Thursday Tales: The Last Chapter

Her fingers flew across the keys.

Chapter 49

Jane blinked quickly as she emerged from the innards of the mountain into the bright sun. How long had she been inside? How long had they all been inside?

Her friends followed her out, all blinking the same.  Her friends.  She laughed a little at that thought. They were such a ragtag bunch. Humans and elves and dwarves and dryads and... just all of them. Races that normally hated each other, who would have happily knifed each other in a barroom brawl, and yet... yet they had become her friends.  All drawn together by a common goal, a common enemy to vanquish.

She dropped her sword and slid down the side of the mountain into a near-crouch, ignoring the pain as the rocks dug into her skin, drawing a little blood as she went.  It hardly mattered now -- it just mixed with all the rest. She let her head fall into her hands and, just for a moment, allowed her thoughts to swirl.

A few years ago, they would have happily knifed each other -- it took the arrival of a lowly heretic wizard who drew on the fears and prejudices of the people to amass more and more power to change all of that. It had been so frustrating in the beginning. She couldn't understand why so many were drawn to someone who was so obviously not... good. Alec had told her that it was simply what they wanted, that everyone wants someone to believe in, sometimes just someone to give them someone else to blame.

Oh, Alec. Even closed, she could feel the pain of the heartache behind her eyes, and she opened them to shake it away.  But, not before Damian, on one knee across from her, saw it. He merely nodded.  He'd had his own losses -- they all had -- and he understood. They all understood.

She stood up, and opened her mouth to speak. No words came. What do you say after you vanquish the beast?  What do you say after your quest is over and you're not sure what comes next? What do you say when you're not sure the next step, where you go from here, and what there is to go home to?

She met Damian's eyes again, and whispered, "I don't know know what we do next." She felt like a failure of a leader in that moment.

He stood and put his hand on her shoulder in comfort. He was solid -- a man of few words, but meaningful when they were spoken. "Breathe, Jane."  He turned to face their friends, and she was grateful for his strength.

"My friends," he began.  "Our friends... a battle has been won. Take solace in that win. Take meaning from this moment. Breathe it in and know that this is what we have fought for --  but also, "he paused.  "Also, it isn't. The hatred amassed in that cave -- was drawn from our homes.  And it still rests there. The battle was the easy part. What comes next... will take us all. What comes next is the healing and the rebuilding."

Jane took strength from that. They all did. Yes. The quest was over, but there was more for her to do. More for them to do. 

There was yet light in the day.

THE END

The writer smiled and pushed back from her desk. She picked up her cup of tea, a little cold now, and wandered to the window. She was done.  Editing yet to do, of course, but she was done and it felt good to have the story out.

Yet, she couldn't help but frown at the world outside. Something was wrong with it. It was great! She should be satisfied! But, something was wrong with it and she wasn't really sure what.

She sat back down at her desk and stared at her screen. Carefully, she highlighted the files for Chapters 1-48.

Move to... New Folder.

"Back Story"

She reopened Chapter 49... erased the "49"... typed "1."

The vanquishing quest wasn't the story she wanted to tell.   The rebuilding was.

A MORNING TALE

The fire burned slowly in the hearth on that cold morning, and she sat by the window with a cup of tea, watching the world outside. The pine needles had long begun to fall from the trees, already brown, and they littered her yard like a forest of fossilized ferns.

They fell in what was left of her garden. They fell in the leaves of her rhododendrens. They fell on the railing of her porch. They fell so heavily amongst the blades of grass that her yard had ceased to look so much as a yard, as it was just a graveyard for the trees' discards.

What was left of them blew softly in the wind.

A lone golf ball nestled amongst them under a bush. There were no golf courses nearby and she didn't know anyone who played... Her thoughts gently pondered who had left it there. She'd probably taken care of him anyway.

Her eyes roamed through the tangled web of needles to rest on the birdhouse that lay at its far edge. She nearly always forgot it was there.

Inside the birdhouse, though she had mostly forgotten, there lived a wee robin. His name was Charles. Charles woke every morning and hopped to the round door of the birdhouse. He stretched his wings and tried to speak, but could only chirp.

And before he flew down to the needle-strewn yard to sift for his breakfast of worms, he eyed the house warily. He searched the window for her face. And he planned.

He hadn't always been a bird named Charles who lived in a birdhouse and pecked for worms in the morning.

