Friday, April 5, 2019

The Meow Meow Gang (Short Fiction for Cat Ladies and Gentlemen - 755 words)






Buggy is a pint-sized furball of fierce. She's named after Bugs Bunny because of her big ears and overbite which makes her look like a bunny. She's small but don't let her size fool you. Buggy is all meow and all bite. 

McCatney is a tiger-striped cat from Alabama. Since he was a kitten, he dreamed of leaving his home state and moving to Orlando for two reasons: 

1.       Alabama, the band, has a song talking about “skinning cats.” 

2.       He wanted to meet this famous rodent—Mickey Mouse—everyone kept talking about. 

His friends told him to stop being silly and accept his country cat life, but he had dreams. He worked his way south by jumping on the back of trucks until he reached his destination. Once in Orlando, he met Buggy and the two became friends. But to become a member of the Meow Meow Gang, McCatney had to eat an entire bowl of catnip. He was awake for two days and ended up in a bowl of noodles behind a Chinese restaurant. The owner of the restaurant came out the back door. When he saw McCatney, he yelled, “Shoo! Shoo!” Buggy came just in time and yelled at the man, “Nobody messes with my friend! Meeooww hisss!” The owner shook his head and went inside. 

One day, McCatney and Buggy were hanging out at PetSmart. McCatney looked down at his claws and said, “These are too long. Buggy, distract the workers so I can use this scratching post a while.”

“Right meow?” Buggy asked. “I was getting ready to take a nap.” 

“Yes, right meow,” said McCatney.

“Merr purr,” Buggy mumbled then jumped up on a high shelf full of dog treats and shoved them all to the ground. Then she ran and hid behind a stack of cat litter. A young man walked around the corner and saw the mess. He sighed and cleaned it up. 

Meanwhile, McCatney was hard at work on the scratching post. When he trimmed his claws, he went into his own world. He was in a frenzy, his head bobbing back and forth, low growling sounds coming from his throat. Finally, when he was finished, he laid on the floor and purred. 

Buggy walked over, a bag of Meow Mix chicken-flavored treats hanging from her mouth. She dropped the treats to the floor. 

“You really get into your scratching,” Buggy said as she opened the bag with her teeth. 

McCatney played with a little squeaky mouse, batting it back and forth between his paws. He looked at Buggy. “Have you ever been to Disney World? I hear there's a big mouse named Mickey there. I have to see him for myself.”

Buggy wrinkled her nose and her whiskers twitched. “I haven't met him. But I've heard he's a real asshole and he's really big. You wouldn't be able to catch him.”

McCatney whacked the mouse across the floor. It slammed against a container of cat litter and squeaked. “I like to challenge myself. If someone tells me I can't do something, then I have to try it. Don't you have dreams, Buggy?”

Buggy grabbed hold of a dog bed with her claws and dragged it closer. She jumped in and kneaded the soft cotton for a couple minutes before lying down. “I have dreams of taking a nap right meow.”

“I'm serious, Buggy. Don't you ever get tired of this? Living on the streets, sneaking into pet stores and stealing food and catnip? There has to be more to life than this.”

Buggy stood up again and pressed her paws into the bed. “What are you talking about? Just because you were named after some famous human, you want a glamorous life? This is the best we can do, cats like us.”

McCatney jumped to the top of the scratching post and looked down at Buggy. He raised a paw into the air. “No! We can do better. The street life is no way to live. Somewhere out there is a purrfect loving family who would take us in, feed us, pet us, cuddle us, maybe even take us to see Mickey Mouse!”

 Buggy stretched and yawned. “Come on, McCatney. What kind of catnip have you been sniffing? No one wants us. Look at us.” She looked down at her matted fur. “We're dirty kitties. We're wild. We're street cats and that's all we're going to be. No one would want to adopt us. Now stop being silly and go grab a box of Meow Mix. I'll grab some catnip. We need to go before they find us and kick us out.”

“Alright. Let's bring some food to the rest of the gang.”

Buggy and McCatney walked outside and stopped when they saw a big white van with “Humane Society” written on the side. 

