elise! A tall young man said stepping up from a seat. He stood above six feet, with short blonde hair that stood out like a sore thumb in his family, a boyish-mannish face with high cheek bones and signs of slight stubble. He had broad shoulders and large biceps in the working, and his green eyes sparkled against the white sterility of the infirmary room.

-Who is that? A man who looked no older then a boy said sitting in bed.

-Frank, this is my sister Emily. She grew up in New England, and she’s visiting the island for a few weeks.

-Is that your sister too? She has very dark hair, tall like you, the man croaked in a weakening voice that sounded like a sixty year old smoker.

-This is Benny, a friend of mine, Elise said as Benny took Henry’s hand in a shake and nodded smilingly at Frank.

-What are you doing here today?

-I wanted to see my baby brother, of course, she said half lying, and I wanted to show Benny around.

-Well, Henry replied, I don’t want you two to just hang around my every movement, being bored.

-Why don’t you take off then? Frank said from the bed. It’s your free day, isn’t it? Go somewhere with these two young ladies.

-You won’t mind?

-Of course not, nearly everyday you’re here. Peace and quiet might come about, maybe I can sleep then, he joked.

-Thanks, Henry said back to Frank as he tossed in bed to situate himself on his side, setting his eyes closed in preparation for sleep. Do you want to go anywhere today?

-Not in particular, Elise said as Benny just stared blankly shaking her head.

-How about lunch then, on the beach.

It took a bit for all things to get straightened out for the three to actually get to the beach. They had to sign out, give back passes and Henry wanted to put on civilian clothing, some khaki slacks and a white short sleeve shirt. They drove in one of the two cars Romulus and Elise rented for their stay, Henry in the back seat leaning forward between the passenger and driver seat as Elise stared out of her sunglasses to the blaring street ahead.

-Done anything cool since before?

-Not really, Elise said back, shopping, a lot.

-A lot, Benny confirmed out of her sunglasses.

-Wasteful, Henry snorted back. Gone to the beach much? He asked, but more aimed at Benny.

-Oh, quite a bit.

-She comes up here twice a year, for what was it, twenty-five years?

-Ha! I’m only twenty-three-and-three-fifths, she retorted. I’ve been coming to Oahu for thirteen years, this is the fourteenth.

-Oh, Henry said as if not impressed, sulking back into the seat as he scratched his whiskered chin thoughtfully.

They three met up with Romulus at the beach who was waiting on a bench at a fish and chips stand, sucking on a cola that he slipped some scotch into.

-Heya Romulus.

-Hi little brother, Romulus said taking Henry into a brisk and quick hug, what will it be today?

-Hmm, they all thought out loud, fish and chips?

They ordered four fish and chip bowls and four colas and walked onto the placid beach that lacked any breeze that would have normally brushed sand into their lunch. Sitting down on the dry sand they picked up strips of fish or potato and ate heartily as they spoke lightly.

-How many siblings do you have?

-Two younger brothers and a younger sister, Benny answered.

-What does your father do?

-Lawyer in New York City, Romulus replied.

-Are you seeing anyone?

-Hm, no, Henry replied, why?

Oh crap, Romulus thought the instant he witnessed what was happening in Elise’s mind. She thought quickly, herself, and got up brushing sand from the bottom of her trousers.

-Romulus, walk me to the restroom?

Romulus just eyed her carefully, helping himself up as they excused themselves from the group leaving Henry and Benny sitting there, silently, awkwardly as the most defining feeling, as Elise thought herself a genius.

-Sweetheart, Romulus said as they were well out of the other two’s hearing range, don’t do it.

-Why not? They would be perfect for each other.

-How do you know what would be perfect for each other? You barely know Benny.

-This is a perfect time to get to know her then, Elise replied smugly.

The couple eyed the uneasy duo sitting on the beach, who made sure not to touch or not to speak to each other. It was a silly thing to see, how childish they were afraid of one another like cooties were truly in existence and were the next worst thing then death. The sun was still high up, though slightly at an angle drawing gold rimmed silhouettes of people on the beach, and the wind was still no where to be found, and all the sounds of the beach were muted as if underwater.

-Stop it, Romulus said after a few minutes, leave him alone.

-Stop what?

-Trying to get him a girl friend or a wife or whatever. Just stop it.

-Why? He’s lonely.

-He’s not lonely, he’s gay.

-Don’t say that, she said back bitterly.

-Why not? You can accept other people being gay, but not your own brother? Why does it matter? You should try and help him be happy with himself, you know your only hurting him more and more but making it obvious you don’t truly approve or accept him.

-No I’m not.

-Really?

Elise paused, and whispered a reply:

-I’m not.

And the sun swept lower, slowly and gradually, as Henry and Benny sat silently without movement. The sun was blazing red and orange and bright yellows, children and men and women played in the tides that swept away their foot prints as dogs quickly ran up and down the beach chasing balls that were tossed easily around. Talking was a laughing matter, where laughing was light talk, and yet thinking was all Henry could achieve. She doesn’t like me, he thought as he looked out into the sparkling ocean.

5

-Romulus Darling, wake up.

Romulus was in a massive heap of tanning skin in linen and silk, groaning against the slight pushes Elise made. The sun was nearly roaring against Hawaii, Oahu, heating up the muggy air to a nice warm temperature that made thin fabrics stick to the sweat of the body. The fans were not on yet, and the air went stale and warm over night in the Wharton’s home.

-Romulus, I’m leaving soon, so get up.

-Okay, okay, just fifteen minutes while I dress, okay?

Romulus hopped quickly out of bed, stripping down his light flannel sleeping pants in the bathroom. The water ran warm, if not cool, soothing the skin in a quick rinse of body fluids and odor. He rummaged through the closet still dripping wet as the fans began to slowly turn, stirring up the heat and cool air. Romulus’ usual outfit now consisted of light clothing that was lose against the body: white linen pants that flowed in the wind was his frequent, light button-up shirts (long sleeve and shorts), his now favorite sunglasses that left a line around the eye that led to the ears where the sun couldn’t tan, and a large array of sandals, thongs and deck shoes. Expectedly, he came into the kitchen for a quick bite with linen pants, white long sleeve shirt and white deck shoes, with his wavy brown hair swept naturally back.

-Fruits, dearie, Mama said as she sliced fruits to cubes and pushed them into a bowl, I’ll not allow you to go out on an empty stomach.

-As you insist master, Romulus said bowing as he popped a large piece of mango into his mouth, sweeping the newspaper into his hands in one fluid motion.

-What do you want to do today? Elise said, hopping on one foot in the hall as she struggled on sandals.

-Don’t know, Romulus shrugged, want to see any friends?

-Tonight we’re going to have dinner with Benny and Henry, she said in a factual tone.

Elise played matchmaker and paired up Benny and Henry together after noticing that Henry was still single and Benny was single. It seemed like a perfect idea, she though, but Romulus was a bit unsure; many of Elise’s relationship related plans failed, frankly. The two were apprehensive at first, shyly talking and barely meeting eyes over dinner or soda. But after a while they were getting quite hot together, though still shy and in denial about how much the other enjoyed the other: Henry would ask Romulus when the next dinner date was, and Benny, less nonchalance about it, usually begged straight out to have Elise set up another date. Things were better when Romulus grew weary of patience and told them, together, flat out that they love each other, and should make their own dinners and dates. Tonight’s dinner was Benny’s idea.

Elise left to meet Benny for dress shopping, two people who didn’t even know each other three weeks past, but were now inseparable in their daily living. She left right after getting her sandals on, leaving Romulus to flip through the newspaper as Mama lectured him about “eating right all day” and “lots of fruits, lots of vegetables” ending with a “got it, busta?” She went to go shopping herself afterwards, food and flowers, and then meeting some friends for lunch somewhere down on the beach, in one of the food shacks that lined the sand. That left Romulus alone to thumb through a phone book he had put a few acquaintances he met while in the island, looking for a cohort to accompany him in the day’s adventure. He decided on calling up Thor Saxon, a young fellow only a couple years younger then himself.

The day’s plan fell out accordingly for Romulus: Drive to the movies to meet up with Thor, watch a movie, eat in a bar out lining the beach, play in the waters, drink, eat, play, drink, play, wave goodbye, drive home steadily, strip naked, step into the shower, shower, pick out a nice outfit that wouldn’t make Romulus have a heat stroke. He was buttoning up a crisp white shirt with nice, frilly pleats in the front when Elise stormed into the bed room.

-Are you ready?

She herself was still in the day dress, her hair slightly tussled and obviously in need of a slight wash.

-No.

-Get ready! I’m going to take a rinse, get ready!

-Get ready yourself! He boomed back like a monster.

-Don’t ROAR at me, she roared back, kissing Romulus heavily on the lips before stepping into the steamy bathroom.

Romulus was quite content, with three weeks well lived in Oahu and almost a month more to look forward to. But he was just content, and nothing more: what do I have to show for my life? He thought. He has his business, his wealth in conjunction, his beautiful wife and beautiful life, but where is the rest? He wants a child, very much. But Elise doesn’t want a child just yet. The sun was slowly setting, heavily against the gradient sky of blues and reds, oranges and yellows and purples. And off in the distance, there would be the deep ocean that cut away half the sun, miles and leagues and kilometers of water from the surface to the deepest depths of the ocean, all yet to be discovered. Oh, and the sky! Romulus looked deeply into the sky, engrossing himself in the rich colors that were the rays being fragmented against the waters and the atmosphere, the beautiful spectrum of the skies. He stopped dressing himself to step out on the deck. The French doors closed behind him, the sounds of the running water were hushed quiet by the rushing of the winds and the shushing of the waters.

Romulus was angry with himself, for nothing fulfilling his life. He didn’t understand it, himself: fulfill what? It was as if someone told him something was to be fulfilled, something was to be done, because he didn’t even understand where he got that idea in the first place, the idea that something somewhere was to be done, by him. Off in the distance pilots of the harbor took off in their fighter planes, off into the ocean or over the island, but into the sky none the less, in their planes. A flock of seagulls flew over head following some of the pilots over the ocean; some of the pilots following orders not from their officers and commanders, but from the birds. They followed the birds, they follow the birds, they are going to follow the birds, follow anything anywhere, into the sky; the fish and dolphins, whales and sea mammals into the oceans; follow anything in a group, and he understood. He had to fly in a flock.