He'd once been Charles the Man.  That was his golfball.  Someday soon, the witch would pay.

THURSDAY TALES: GAME OVER

She stifled a scream as the arrow pierced through her skin.  She knew this one had hit its mark.

Liza crumpled against the wall, feeling its cold seep into her skin, and with her last short breaths, she remembered.

She remembered being a child.
She remembered being young and carefree.
She remembered her first love and all the loves that had come after.
She remembered the people she'd walked over, and the people who had walked over her.
She remembered the pain of both.
She remembered all the things she'd love to live again, and all the things she wished that she'd chosen differently.
She remembered everything she'd sacrificed to come to this moment.
She just remembered.

At the last moment, her vision sizzled -- as it sizzled every time -- and the words flashed before her eyes.

TRY AGAIN OR END GAME

She always chose "Try again."

THE DAY WE STRUCK OIL

(on Monday)

At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we'd struck it rich and that we'd be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we'd spend the money.

My first choice was to buy the biggest swimming pool in the world and fill it with all the ice cream a person could eat. Jamie said that was stupid -- swimming in ice cream would give you frostbite.  You'd have to go with pudding, or maybe peanut butter.

It's not like his list was any better. He just wanted to go to Disneyland every day for a year. Isn't there a limit to how often you could go before you'd get bored??

Jenny said we were both idiots. She wouldn't share her list, but I'm sure it was full of grown-up wishes -- world peace and 401Ks and all that. Jenny was always pretending she was better than us.

I still thought the ice cream pool was a pretty cool idea.  I bet Jenny did, too.

But then the rock I was sitting on blinked.  And the ground began to move, and I remember thinking that maybe we hadn't struck oil after all.

THURSDAY TALES: THE NIGHT WE KILLED ONE

"Seven billion people in the world and you're overreacting because we killed one?"

"But --!"

"Seven. Billion. People. Quit complaining and drink your smoothie.  Geez."

Dad had always said to do whatever my brother told me. Ben knew best. Ben always knew best. I mean, didn't he?  So I closed my eyes and stepped over the corpse.

I couldn't call it a man anymore. Somehow, it made what had happened easier to accept. Stepping over a corpse was easier if you stopped thinking of it as a person.

Killing one was easier, too.

Ben stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled as he sauntered down the street. When I was younger, it would have been flooded with the yellow light of the streetlights. But, I wasn't younger and the streetlights were long gone - picked off for steel or glass or whatever anyone was buying that year. All we had was moonlight anymore.

I thought I liked it better.

Tossing my cup into a trashbin no one bothered with anymore, I ran to catch up with him. "Ben --!"

"I told you, I don't want to hear your snivelling." He'd already stopped thinking about it.

"But, Ben-- you forgot your knife."

Ben glanced at me, but his eyes were cold. "No, I didn't. You did. Go back and get it."

Do what your brother says. Do what your brother says.

There was no use in refusing. There never was.  I walked slowly back.

The man -- I shook my head -- The corpse --  still sat crumpled by the car. Of course it did. Where was it going to go? My feet felt heavier the closer I came until they felt like I could barely lift them anymore.

It wore a green jacket... the kind of green that the military used to wear.. and his hair flopped over one eye. If I let myself think of him as man, I could imagine him constantly running his hand through his hair to push it out of the way. But... he wasn't a man. He was a corpse.

He was a corpse. Because of us.

I squatted beside him and wrapped my hand around the hilt of the knife.  It was slimy with his blood, so I used two hands to pull it free. I imagined it sounded like it did when they pulled my tooth as a kid.

"Ah, sweet Jesus." I jumped. The corpse.  It -- he -- winked at me. He winked at me? "Thanks, kid." I looked back toward my brother in panic, but the corpse - man -- put his hand on my shoulder.

"It's best he doesn't know."

THURSDAY TALES: THE NIGHT I SHOULD HAVE JUST GONE HOME

If you had said it to me then, I would have argued and denied it. Vehemently, even.

But, looking back from where I sit now -- for when is our vision clearer? -- you could have been right.

I wasn't supposed to be there that night. Not in that courtyard. Not down that alleyway. And yet, I had gone. I had crept down it silently, keeping to its shadows. No one could know for it was forbidden.

Not to everyone, but to me. And so I was the mouse, the vermin.

