

Kempa Cambridge USA

By CC LeBlanc

Published by CC LeBlanc at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 CC LeBlanc

dedication:

Dr. Hector Valdivia, Coach of The Flaming Bananas

As my first coach, you encouraged me to try out for the high school & city team, I owe my athletic career to you. (And your Dad, Chilean pathologist, for his passionate game cheer, "Move your azz, move your azz!)

acknowledgements:

The Boston Team Handball Club, f/k/a The New England Freeze is a real non-profit sports team established in 2001.

caveat: This novel is a work of fiction. I have suffered two concussions, two months apart in 2009 and have experienced cognitive impairment therefore any errors of storytelling are non-intentional.

o o o o o

"Cleopatre, we are officially on a mission." Cleopatre opened her eyes to half and didn't bother to lift her head. There was a small flick of the last two inches of her tail, tapping the friendship quilt she was napping on.

"Well, it's not exactly official. It's actually more of a life or death mission. I wonder if Charlie's Angel's have a special word for these type of missions. Maybe they just call them L or D or A or D, you know, for alive or dead. Which do you prefer Cleopatre? L or D? or A or D? or LOD? or AOD? Nada? Ok, maybe V or M, for vive or mort! Vive le France!" Celeste raises a fist. Cleopatre does not even flick her tail.

"I suppose this means the mission is already starting if we have a code name for it. We should have some preliminaries about confidentiality and whatever else these missions require. Probably various lists, in case found unconscious, next of kin, allergies, if there are any metal implants of any kind, in case of emergency MRI...." Celeste was addressing her partner in crime, feline domesticus, while re-folding and putting away her clean laundry. She had for the past week moved said pile of folded clothes from her bed to the side chest to her desk, desk chair and back full circle an unknown number of times. All of this taking exponentially longer than opening the closet door a mere three inches away and putting the clothes in their proper drawers arranged by color for ease of assembling outfits.

This is known as Super Hideous Idiot Time management, according to Celeste, otherwise referred to as SHIT muckety-mucks. She has a special form of self-loathing about SHIT-mucks because she prides herself on being very efficient, prompt and orderly.

"Cleopatre, we are going to have to be extra disciplined on this VoM. Well drafted plans after extensive research. An elaborate schedule to hone our skills in the various techniques we anticipate we'll require and you know what THAT means." Celeste made a very slow spin with her left index finger pointing at Cleopatre for emphasis.

"Did you catch that? Work on your powers of observation. Give up? I'm using my NON-dominant hand to point at you! Yes, yes, I think we should mix things up so if anyone does begin to catch on to us nothing will appear consistent. Like the Buddhists say, don't be so predictable. Or something like that. Oui {Yes} more spontaneous. She closes the last drawer quietly and then suddenly hops from behind the closet door landing with her fingers spread out like claws, "A ha!" she barks in Cleopatre's face. Which disappears as quickly as the Cheshire Cat's, after first swatting Celeste in the face, with her back arched, tail up high and hair raised, hissing just as loudly. Celeste was just bringing her right hand up to her cheek as she saw her cat's tail vanish under the bed. "Awwww, Cleo, I didn't mean to really provoke you. I was just practicing spontaneity. I guess you don't fancy that kind of fun. Oooooookay, Made note. DDNN (Documented, Discussion Not Necessary.)" She said this over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen. "Time for gouter!" {snack} Celeste rang a little bell with her sing song announcement. The sounds of gouter prep were first the cabinet door opening as the air popper is removed and placed on the countertop. Second, higher cabinet door opens for proper bowl. Third, glass container latch released, followed by distinctive sound of kernels on plastic measuring lid then poured into metal reservoir and lastly the drone of the popper soon accented by exploding corn, sometimes quite rigorously especially white vs. yellow kernels. Cleopatre had been known to catch mid air an aberrant escaping crab fluff. Quite impressive to witness as well as the crunch of a cat eating popcorn, everyone should have the opportunity at least once a lifetime.

Next the refrigerator door, pouring of milk first into glass, then into pan. The hiss and click of the gas stove until flames materialize. Two spoons of white sugar, to one mountainous spoon of cocoa powder into the glass. Two spoons of warming milk to the solids, rampant clicking of the stirring spoon until a cocoa paste forms. Lastly pouring the hot milk, frothier whizzing and off, it's all done! Bon Appetit, gouter est pret!{snack is ready}

Celeste didn't even turn around as she heard the crunching of the last of what hit the floor. Feeling then the rubbing of Cleopatre's forehead over each of her calves, Celeste's peace offering was accepted. All forgiven. Two little rubs behind Cleopatre's ears and an all out purr fest began.