-The lobster platter, thank you.

-And a drink of choice?

Romulus thought for a few seconds. Drinks, what should I get?

-Bordeaux red wine, please, he decided.

The waiter walked off with their orders of assorted sea foods in forms of solid and liquid after assuring them off their excellent choice and collecting the food and drink menu from the party of four. They just mingled around, sipping at their set drink of lemon water, playing with the ice and dining set as they talked lightly:

-How is the air force going, Henry?

-Really good. I’ve just passed a flight test today, actually, not that long ago but a few hours or something.

-Well congratulations. I can’t believe my little brother is a military boy.

-I can’t believe my man is a man in uniform, Benny said with a large smile that stretched and cracked the pancake makeup on her cheeks.

-Henry, Romulus began, is there a cut off age for joining the military?

-None that I am aware of, no. We’re always looking for more people, of course not anyone too old. Why? Is there someone you know that is interested in joining?

Well, actually there is, Romulus thought.

-No.

Dinner went by slowly, slower then Henry or Romulus could stand. Both men were restless like young boys, getting up to go to the bathroom every fifteen minutes and every half hour. Lobster shells laid carelessly on an empty plate as other foods were slowly cut and forked and put away in the pockets of the diners stomachs. Some of Henry’s poached fish was wrapped hastily in a napkin where it laid since he spit into it.

Later:

-Dinner was nice, Elise said curled in bed against Romulus.

-I guess, it was, Romulus replied in the darkness, his hands behind his head comfortably.

There was a slow pause, only the rustle of fronds and ocean water made noise, and the occasional barking dog breaking peace of the warm, humid Oahu night. The couple sat silently wrapped in linen and silk as a droning whiir from the ceiling fan kept the air null stagnant throughout the night.

-What's wrong, Romulus?

-Hmm?

Elise sat up in bed:

-I can tell something is wrong. What was with dinner?

-With dinner? It was fine.

-Is there a cut off age for joining the military? What, are you planning on joining the military?

Yes, he thought, too reluctant to reply.

-You’re thinking something.

-Yes.

-Yes, you’re thinking something?

-Yes, I’m thinking something; yes, I want to join the military, the air force.

What the hell am I saying?

Elise sat still for moments, before even speaking to break the awkward silence. What is he thinking? The military? The air force? He’s too old, he’ll get killed. Oh god, what if he died? What am I going to do? I can’t live alone, he wouldn’t leave me like that. He can’t be serious.

-Why?

Romulus couldn’t help but think, why do I want to join the air force? The sky, I want to fly…away? No…Yes, but why? Why do I want to fly away? I love my life, I love everything life has offered me, all the things I have, but I’m still unhappy. I want something, a feeling; not something, a feeling…

-I want to feel the sky.

The sky, the sky: I have my sky.

Romulus found Elise on top oh him, his heartbeat beating faster and his chest going up and down quickly with his breathing. She bent down so their noses were not but an inch apart from each other. Romulus felt flush, hot and heavy from Elise’s action. His blood grew warm and Elise gyrated up against Romulus’ hip.

-Be careful, was all she breathed onto his face, and they made love.

Blessing enough, Romulus concluded.

Romulus felt the need to be the leader of a new flock, though he had so much in his life, he was just content. He felt poorly of his feelings, because he should be absolutely partial to life, happy and full of joy as he laid on top of Elise, his loving wife and what gives his life meaning. But he wasn’t. He felt, saddened, as if he was betraying her, as if he was coming some sort of adultery in favor of feeling the sky. But blessing enough, Romulus thought, Elise had let all reins lose and told him to fly.

A week before:

She doesn’t like me, Henry kept thinking. Over and over: she doesn’t like me. What the hell did I do wrong? She keeps on trying, and she just doesn’t get it. I get it: she doesn’t like me.

Henry was not openly a homosexual. He was very secretive, not that he did anything he had to hide; no, he had only himself to hide. He was a homosexual, a gay, a fag. It was all too horrible, he felt he was horrible, a let down to everything he and his family stood for.

-Benny, I need a favor, he spoke up after two dinner dates with her and Romulus and Elise.

He had to hide, and he felt that was the worst of the predicament: He was constantly worried over if he looked gay, making sure he looked straight in his outward appearance and attitude. Am I acting to straight? Am I making it obvious I’m trying? He worried that he couldn’t achieve anything in life, being a homosexual, because people don’t like people like him. He worried, even worse, if he would be killed because of it: it wasn’t uncommon for homosexuals to be killed, so it was a legitimate fear. But he did know for a fact, he was sure of this: my military buddies wont care, hell, I’m sure Hank and John are getting hot with each other, really. They won’t care though, we love each other like brothers too much. But Elise wasn’t too keen herself on the idea, she wasn’t too eager to believe it.

-What is it?

-I hope you don’t get angry, please don’t get angry. Not at Elise, please not at her.

-What is it?

-I’m…he paused to quiet down as they sat on the beach in a warm night, whispering down to a volume that would dictate placing your ear on the shoulders of the speaker to hear: I’m…a homosexual.

-Hmm, was all Benny could sound.

-Elise, she…she doesn’t like me being a homosexual.

-Don’t think poorly of her, please don’t. She doesn’t mind homosexuals, she doesn’t care, really. But she…it’s different, with me. She wants me to live normally, she’s scared that my being different would put me in danger.

Silence.

-She thinks having a female in my life would change me.

Silence.

-But it can’t.

-It would make her happy though, to think it might change me.

Silence.

-Can you, play along? He whispered shrilly.

-Henry, she finally began, I like you. Not like that, as a friend.

Silence.

-Of course.

6

A golden breakfast joint with egg omelets: ripe red tomatoes, onion, pre-cooked bacon bits and cheese pan fried into the egg sits in front of you next to a rich coffee with the thickest aroma: heavy roasted flavor for the nose that was like burning wood and melting chocolate at once, indescribable. A golden egg happily in a nest of roosters under table three with a baby chick in it that flies around the room when the cook cracks it on the side of the counter lives. The cook is careful not to get egg shells into the pan even with the chick fluttering about.

Oh god, what the fuck: this egg has a hair in it. How repulsive.

7

Après:

How chummy, Romulus thought of the day. He wasn’t even sure if it was the right word to use to describe a fat day with thick water droplets pleating from clouds in heaven. He wasn’t even sure if it was even a real world, truthfully, but it should be, because it sounds fitting.

Romulus saw infinitely into the sky despite the pouring rain. The deafening engine on the plane roared loudly to block out the machine gun rain drops as Romulus veered left out onto ocean territory. He straightened out, peering up now and then to take a glance at the clouds. They weren’t going to break any time soon to allow anyone to see with their eyes past fifteen meters in front of ones face. Romulus was training himself not to rely on his eyes: though he obviously saw in front of him like all else, he proved that even without glasses he could fly as adeptly as the next man with 20/20 vision. How did it work? Romulus just felt things, a calling, an urge, a loss of sensation in his body and brain as seemingly his body moved to its own song, almost. He was curious on what the skies looked like above pouring clouds, and his body smoothly switched gears and soon the plane was ascending up and up, a bird through the rains of feathers metal and a flap of a spin of a gas powered turbine.

Romulus kept going up and up, steadily at the same slope, and mindlessly, as his body kept the same slope of incline. No difference to be seen here, he thought as he broke through the clouds. He kept going up and up, still mindlessly and still steadily, and soon be broke the thinning atmosphere. It was an amazing sight, the storming clouds below. A sight to be seen, as a placid sky was all was about but a bubbling cauldron of water and vapors that moved restlessly. The plane seemed to float, at a stand still, soon he felt chummy about it all, chummily he moved over the clouds.

He also felt like shit. Chummy shit, he laughed at the thought cynically.

8

What was it, a placid day or a day of wind? Henry tried to recall in an infirmary cot. No, not the infirmary, a civilian hospital; …God I can’t remember anything.

There was little to blame Henry for, with his lapse of memory: he was injured, burns over his right arm, two broken legs and a concussion to his head. His injuries were muddled in with the lacking and the abstract, the morphine and opiates: his pain was subdued in with drugs. He was also just a number, a name and face amongst the other people who were rushed about hospitals, others who just like Henry were on base during an unfortunate day for Oahu, Hawaii, America.

The Japanese planes, puttering in from the distance, came in too early on a truly placid day for anyone to be prepared. Their monstrous horde paraded in over the skies, low the whole almost too close for comfort. Too many for comfort, actually, none would be welcomed quite nicely.

The wind blew lightly over the island, a quite day on placid Oahu. People were hanging their laundry to dry fluttering in the breeze, others were tending to plants and some were tuning airplanes. Nothing seemed out of place, everything was in place quite frankly, that is until the low whirring and buzzing came from distance.

Long live the emperor, long live the emperor, long live the emperor, and long live the emperor.

The people in the cots of the infirmary loved Henry, as he was loveable: many saw him as an almost-lost boy, acting as a surrogate father, brother, uncle, aunt: people simply loved him and saw him as a special jewel lost in time, with ambitions and goals and things to achieve in life that were just not yet found. Naturally, Henry was in the infirmary, lending a helping hand to nurses tending to scrapes and bruises, or lending an ear and mouth and heart to those lying in a cot with tubes and machines and wires, gauze and plaster and grafts, lending himself to keep those who were confined to the infirmary healthy in spirits:

-How is your wife doing?

-You won’t believe this, Henry, she gave birth last week!

-No way, ‘grats Tom!

-I have pictures.

Henry took a handful of small snapshots of a young baby, feeling through each one of them personally. God I can’t tell if it’s a girl or a boy just by the photos…God she’s so cute. Breathtaking.

-Her name’s Alba.

-Beautiful name, she looks just like you.

-You think?

-I do.