I couldn't say now why I had felt compelled to go. Why hadn't I just left well enough alone? Done what I was told? I should have gone home. But curiosity had me by the tail and wouldn't let go. I didn't want to be part of it necessarily - I just wanted to see it happen.

The alleyway opened into the light and I skirted its edge. I could have withstood the consequences of recognition, but it was easier without them. So I drew my cloak close and joined the edges of the crowd.

He was already at the gate, holding court-- he on his side of the gate, the crowd on ours. There were sighs. Women swooned.

It was a bit surreal to see him in life -- like a picture that had jumped off the page when you looked away and now suddenly wouldn't return from where it had come. I was too far away to hear the words he said, but the music of his voice reached me on the wind.

There was a spell in the timbre of it.

Soon, another from the Court emerged into the courtyard and the mob followed, like dogs after the scent. The corners of his mouth turned up with a glint of sardonic humor and he made his way back to the Castle doors.  The mob would come again as they did every night and, when they did, he would weave his spell once again.

I didn't follow after the mob. But I didn't leave either. I found myself alone, hands wrapped around the steel of the gate, wishing to speak but afraid to utter words. Someone called his name from afar and he turned to wave them away until the next moonlight. But, his eyes caught mine instead, and he stopped.

It was too late to run. Anonymity was no longer mine. I was still the mouse-- but the mouse that had ventured across the kitchen floor and was now in the sights of the housecat. He smiled as he returned to the gate, his guard following in his shadow.  I didn't know what to make of that smile. When he spoke, I could feel the music of his spell float around me and I shook my head to ward it off.

I understood how he held the mob in such thrall. It wasn't that he was handsome, though this was what was said. It was that he was so utterly charming. My mother had taught that a charming man was a dangerous man.  That a man who oozed charm always knew what to say to turn your head at the right moment from the things that you should be looking at. That a man who knew what to say could never quite be trusted to mean what he said. In everything that passed after, I would always wonder who I was speaking to -- the charmer or the one who lay underneath.

Maybe they were always the same.

He lied to me that night, and not for the last time. You will hold that against him. Maybe you should, though I will rush to excuse him. It wasn't a lie meant to harm, but to shade a truth that might have wounded. A lie is like that sometimes. It feels like kindness, but...

If he had fed me the same lie today, I would have called him on it and we would have laughed. But, I didn't see it or I chose to ignore it... or I just didn't know that I could do anything different.

I must admit with chagrin that his spell worked on me that night, despite my convictions to the contrary. I should have known. As we spoke, I forgot who we both wore. But the guard cleared his throat and looked pointedly at my hands still clutching the railing of the gate, too near to his charge.

I lowered my eyes and stepped back, chastised. I had forgotten that we were from very different castes, very different worlds. His spell, his laughter... they had made me forget and the spell he had woven nearly crashed around me with the remembering. He glanced behind him with annoyance and stepped up to the gate himself, leaning across it as he quickly re-wove the magic.

I felt a flush of gratitude toward him in that moment as I listened to his voice.  And while I would have denied it then, that was the moment I began to love him.

Perhaps the spell still holds sway. Perhaps it is better that way.

THURSDAY TALES: THE RETURN HOME

Morning was almost here.

The grey of the fog began to lighten just the slightest bit and I quickened my step. Looming in the distance, the manor appeared and I sighed -- both in relief and resignation. It had been a long journey and it would be good to home.

But, it was also hard to be home.

It seemed always odd to me that both were true.

I climbed the steps and reached to push open the doors, but before I could, they swung open.

"You're nearly late, Miss Jane." Reproof and worry creased the man's features for just a moment before he smoothed it away to the aloof expression he usually wore. "My apologies, Miss."

I couldn't help but smile. Even after all these years, Thomas still clung to the old ways.  But, he was from an old family -- and that was saying something. "I'm sorry for worrying you," I consoled gently. "It all just took longer than I had expected. There were... complications." I followed him up the stairs to the upstairs hallway.

At the top, he turned and raised one eyebrow. "Complications, Miss?"

I shrugged. "The old hag agreed. Father won't like her demands. But she agreed. Could you tell him that I'd like to rest a little before reporting? I'm so very tired." The exhaustion had finally caught up with me, it seemed.

Thomas pushed open the heavy door to my bedroom. "Of course, Miss Jane." The ivory glistened in the candlelight. "Your coffin awaits."