Buggy leaned up against a street post and began licking her paw and washing her face. “These creeps again,” she said. “Driving up in their weird white van. No way am I getting in there. Don't care if they have the best treats in the world.”

“Shh,” McCatney said. “Don't be rude.”

A lady with bright red hair stepped out of the van and walked slowly to the cats, smiling. 

Buggy decided to call her “Fire.” Another woman walked out behind her, followed by a short man with curly hair. 

“Hey, little guys. Let us bring you to the shelter. You must be hungry,” Fire said. 

McCatney looked at Buggy. “We're okay, we just had some Meow Mix.”

The fur on Buggy's neck stood up and she arched her back. “Yeah, we're fine,” she hissed. 

Fire smiled. “Come here, you.” She leaned down and tried to pick up Buggy, but Buggy batted at her, giving her two quick slaps, and ran around the corner. 

Fire looked at McCatney. “We can give you a nice warm bed and find you loving homes. I bet you could use a bath, too.”

McCatney licked his paw and wiped his ear. “I already had a bath.”

Buggy peeked her head around the corner. “Come on, McCatney. Let's find the rest of the gang.”

McCatney looked at the van then back to Buggy. “We should go with them, Buggy.”

“Hell, no. Life on the streets is all I know.”

“Come on,” McCatney said. “Maybe it won't be so bad.”

Buggy's tail twitched. “You just want to meet Mickey Mouse.”

His tail waving back and forth, McCatney stepped closer to Buggy. “Yeah, maybe I do. But I want more for us. We have nothing to lose. Don't you trust me?”

Buggy rubbed her head against the side of the building then walked over to McCatney. “I do trust you. You're my best friend.”

McCatney and Buggy let the rescuers take them into crates and put them into the van. It smelled like other cats and the ride was bumpy. When they got to the shelter, the nice people gave them baths and a man in a white coat gave them shots. Buggy was mad at first, but calmed down when she saw a bowl of delicious food. 

One day, after they'd been in the shelter for a few weeks, Buggy nudged McCatney. “Hey, no one has adopted us and this is boring. We should escape.”

McCatney lapped up some water from his bowl. “We can't give up hope. Besides, I heard them talking while you were asleep. They said we would get adopted together.”

“I sure hope so,” said Buggy. “Although you'll have to do something about that gas when we're in a house. I don't know how that smell can come out of a cat. I mean, I can see it from a cow, but—"

“Alright, alright, I got it!” McCatney said. “Stop nagging. Maybe when we have better food my gas will go away.”

They both looked up as a pretty young woman walked into the room. She smiled at Buggy and McCatney. “Oh, look,” she said. “Aren't they precious?” She stepped closer and bent down to pet them. “I'm Cindy. It's nice to meet you.”

McCatney leaned in to let her pet him and buried his face in her cleavage. 

“McCatney!” Buggy hissed. “Stop that.”

Cindy picked him up and held him. “Silly boy,” she said. 

Then she put him down and picked up Buggy, who purred and rested her head against her chest. “How about you guys come live with me?”

McCatney meowed loudly and Buggy amped up her purring. Cindy laughed. “I'll take that as a yes.”

Buggy and McCatney spent the next few days exploring their new home. It was big and there were plenty of toys all over the house. There was always yummy food and clean water to drink. Cindy loved to play and cuddle with them, too. 

One day, Buggy was rolling around in a pile of catnip and meowing loudly. McCatney sat next to her, eating from his bowl. He looked at Buggy and shook his head. 

Cindy walked in. “Oh my goodness, what have you gotten into, little one?” She picked Buggy up and held her, petting her. “You opened the catnip all on your own?” She laughed. “I'm going to have to hide that better, Buggy-Bug.” She set Buggy down and looked at McCatney. “Your little sister is a wild one, isn't she?”

McCatney washed his paws. “Don't I know it.”

When Cindy left the room, Buggy went to the middle of the kitchen floor and stood for a minute, her eyes to the ceiling. She let out a long sigh. “Meeoooow. . .”

“Buggy! What did you do? We have a litter box for that,” McCatney said. 