I want him to be the godfather, Tom thought, but as he went began to utter words to catch Henry’s attention, a deep rumbling rang through the building from the east. Metal tools in glass jars shook lightly, IV bags swayed to and fro as everyone looked about as if the cause could have been found in the room.

-What the hell was that?

-Earthquake?

-No, it was like something was exploding.

-It’s an earthquake, don’t freak out.

-Please everyone stay calm, a nurse began when another rumbling and shaking interrupted her, and she turned on her heels and sped out of the door. An explosion happed far off east, and more rumbling of the building, and everyone was tense and rigid. Everyone who could sat stiffly up in bed awaiting information about what was happening.

And then a siren went off, a droning sound that seemed to rumble more of your guts then any shaking of the buildings: all butterflies were let lose and people realize what was happening. Oh fuck we’re under attack.

There was a crackling sound, deep and heavily, another booming followed by a thick smell of burning something…burning petroleum. The smell of petroleum swayed thickly through the air, whiffed up by the nostrils of everyone in the infirmary. Then there was a droning sound separated from the siren, which was faint at first but quickly drew upon the solders, nurses, doctors and visitors. The fleet of Japanese airplane fell on top the base like a pack of rabid wasps, dropping bullets and shells and torpedoes with a putter not unlike that of a propeller.

-Everyone, if you can please stay calm, a doctor rang frantically as he appeared in the door. But a close explosion interrupted him, and people were not calm, even more then the doctor they were frantic. Henry politely excused himself to see what the hell was going on, and as he stepped outside he was welcomed by the American military doing their best to keep order as they ran around no more organized then ants. A great cloud of dark smoke piled ominously in the distance where the actual harbor would be, as airplanes dotted the skies raining gunshots down on buildings and people.

Here and there, actually, mostly everywhere, people were either helping a fallen comrade or preparing to fight back amongst those who were already prepared. There were guns out behind sand bags, running bullets almost uselessly through the Japanese planes: though they sacrificed much of their metal armor, they were up there going ninety miles an hour. Their bullets seemed to hit more Americans then American’s hitting Japanese.

Henry knew he was to help fight if not help others. He looked around quickly, looking for anyone injured that would need tending to, but content without seeing anyone in need of his immediate and dire help that wasn’t already being helped he drew himself sprint pace to a looming building that stored much of the firearms and ammunitions on the base. He ran in the shadows of an early day, making sure not to be a target for others.

God, was all he could think when inside the building, as the stark and industrial insides surprised him: even more, they were bare with much of the wall décor of firearms and other assorted pieces of machinery were down and gone to be used in warfare. He saw young men, young men his age, taking down machine guns too shoot planes, and pistols and shot guns and rifles as if they would serve and purpose when fighting against flying machinery. People ran past him, in and out, yelling frantically through the smoke that began to creep its way inland.

Shit shit, he rang as he ran up and down the sides of the building looking for something, anything, to shoot with. Content with a machine gun unsafely with a round still loaded in it, he took it out with in his arms looking for somewhere to situate himself. He noticed how the black smoke blocked the sun so it shone like red disk, crimson red like blood. A red fucking sun. He saw a short arch of sandbags, and Ronnie Sutherland firing away on his gun up into the sky. He was Henry’s age, a normally timid guy who spoke quietly in a whisper. Very gaunt and angular in appearance, his think frame quivered under the gun as he fired with scarily serious and squinted eyes that all to reminded Henry of a wild feline. His soft black hair slicked back, he was a prowling cat of Oahu readily attacking, eyes focused on some sort of prize.

Henry just placed his gun down, readied, steadied and fired upon anything with a red spot on the side that fluttered about in the sky. Explosions and rumbling and sounds of chaos rang freely around the two. Large ships sank with dozens, hundreds, of young and old men who would drown trapped below the decks, dying a slow and miserable death amongst their comrades. Some had their guts hanging out, others were bleaching in the sun and others even more, like Henry and Ronnie, were on guns.

Rattt a tat tat

Tat tat tatatatttat

-FUCK, Ronnie said from the side, his feline demeanor slowly slipping away. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! He screamed as he began to decompose, shaking too wildly to pull on the trigger and handle of the gun, a lack of bullets coming out. FUCK!

-Ron, there’s no more ammo, Henry said as he switched from feline to sympathetic mode.

-Shut up!

-Ron-

-Shut up, shut up! He said as he shook his head wildly, splashing tears on Henry’s face.

-Ron, here, take mine.

They switched places, and Ronnie began to fire relentlessly into the sky, shooting down the few planes he could before tears obscured his vision. He shook with sadness, worry, and his hands grew too weak to pull on any trigger. He began to weep uncontrollably, curling into a ball as their guns laid silent amongst the sounds of war.

Henry simply scooped up Ronnie in his arms, carrying him inland, anywhere inland, with a flow of others around that also fled with injured loved ones: Gunner in Alan’s arm, Tuck in Finny’s arms, Wilson in Otter’s arm, more and more and more came flowing in the arms of comrades trying to find safety and help. And though Ronnie lacked any wounds treatable with suitors and gauze, he was still injured: deep down, he was hurt. He shouldn’t have ever come, he’s too much of a good guy, too sensitive, he isn’t made for war, he didn’t even see anyone die yet. But no one noticed that Ronnie lacked a seeping blood wound or a shattered arm, and Henry carried on.

Off to the right, there was a puttering sound that punctured something, somewhere. Things began to sizzle with a fizz, like a soda bottle slowly being opened. Then there was a sounding boom, and meal shard, plastic chunks and flakes of glass were all about amongst the heat as a large truck that was used to move around airplanes exploded, sending Henry onto the ground as he sheltered Ronnie under his torso and arms. The blast sent Henry’s head into the ground as a tire flew apart, and the searing metal rim smashed against his legs and brushed against his right arm. Everything trembled for a few seconds, and then a ripple in the air loomed about like a close mirage, but was only the carbon dioxide fumes from the combustion reaction. So much of the heat and fumes burned the eyes, and Henry was disoriented from the head impact.

Ronnie pushed out from under Henry who strained a moan of pain. Standing up on his feel, he looked down at Henry, with more fear then pity in his watering eyes. Henry was so sure Ronnie was going to scoop him up in his arms with more gentility then he did Ronnie, he just knew it. He would softly draw him up in his arms to make sure not to jounce the broken legs or strain his neck, carefully sprinting away from the battle front and into safety, and then lightly laying him into a cot in a hospital for doctors to tend further to Henry.

Ronnie turned around, and ran away from the exploded truck in the direction where safety loomed, the direction that he was supposed to take Henry. He however laid helplessly on the ground in a heap of miserable meat.

Why? Why is he running away? What the fuck?...But can I blame him? I probably would have ran away too…no I wouldn’t have. The hell I wouldn’t have, but he’s just a kid, he was scared…the fuck, he’s my age, I’m a freaking kid then too. Fuck my legs hurt, and I can’t feel my arms...fucking poor Ron, he’s so out of his wits…he should have staid home...poor kid…

Elise was drinking coffee Mama had made for breakfast in the bedroom, reading a Shakespeare in the glowing early light in the covered porch. She was growing weary, day by day, worrying over Henry: he isn’t just a man, he’s a military man. He’s my kid brother too. But God, they’d kill him if they found out, they’d hurt him so much. They’d break his heart, they really would; then I’d have to kill them. She was, however, not fooled into believing that Henry and Benny were going at each other though. It’s a try though.

-You smell anything funky, dearie? Mama asked poking her head out.

Elise took a whiff of the flowing air. She did notice something faint moments early, brushing it off as nothing, but now there was definitely something.

-No, not really, she said after convincing herself of delusions.

She grew fed up with the complete delusion Brutus drowned himself in, his naïve nature and his friendly and genuine outward demeanor. She was fed up with trying to make everyone more like Brutus, truthfully, fed up with a world full of Antonys and Cassiuses and Caesars. The world would be better off without everyone, except Brutus. The world would be perfect with just one Brutus to support it on his back, really, then having a trillion Antonys.

She shook her legs awake and hobbled into the dim bedroom. Gauzy drapes covered the windows, letting in only honey tinted light that itself draped over Romulus lightly. With a shudder, he woke up as the drapes were drawn forcefully and systematically back.

-G’morning Birdie, he yawned, sitting up in bed shirtless as he rubbed his eyes like a small child.

-How are you?

-I’m good, just wishing for five more minutes of nap.

-Let’s visit Henry, today?

-Sure.

-Thanks.

-Dearies! Mama yelped as she hobbled into the room, Dearies! The…the…h…h…

-Mama, calm down, what’s wrong? Elise said as she sat hew down in a chair by the window, fetching a glass of water from a pitcher on the night stand.

-The harbor, Pearl Harbor. It’s on fire!

The Romulus was the first to put two and three with four, and snapped to look at Mama, then out through the window. Elise followed quickly after, looking out west as she craned her neck to see past fronds.

-Henry!

-There’s smoke, black smoke.

-I just heard on the radio, there's a lot of smoke, a lot of ships on fire, the Japs came in their planes and are blowing things apart.

-Henry! We have to go see if he’s okay, Elise urged as she began running out of the door.

-Elise, wait! I’ll go too, let me get dressed!

-Elise, dearie, wait for Mama and Temmy!

-Hurry, hurry, he’s down there! Henry!

Henry tossed on his now signature white linen pants and a clean blue shirt, running out with sandals with Mama close behind. They didn’t even lock the house down as they ran to the car. Key in the ignition, they sped down the hill, turned a few corners, broke a few stop signs and soon they were nearing the harbor. Black smoke was growing larger, with time and proximity; it was growing larger exponentially, and a large colorless cloud of burning petroleum now apparent to Elise.

9

How about this, not a fucking thing more or less however: nothing happens, not a fucking thing happens. Nothing matters, a mileu, no genre, no meaning or nor a moral: not a fucking thing.