THURSDAY TALES: FORGET YOU KNEW MY NAME

(on Saturday)

"Forget you ever knew my name."

He had pulled me into his arms, his scent filling me, and whispered those words into my hair. He had pulled back to cup my cheek in the palm of his hand, seemingly on the brink of saying more...

And then he was gone.

Forget I ever knew his name? I laugh now.

Maybe it would have been easier if it hadn't been for all the other things that were so hard to forget.

If I closed my eyes, I could still feel his hand on the small of my back as we walked, his lips on my neck when he woke me in the early morning. I could still feel the warmth of his hands as they skimmed my skin.

The beat of his chest. The scent of his hair.

I think of him when I touch my coffee cup to my lips each morning. I think of him when an old song comes on and I remember the way we danced. I think of his laughter. The hard spots and the soft spots. The ways he made me crazy and the ways he made me love him.

Forget I ever knew his name?

How can you ever forget something so terribly right that went so terribly wrong?

THURSDAY TALES: BAD BLOOD

I scanned the lunchroom and my heart sank.  One seat in the whole place... and it was across from her. The girl who had somehow become something like an arch-nemesis.

I didn't hate her... there was just bad blood. Old bickerings, old insults.  They still hung in my mind, and maybe they still hung in hers. But it was either there or in the pouring rain outside. What choice did I have?

Practically tiptoeing up to the chair, I slid into it quietly -- like if I didn't make a sound, she wouldn't notice that I was there. I kept my eyes downcast... but the sigh of disgust that blew my way let me know that my ruse was up. Our eyes met and I mumbled, "Sorry."

We sat there in uncomfortable silence as I carefully laid out my lunch...  Avoided looking at each other, avoided speaking to each other.

Finally, I blurted out, "Look, can we start over? This is silly..."

She looked at me a long time, and then shrugged, "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Talk was stilted... but at least polite.  But when her friends walked up and she got up to join them, their words floated back to me.

"Why are you sitting with her?" they asked.
"Ugh... she just sat down. She's so awful."

Tears stung the back of my eyes...  of course they did. But I made a choice in that moment.

Maybe there would always be bad blood...  it just wasn't going to be mine.

THURSDAY TALES: MEANT TO BE SOMEONE ELSE

I was meant to be someone else.

I know that everyone says that at some point. They look at their life and where they are and they decide that this wasn't where they were meant to be. This is wasn't who they meant to be.  But I really mean it.

I was meant to be someone else. It's in the paperwork.

I'm sure I wasn't supposed to find the paperwork. I was in the attic, putting away some boxes for Mr. Baker, and I accidentally knocked one over.  As I put the files back in the banker box, my eyes fell on one with my name.

"JESSICA TANKER - PRIVATE"

Well, what would you do?

I opened it.  I opened it and then I sat down.

My name is Jessica Tanker. I live at 375 Firefly Lane with my mom, my dad, my two sisters, and my dog. I'm a banker's apprentice because that's what it says on my paperwork. You do what the paperwork says. That's the rule. So I went to school, and I did well. And now, I work with Mr Baker at the First National Bank on Main Street.  That's what the paperwork should say.

But that's not what this paperwork said.

It was my picture, but not my name. Not my parents. Not my sisters. Maybe my dog. It wasn't my occupation or my history. It was like reading about someone else. Someone I'd read about in stories, someone I dreamed about being -- but... they were just dreams. Weren't they?

I slipped the file into my bag, and I went about my work.  And I went home. When dinner started, I slid it onto the table. I put my hands in my lap, my eyes on my plate, and I whispered, "Dad... who am I really?" I didn't look up.

The silence lasted a long time.  But my dad finally broke it by speaking to my mother across the table. "Marjorie...  lock the door. I guess it's time."

NEVER SPEAK OF IT

We said we'd never speak of it. I know.

And so we don't, at least not in words.  

But the fact of it hangs in the air.

It's in the way we don't speak of it. It's in the sidelong glances and the heaviness of the silence. 

It's in the awkwardness and the stops and the starts. It's in the politeness. 

It's in the way we tiptoe around it, lest one of us slips.

We don't talk about it. We pretend it isn't there, and we're afraid of what speaking of it would do. 

How would it change things? What parts of us would it break? 

What parts could we never get back?

So we tiptoe, and we talk about other things. We stay where it's safe.

But I think we both know we're pretending... and that as long as we play it safe...