Sitting at the coffee table, feet perched on it's edge, Celeste sipped her cocoa. Time to plan the day.

Planning the day was always a bit tricky because Celeste had significant delusions about time. Her list for a day was beyond the average superhero, excluding fighting crime time. There were the routine things to improve one's life-vitamins, meditation, gratitude list, journaling and walking twice a day, everyday. There were the routine chores: groceries, flossing, laundry, recycling, balancing the checking account, steady prescription maintenance, societal pressuring email, thank you notes, birthdays and any variety of congratulations for typical and unusual life events of others. Improving the world, stitch by stitch, knitting scarves for foster kids gone off to college, family-less. Restocking her purse with granola bars for the homeless she was always passing on her errands. And then there was work- the daunting task of rehabilitating her brain. Managing her emotions and once again looking for housing. Modify that- affordable housing. So far everything on craigslist had been a bust. Blah, blah, the owner would explain they were out of the country for various reasons and this is their precious, fabulous, way under the market dirt cheap apartment....please send me application and money so that I can arrange for the key to be shipped to you and for you to be most delightfully scammed.

Cleopatre was curled up next to her on the futon, completely oblivious to the dire situation. "Cleo, I've got to find a place for you & me. I need to stay here in Cambridge to be near my support systems and MGH."

Celeste rubbed the back of Cleopatre's neck thinking about how caressing a pet increased people's endorphins. "At least I have you." and Cleopatre gave a purry meow as if to say "back at you."

New neurological exercises today and the gigantic reward will be European handball later in the afternoon. Three amazing teams, too bad the game times overlapped.

However that would prevent going over screen-time limit intrinsically. "Maybe the universe is watching over me." Celeste thought.

o get dressed o walk-get library book & return returns o take out recycling o eat lunch o nap o neuro exercises o HANDBALL o sometime Marguerite over for tea o work research

Cleopatre began rubbing her forehead against Celeste's shins, then wrapping her fuzzy tail, almost like goose down it was so soft. Celeste stared at her list and rubbed behind Cleopatre's ears.

"Oh Cleopatre, your motor's running today!" With that the cat jumped on her desk and tried to make her way on to Celeste's lap.

"Sorry Cleopatre. You know how I suffer from time delusion and just look at this list! It's already 11 o'clock. The morning is extra tempest fugit.

Cleopatre head-butted into Celeste's forehead commanding attention.

"I know, I'm a bad Mommy. I'm even admitting that I don't have time for your needs at the moment." She stood up from the chair, lifted Cleopatre over her shoulder like an infant and rubbed Cleopatre's head vigorously. Glancing back at her calendar she saw that the Moon would go into Libra today so she could wear any of her colors. She walked to her closet. Cleopatre stepped down her back and waved the tip of her tail, as if to say, "whatever." She disappeared behind some clothing to her cozy hidden spot.

"Don't be mad, Cleopatre. We can cuddle during my nap later." Celeste didn't want to think much today so it was gray leggings grey cotton long sleeve t-shirt and green long mohair sweater. Orange earrings for easy "Pop", hair up in a clip and she was done. No make up today. She made a pot of creme de la earl grey tea and opened her homemade journal. She was feeling antsy so she put on some ocean background sound and took a few deep breaths. Counting to five she noticed how tense her jaw muscles were. Making a grumpy face, she sharpened her pencil and started venting to the quiet audience of no one.

"I don't feel I'm making any progress. I am so discouraged and super afraid of what my limited capabilities are. Who's going to help me figure this out? I really wish I could be like Sleeping Beauty, just fall asleep and have everything heal and then be kissed awake by a handsome prince. Argh! Childhood fantasies sometime you really do wish they were possible. Except who would care for Cleopatre for me while I snooze my way back to health? This is just one of those hellish life things- the hell tunnels. There is no other way but through. I need something to hold on to-something that reassures me or holds me up. Why couldn't there be something for like the Harry Potter kids? The what was it called? Yes, the patronus. I need my own patronus-perhaps a hummingbird or a mermaid? Oh dear, I'm off in magic land again. I feel lost like Alice in Wonderland. I'm here in this body that keeps doing weird things and I am at the whimsy of the medical world and some seem to be smoking caterpillars. Not clued into me at all. And who would I invite to my tea party? Why Penelope and Elix and Marguerite! I should think they would make for a lovely tea party. But I haven't a tea set. Only my grandmother's teapot and non-matching mugs. No saucers, no creamer or sugar bowl, that will never do. No, not for a tea party. Maybe there is an actual Alice in Wonderland tea set? Perhaps something to investigate and put on my wish list depending on reality of making such a purchase. Spending plans that include tea sets, hmmmm, what category would that fall in? Dining in? Entertaining? Well, I have no such category. Perhaps all the various categories will have to pitch in a few dollars and see what I can scrounge together. Too far away for birthday money but patience is a virtue, so they say. Too bad it doesn't come in capsule form, 5 times a day, I could take it. Wonder what an overdose of patience looks like? Maybe inertia. Time for my exercises. Thanks for listening."