“She hid the catnip. When she stops hiding it, I'll start using the litter box again. You have to train your humans, McCatney. All cats know this.”

“That's just rude,” said McCatney. He jumped onto the counter and pushed a roll of paper towels onto the floor. 

Later that night, Buggy and McCatney were lying in front of the fireplace. “I sure am thankful the shelter people took us off the streets,” McCatney said. 

“Me, too,” said Buggy. She rolled over onto her back and licked her paw. “You know what I could really go for right now? I'd love some catnip.”

McCatney purred and shook his head. “Oh, Buggy, what am I going to do with you?”

Buggy got up and moved a little closer to the fireplace. McCatney's ears stood straight up when he saw what she'd been lying on. It was a colorful piece of paper with a picture of a big mouse dressed in red pants, a black shirt and white gloves standing in front of a castle. 

“Buggy!” McCatney pounced on Buggy. “That's the place with the mouse! We have to go there!”

“I know,” Buggy said. “That's why I'm making sure Cindy sees this in the morning.” She picked up the picture with her teeth and jumped onto the coffee table. She carefully slid it under a set of keys. “She won't miss this. When she decides to go, we'll just sneak into the back of the car.”

“Buggy, you're the best,” McCatney said. 

“I am, aren't I?” Buggy purred and hopped back onto the floor. She looked around the room. “Now, help me find that catnip, would you?”



                                                                                           

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Dollhouse - Screenplay Part One (Horror/Thriller) 886 words

This is Part 1 of a screenplay I wrote for one of my workshop classes at UCF. Stay tuned for Part 2.

(OS means "off screen," the character is speaking but is not in the shot. MOS means a character is talking but we can't hear what they are saying, like he's standing across the street talking on his phone.)


                                                                     DOLLHOUSE


INT. KITCHEN - DAY

ANNIE ARCHER, 12, is small for her age with the face of a porcelain doll: fair skin, rosy cheeks, bright green eyes and black hair lopped into a bob. She stands defiantly, hands on her hips, looking at her older sister, KATE, 16. Kate raises an eyebrow and scratches her head, messing up her pink hair.

ANNIE
Come on! I’ll hide and you come find me.

KATE
Really don’t feel like playing this again.

Kate rolls her eyes before covering them with her hands.

KATE (CONT’D)
One, two, three . . .

Annie takes off running.

INT. ATTIC - CONTINUOUS

Yellow late afternoon light shines in through the small round window at the end of the room, illuminating dust in the air. The door opens and Annie bursts in, closing the door quietly
behind her. Her head moves from left to right, searching for a place to hide. She tiptoes quickly to an old couch and crouches down behind it, peeking her head out to look at the attic door.

INT. KATE’S BEDROOM - SAME

Kate lies on her bed, her cell phone to her ear, talking MOS.

INT. ATTIC - CONTINUOUS

Annie peeks her head out from behind the couch again and frowns. Her eyes scan the expanse of the room. A few feet away, three female Russian nesting dolls lie, cracked open, on an old bookshelf. The mother doll lies in between two smaller dolls. Annie crawls out of her hiding spot and takes the smaller doll from the bookshelf, studying it.

She jumps when a box near her feet begins to shake. She GASPS and backs away slowly, her eyes never leaving the box. The box tips over and a doll similar to the one Annie is holding rolls out onto the floor with a CRACK. The doll opens in the middle and a smaller doll rolls out, coming to a stop
by the bookshelf.

A blinding light flashes between the two halves of the larger doll. Annie shields her eyes with her arm. When she moves her arm, she sees MISHA, 14, tall and thin with long black hair. She has a nasty case of resting bitch-face. Her eyes narrow at Annie.

Annie stumbles back, her mouth wide open in shock.

MISHA
Hello, sister. It’s been too long.

The smaller doll on the floor begins to vibrate. Annie clutches the doll in her hands tighter and takes off for the attic door.
 
Misha takes a step forward and glares at Annie’s back.

MISHA (CONT’D)
You don’t remember me?