...we aren't playing it real.

THURSDAY TALES: HIS LOSS

(on Monday)

Things ended.

So I got my hair cut, and I rejoined that gym. I bought a new dress. My friends took me out to brunch and told me how much better off I was without him.  How I was more than he deserved. How I was lucky to be free again.

Maybe they were right. So I told myself the same thing.  That I'm better off without him. That I'm more than he deserved. That I'm lucky to be free again.

And maybe I'm right.

But relationships don't exist in vacuums, and their demise doesn't lie on the shoulders of any single one of us. We ended because of things he did, yes.  But we ended because of things I did, too. And things he didn't do and things I didn't do.  And things we did and didn't do together.

And while my friends are taking me out to brunch and telling me how much better off I am now...  I know that his friends are doing the same thing.  Taking him out for drinks, telling him I was crazy, and that he's way better off without me, how lucky he is to be free again.

Maybe they're right too.  Maybe everyone is right.

But... as much as I toss my head and bring up every one of his offenses...  as often as I say, "Well, it's his loss!"  If I'm honest?  If I'm truly honest and I look deep into my heart, I know that the loss is mine, too.

And maybe we're better off apart, maybe that's true. But I loved what we were when we were together, too. And so I miss that... and I grieve that...

It wasn't just his loss.  It was ours.

THURSDAY TALES: A CINDERELLA ENDING

I know it's not Thursday, but this just showed up in my head this morning. :)

"Are there any other girls living in the house?" The words of the official floated into the kitchen from the living room.

I held my breath, waiting for the answer, as the dishwater dripped from my hands into the sink. "Oh... just Ellie," my stepmother answered.  Oh, just Ellie, I mimicked in my head. That woman just got under my skin. I couldn't wait until I had saved up enough side money to get my own place. "But, she never goes anywhere. She can't possibly be the girl you're looking for."

I laughed in my head. Oh, how little you know. But, for once, I was glad for her dismissal of me. It made things so much easier.

But, the poor schmuck saddled with the drudging task argued, "I'm sorry, ma'am. But my orders are to try this shoe on EVERY unmarried girl in town."

I could hear my stepmother sigh dramatically before calling, "Ellie!  Get in here!!!"

This was about to get complicated.  Ladies, if you find yourself saddled with a fairy godmother, make sure all her abilities are intact.  Like, oh I don't know... her hearing.  "I want to be tall" really isn't the same thing as "I want to go to the ball."  I'm just saying. Wiping my hands on the dishtowel, I stepped into the room, hoping the baseball cap I had stuffed my hair into would be enough to shield my face from being recognized.

"Miss," the official nodded his head slightly, with the smallest of smiles tugging up the corners of his mouth. I should have recognized Mr. Thomas's voice... the prince's security supervisor... and his best friend. This wasn't going to be easy to get out of. "Take a seat, please."

Gesturing at my cleaning clothes, I protested, "Is this really necessary? Surely, you can see that I'm not really the ball type."

"Just sit." Oh, why didn't I go back for that stupid shoe? Shouldn't fairy godmothers give you clothes that fit?

I kicked off my sneaker, and offered my thickly socked foot to Mr Thomas.

"Ah, nice try," he smiled. "Socks, too?"  I tugged one off and tossed it onto the floor, once again proferring the appendage for examination. "Thank you."  He slipped the shoe onto my foot, and sat back. "Huh.  Seems to fit pretty well, actually."

My stepmother rushed forward to argue. "Mr. Thomas, I assure you that Ellie was nowhere near the palace any of the last few nights. There is absolutely no way that she could be the girl you're looking for."

Mr. Thomas rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Is that so, Mrs. Baker?"  He turned his gaze on me. "Is that true? And consider yourself on the record, if that helps your tongue."

I glared at him and wriggled uncomfortably. "Well... it's not... exactly... true. It's... possible... that I might have slipped into the building."

"Mmmhmm." Mr Thomas turned to speak into his intercom. "Tell the prince I found his girl, Doug.  And bring him pronto."

I groaned. "Mr. Thomas... I assure you, I'm not what the prince thinks I am."

"Oh, I can see that, miss.  But, the prince is so taken, he's ordered the whole place searched for you." His gaze travelled over my clothes. "Not sure what he'll say when he sees you like that, though."

I stuck my tongue out at him. They can't jail you for that, right?