Cleopatre had come out from her sanctum and jumped up onto another favorite spot, almost a perch, the fifth shelf up on the 8 foot bookshelf. It was quite curious to watch as she just sort of scurried up the ledges and landed safely in the open spot without ever tumbling down. She would keep her back to the shelf and would conduct a symphony with her tail, a slow steady symphony. Continuous until her chin came down to the crossed front paws and the conductor's wand would wrap around the front and end up behind Cleopatre's ear, like a misplaced muff.

"Maybe I can rework the spending plan?" Celeste began muttering into her quad ruled ledger booklet. It was homemade with rubber stamping on the front to help her stay focused.

You can't always get what you want....unless you SAVE & SAVE & SAVE

some more.

Today it didn't feel inspiring as there was already an adorable little Hobo purse she had seen at her favorite shoe warehouse- in orange! It was very, no actually it was exceptionally groovy. She could hear her mother's voice ringing in her ears, "Everything is a trade off. You either have time and little money or money and very little time."

Hmmpf! she exclaimed out loud grumbling to her inner mother. "I know. I know. I'm stuck in the got time, little money, honey." The grumbles got Cleopatre to open one eye half way and make a mumbled meow.

"Oh, sorry Cleo. Didn't mean to spoil your nap. But I just really want to have something to do with a friend that won't make me feel sicker than I already feel." She lowered her voice to a whisper and declared, "I believe a tea party would be just the ticket." She looked over her categories, since she didn't have an entertainment column she couldn't start one now. She had declared another money rule last month, no new categories unless get new money. She read down the columns and everything looked very accounted for and then she got the beginnings of a Cindy Loo Who smile.

"By jove, Cleo! I think I've got it!" with a mock Sherlock Holmes accent. In fact she was so pleased with herself she got up from her desk and attempted a little tap dancing without taps. She lost her balance quickly and let herself fall onto her bed to avoid the closet doorknob and desk chair. Now Cleopatre was sitting up, stretching her back in a perfect yoga cat pose.

"Cleopatre, you've got to promise not to tell a soul. Promise?"

"Mew" Cleopatre replied. Assuming that was affirmative, Celeste pointed into the ledge and translated for Cleopatre, "Medical!" It was a pressured whisper, loaded with excitement and some irreverence. Cleopatre looked at her with the standard everyday deadpan cat look.

"OH! You are going to resist me on this?! I will make my case. The doctor said that I may get worse if I am isolated and spend too much time alone.

"Meow." Cleopatre replied as if the devil's advocate.

"Cleo, I don't mean to offend you and you are wonderful company, so yes, technically I am not alone. However I think the doctor meant homo sapiens not felix domestica. And since I can't tolerate the sound and visual overstimulation of going out to see people, well, I have to invite them here.And I can't afford to make them dinner as in no entertaining budget but I could make them a pot of tea! Tea is medicinal as well. Everyone knows about the antioxidants and the social interactions is a much needed side effect if not the principal desired effect of the therapeutic intervention! Ha! I did it!! I have a rational argument for an Alice in Wonderland tea set from my medical funds."

Cleopatre jumped dramatically from the shelf to the desktop and onto the bed. She gave Celeste a forehead slam and a lick on her bangs.

"Awwwww, Cleo, I just knew you'd understand, eventually. Besides, maybe Marguerite will have another catnip Batman toy for you. Since you are the most badazz Cleopatre in town."

Cleopatre was purring like a cigarette boat motor, as Celeste was giving her a full kitty scratch rubdown.

"Hey, I've got an idea! How about I make something from Rose's for goiter and we have a practice tea with Granny's pot and little votive candle glasses. And you my precise feline domestic will have some pretend pate!"

Celeste got up from the bed, straightened her friendship quilt, rearranged her jeans skirt for correct zipper front position, blew out the Eiffel tower carousel candle and went into the kitchen. Cleopatre did a claws out stretch to North and South poles while flipping over from side to back to the other side before getting up and trotting after Celeste. She believed she liked pate in the past.