Annie yanks the door open and bolts down the stairs.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Annie slams the attic door shut behind her and runs down the hallway. She nearly collides with LINDA, 40, who catches her by the shoulders. Linda looks like a fashion editor at Vogue magazine, complete with a thin figure and messy dark bun.

LINDA
Whoa, honey. Slow down. What--

She stops mid-sentence when she sees the doll in Annie’s arms. Taking a shaky step back, she covers her mouth with one hand.

ANNIE
What, Mom?

Linda steadies herself against the wall. Her eyes move between the doll and Annie. The doll looks
exactly like Annie.

LINDA
What were you doing in the attic?

She reaches out and takes the doll from Annie.

ANNIE
We were playing hide and seek.

LINDA
I told you to never go up there.

Linda looks down at the Annie-doll in her hands then to Annie.

LINDA (CONT’D)
You have to be very careful with these dolls. They are worth more to me than...

She stops and wipes a tear from her eye.

LINDA (CONT’D)
Where are the rest of the dolls?

Annie’s eyes widen as she looks at something behind Linda.

Linda turns and the attic door slams shut.

LINDA (CONT’D)
Kate! Come out right now! I told you guys to stay out of the attic.

A bedroom door opens down the hall and Kate steps into the hallway looking confused.
 
KATE
What?

Linda GASPS, putting her hand over her chest.

ANNIE
It wasn’t Kate. There’s a girl up there.

Linda’s mouth forms a small “o” as her eyes travel to the attic door.

LINDA
Just one girl?

ANNIE
There were these dolls in a box and then it fell...The doll...opened and it was really bright and then
she was there. A smaller one was on the floor but I ran downstairs.

KATE
Wait, there’s someone in our attic? Shouldn’t we call the police, or--

LINDA
(under her breath)
Misha and Natalie.

KATE
What?
  
LINDA
No, it’s OK. Girls, go to your rooms.

KATE
Mom, what’s going on?

LINDA
Just take your sister and go to your room. Now.

Kate frowns and leads Annie to her bedroom. The door closes.

Linda goes to the attic door and opens it. About two dozen marbles come flying down the stairs. A few hit Linda. She shields her face from the onslaught.

LINDA (CONT’D)
Aah!

MISHA (O.S.)
Go away.

Linda looks up at the top of the stairs. Misha is holding one of the dolls. She tosses it down to Linda who barely catches it before it hits the hardwood floor.  Linda looks closely at the doll. It’s the smallest of the set. She clutches it close to her chest and looks back up to Misha.

LINDA
Oh, Misha, honey. I didn’t know you were---I couldn’t take care of all of you. But I can now! We can be a family again. Please talk to me.

Linda takes one step up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, Misha is holding a bowling ball.

MISHA
No, thank you, Mommy Dearest. But you’ll be sorry for what you’ve done. Keeping us locked up. You forgot about us.

LINDA
I didn’t forget. I told you--I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be awake! Please, Misha!

Misha holds up the ball and laughs maniacally.

Linda slams the door shut behind her and runs down the hallway toward the kitchen.

INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

She yanks open a drawer and pulls out a small gold key.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Linda runs back to the attic door and inserts the key, locking it. She takes a few steps back and stares at the door. The doll in her hand shakes. Linda kneels and gently sets it onto the rug. The vibration speeds up until it looks like it will explode. Then the doll splits and the two halves roll apart leaving a blinding light in the center.

Linda takes a step back and looks away, shielding her eyes. When she looks back, a little girl stands before her. NATALIE, 5 years old, smiles wide. She looks identical to the face on the doll.

NATALIE
Mommy!

Linda rushes forward and pulls Natalie into a fierce hug.

LINDA
Baby, are you OK?

NATALIE
I’m fine, but...

She turns and points to the attic door.

NATALIE (CONT’D)
Misha is mad.

LINDA
I know, honey. I’m going to get you guys to Aunt Maddie’s house then I’ll try talking to Misha.

Natalie shakes her head.

NATALIE
I don’t think she wants to talk.

INT. KATE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Linda opens the door. Kate and Annie look up, confused.

LINDA
We need to pack up and go stay with Aunt Maddie, OK?

KATE
Mom, what’s going on?