Still on his knees at my feet, he looked up at me and said quietly, "You could have said something at the ball. This all would have been much different."



I paced the room for the next 20 minutes, biting my fingernails and waiting for the royal car to arrive. When it did, the prince jumped out, not even waiting for the door to be opened for him.  Rushing into the house without knocking (charming, eh?), he addressed Mr. Thomas. "Chris, you found my girl?"

Mr Thomas nodded slowly. "She may not be what you're expecting."

The prince turned to me and fell at my feet, "Oh my sweet girl, I can't believe I found you. I've had Chris searching every house for three days!"

"Yes... I saw on the news..."

He grabbed my hand and kissed it. "It's no matter, it's no matter.  Now that I've found you, we can marry and you can move into the castle and you can have everything...  No more dishes!  No more... of whatever that is you're wearing... My god, I can't believe --"

"Your Highness," I interrupted him gently. "I...  I don't really know how to say this.  You're a really sweet guy, and I had a lot of fun at the ball. Really, I did, and I just want to thank you for the dances. But... I don't really think I'm ready to marry you... possibly ever.  I'm sorry that you went to all this trouble."

"But," he looked at me in confusion. "I'm the prince."

"Yes, I know who you are."

"And you came to the ball. And we danced!"

"Yes...  yes... I was there."

"And I'm the prince." He just couldn't seem to get off that.

"You said that already." I looked over his shoulder to Mr. Thomas for help, but he just grinned at me and shrugged in amusement. "Look, you're really nice and sweet and handsome, and I'm sure that you will find a girl who loves you and who wants to move into your castle and all that... stuff.  But... it's just not me."  I stood up and took his hand, leading him to the door. "It's okay... You'll be okay. You'll have another ball and find another girl to hunt down stalkerally and to live happily ever after with.  Just not with me."

He wandered down the path back to the car, muttering... "But I'm the prince.  She can't say No.  I'm the prince.

I sighed and turned to Mr. Thomas. "He'll be okay, right?"

He smiled, "Oh sure... he falls in love every week."

I opened my mouth to speak... stopped...  and tried again. "Mr Thomas..."

He shook his head, "Please... after all this, you can call me Chris."

I chewed the inside of my cheek. "I wasn't lying to the prince. I did have a good time at the ball... but... I don't really think it was because of the prince. And I know you're busy, tracking down a lot of smitten girls. But...  if you ever have time for a cup of coffee...  you know where to find me."

"Miss Ellie...."  he put a finger to my chin and tilted my face toward his. "I just may do that."

I smiled. "But... just coffee. Don't get any ideas!"

THURSDAY TALES: THE INVITATION

I could jump.

I could jump, slip into the sea, and I could leave it all behind. There isn't even anyone to miss me anymore.

Can I tell you about it? The story of how I ended up here on this rock, staring into the sea below? I've heard it helps sometimes.... the telling. I'm just not sure whether I want it to help me get off onto the shore... or down into the water.

It begins simply, as I imagine most stories do. We just go about our lives, not expecting that anything extraordinary is about to happen. Maybe that's our problem - the not-expecting.  It takes us so completely by surprise when it does happen that we get swept up in it before we can blink... or sometimes don't even know it's happening until it's too late to change it. Too late to go back.

We can never go back.

THURSDAY TALES: THE CLOCK TOWER

I looked out the window and I watched the hands move on the clock across the courtyard.  Minute by minute, they ticked away.

I'd always knew this day was come. When I got involved, I knew what could happen. But somehow, I never thought it would happen to me. Like I was immune from the risks inherent in the situation. Sure, I knew others who had fallen. But me?  Never. I don't think it really ever entered my mind that I would somehow ever be here in this room, facing what I'm facing today.

I thought I was superhuman.  But, as it turns out, I'm just normal-human.

The hands ticked again.  Up to 12.  There was a pause, as if the clock itself was inhaling sharply, unwilling to toll its bell and signal the beginning.  I waited, and eventually it could stall no longer.

The bell rang out.
The door to my room opened.
And suddenly it was all dark.

Today was Execution Day.

THE QUIET GIRL

You laughed.
You laughed today like you laugh every day.
And I said nothing...  Nothing because I am the quiet girl.

But I went home and I cried.
And when I was done crying, I planned.
And you never knew.

And you never saw it coming.
Because I am the quiet girl.
And you didn't know what I was capable of.