Gingerbread was in the oven. Cleopatre was meowing and rubbing Celeste's legs insisting on NOT waiting for teatime rehearsal.

"Oh, alright. But when we have guests, you will have to wait like little French children do."

Opening the tuna can by hand, Celeste jumped. "OUCH! That hurt! NO claws!" In all the excitement at the pungent odors emitting from the just punctured can, Cleopatre had caught the top of Celeste's outer thigh with both front paws and claws in a gesture of appreciation. Just another misunderstanding. Cleopatre's meows got louder and then finally after what felt like an eternity of mice years, her little Peter Rabbit dish was on the floor.

"I guess I will watch your teatime while I wait patiently like little French children." she said. Sitting down at the cafe table, pretending they were in Paris, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She could see the Arc de Triomphe, the Opera House, the deco Metro stop for the Louvre. Old men playing boules by Les Tuileries. She sniffed the air for wafts of lavender from exquisitely cut hedges.

"Hmmm, you know what we need Cleo?" Cleopatre just tapped her tail, nose down into the tuna "pate".

"We need the Eiffel carousel candle. Now where is it?" She went into the bedroom looked over the various candles and heart shaped rocks, dishes of sea glass and then moved to the bookcase. There pushed to the back by Cleopatre's recent snooze was the off kilter carousel. 2 Eiffel towers were bent on the spinning top.

"Oh, zut! Well, perhaps it is mendable." She shouted toward the kitchen,

"Cleo, really you've got to be more careful when you lounge around."

That did get Cleopatre's attention and she looked up with a tongue wiping, whisker cleansing motion and a bit of glare. Most cats would have destroyed that little merry go round long ago. Appreciate my accommodations a bit more my dearest Red Queen.

The glare was remarkably similar to the Red Queen's and suddenly the gingerbread was remembered. It wasn't smoking too badly. The alarm didn't come on as she opened the back door and the window over the sink before she opened the oven door inch by inch.

"Humpf, serves me right for going to Paris in the middle of a baking session. Doesn't seem too salvageable maybe we'll just have completely pretend tea today since we don't have the proper Alice teaset and no company but us." Celeste found a few old bags of chamomile from last summer. She threw them in Granny's teapot and cut out the inside of the gingerbread, which was fine.

"I had been thinking about modifying this with some dry coconut flakes so the next batch will have a little crunch factor to accompany the bite of the ginger. What about cranberries and walnuts? Would that be a modern day fruit cake?" she wondered.

"OK Cleo, are you all cleaned up from your pate? Could you keep yourself clean on the cushions for tea? Looks it will just be the two of us this fine last day of March. I will boil the water and get the mugs. Oh, how I do crave the Alice set not just anyone but the large one with the Red Queen, Alice and the Flamingo. I want the bottle that says 'Drink me" and the chocolate that says 'Eat me'.

It seemed pretending came more easily when she was a girl. She was distracted by arguments in her head. There were quite a few over the next few days.

"Oh, I hear you, I HEAR you. What you want to know is what do I want with these things?! What will these things do for me in these times of boredom and loneliness? Well, my answer is that I am desperately hoping they give me some comfort and some enjoyment. Some pleasure from my daily strife." A reasonable MadHatter tea time discussion. She sat waiting and mentally rationalizing making the expense. Knowing that she should just make do with what she has. She has a teapot. She has mugs for tea. She has somethings she could use for sugar and milk. Perhaps she could just see how many times she makes tea. Then see if it's really remotely reasonable, even though she knows it's unreasonable. A non-necessity for sure. She began for feel really grumpy about it all. The feeling stuck with her illness, stuck with her finances and stuck with her broken mind. How to improve the moment? Soon the gingerbread would be done. Have a cup of tea. Appreciate the moment. Appreciate what is working. Remember tomorrow is another day. Maybe make a chart of what's dragging her down and see what's possible.

PING! The timer went off. She jumped, which let her know she was even more edgy than she thought. Cleopatre looked up from her face grooming and then resumed again realizing no more "pate" coming her way. Celeste put on the electric kettle, put two teaspoons of #211 in the pot and set the gingerbread to cool. It made the apartment smell wonderfully cozy. She watched Cleopatre ceremoniously clean her face, whiskers and paws. She looked so regale her long silky fur all shades of off-white, gray and charcoal. A gorgeous marking of a pale gray heart in the center of her forehead made her look even more unique. And she was.