Let’s be content and live blindly, live without purpose; we can be amazing fucks who rape America for every spare penny to give to poor Africans, we can serve fucking soup to rank bag ladies, but what the shit, why? Why? To help people, and I would have italicized that but it’s already. Well, that’s nice, truly, helping people is fucking great. But what is there to achieve?

Let us, come on, let us! Oh Jehovah, oh oh! Tell us our purpose, oh: to serve you? No, serve a fellow brother? No sisters, however? A brother…

Jehovah! Oh, Jehovah!

…Fuck that.

10

They aren’t cowards; they aren’t cowards for treasuring their lives.

We aren’t cowards; don’t call us that, please!

Thoughts much like that swam through people’s minds, through the minds of people who fled, families of those who fled. An antithesis of it, however, went through other’s minds that stayed behind on the ships and base, fighting back and saving others: lifting others on their backs or in small boats, a personal angel lifting (rowing/pulling/carrying) the damned to heaven

-Where is he? Oh god, where the hell is he? Cried Elise as she ran nearly in place, spinning around as if to see everywhere on spot: she was to start in one direction, and sputter to a stop after feeling content with looking in that direction and start in another direction frantically.

Mama staid back with Elise, trying to calm her down and keep her so, as Romulus ran off in search of Henry. The running pace unrivaled sent Romulus across the base, swaying past one building and past another with gun holes, then past another without any marring. It was his map of the base that was nearly lost in thought that Romulus followed, flying against a crowd and yet with another, as he went to the infirmary.

If he’s hurt, he must be there; he must be there if others are hurt.

It was so, as dictated, that Henry would be at least near the infirmary. It was truly his place, and he was next to it be fate: flayed out in a broken heap next to a sizzling pile of metal and glass Henry laid helplessly as if forgotten by the universe, a left over of God’s last universe. Romulus knelt down beside the young man whose hair was thickly matted with blood along with a deep purple shirt that was blue, whose eyes were shut lightly and whose hands were cupped lightly over his heart. Henry spoke softly:

-I would help others, thus others would help me?

Romulus thought as he slowly and ever so softly scooped Henry up in his a arms, with propriety and gentility unrivaled. He began to jog without bounce back inland, back to Elise, Mama, to get Henry out of the pool as his legs now no longer helped him swim.

-No, Henry, they won’t always.

-Kant was wrong…or maybe he was right.

-But at least you will always be someone’s übermensch.

-It would be nice to have one of my own.

-Yeah, Romulus speculated, it would.

It was dictated in the universe that things to happen would happen, that things not to happen would not, and could not. As it were, matters only led to changes that the universe knew and knew only of: that of the infinite possibilities possible, only one thing was to happen as written in history, present and future.

Seemingly, it was as if the universe dictated Henry’s death. Henry had his head in Elise’s lap, who stroked his forehead and hair with the gaze of a mother onto her dying son. He could only breath shallowly, his eyes would open no more, and his body in too much pain to move. He could speak, however, as he could listen:

-Elise?

-Yes?

-I love you.

-Don’t say that, you sound like you’re going to die.

-I love you.

He thinks he’s going to die, Elise lamented, following a dirge that would ease Henry if the inevitable were to happen or not. The inevitable, however, was death, but the universe had yet to show whether he truly dictated Henry’s death.

-I love you, too.

It was dictated in the universe that Romulus would carefully lift Henry into the hospital, which was already full of people who were in much the same situation as Romulus, as Henry. He waded through as if through a swamp, padding through interviews and questions, through doctors and nurses, of glances and looks. Ian was becoming blood stained and soaked, looking as if ravaged by the attacks himself, and in his arms was a dying young man who only wanted to share love.

And it was his love, his love of the universe, which was dictated in the universe. It was his love that broke Elise’s heart, Romulus’ heart: for I know he loves me in an immeasurable account, but can my love for him rival such? He dies, in front of me/in my arms, and yet can I spare him pain with my love? Even more, can my love save him?

With barely twenty-two years of experience, Henry laid in bed bleeding profusely from the back of his head as doctors and nurses tried their best to staunch the flow. His legs were casted from the askew, his arms grafted and nursed out of pain, the dead skin carefully taken off, and his head eventually stopped bleeding. The concussion, however, left him nauseous, in delusions, in a dizzying pain.

-More, he implored of the nurses who administered anesthesia to his arm prepared to pack up.

-Are you sure?

-Quite…quite sure.

And the opiates dripped through, through his arms and into his heart. Henry sighed with relief; a relief of having the world’s weight lifted off himself, though with the doctor’s and nurse’s care and love. He would have preferred to have Elise to lift it off, truly would have, but what could she have done? Drown him in love? Drown me in love.

Henry quickly became an abuser, an obsessor and a codependent party of drugs. Drown me in it, he thought, drown me in the drugs. His pain would gradually increase, his dosage casually increasing in relation, but his pain never subdued: they never gradually increased in the first place.

His feelings were drugged, subdued to fuel an obsession. His life was being smoldered away, drop by drop, as if life was a physical attribute that chemicals could affect. The affection he felt never faltered however: Elise was always beside him as he sat in bed, listening Elise read a book or talk to him about how everything back home was, how Wilson was expecting a child and how Danielle was expecting a wedding in months. Romulus also staid around, providing books or other talk, providing another idea or opinion.

Henry’s love for the two, for his home and life and two other siblings back home, never faltered either. He, however, was in too much pain. His legs were healing finely. His arm, though it won’t look quite the same ever again, would function normally in time. His head, however, hurt. Though doctors couldn’t find a fault in it, his head ached. Or so he said it did, truly, his heart ached, it panged and busted and sutured itself together with thick and coarse thread that clamed down on the edges of sanity. He didn’t want anyone to know of his aches, his weak and broken heart, because it may end his career as a pilot, his love beyond life. If that ended, he would be lost beyond hope. So he spoke lies that his head hurt and not his heart, and they would still give him the drugs he became too partial to.

And one bleak morning his world flipped. His legs were healing properly, even more so out of the hospital after he was let out. He was also on sick leave from the air force, in account of his legs and his arm and head. He staid at his sister and brother-in-law’s home during, his room over looking a street lined with trees and plants and other rich homes.

He was happy, that was easy to say. But can one be happy and unhappy at once? He wasn’t completely happy, that was another easy thing to say because no one is truly happy, but it is hard for anyone to admit that they are unhappy. He loved the echoing sounds of the world, the echoing thoughts of the universe that his medication provided. He abused his alibi to the point that it killed him. The bleak morning provided him little light, and he took a few too many pills. It isn’t completely hard, however, to say that it wasn’t, to a point, intentional; he must have felt the amount of pills resting in his palm before downing them, and he must have contemplated putting them away. He didn’t put them away, however, and he died. His heart was too weak to hold the numbing agents in. His love bled profusely as he fell quietly to sleep, never to be woken up again.

Was it summer or was it winter? The northern hemisphere was in winter, the southern hemisphere in summer, and Oahu too close to the median of the two to say either or. Is it summer, or is it winter? Henry wrote down on a piece of paper that laid next to him as he died oh so silently, Is it summer, or is it winter?, a question left to be answered later. He meant to ask Romulus later the day, if he knew the answer. Romulus must know, Henry thought, he knows so much, he must know: is it summer or is it winter in Oahu?

The question, however, laid stagnant, undisturbed, a question from which Henry never drew an answer. It was instead perceived falsely as some ambiguous suicide note, losing any underlying values of a genuine question. Henry was much left lost, an ambiguous character in a play we call life.

11

Avant:

-Don’t go, don’t!

Silence.

-Tem, listen, please don’t go!

-Sunshine, I have to go.

-No you don’t, there are plenty of younger people who can go and you don’t have to.

-But don’t you see, that’s why I have to go! If I go I give just one more person a fighting chance of staying back at home. Do you want someone else to die because I don’t go?

Silence.

-I don’t want you to die though, Elise whispered as she began to cry.

-No, no, Romulus exclaimed near tears himself as he embraced Elise in his arms. I won’t die, no, no, I’ll make sure I won’t die. How can I leave such a pretty face widowed?

Elise was however unconvinced. There was a great chance Romulus would die if he joined the air force as he wished, and especially after America became a target in the war after the attacks on Pearl Harbor, after Henry had died, she wasn’t prepared for Romulus to fly out into battle. They had been fighting for a week over him joining the air force or not, and she was growing truly weary of it all. Romulus had more reasons to go fight for America then preserving the country, instead he spoke of some divine reasoning and some feeling to fly out into the sky, reasons not good enough.

-Romulus Darling, Elise whispered in bed the following night.

-What is it? He said as he turned to her, surprised that she was still awake. He took her in his arms.

-You truly want to fly for the air force?

-Truly.

-And you promise you will come back?

-I promise, Sparrow, if it’s the last thing I’ll do, I will come back to you.

She kissed him.

-Then fly out fast, and fly swiftly back.

He kissed her.

-Thank you.

Later:

-So, Geoffrey began, I hear you are joining the air force?

-You heard correctly, but it didn’t happen without much arguing with Elise.

-Well, congratulations then.

There was an uncomfortable shift between the dinner guests Romulus invited as Elise was out with family tending to funeral matters. The three guests were all not older then Romulus, but no younger then twenty-two. All were his good friends he had known for years into their childhoods; they all went to school together, then flying together in planes through their teenage years and even more flying together with the advent of their adult years.

-We, actually, have some news of our own, Ben spoke up.

-Hmm?

-Yes, Jules Hopper said, a twenty-five year old man who was skinny and gaunt, very intellectual, who was, somehow, also quite the athlete and of the guests, the only married one. Yes, um, we’re joining the air force also.

-You’re what?

-Air force, us, you, Geoffrey said, we can’t go letting you fly away without someone to look after you.

-No, you aren’t joining, you’ll get killed, are you stupid?

-What about you? You’re joining.

-That’s different, I have to join.

-Then so do we, as long as you’re joining, we decided we’re going to join.

-So if I don’t will you not join?

Once again was an uncomfortable shift between the guests. They stole quite anxious looks at each other before retreating quickly to their plates and utensils.

-Well, about that, Ben began, we sorta already joined.