But now you do.
And you won't make that mistake again, will you?
Because now you know....
You don't mess with the quiet girl.

THURSDAY TALES: BACK TO THE PAST

She eyed me from across the table over her water glass. "Have you ever gone back to something?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know exactly," she shrugged. "Just... something."

I raised an eyebrow at her and let the silence linger until she set down her glass and picked up her fork to pick at the meal in front of her.

"I've tried," I finally said. "Once, after I left home, I tried to go back. But, there really wasn't a place for me anymore. They'd all adjusted to my absence and life had gone on, and I became something like a guest."

"That's terrible."

"Not really. We're meant to grow up and make our own lives. Another time, I tried to return to some friends that I had walked away from.  But... when I went back, the hole that was there to fill was one left by the person I had been.  And I had become someone different that no longer fit that hole. So, that didn't quite work either."

I stared into the candlelight and tried to think of something less... failing.

"Once I tried to return to a relationship that I thought had died. But, when I did, I found that we'd both changed and no longer fit the relationship we had before."

"So that didn't quite work either?" she asked me.

"No," I said slowly.  "No, it didn't.  But it was still important, so we found new ways and new expectations and a new relationship. I suppose I've never had much success with going back to something, trying to recapture the past."

"I guess you can only go forward."

I smiled at her.  "I guess so."

THURSDAY TALES: STARTING TO LIKE YOU

I'm starting to like you and it scares me.

Until now, it didn't matter. You were just a person and I was just a person, and we were just two persons living in the same world, not mattering to each other. It didn't matter if we messed up or if one of us thought the other person was weird or crazy. Because we were just two people. Two people who didn't matter.

But I'm starting to like you.  And it starts to matter. It matters what you think of me, even if the world tells me that I shouldn't care about that. It matters what I think of you. What you do matters. I suddenly want you to be someone who is worthy of my respect and my affection. I want you to be all you can be, and I want to be all I can be - because I want to be someone who is worthy of yours.

And this all scares me.  There's so much more pressure now than when we were just two people who didn't matter. Now we matter. Now what I do and say, it all matters. And maybe it always mattered, but now I'm suddenly aware of it.  I guess that's a good thing.

It is a big world and, with so many people in it, it can start to feel like it doesn't matter - like we don't matter.  How could we? We're but pebbles dropped into a big ocean. And so to be suddenly faced with our own mattering, it can be a lot to get our heads around. And it's a little frightening to realize that you matter. That what you do and what you say and what you think and what you feel... it all matters. It's important.

And suddenly I can't go back to thinking I don't matter and that you don't matter and that we don't matter.  Because I know the truth now. I know I was wrong.




It all matters.

FEARS ON FIRE

"The way their eyes follow me, laughing with malice, across the room."

Her pen came to the end of the line and she dropped it at her side.  Ripping the paper off the notebook, she folded it in half twice and set it on the top of the others.

"The time I tripped in front of the whole class."

"The day they told me to meet them at the Dairy Queen and then they all went to Starbucks instead."

A whole stack of them.

"How I'm afraid I'll never be good enough."

"How I can never seem to say the right thing."

"How my dreams seem so unattainable."

She fingered the last one and picked it up, turning it over slowly in her hands. Moving almost as if in a dream, she lit the first match and touched it to the paper, watching it begin to crumble into flame.  Releasing it into the air, she picked up the next piece and set it on fire, too.  One by one, she went through the entire stack until the air around her was filled with the burnt embers of her fears and insecurities.

She sat there in the grass, watching it all burn.

She sat there until every flame died away.

Then, she stood up and walked away. Today would be different.

THURSDAY TALES: WHEN I'M OLD

"What do you think I'll be like when I'm old?" I peered at my husband over my coffee cup as we sat entwined on the stairs of our new home.

"Well," he said thoughtfully. "You'll have laughed a lot by then, so you'll have lots of wrinkles around your eyes and mouth, and you'll probably be all bent over.  You'll wear your hair up in one of those old lady bandanas so we can't really see what color your hair is.  And your voice will be all creaky like an old rocking chair, but the kids in the neighborhood won't care because you'll be the lady with all the cats who makes all the cookies."

I wasn't exactly sure I liked all that. He reached forward and touched my cheek.  "But I will love you just the same... only better.  How about me?"

I grinned at him.  "I'll love you when you're a wrinkly old lady, too."