She had come to Celeste about a year ago, although it felt as if they had always been together. Were cross-species soul mates possible? Celeste didn't know but didn't care. If it hadn't been for Cleopatre, she would have certainly lost her mind. Completely after everything of the past three years. It was too painful to think about. "Perhaps I should get a crossword puzzle book today. Grace always loved them." She said to Cleopatre as if expecting a reply. Something to exercise her brain but not overwhelm it too much.

"Yes, maybe on my walk today. Or I could unravel that poorly fitting sweater and start something new with it. Nothing so complicated as a sweater, maybe I can get a few scarves out of it. Yeah, a few scarves."

The timer was reset to monitor the tea. She was too tired to set up a tea party today. After all she had made fresh gingerbread. She looked out the window and realized it was actually a very sunny day. Perhaps a walk would feel good. She never knew how it was going to be. Some days OK and some days lots of nausea. That was something most people took for granted. The healthy ones. They could anticipate how they would respond to various activities or stimuli. Celeste had lost that. At least for now. That's what they kept telling her, "at least for now. Everyone's different, we won't know for sure for a long time. Everyone's different. Everyone's brain is different."

Celeste thought ferociously, "I don't give a shit about everybody! I just want my brain to get with the program. I just want MY brain back."

PING! The tea was steeped properly. She cut a piece of gingerbread and poured a cup of tea.

"They just don't seem to get it Cleo. You use your brain for everything. Even last night, I dreamt of sharks and my friend was with me, got attacked and blood filled the water. It was horrid. All those dreams, over and over, I am helpless in some way or another. Even in my sleep my brain is upsetting me."

Cleopatre came over and jumped on her lap. This tone she knew came just before tears. So she rubbed her forehead against Celeste and tried to distract her. She sniffed the gingerbread and jerked her head back at the pungent ginger and clove aroma. It made Celeste laugh, "not to your tuna palate, huh Cleo?" She caressed her precious companion, which lowered her blood pressure, sent some endorphins circulating and all round made for a better teatime. She sipped her tea and took a bite of gingerbread.

"Next time, we experiment. I forgot to on this batch. It really could use a little crunch factor to liven things up. I say we try 3/4cup dried coconut. That should be the ticket." Cleopatre purred loudly as if in confirmation, made two full circles and curled up on Celeste's lap.

Later that afternoon Celeste did her exercises. She hated them. She hated them for many reasons. One because it was proof she had neurological problems and two because it made her sick to do them and that was the whole point of it.

"We are working to reprogram your brain because it isn't processing information properly. You are very visually dependent and we have to get your brain to integrate the information from your proprioception system correctly." The neurological Physical Therapist had said.

Celeste had been at this off and on for three years. There had been an episode of needing to be in the hospital that prevented progress or ear infections which she never had as a child or having to get housing, a most overwhelming brain taxing task. She hated them because the progress was so slow and each time she started again she started at the beginning. Like the game "Shoots and Ladders", she couldn't just pick up where she was. No her brain wouldn't let her do that. No saving places, down the chute you go, start again from space #2. Not exactly space 1 because you already knew what you were going to have to do. Space 2 because you had to start again- with the eyes closed, with the moving X and if you were lucky you would get a lunge in there.

Her body had already revolted after the endorphin withdrawal passed. She got curves, real curves, Marilyn Monroe curves but she didn't think Marilyn had a belly. Maybe she did? Could she really have overdosed by accident? Mae West said that it wasn't a suicide. Was Marilyn really unhappy about being smarter than her dumb blonde persona? Celeste didn't know about Marilyn but she knew what she was unhappy about. There was a full list if she had ever been asked to create one but no one asked. Just for allergies, medications, dates of surgery, dates of injury, doctors and emergency contact people. These were the lists everyone wanted. Hospitalizations, nothing too deep. In fact it seemed as if everyone preferred to NOT know. No one really wanted to know either her unhappy list or really truly how she was doing. The American medical system isn't really set up for that. There is only so much time with the social workers. You can't ever really get in up to your elbows because about the moment you might reach there-PING! Time is up.

"Have a nice week." niceties and out the door on your own again the fifty minutes of support are over. 10,080 more minutes until someone is paid to respectfully listen again.

Celeste felt she knew some deep, dark secret. You can't really get sick in America, chronically sick. Because unless you live with your grandparents who adore you or a spouse who feels obligated to or actually DOES adore you still- you are on your own. Everyone's busy. The doctors, the pharmacy, the nurses, the Xray techs, the ER staff, the social workers, the insurance companies, and all the other people- family, friends, acquaintances, coworkers- EVERYONE is WAY busy. Too busy for sick people. That was the deep, dark secret that Celeste didn't have the meanness to tell everyone. She didn't have the luxury to alienate anymore people that she already had, at least a dozen and counting.