Natalie peeks into the room.

LINDA
Natalie, come in and wait with Kate while I help your Annie pack.

Natalie walks in and smiles shyly at Kate and Annie.

LINDA (CONT’D)
Kate, do you remember?

Kate’s eyes widen at the sight of Natalie.

INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT - FLASHBACK
Linda stands with the largest doll split in half at her feet. Next to Linda, Kate stands with her doll, open at her feet. In front of them, a medium-sized doll begins to vibrate. It cracks open in the middle and breaks apart, leaving a smaller doll inside, unopened. A burst of light pours from the two halves. Misha appears and dances over to Linda and Kate, hugging them. The next doll follows the same pattern, vibrating until it bursts open, the two halves engulfed in blinding light. The light fades, Annie in its place. She jumps over the wooden halves to join Linda, Kate and Misha. The four stand close, holding hands as they watch the smallest doll vibrate and crack open. A flash of light then Natalie hops over her doll and runs to join her family.

Linda turns to Misha.

LINDA
And you’re sure you’re OK with this? You can say no.

MISHA
It’s OK, Mom. I can sleep for a while and you wake us up when you can.

INT. KATE'S BEDROOM - BACK TO PRESENT DAY

Kate jumps up and runs to Natalie, hugging her.

A flash of recognition in Annie’s eyes, she follows Kate and hugs Natalie.

KATE
How could we have forgotten?

Linda smiles.

LINDA
When you’ve been in human form for as long as we have, you tend to forget. I’ve wanted us all to be
together for so long. I had no idea you could still be conscious in doll form.

ANNIE
But Misha was.

Linda frowns and embraces all the girls at once.

LINDA
She was. I didn’t--

A loud thud cuts her off. She looks up in horror. The girls hug each other tighter as they look up to the ceiling. Misha’s maniacal laughter echoes down from the attic.

LINDA (CONT’D)
We should leave. I want to try talking to her again but I want you guys out of here first.

KATE
Talk to her? She’s crazy!

Linda shakes her head and begins throwing clothes into a suitcase.

LINDA
I know.

A loud CRASH sound down the hall. Then a THUD sounds outside the bedroom door. Linda peeks out.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

A bowling ball rolls straight down the hallway and CRASHES into the door of the hallway closet, leaving a hole in the door with splintered wood fragments all over the floor. Linda runs back into Kate’s bedroom and slams the door,locking it. The three girls huddle together in the corner of the room.

ANNIE
What happened?

Linda puts her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture. She listens, her ear against the door.

KATE
Do you smell that?

Linda sniffs the air.

LINDA
Oh, God, no.

A door slams shut.

LINDA (CONT’D)
We’ve got to make a run for it! Leave your bags. When I count to three, run as fast as you can to
the front door, OK? The three girls line up at the bedroom door. Linda opens it and pushes the girls in front of her.

LINDA (CONT’D)
Go, go!


INT. ENTRYWAY - CONTINUOUS
Linda, Kate, Annie and Natalie rush to the front door. Linda yanks on the door. It won’t open.

ANNIE
Aahh!

She jumps back and points to the window. Misha’s face fills the window frame. She smiles wickedly.
Tendrils of smoke dance behind Linda and her daughters. Linda looks behind them to the kitchen. Smoke is pouring out into the living room.

LINDA
Let us out!

Misha’s smile transitions back into a bored scowl. Kate kicks and bangs on the door. Misha ignores her and stares at Linda, who steps closer to the window.

LINDA (CONT’D)
I’m sorry, OK, sweetheart? I’m sorry. Please let us out. We can all be together now.

MISHA
Too late.

Linda turns and looks at the kitchen, which is now filled with smoke. She grabs a vase from the entryway table.

LINDA
Stand back, girls!

She throws the vase through the window.

EXT. PORCH - CONTINUOUS
Misha jumps back, caught off guard. She stumbles and loses her balance, falling down the steps.
The door bursts open and Linda and the girls run outside to the sidewalk across the street. Linda talks on her cell phone MOS. Kate points to the front lawn.
 
KATE
Look!