-Oh god, are you guys crazy! What’s wrong with you, you’ll all die!

-Well, we can die together? Geoffrey offered as if to be some anecdote, but Romulus shot him a acidic glare.

-Yeah, we thought that you would try to get us out of it, but we can’t let you go by yourself, Jules broke in, and Elise told us you were very intent on going, and even she couldn’t stop you.

-So we decided we might as well join also, Geoffrey offered once more, because, you know, it’s sort of weird being here or there without each other, and we definitely can’t let you go alone.

-Not after all these years we’ve been together.

-Friends in life-

-Or death.

-Idiots, you are all truly idiots, Romulus said as he gruffly pushed his chair back and began to stomp down the hall to the front door. He hesitantly grabbed his pea coat, shuffling it on and stuffing his hands in its pocket. It was snowing, lightly, a cold powder dusting over a layer of snow that had laid itself down the days before. He walk down the sidewalk towards downtown, his nose growing red, and Geoffrey, Ben and Jules followed him behind, their strides long and quick to catch up with Romulus.

-Tem, wait.

-Come on, don’t be sore, wait up.

They caught up with him, walking beside him as he gave them the cold shoulder. They walked on silently, winding through the streets under iron lamps that shone with a yellow light that drew a Tyndall line in the snow and fog. They were all cold, their breaths condensing in the air, and they were all dressed darkly, fashionably and richly; a formidable looking group, in the distance, of tall young men that seemed to walk with intent.

-Tell us, Tem, why do you want to join the air force so strongly then? Jules said breaking the silence. Though intent on answering, it took some time for Romulus to compose himself.

-I, he began softly before pausing once more. I don’t really know, but I have this feeling for flying; I’ve always loved aviation, flying, no? But, I have this feeling it’s going to be different…in the air force there's going to be all those other people beside you, with you, with the same objectives or destination. I don’t know, like, if I’m flying over England or to Japan or over the Philippines, or what ever, for the air force and all those other people, but I don’t care really care about all that fighting for America crap, it’s just…

-A feeling…

-Of belonging…

-Yeah, like I have to, or I’ll be incomplete or lost, if I don’t. And if I don’t go, there's going to be some stupid kids like you three that would join in my place and die, if I don’t go. But you’re all joined up, so what does it matter?

Romulus sighed, coming to terms with defeat. His sigh blew out in a fog that lingered behind as he walked through it, a testament that he was there and he sighed, that he existed. But within moments it was gone.

-So, you three joined.

-Yes, Ben said apprehensively as if admitting to it would cause a volcano to erupt.

-I guess I have to, too, now. You’re all just going to get killed without me to parent you around, hmm? Friends in life, or death?

-Not death, at least yet; we’re coming back.

-Hmm, yes, Romulus speculated, as they walked on into the downtown city life. The snow neither picked up nor died down, just a powder that drifted down lithely, lingering on their coats and noses but melting away in quick moments.

-Well, at least we get to kick some commie ass, Geoffrey offered laughingly as the group descended into town otherwise quietly apart from jeering laughter of four young adult boys.

-Feel like a drink?

-Sure.

The group found themselves at Light Sliders, a now rambled bar lacking a beautiful pair of twins. The hype was definitely down, and they got in easily null line. It was still a cozy bar, however, with a pianist playing smoothly on the stage in dim lights replacing the sisters. There were sketchy characters sporadically mixed in with favorable people in the bar, prostitutes and skanks and booze lords sitting at the wet bar and at tables. They settled themselves at the bar, still quite silent amongst the small chattering and piano playing that danced about hazily.

Ben is a much better player, this guy thinks he’s such a hot shot playing all fancy and crap, Romulus thought, crap. Even so, everyone seemed to enjoy the playing, and the songs did fit the snow filled winter night mood: it was soft and light and just drifted about. But even so, the pianist gave this arrogant, haughty air when he went to announce his next song that put Romulus heavily off.

-I’ll be playing a song I wrote a few nights ago next, hope you all like it.

And the playing began, diminuendo and sostenuto, it was fancy as hell but obvious conceived to be that way. It’s too much, Romulus convinced himself in his self pity and cynical night, horrible crap, tying to sound like freaking Ravel for God’s sake.

It was too much, not just the playing but everything, too much for Romulus to handle. A scotch and water was all he ordered, Geoffrey a scotch but null on the water, Tyler some gin and Jules a dry martini. But while they were enjoying their drinks, Romulus downed his quickly, ordering up more, and then more.

Too soon enough, however, Romulus was denied any more drinks as his state became less and less stable. He was unhappy, no? If not, he wanted to compose his great symphony to be listened to on the inside while everything settled in.

War, war, war, war, war, flight, flock, war, war, flock, war, war, war, war, skies.

Death, flock, war, war, war, Henry.

War, Elise, war, war, flight, Geoffrey, Ben, war, war, Jules, flight, flock.

Crescendo, crescendo, crescendo, crescendo, null on the diminuendo.

He kept saying it was not a war, it was not his war, at least not a war to be fought, and he kept saying that he was not joining the war to fight but only so he could become one of the aviators in the flock.

And the more he said it, the more ambiguous the word became and the less definitive and the more awkward the word war became. War was not a thing to be happened, it was not even a word; war, was a state of mind that consumed people, one that began to consume Romulus before it even happened, and began to eat him inside out as it folded out a path.

Though he was quite bright in his life, Romulus began to worry of the future. His brother-in-law had just passed, and soon, he and three friends would be joining a world war. Optimism was the only path, keeping joyful and looking for luck when it most counted in life.

12

It was, however, a terrible ordeal that Romulus had went through. He was thoroughly a bright character throughout training, though the group of four friends was split into pairs as Romulus and Geoffrey were placed in one camp and Ben and Jules in another. He retained optimism, hope, joy, and he did find luck: he was a natural aviator, flying amongst the clouds for long stretched of time. His near veteran status as a pilot served him well, as did it to Geoffrey, Tyler and Jules. It earned the four great recognition and esteem, allowing the four to ascend quickly up in rank and follow through into the demesne of good graces. Not nearly soon enough, they were back together after training.

Ben found optimism in coded radio communications: his brain was wired for music, and as he typed away at an electronic machine that complex beyond comprehension to the 1940’s mind, he would sing a tune to the words uttered to relay to other people: his fingers would fly about effortlessly as if the world was just another piano. He would thus remember information of this and that, and secretly on vice of their lives would sing back songs to other destinations: his three friends.

Jules found hope in being a flight nurse, a flight doctor in training. Though a bit older then others who also began their training, his academic and rigid technicality served him well when it came to putting one in sutures, administering medication or helping in a surgery.

Geoffrey found joy in field training: though in the air force, he loved having a gun of any sort rested in his palms; his natural aptitude to shooting in most situations and in most training areas set up by the military led him to great admiration and praise.

Romulus however felt lucky as he flew in the skies above soft terrains of mid-western states amongst dozens of other pilots. He finally felt like he was nearly complete, as is he belonged somewhere if anywhere. He soared up in the skies through rain, snow and shine, a mummer and roar of propellers as if a droning klaxon in the skies, loosing his mind to the gods of aviation as he became one with the flock, adding and subtracting from here and there for fit into formations like winter birds going here and about for winter and summer, their chirps and squawks a klaxon, their squawks and chirps his klaxon. And for once, beyond Elise, beyond boyhood, beyond drugs of recreation, he felt immense optimism, hope, joy and luck in life. It was as if flying in a flock was some sort of unfound drug that was Romulus’ drug of choice.

It was up in the skies as a seagull of a migrant flock that Romulus felt invincible. They were not going home, nor looking for a winter paradise. Instead, the seagulls of the air force were looking for some sort of redemption, a feeling of belonging, an answer to questions, and they found it, but if they staid stagnant in the air they would fall and lose it, thus they moved about as if they were still searching.

The funny about finding things however, is that you could miss what you found if it was never lost to start with. It is impossible, however, to miss what was not yet had: to miss the optimism, hope, joy and luck found in flying and the feeling of belonging to a flock would have been ridiculous, as Romulus never found or had such a thing in previous times. It was not impossible, however, to feel one thing about optimism, hope, joy, luck and the feeling of belonging. It was not impossible to yearn for such feelings, and beyond feelings gained from flight and flocking Romulus was beginning to yearn such feelings, other feelings that were not yet had, and he was beginning to harbor more things in later time to come.

It is also possible to yearn for lost things, possible to lose yearnings for lost things and possible to lose yearnings for things not yet had at all. But of the least of it, it is not possible to lose all yearning.

Romulus began his day preparing for one more final training flight, the last, if all went well, that would lead to going to Britain and flying into real battles that were not staged dog fights, scrimmages between friends and buddies, with real commands where shooting was to lead to the goal of someone’s death. Though the major values of his future, and unlike many other young men, Romulus did not look forward flying into battle, being a patriot and a true American man, fighting for freedom or whatever people were referring to it all in the current day. He found what he sought, and actually began to fear he would lose it if he went to war. But he also feared of war, of being in battle, readily lacking others natural yearning for killing and blood. He was frightened of the bloodshed, was readily unprepared to take any command to kill.

And it was on his final day of training flight that everything went askew. He was in a panicky state, worried what was to become of him, his friends, as they were in war; what was to become of Elise as he was across seas fighting, flying? It could be years before he would return, and grotesquely he thought it could be years, or horrifically weeks, before his obituary was placed in the paper after his body was identified: if he went to war, it was a given chance that he could die. He would never see the light of Elise, his eastern skies and his greatest love of his life, his life’s importance. And even more, he would be abandoning Elise.

He faltered in the sky, righting himself into formation. What am I doing? He questioned moments later, and he panicked once more under the glassy pilots casements, letting go of the steering handles as he tried to push his way out of the cockpit, unbuckling his straps in a frightening display of panic. Where are the seagulls? Why am I in this death contraption? And he faltered once more.

-Romulus, right yourself; is all right?

-Romulus?

-Romulus?