For some reason today, she had Pandora on in the background. She was not usually doing this as too much stimulation for her brain to handle but she had forgotten the music station going through it's program while she went through hers. Icing her neck for 15 minutes before starting again with the second half of rehabilitation exercises.

The power of music. Pachabel's Canon in D. Unsuspecting it could knock the wind out of her. Kicking her all the way back to 7th grade, going to the movies with L, K & K. Her friends who all went on to city school and she had to go to the "regular" public high school. They went to see Ordinary People. She had cried and cried in that movie. It was okay, they could cry in front of each other in a dark movie theater. She remembered being so angry at her parents for not seeing her need to be with her friends. Finally she had some. Finally she had been in one school for three consecutive years. Why couldn't she go to the creative school? Why? She hadn't thought of it for many, many years. City School. Her middle school clique.

She could see Mary Tyler Moore's angry screaming face. Why couldn't the parents see him, Timothy Hutton's character, for who he was? So stuck in their grief they didn't see the son who was alive. Who did my parents see when they looked at me then? She wondered if she ever became a parent, would her love be enough? Would she remember and love them and see them for who her children were?

The Canon went on, tears warped her rehabilitation exercise log sheet. That was one of the hardest parts. She was afraid she would scare people. If she really told people how she felt, if she really told people what she was thinking about. You don't want to go around scaring people. She knew this intuitively, only on Halloween, then it's okay. Any other day they might put you in the psych ward. And if you are feeling pretty anxious and a fair amount of depression, the last place you want to be is in a locked, enclosed place with a bunch of psychotic, schizophrenic and delusional people, especially paranoid ones. No, here her intuition was loud and clear. Don't freak anyone out. Be calm, say appropriate things, crying is fine. But don't say anything that someone else, not in your same situation might deem irrational. Frankly the only way someone would know your were being rational would be to have been through the same nightmare. But that's not how the system works. So to "protect" you, you are put in one of the scariest places in the civilized world. At least for a sane person, it's scary as hell. No one seemed to get this when they admitted her. She had had enough public schooling to know just behave, don't make waves, be the good girl, compliant girl and you will get out sooner. Not rocket science, not even Psych 101, just common sense. The locked in part, was really creepy to her. Being held, on the inside, just because your brain wasn't working properly. They must misunderstand, where is my real doctor? The one who knows me, she thought. Why are they drugging me up? Why don't they contact MY doctor? She needed a truly safe place, where no one was psychotic or delusional. She needed comforting not zombie drugs. She needed a home and massive quantities of TLC. No insurance company would cover that, how many thousands went to the hospital? Wouldn't a spa have been half the cost?

o o o o o

"I wonder if anyone has calculate how many average English words can be written with a standard soft Ticonderoga pencil. Hand sharpened vs. electric for an interesting variation." she mumbled to Cleopatre as she started her morning journaling. It was almost 5:15 in the afternoon. This morning's routine was interrupted by pain management. First she woke at 4:30am with 7/10 neck pain. Then after icing for awhile, 600mg of ibuprofen and rubbing Cleopatre behind the ears, it became clear that a headache was also present, vying for attention. She made some very strong tea, extra steeped for the vaso-effects of the caffeine. Took the anti-migraine medication and a second cup of potent tea. One was not bringing about the desired effect. Cleopatre was rubbing her legs and mewing softly.

"Yeah Cleopatre, another one and the day hasn't even started. No tuna for you, the smell will make me ralph for sure." Yesterday she had done too many errands and went to see a room for rent. Payback was a bitch.

She poured some dry food in Cleopatre's bowl and got her fresh water.

"Back to the dungeon for me. Hope I can sleep this one away by noon."

Somedays it bothered her more than others. Having to stop whatever she was doing, whatever she was going to do, even cancel things for the next day to manage her brain. The fatigue was overwhelming, her brain seems all worn out from producing so much pain for the migraine.

She poured another cup tea. Many people were on their way home from work and she was just starting her day. She sat at the cafe table. Took a sip of tea and stared at the blank piece of paper. She sharpened her pencil. Some Canadian geese took her attention, flying North, honking. She felt a dual heaviness cover her, exhaustion and grief.

This rhythm of travel they have, with some inner compass and timetable they find their way. No need for discussions, just an inner clock, inner knowing and determination. The cycle kept on. A few tears melded with the paper making little ripples, drops on a pond.