Misha cuts through the trees and drops something in the grass before she disappears behind a neighbor’s house. As SIRENS wail in the distance, Linda walks over and picks it up. It is the Misha-doll. Looking closely, there is one large crack along the side. Annie and Kate run up behind her.

ANNIE
Maybe she can go back in doll form and then she won’t be able to hurt
us.

Linda stares at the doll for a beat then turns to Annie and Kate. She points to the crack in the side.

LINDA
See how it’s cracked there? Once the wood is damaged, she can never return to the doll.

Annie’s head jerks up and she points down the street.

ANNIE
Mom! Look!

Misha stands a few hundred yards away under a street lamp, staring at them.

The SIRENS grow louder and a fire truck turns the corner onto their street behind Misha. A slow smile forms on her face before she turns and runs the other way, her long dark hair flying behind her in the wind.

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Rain (short fiction - 900 words)


2016
--------------------------
I'm so glad to finally be sharing this! This is a short story I wrote for my final project in the 2016 fall semester. As I enter my last (yes, last!) semester at UCF before graduating in August, I've been going back and reading my work, reflecting on how far I've come. Writing is my passion and to know that I've learned so much and have seen my confidence grow (anyone who knows anything about writing will tell you the first draft of anything is shit, but you have to write it anyway) in the last few years has been nothing short of amazing. 
So without further ado, here is a fiction piece I'd like to share. I hope you like it. 

Rain
I shiver as I slam the door to my apartment. “Love coming home to a tiny box,” I say to the blinding white walls. Charlie, my fat orange cat, rubs against me and I feel the vibration from his purring against my ankles. He looks up at me and meows.
“It was another hellish day at Samson and Associates. How was your day?” I say to him as I toss my bag down. I liked my old job better (got to work from home sometimes) but Justin started showing up there and causing scenes so I had to leave. I strip off my jacket and kick off my heels, now soaked to the inside. I just want to sit down in front of the fireplace and with a glass of wine. After feeding Charlie, I throw some logs into the fireplace and start the fire. I only have half a glass of wine left in the bottle but that will have to do.
I jump when I hear a notification on my phone. Digging it out of my bag, I see it’s Justin. I slide the screen open, my hand shaking. “You can’t avoid me forever. I’m not going to sign the papers until you talk to me. By the way, I hope you like your new job.” My heart pounds. Has he found out where I work already? But I don’t get to think about this for too long because I have to throw up.
 “Damn it,” I say. I make it to the bathroom just in time to land in front of the toilet and lift the lid. My knees sink into the plush rug and before I know it, it’s over. My hands and legs shake as I stand and brush my teeth. My stomach always gets upset when I’m stressed. I should feel better since I left my abusive husband but I just feel sick. It doesn’t help that he won’t sign the papers and he won’t stop harassing me. I keep meaning to go the doctor, but I’d feel silly. It’s just stress. Starting over at the age of thirty-one is tough. Even tougher when you and your family are devout Catholics. Divorce is not allowed in my religion. This must be why I feel so sick. It’s my penance.
I tried going back to St. Paul’s last week to attend mass. I hadn’t been to a service in months and walked in a few minutes late. I sat in the back and listened as the choir sang “I Am the Bread of Life.” Mom stood in the front row on the left with the other sopranos. After scanning the large room, I found Dad sitting about four rows back, his bald head shining under the overhead lights. Bert was sitting next to him, his hand stroking his dark brown beard. I smiled. I miss him, I thought. I’ll have to talk to him after the service. Then I felt eyes on me and turned to my right. A woman I had only met a couple times was glaring at me. Once I made eye contact, she pointedly stared down at my left hand, bare except for a pale strip of skin where my wedding band used to be. Then she sniffed and jerked her head back to the front. Her husband gave me a sideways glance and a frown. I rolled my eyes and looked back to the front of the room and caught my mother’s eye. She smiled and tilted her head to one side. It was a sad smile. A couple other people must have noticed and turned to look at me with expressions of half-surprise, half-disapproval. I felt like I was being pushed out of the room. I smiled a big, toothy grin and then dropped the smile, rolled my eyes and quietly put my purse strap over my shoulder and snuck out. Judgmental assholes.