Romulus, Romulus, stay calm, Romulus, Romulus…

He descended down rapidly, a whirring of wind flowing past as he neglected to right himself. He somehow ejected out, his subconscious controlling his fight and flight systems, flailing into the sky as his parachute bloomed open in the beady sun, gracing him a gentle landing into an earthy mound. And this was what happened next, as Romulus numbly and slowly digested them:

He was given a Section Eight discharge as he became grossly blank, pallid, sans emotion and heart. His commanders yelled at him for faltering, for destroying a precious plane with the limited resources the world was fighting for, but he was silent. Then they fell to silence too, as they realized that this was, our Romulus, our prized flyer, he isn’t like this, and they spoke to him softly, realizing something was out of quo. But he stared forth thusly, numb and silent. He did things without heart, without emotion, like a machine ordered to do just this and just that. Geoffrey, Ben and Jules pleaded with at first to get better, warning him that if he didn’t he would be discharged, but then they pitied him in his distressed existence and cared for him as Henry would have cared for him, and he was slightly more responsive, but not by much. And soon, everyone was yelling at him, trying their hardest to snap him out of his psychosis. But all failed, and he was given a Section Eight discharge.

He went home, mentally sick, cool and doe eyed as he closed the large mahogany doors to the library behind him, wrapping himself in a quilt near the fireplace as he curled up to more James Joyce. Elise found him like so everyday, and she cried every night after leaving him to bed late in the morning: she whittled her body down to bones as he was as she staid attentively and loyally by his side, talking to him, trying to get him to eat or speak more, speak more loudly. She quit her job, on the occasion of her ill husband, to take care of him, but she never grew impatient, though Romulus was null on any promising nature coming back. She was there, regardless, in his quilt, in the same chair, speaking into his ear as a fire crackled behind their backs, morning to morning.

Many wonder what a psycho or a mental mute thinks about. Romulus thought about all the things that he was going to do when he got better, prepared himself to fly and run and laugh and talk, cook food and plate it and put the dirty dishes away. He would ready himself, Okay, here I go!, but then stop just before, losing all strength to do so as if he pushed fiercely against invisible forces that pulled him back, straining his muscles until they served him not.

And he thought: why is it, that I can’t do anything? Elise would speak to me, stare into my eyes with her watered pools, imploring that I get better with just a final stare. And I want to, I do! I want to reply, but I can’t find the energy, the impulse, to reply. I want to reply, say something back to assure her, I will get better, or to thank her, thank you for staying beside me, but I can’t. I’ll gap my mouth open just ajar, and I will imagine myself speaking, but I can’t, I just can’t.

She had found him, one night after bathing herself, in the chair as usual. He was in the quilt as usual, but Faulkner was at the leg of the chair, and his eyes were closed asleep. She picked up Faulkner and set him aside, then curling up in quilt with Romulus. Romulus was quite gaunt and angular, his famished face shone with deep cheek impressions of a ghastly ghoul. And it was against his protruding hip bone did Elise press against, nudging him over an inch to make slight room for her. His head leaned to the side limply like a child deep in sleep. She put onto his left chest her ear to listen to his heart: ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, it rung deeply, shallowly, and slower then a normal slow. She pushed him to wake, spoke into his ear, pinched him out of his dreams, but he didn’t respond. Frightened, she called for help, and medics came in pray time, hoisting him into a stretcher and drove him to the local emergency room. She staid close behind, sitting in the paisley blue waiting room attentively as she worried about, crying her eyes out. The doctor concluded, that it was worryingly an overdose that affected Romulus, an overdose of prescription medicine he shouldn’t have been taking in the first place.

-Keep a close eye on him, he old, graying doctor asked gravely, he isn’t right, Romulus, and he may try… again.

Geoffrey, Ben and Jules went to England without Romulus. They sent letters streaming into his house, letter after letter speaking of what they see, asking of how he was doing, how Elise was doing, speaking of the beautiful sights they see but never of the horrors. Elise encouraged him to write back, and he did: if anything was developing, however, it was now his writing. It began with simple and short replies, childish in demeanor in a way, I am good, thank you, how are you?, but quickly grew in volume, in quality, as his eloquent style empowered him to write more in less. He began to demonstrate great aptitude to writing, his style including the frequent colons and comma splicing: very eloquent in a speaking manner kind of way. If Romulus couldn’t speak in real life, he was surly making it up in his writing: if Elise left lengthy letters from he heart, as she had began to do, he was sure to reply twice fold in quantity.

It was after sending replies to each of them, all three replies fitted now to each person and their previous letters, on beautiful British ladies, another on artwork being destroyed by the blitzkrieg and the final letter on thoughts and ideas. He received three letters, one from Ben, one from Jules and lastly, one from an air force commander, Flanders, that became some sort of a fatherly figure for the four of the friends in training. They all half heartedly spoke of Geoffrey, how he was amazing, how he was handsome and kind and loving, though ruthless; how he was flying into a mission and how his engine sputtered unexpectedly and how he crashed down into the city and how he died a quick death, no pain.

Failure, Romulus thought: Geoffrey failed to be there for me. He was angry for Geoffrey to abandoning him like so, no heed or creed or a proper farewell. And Romulus regressed back to his silent ways of all ways, neglecting to write but still receiving letters from Ben and Jules as if nothing happened. He was enraged; enraged that Geoffrey abandoned him, enraged of Ben and Jules’ ignorance to it. Romulus was angry, locking himself into his chamber and library, throwing fits and books if anyone came in, mentioning food or sleep in a proper bed or heaven forbid, mentioning Geoffrey.

Elise was scared, her gentle Romulus no longer gentle, no longer gentle. She didn’t know what to do, as her patience now grew weary as her life could be in danger: she could easily join Geoffrey if Romulus waded too deep in his emotions.

-I’m leaving Romulus, she said one morning as he laid restlessly on the couch. She was dressed for travel, darkly and tightly, padded up and light luggage by her side.

-Where to?

-My brother’s home…aren’t you curious why?

-Hmph.

-Stop it, why are you doing this? Why are you angry, at me? And she paused for a moment’s though. Geoffrey would hate you for all of this.

-Oh ho, Geoffrey would hate me? Me?

-Yes you, she said angrily holding back tears.

He breathed down Elise’s throat:

-You don’t know anything, okay? Anything! And he pushed her back.

-Don’t, she meekly retorted.

-Huh? He questioned with another push.

-Stop, she pleaded now crying.

Yet, to Romulus, it was all a rush. He was always angry and angry was what he always was: anger was all he knew and sadness then intrigued him, thus Elise was now just his lab rat. He pushed her back on the shoulders, over estimating his own strength, and she toppled over the coffee table, trying to embrace a soft fall with her arms but failed and hit her head on the arm of the armchair with a sharp ooph.

It was bloodshed he feared, deep down, and the blood that seeped through her roots much like her own hair stirred up old emotions. Romulus was scared, frightful, and quickly worried over Elise.

-Oh my god, what did I do? He whispered shrilly as he stepped to pick her up. But she pushed him away, running out the room with her hand clasped on the back of her head as tears poured forth. She ran and ran, running out of the house, and running away from Romulus.

He stood limp and frightened with his shoulders drooped forward. He didn’t know what he had done, much of what had happened in the past months either, a blanket of fear, anger and sadness was all he could recall. He was scared, he was truly scared of what he had done, what he had become, and his punishment for a lapse of character was forthcoming.

That was Romulus’ terrible ordeal, something he would never forget and would always recall throughout time. It was an end to one era, and a beginning to another. And throughout the next, she laid there, a moments caught in the air as an image engraved into Romulus’ mind for all time to come; not so much a fleeting moment anymore. It was her normally tidy hair tossed over her face, her arm stretched under her head jutting back and her other arm sprawled over her chest, her dark dress stressing distress against the light and pastel chalky quilt that she laid upon as she stared with pooled eyes of horror and of plea into Romulus’ that he would remember for the rest of time. She laid there for all time, sprawled hurt and wings broken as her Arthur brutally tossed her aside. And she was always there, an image and punishment, for eternity in Romulus’ mind to remind him whenever he questioned what was to come.

12

The seagulls, they flew through the skies. It was a mindless action, but they achieved much more then one could have expected in such blindness: they met the horizon, and they fell through to the other worlds. And it was Romulus who first met such unexpected expectations and goals that the seagulls set.

He followed Elise, a bit behind for through anger and through fright she told him specifically not to follow her. But it was just a lapse, he told himself, and he was normal at once, but also highly regretful. He felt that if she didn’t want to even see him, it was expected, but he was still her husband, her husband rejuvenated back to his old suit, and he wanted to make sure she went somewhere safe for the night, where ever that was. He didn’t run over the idea that maybe though he kept safely, deep down for later exposure in a time such as now, his love for Elise, she may have lost her love for him.

She made her way be foot into town; across town into a suburb of a couple miles away she walked further. She was exhausted, emotionally a wreck, and he was just happy she made it to Wilson’s home. He stalked behind making sure she was not to see him, and after an hour after she embraced Wilson and Edna Harrisons at the door, disappearing past he jam.

Romulus stood for a moment, contemplating whither to go up to the house right away, as he expected to pay a visit anyways, or wait a while, and then go. She’s angry with me…she wouldn’t want to see me right away, ill hopefully at all, and if I go right now she’ll think I followed her. No, no, that wouldn’t be any good; I’ll wait. He began to walk in the opposite direction, around the modest upper-class home developments. The sun shone brightly, and there was a small breeze that played with his hair, tossing it around and about teasingly. He was warm, donning a short sleeve shirt however, but it was July, high spring, and it was to be nice all over sans New England or sans not.

And he began to think. The war, it’s not over. No, it had just began. People are dying, people have been dying, and people are being tortured and raped and killed right now, I bet it. And here I am, with marital problems, commenting about how good the weather is, of all things, as these people are dying. Ha! Ha ha! How, how lucky I am. I’m not in danger, I’m not dying, I’m not starving or anything. I just…just tried to kill myself. And Ben and Jules, they are brave, they are fighting: they could be in danger, could be dying. And look at Geoffrey, oh ho, he is dead! Dead, my Geoffrey, dead! I’m such a coward, a runaway.