Why can't I have an inner compass? Some intuitive guide that didn't get damaged. Some inner me that I can hear? Where is the real me? Is she in here anywhere? A divine fairy godmother, guardian angel or sacred tutelary, who knows me better that I know myself, some inspiration somewhere within my soul? she wrote.

"Cleopatre, I am so tired of feeling lost. How can I find me? How can I find out if she's okay?"

Cleopatre jumped on her lap and onto the top of the table, she slid on the paper, knocking the mug onto the floor. When it hit ceramic pieces scattered everywhere. Cleopatre flew into the bedroom closet haven and Celeste shrieked.

"No! Damn it NO! That was from Grace! No, no, no, NO!"

Then the big, heavy tears came, they switched gears into sobs of anger, big breaths, diaphragm engaging, chest heaving sobs as she crawled around the floor making a little shard pile in the middle of the kitchen. There were so many pieces it could not be glued. You couldn't even tell there had been an Eiffel tower image on it. Forget about the imprinted "J'aime Paris" and the little French flag.

Grace had bought it for Celeste when she had been to France for junior year abroad. That meant that she had been drinking tea from that mug for 19 years. The chips of white in the mound began to appear like a miniature cairn. You know, like out at Walden Pond-that giant pile of stones and rocks that people have put over the years, in memory of Thoreau.

If anyone had told her that one day she would hate her cat, she would have instantly denied the possibility, EVER. But now, in this moment she was filled with hate at Cleopatre, as if Cleopatre had killed Grace and not the aberrant evil cells. With each remaining piece she found, she would scream "No!" and the sobs would resume. She couldn't see clearly for the tears in her eyes and the white pieces against the white and black checkered flooring were either invisible or jumping out at her. More than once she had to pick pieces out of her knees as she missed some camouflaged ones. After she got three pieces out with her fingernails, thin lines of blood began to trickle down her shin. Seeing her own blood, the dam burst. She sat with her arms around her shins, her forehead on her knees, heartbroken, no resistance left. The intense pain of loss traveling to eternity. It was all encompassing. Nothing else existed in the world but piercing pain. There was no place to hide. It was profoundly patient and powerful. The grief dragon had her.

o o o o o

With children, if they are allowed to complete the crying process, once the breathing settles down naturally, of it's own pace, eventually a grounded calmness arrives. The storm weathered. Adults, most often, wrestle control, blocking the torrents and no resolution is reached. Stored internally somewhere, until a particular melody, flash of memory or crash of a cherished gift wakes the dragon again.

Eventually she heard herself say, "Improve the moment. I'm supposed to improve this moment. Accept it, as it is. Breathe with it, mindful of it and then after the wave passes- consider my senses." The front of her t-shirt was wet from her saltwater, armpits wet from perspiration, hair every which way from pulling her fingers through it, black mascara under her eyes and on her knees. She felt lighter and heavier at the same time.

She pulled herself up onto the chair and sat regrouping for a moment. Knowing that mugs from Paris and best friends from Wisconsin don't last forever even if her heart & soul wanted it differently. She didn't have the energy to be angry at life right now. Even her mitochondria were exhausted. She lit a lavender candle and looked into it for guidance. The comforting smell brought some relief.

Cleopatre wandered in cautiously, then rubbed her shin.

"Oh, Cleopatre, I'm sorry for yelling and scaring you. It's just that everything that is connected to Grace is just, well, just uber precious. Sacred sort of, because she touched it or something and I'll never get that cup back. It's so horrifically final." She whispered quietly, "....All of it."

Careful not to encourage another round of tears, she added "Will it ever get easier?"

Cleopatre looked up briefly and resumed the behind the ears bath.

"I feel like it's killing me." She sighed and then took a deep breath.

"I am supposed to just keep going, doing the best I can, don't give up, I can do this. It just feels like I can't do this, drag myself up and over Mt. Everest, dig deep to China. Yep, it definitely feels like I don't got what it takes. But here we are. Here we are. And if Grace was here, you know what she'd say?" she points to Cleopatre's nose.

"She'd say 'well, how about we clean up this mess and have some cocoa and popcorn?' Or 'let's get some ice cream.' That's what she'd have said. So, let's get the broom and get out the gloom."

It had been two years since Grace died. Celeste could not say her name without tearing up. If she came across the word grace while reading, it would grab her by surprise. Stopping for a few moments until she could recover from the shock, she kept wondering if ever she would be at peace at the mention of grace.

o o o o o

4am the cellphone Assistant was connecting to the cloud and the brightness of her phone screen woke her up.

"I have to remember to put it face down when I go to bed. Add that to notes to self checklist." She mumbled to herself.