Won’t be going back there again, I think as I pour a glass of wine. My phone buzzes again and my chest tightens. If I don’t respond, he’ll just keep calling and texting. He doesn’t know where I live but I don’t want to take any chances. I hit reply: “Please just sign the papers, Justin. I don’t think meeting is a good idea.”
His reply comes seconds later filled with a string of profanities and I turn the phone off and put it in the top drawer of my dresser. I am a prisoner in my own home. I’m afraid to go anywhere because he might find me. And if I were to escape, where would I go? I barely have any friends left, thanks to Justin telling them horrible lies about me and forbidding me from seeing them.
Orange-pink light streams in from the blinds. I peek out, halfway expecting to see Justin’s silver BMW outside. There are only the usual cars in the parking lot and the asphalt is wet from the rain. We have more sunny days in Seattle than people realize but today is not one of them. The tall emerald trees across the street stand out against the golden sky and silver mountains in the distance.
After a hot shower that leaves my skin pink, I get a glimpse in the mirror of my puffy red eyes, blotchy from crying. I look away quickly and rummage through my drawers for sweats and a blue plaid flannel shirt then set to work organizing my closet. I’ve already started giving things away and I didn’t expect it to be so refreshing. No one knows why I’m giving so many clothes away. They don’t even know about the weekly Goodwill drop-offs. My apartment was almost empty. My mother was proud of me for being so organized. My friend Amber was thrilled to get my new clothes with tags still on them. “Take it, I don’t like it,” I told them. Or “It doesn’t fit me right.” I didn’t give away the Zoloft, though; I just threw it in the trash.
I have it all planned out. I’m going to jump off the Aurora Bridge at midnight on Easter. It’s kind of poetic because Easter represents re-birth and I was born on Easter thirty-one years ago. It will be the perfect end to the total fluke that is my life. I wasn’t meant to be born. Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong, so there’s no point. Suicide isn’t allowed in my religion, but then again, neither is divorce so I’m already screwed.
I was an “oops” baby, as my mother puts it. My mother—sweet, church-going, choir-singing Nancy—had been quite surprised when I came along ten years after my older brother, Bert. Bert’s real name is Robert, but did he choose to be called Rob or Bob? No, the Urban-Outfitter-wearing, bushy-bearded Starbucks aficionado insists on Bert. Probably thinks it’s ironic.
My dad is a drunk. He’s the mean kind who says the nastiest things, things that cut you to your core and leave you bleeding. Then he rubs the proverbial salt in the wound the next day when he claims to remember nothing. One night—I think it was New Years’ Eve ’99—he was angry that I didn’t clean the bathroom properly and so I was a “whore.” I told him I was honored that I had graduated from simply being a “bitch.” He didn’t appreciate my 15-year-old wit so he slapped me across the face. Mom pretended not to notice any of this.
Fast-forward through countless loser boyfriends who either cheated, hit me, called me names (or all three) to 2005 when I graduated from the University of Washington. I was searching for an apartment when I met a handsome real estate broker named Justin. We were married within a year. My parents thought I must have been pregnant, but what I’ve never told them is that I just wanted to get away from them.
They loved Justin, as did everyone. He was so charming, almost too charming. But he slowly became less charming to me when we were alone. The more stressed he became, the more he drank. And the more he drank . . . It started small, with light shoves here and there, then graduated to kicks and hair-pulling. I tried everything to make it better. I was determined not to get divorced.   
One night a few months ago, I heard the key in the front door and I knew he was in a mood. I could tell by the force he used: if it was quiet, a gentle clicking, then he was in an okay mood. But if it was noisy and struggling with the lock, it was going to be a bad night. If he slammed the door, I may as well just run and hide.
He walked through the door, his mouth set in a hard line and his brows creased together. The heavy door slammed behind him. He sighed loudly as he put his briefcase on the entryway table and tossed his keys on top. He turned to me. “What did you do today?”
Wow, what a greeting. “Well, hello to you, too!” I said, smiling. “I worked today but I’ve been so tired—“
He walked over and rested a hand on the couch. I smelled booze. He must have stopped at Bruno’s on the way home, threw back a few with the guys. “Is that why dinner isn’t ready?”
“Yeah, I just haven’t felt well all day and I was resting.”
He huffed. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well, Samantha. I’m tired too but I don’t get to rest today. I worked all day and now I’m starving and there’s nothing to eat.”
“I worked all day too—“
He waved his hand in the air. “They let you come and go as you please. I own my own business, Sam. It’s not the same. You can stop and rest anytime you want. Hell, you can take a nap whenever you feel like it.”
I sat up straight, my eyes wide. “Are you serious? I have deadlines, too. I can’t take a nap whenever I feel like it,” I said.
“Okay, enough,” he said, his voice louder. He slammed his hand onto the back of the sofa. A throw pillow went flying across the room. “You seem to be well enough to argue with me so you’re well enough to make dinner. Get to it. I’m going to take a shower.” He turned to leave.  
“Whoa, Justin. Hold on just a second. I know you’ve been stressed lately but you don’t get to treat me this way.”
He stopped, his back to me. He was still a moment. Then I heard him say so quietly, I almost didn’t make it out, “Stop. Now. I’m done with this. I’m at my wit’s end with you.” He turned his head and I thought he was going to look at me but all I saw was his profile before he started walking upstairs again.
I bit my lip. I really didn’t want to fight but I had to stand up for myself. If I didn’t he would think this was OK and it definitely was not. I stood and walked toward him. “Justin. I know you’re tired but please don’t speak to me this way. You’ve changed recently and I understand you’re stressed—“
He dropped his fist onto the wooden banister so hard that I thought it might break. When I looked back up at him, he was glaring at me. 
I continued. “I understand but you can’t—“
He turned and came down the stairs, his hands balled into fists and his mouth set into a hard line. “You don’t understand anything! And you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own house! Now shut up and go make something. Now.”
“No!” I said.
The last thing I remember is the warm yellow glow of the hallway fading to grey then black. When I woke up, I was lying on the couch. How did I get here? I had no recollection and only knew that my face hurt. He mumbled a half-hearted apology the next morning but I had already made up my mind. I’d had enough. After he left for the day, I set to work packing up my suitcase.