No, he thought later, as he passed a park full of children playing and their laughing and the scraping of play toys wavering through the air, no, I didn’t run away. I was put away. Put away, ha! I wasn’t even put down, I’m not even good enough for that. I was just sent home, because I was inadequate, useless… Crazy.

At first he thought of why he lacked normality in the past week, month, months (he wasn’t too sure how long it had lasted): Geoffrey’s death was obviously an attribute and Romulus was still a bit jounced emotionally over it, and there was his near death experience in the air force, also. But is that reason enough?... or am I making little thought over it all? Is it bigger then I think? Or even yet, am I making it bigger then it truly is?

Romulus was irked by the thought. He couldn’t conjure up any contenting conclusion to such an enigmatic question, but he hoped to lord that it was not to happen. In his lapse, he thought that he should pay visit to Elise; though she did specifically ask that he not follow her, but he prayed she changed her school of thought.

He made his way down 76^th court to a green home with a one low and wide gable that created the entirety of the roof. He pushed himself forward, nervous and praying that she would forgive him, or give off signs of impending forgiveness, as his luck had seemingly ran dry.

Wilson only gave a grunt when he opened the door and saw Romulus. His forehead and brows were tense and like the gable, low, framing his intense eyes that glowered down upon Romulus. Wilson was a very tall and well built man, very formidable looking, though very cheery and joyous, even beating out Geoffrey in such values; Romulus liked to think Geoffrey would have looked like Wilson. It was only natural for him to teach physical education, being a football and hockey player of his time. It was much out of his nature to be so intense, frightening, and it made Romulus recoil.

-Is… Elise…

-Yes, she doesn’t want to see you, Wilson acidically spat back; pray tell me, what the hell do you want?

-I…want to apologies…

Wilson was obviously strained on patience, something he had free flowing like his sister, and was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his eyes now pinched closed.

-Look, he began, I know you’re a great guy, I liked you, or I still do…but I don’t know. This isn’t like you; the war…it did something to you, something bad. But don’t sweat it, I get it, this isn’t you, but you still can’t go around hurting Elise like that, you’re breaking her heart. Just so you’ll know, however, she is still holding on, but she needs a break. She’s your wife, not your nurse.

-Yes, of course, thanks, and…I’m sorry…I think I should go.

-Yeah, sure, but one last thing: touch her again, you or not you, and I’ll kill you. Get well, we miss you, so don’t tarry.

Wilson had might as well forgave Romulus, and he felt that it was too much. It was on top the fact that he had been out of himself for the past who-knows-how-long, had tried to kill himself, had lost his best friend, hurt his wife and was possibly loosing her. All that, and his brother-in-law forgives him. It was too much for Romulus, all too much, and he found himself wrapped once more in a quilt in a chair in front of the fireplace, no more James Joyce or Faulkner, no Homer or Socrates or Kant, only some nice whiskey and joy via the pharmacist.

And the seagulls made their embrace, planning to bring Romulus with them. It was through reward and punishment that he escaped death once more, the seagulls lifting up into the blinding light as he drifted away.

It hurts, I hate it…it hurts: why does it hurt? I just want to die.

But you can’t die, not yet, you must come with us.

Come to where?

Come to everywhere. We’re sorry, but you must. You have no choice.

Will it hurt…anymore?

Yes, we’re sorry, but it must. You had a choice.

13

Romulus was noxious, numb and dizzy when he awoke. The blinding light of the day poured into his mind as he opened his eyes, blinding him for a moment’s second as he rubbed his eyes like a child. It was a chilly day, early spring at the least, and he pulled his quilt tighter around with a free hand.

When his eyes came to, he saw light, light, and more light. There were also trees, dirt, and green foliage and brown foliage of a forest. He was in the middle of the forest -I’m in the middle of the forest- sitting in a chair wrapped in a quilt. He was confused, recalling the last events linearly before succumbing to rest:

I came home, I was sad, I drank whisky, and then more whisky, I took some pills, and then more pills…this is heaven! It must be heaven!

And at once, he got up excitedly, but still noxious, numb and dizzy, and fell down to his feet. He knelt down for a few moments, allowing his sleeping legs to regain touch from the prickly and semi-painful feeling that went from toe to thigh in them. He gasped for a deep breath of air, pungent in freshness and cleanness. Almost too clean, he thought, reminiscing on the metallic after smell and taste it had. He grasped the earth underneath him, the dry crumbling dirt sifting neatly through his fingers and caking under his nails. He smelt that, the dirt, and it smelled like dirt, but clean and fresh also, still with the metallic lingering.

He tried once again as his legs regained feeling, and set forth through heaven. Everything had a bright glowing aura; the leaves of the leafy trees shone like polished marble in exotic colors of green, the trunks of the trees rough but glaze like and the forest floor had a clean and even simple look about it. And as Romulus walked about, facing the canopies to feel the pitter-patter of the sifted sun light, breathing in the fresh and clean air of heaven, he did manage to notice that heaven was lacking any other inhabitants: his foot steps, a slight shuffling and crackling of shoes on forest debris of leaves, fallen bark and dirt, echoes hollowly against the trees and foliage. Not another sound was to be heard, everything was silent; permeating through all atomic pores was the lack of sound, and yet, everything seemed to echo with a hallow feeling to everything even though there wasn’t a sound, save soft footsteps and shallow breathing. Romulus heeded notice, and he began to worry. He sped up his pace, to and fro, weaving through the trees and plants, looking for signs of inhabitants, of any kind by soon point, even a sign of a squirrel would have been satisfactory to the quick fright growing upon Romulus.

He would go this way and that, but to his dismay would find nothing. And he sped up in growing panic, and ran through the forest as his echoing footsteps pounded against his ear drums. And he stopped in relief as off in the distance a flash of color caught his eyes: through patches of negative space in ferns and trunks and leaves, he saw textiles and patterns that were not indicative to a natural forest. It was the man made object off in the distance that rejuvenated his quickly lost hope, and he heaved himself to it shouting in glee.

-Hello, he sounded in joy, is anyone there?

He sped up in pace, pushing his way through the forest and thinking to himself happily, there are other people in heaven, there are other people in heaven. But when he reached the textile of his dreams, he was broken to pieces: on top of an antique colonial armchair rested the quilted textile blanket he awoke on top, the armchair and quilt he fell asleep on top. He looked about as if to find another source of manmade colors, an arm chair or a quilt he did not fall asleep with, one that he did not wake up on. But he did not find anything to his horror, and he sank into his chair with his knees up to his chest, wrapping the quilt around him as he now noticing how unbearably cold the world is alone.

And it was through such loneliness did he find how he truly felt. He felt horrible for what Elise went through, for she deserved naught a thing of the such. Suicide prevention, a mental care nurse? Bah! And through it all, after the matter, I hit her! The hell, with me!

He sat restless in the mind with the quilt pulled tightly to his body in the armchair null relax. And he thought and thought and thought, of where he was, why he was there, why it was lacking anyone else, and especially, why was he going through it. And he though and thought and thought, of what he would say to Elise when he got back home, of how he would even get home. But thinking served no gratitude, and he came up without answers to why he was where he had no idea where he was, or how he was to get back home.

Slowly, time passed as the sun never waning, serving as a constant reminder of how much he was hurt, how alone he felt. And the forest canopy never parted way for the sun, and Romulus fell asleep to tears.

14

There waved the smells of the city: dirty and grungy and the thick must of a city alleyway lingered about as Romulus began to wake up. He was still in his armchair, still wrapped in the quilt, but the sounds of an awakening city contrasted the haunting quiet of the forest and Romulus was jarred to wake as a passing semi-truck created a booming echo through the alley. He jumped up, eyes red and wide, and thought, surly I was dreaming! As he though he was back home in the city.

But the irony was when he noticed he was not home, but maybe closer. He got up, still perplexed with the enigmatic events; carefully putting the quilt on the arms of the chair to make sure it would not touch the grimly surface of the alley, and made his way down to where it met the streets.

And he was confused when he met the sidewalk lining the streets. The buildings were angular, simple and without any style; not a building of his city. He would find cars he could recognize in make, but only amongst a multitude of cars that he could not: Bentley, Cadillac, Ford, yes, yes, but Toyota? Suzuki? He would snap his head to the sides, soaking in his surrounding, and there were people sparsely walking up and down the sidewalks also, all suited up and dressed in clothes styled up just a bit differently then what he had been used to behold, as if in some avant-garde city of fashion. There were the usual suits and ties, blazer, jackets and pea coats much like his, but the angle of the collar, the cut of the dress hem, the style of their hair and facial hairs, it was different, per se, more definitely recognizable was the difference in the female fashion.

He began to panic, frightened with the thought of being lost. He had just found himself in a desolate forest (heaven?) that he didn’t even know existed out of his subconscious mind. And he wanted to retreat back to the home he last knew, the dank and rancid alleyway of that housed his armchair and quilt, but even yet his last reminders of a home before home frightened him: if he were to get to a city he couldn’t remember being in last, then be it so, but how did he manage to bring a large and heavy chair along with him, and a quilt?

Then he felt like a standout, and all of a sudden felt the need to walk, walk with the majority of the pedestrian crowd, and feel amongst the one. In a frantic pace, he marched along the tramps and business men, what seemed like professors and scholars, officials and other nondenominational occupations. He didn’t feel safe, as one amongst the one, however, and didn’t feel any less frightened.

Oh god, where am I? What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing here?

He pleaded for answers as he walked on and on numb, scared, and definitely sad: he was numb because he was scared, he was scared because he didn’t know where or why he was where he was, and he was sad, definitely sad, because he couldn’t apologize to Elise.

And through weaving streets of concrete and asphalt jungles the pedestrians leg him, conjugating up more and more buildings, but quickly some were looking familiar to him, more lavish and of something recognizable. Through awe, he began to lose himself, shivers running up and down his spine and goose bumps creeping up his limbs, and he held eerie feelings of not belonging, of being where he shouldn’t be, and yet, he felt a faint feeling of being where he was, a long time before.

Romulus’ eyes began to shoot about, eyeing the surrounding with fearing anticipation, and he walked on meekly, even as he felt he should do something: go back to his last hovel, a dank and raunchy alleyway housing his armchair and quilt, ask someone, though to both parties potential discomfort, where he was, or even call for assistance or go to a police bureau for help. Yet, he seemed to subconsciously favor the frightful nature of his walk, and kept going as if he would be murdered cold blooded on the spot if he did anything else. But soon, he could himself in a common conjugation spot of the pedestrians, where they all stood about at the end of the sidewalk, waiting for the growing crowd’s turn to cross a massive street. He looked about, and spotted a street post which, upon reading, caught his attention:

Time Square

and things began to put themselves together right away. I had gone home, saddened, and drunken large amounts of alcohol. Alcohol was the answer! Or, the horrible deed and cause, as it were. I had then fallen so drunk I went on a six hour journey (three by train,) some how, to New York City, and it was in New York City that I subsumed to the alcohol, and, finally fell to rest in an alleyway. And the forest? But a dream!

But that did not explain for the armchair and quilt, however, what sense does one make in drunkenness? He was in New York City on an alcohol trip itself, what difference does a chair and blanket make? And of the clothes, the cars? New York City is not just one of the more central cities of America, but the world, so naturally new cars and new clothes would come there quicker then any other city.

Romulus felt slightly less distraught after his new found information. He was now, he felt, lost to a lesser extent. But he was still in New York, hours away from home, and obviously alcohol fueled it, ergo he still has his personal troubles.

And he walked thusly, seeking only a phone to call home to send him aider in form of a ride. Descending down forth the street in a quick trot, he held himself closely together as his eyed sprung about, looking for a phone booth. He grew upon a jeering crowd, taunting forth to a pane of glass on a building, with signs and shouts made to catch whoever was inside’s attention. The group was dressed warmly, haphazardly and mismatched, as Romulus put it, and obviously of random engenderment by such look. Intrigued, Romulus stepped a bit closer, to see what was so important inside that a group would need to protest, but as he got closer he realized that they were no sounds of protest that he was hearing, but sounds of cheers.

Over the heads of the crowd, Romulus sifted through the reflection of the city on the window, peering into what he could faintly make out from his unfocused distance: there were people, dressed crisp and clean, sitting about around a table in a nice set of some sort. All about were television broadcasting equipment, such as cameras and recorders, and wire and wires all about. The people smiled and spoke, their mumbling faintly audible, and they seemed to throw jokes around as they broke into larger smiles and laughs, but it seemed all to conceived to Romulus. They were actors, or maybe journalist of some sort, but all they did was sit around without movement; maybe, he thought, it’s some sort of new talk show, for television, like they have for the radio. Unimpressed and his mind set forth on his pervious mission of calling home, he began to walk away, but a large male announcer (Actor? Journalist?) had caught his attention with the simple words she spoke:

-This is August 16th, he began in a glowing voice, 2003. Today is bright and shining! Overcast up in the west coast and sparse showers in the Seattle area, no precipitation is expected anywhere else. With highs of 73 in Seattle, 76 in San Francisco, 91 in Dallas and a staggering 80 in New York City, today is looking pretty great. There is a high winds warning in the Gulf of Mexico vicinity, however, but wow, doesn’t today look promising?

Lost in a mall always stumbles about a young lad or lady, doe eyed and worried to the point of total silence.

-Are you lost? would be asked by an attentive shopper, or security.

But I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, they would think horrifically, what do I do?

-Are you lost?

The child would meekly nod, frightened of the stranger danger that they were told loomed all around. But they were scared without their mommy, and Susie from class was having her birthday party soon and Frank from down the street was probably already waiting to play food ball. So, they meekly nodded an answer hoping for the best.

And in most cases, things did work out for the best. Ralph was brought to the security office where Mrs. Tumulus was called to pick up her son, only to smother him in tearing kisses and then snapping, scolding him coolly for not staying with her.

-But I didn’t want to be in the girl’s dressing room, he would try to retort, but she would only comment how it didn’t matter unless he wanted to get lost again and have someone kidnap him and kill him or something on such lines.

Romulus was not as lucky, however: he had no security with rough blue chairs bought thirteen years ago on discount, no mother that was looking for him. He thought at first he was only hour’s travel away from home, but was informed to be over threescore in years away from home. The latter, however, gave no room to travel back.

But I came here, there must be a way back…but there isn’t a way back, because I never came in the first place. This must be a dream, a hoax, this can’t be so.

He though it all made sense, for it to be a hoax of some kind. He couldn’t have traveled to New York City, let alone time traveled to New York City circa 2003. Hoax, it must be a hoax. It couldn’t have been a dream, he concluded, for where were the flying cars? Jet packs? Unless there weren’t any in his dream, no flying cars or jet packs, if it were a dream. But a hoax would make more sense, because current technology would serve the hoaxers to no avail when it came to creating flying cars or jet packs, let alone imitate them, for use.

-I know this is a joke! None of this is real! You can’t fool me!

-Just come out with it! All of this is a joke, none of it is real! Just tell me!

But no one came out with it. People just walked about, and those close enough to hear his noise only moved farther away to escape it. He caused a rift in the crowd as he preached for the answer. People only stares, pointed, laughed and shot him looks of pity, confusion, disgust, and in a few rare cases concurrence.

-What do you mean, a hoax?

-This isn’t real, this 2003. None of this is real.

-Too much Matrix.

-He’s stuck in Y2K.

-I speak of no matrix or any y2k, I speak of falsehood! Lies!

-Sir, said an officer who came up to him, I cannot stop you from expressing your ideas, but I recommend keeping it down a bit and try and refrain from causing a big commotion.

-Sir, yes, sir! But I am here to inform you: this is all false!

-Go home sir, I recommend you that.

Romulus took the idea into consideration for a moment, and then laughed at the idea. Go home? What home do I have to go to? An armchair, a quilt, in the middle of a dank and dark alleyway! If that is a home adequate enough, paint me blue! He ranted on, venting for the conspirators to draw themselves forth, but he couldn’t keep up much more thinking and opinionating in Time Square as his stomach grew to the worst of him. He realized he hadn’t had a bite to swallow in a day, or less, or possibly more; he wasn’t sure, but he was quite sure he was hungry. He wandered down about the street, looking for a bar, café or any place open for a lost bird. He walked on and on, as in New York City places even across town were easy to get to with a brisk walk and a few spare moments. He found himself a handful of hours later in a colorful suburb of the city full of minorities and bohemians and gypsies. He was brought nearly home by the aged buildings and closeness of them, and the area was obviously aged as some buildings had an old patina and feel to them. That, or style had obviously not gone out of fashion for homes in the past… sixty-two years.

And all about were chic little homes and hovels and stores to peek into through their large glass fronts. Beautiful, Romulus he heard his heart agreeing whole heartedly on, quite a beautiful neighborhood.

Romulus was one of the muggy looking wanderers that parents would warn their children of: the kind of person to lookout for when looking for someone to avoid in lieu of stranger danger. And people of all ages did avoid Romulus as he sauntered across New York City, a grimy looking character who stumbled about the concrete jungle looking for something with great intent, but was obviously failing at it.

But suddenly his nose caught attention of a sweet scent wavering smoothly through the lax air of the young community. He followed as his nose dictated he move, from this street down that and around a corner to yonder thusly. His nose told him that where ever the scent came from, that it was a library of nourishing food that would collapse his heart in bits because of the pure ecstasy in the fats, thus flavor, that the nourishing food would send throughout his veins.

The scent was strongest and most thick as molasses –it could easily be sweet molasses, actually- around a metallic building that looked as if it belonged in the war that was going on over a half century prior to Romulus’ current present, the war which Romulus felt he belonged in, but was kicked out of, the war that was going on in Romulus’ past present, his true presentence.

He drew a sweet sigh and stepped within the threshold of the building that strongly contrasted its homely and earthy surroundings. It was a busy, full and hectic interior that Romulus found himself in, full of people of all types and colors and optical personalities that exuded through their mannerisms and outlooks of life that their eyes portrayed. The interior decoration was just as schizophrenic as the patrons: a jumble of seemingly dear memorabilia, photographs, paper clippings and other random assortments of things framed the wall, speaking to the loving… loving, environment that the food service enterprise was built upon, probably. Romulus sat down at the counter bar, on top red faux leather swivel stools that were grimy in dirt and grease at the base.

-Start with a coffee? A waitress behind the counter

asked.

-Hmm, please, Romulus managed to moan.

And she topped him off to a start. He took a deep draw of the smooth, rich drink, the world’s antithesis to sedatives, letting the warm dew dance on top his tongue. The elixir of life.

Romulus sighed. God where am I? When will I wake up? This isn’t funny anymore, god this isn’t funny anymore. I wish to god that they would just stop joking, because this isn’t funny anymore. When will I wake up?

Wake up, wake up; wake, wake, awake.

Clasping his face in his hands, Romulus plugged his ears with his thumbs to drive out the sounds of the people around him. He was tired, so scared, frightened. Unhappy; he was unhappy. He didn’t like what he had done, what he had become, what he had done. What had he done, that was so terribly wrong?

I abandoned my friends, I hit my wife.

He clawed at his face, tears matting down his hair into a mess as he heaved breaths unevenly. No one noticed what he was doing, his back placid and cool from their aversive eyes. Look at me! Look! Tell me I’m a monster, tell me that…that I am real. Tell me, that this is real. But no one looked.

-Hey, the waitress from behind the counter asked cooingly, are you okay there?

Romulus shook a reply, and peeled his face from his sticky hands. He saw the lady looking at him, bent down against the counter to his level, and saw she had eyes full of worry and care. The eyes of a lady in her mid-twenties; full, crimson lips of a lover; ivory skin of Galatea, she looked into his eyes. She looked like Elise.

-Elise, he meant to implore, but all that came out was a no in the form of a sticky voice with throat mucus crackling in the back of his throat.

-No.