I snap out of my reverie when I feel something sharp against my hand. I look down and see Justin and I smiling, standing in front of St. Paul’s. My wedding dress had such a long train that Justin had accidentally stepped on it after the ceremony when we were taking pictures. He had made some joke about doing it on purpose so I didn’t change my mind and run away. I never imagined I’d be leaving him just five years later. He was so kind and so funny. But last year he opened his own real estate firm and has not been the same since. He took up drinking as his main hobby and changed into a different person.
My throat feels tight and I hear a plane rumbling overhead. I suddenly realize I’m going to throw up so I throw down the photo and run to the bathroom, which is thankfully just across the hall. After my stomach is emptied and I’ve brushed my teeth with shaky hands, I open up the cabinet under the sink to look for mouthwash. I push aside a yellow box of tampons and grab the large blue bottle of Scope behind it. Then I freeze and stare at the yellow box. I haven’t used those in a while. About two months. Shit. No, it can’t be. Justin and I tried to get pregnant for years and it never happened. I throw on a sweater and boots and head to the Walgreens on the corner.
A half hour later I’m back, a small plastic bag in my hand that holds a pink and white box. Even before I pee on the stick, I know there will be two pink lines. I know I will have to tell Justin. But that can wait. Everything can wait.
After gently placing the stick on the counter, I walk to the window and push aside the white curtains. It’s started to rain harder and I can barely see the evergreen trees across the street. There are a couple thirty-somethings outside my patio on the sidewalk standing on either side of a little blonde girl. They are holding her hands and lifting her up as she jumps and splashes in puddles. She crouches down and pops up into the air higher than before and lands hard in a huge puddle. Water shoots up like a wave and gets the dad square in the face. He’s drenched. The little girl giggles and covers her mouth with her hands. I laugh and the sound echoes throughout my tiny apartment.