She used her cellphone for her alarm. When she had learned there were alarms settings in her phone, she donated her little travel alarm to Salvation Army. No need for duplication of items in her tiny apartment. Less is more and improvement of feng shui, less stuff = less mind stuffing.

She rubbed Cleopatre who was curled up on the pillow next to her.

"Count." She said to herself. "I'm supposed to count myself back to sleep." The psychiatrist and rehabilitation therapist had given her all sorts of advice about sleep hygiene and methods to deal with her sleep disorder. Unless it was the night before an important exam she had always slept like a sleeping baby. She didn't pull all nighters in college or graduate school so being up in the middle of the night was both annoying and strange. It was debilitating to her already poor energy level.

"If I am so exhausted why can't I just fall asleep in three seconds and stay there until I'm adequately rested and wake up?" There was desperation in her voice as she posed this seemingly simple question to her doctor.

"After concussion the brain doesn't function the same while it is healing. It seems counterintuitive, not sleeping when you are exhausted and need sleep. Keep that crossword book out of reach of temptation, stay in the darkest room available and eventually your mind gets bored and you will fall asleep." he replied.

She thought on this conversation as she lay in the dark, feeling very awake, very bored and very frustrated. Every so often she felt the intensity of powerlessness. Prisoner in her own body, an injured athlete, who's body has forsaken her. It wasn't a matter of working harder or being more determined, her brain and body did not cooperate.

"Cleopatre? Are you awake? Even my mitochondria are so tired they don't know what to do." Celeste whispered to the dark lump on the other pillow. Cleopatre didn't move.

"And when I do sleep, I have so many recurring nightmares I'm waking up terrified." she continued.

"1,2,3, this sucks." she concluded. She started again.

"Un, deux, trios, quatre, cinq, six, sept..." At about 44 she threw back the covers, and went into the kitchen for hot milk and honey. She poured some cold milk for Cleopatre and clicked on the stove. The floor felt cold against her barefoot. The wind rattled the partially open window. Cleopatre rubbed against her legs in gratitude and then sat to enjoy her midnight "latte".

"This isn't working Cleopatre. I don't have enough patience for this. I need something to feel like it's getting better. Something, anything. More energy or a power nap or not to feel so edgy, something. Come on universe, can't you throw me a bone here? I've been a good girl. I've been following the rehab rules and everything." Her voice squeaked a little at the end, fighting back tears. She watched the milk, wanting to catch it before any scum formed.

"I'm trying Cleopatre, really I am. I feel so trapped, I can't stand it. It's...it's NOT fair." The minute the words escaped her lips she could hear the chorus of her father over the years.

"Life's not fair."

"Life is not fair."

"When will you stop expecting fairness?"

"Life. Is. Not. Fair."

"Well, Dad if it's not fair, what IS it? What CAN I count on?" she had whined to her father.

"Life is a game. A series of games and you can count on everything to change." He clapped her on the back in a Buck Up Kiddo way and then went to his study to work.

"Cleopatre, I don't want to play this game. I suck at this game. I feel like such a loser." Hiss went the milk foaming over into the gas flame. Distracted by her father's theory on life, she had forgotten the heating milk.

"SHIT!" She blew on the rising white bubbles and it receded enough to stay in the pan. She switched off the heat and got a slotted spoon to get the scum skin like layer off the top before filling her cup. Cleopatre was wiping her whiskers and looking very content.

"Why can't I be like you Cleopatre? Content with some milk, a warm bed and life as it unfolds. Do you ever worry, about anything?" she queried. Cleopatre continued to wipe her face and lick her paws in a zen manner. Celeste turned off the kitchen light and returned to her bed. She sipped the sweet milk and tried to buoy herself.

"Tomorrow is another day. Actually today is another day. Right, Scarlett?" she spoke as if she had a true bed partner, someone really listening. She put down the empty mug next to the bed, scrunched up a corner of pillow and began counting herself to sleep. Most of her recurring nightmares were set in her childhood home. Her parents going through various scenarios of divorce and she wasn't sure where she would live. In real life her parents were still married. Perhaps these dreams were correlated with the number of times she had been homeless since the injury. Simple psychology. She would wake up yelling at one parent or the other. Another theme was realizing she had not actually graduated from high school. She was desperately trying to get to the school office to figure out her schedule, where she was supposed to be and when. Hoping to finish any remaining requirements before the graduation ceremony. There would be some obstacle and then the humiliating realization she would have to tell her parents she hadn't graduate years ago after all. Sometimes she would wake up in a sweat, heart racing and she could not fall back asleep for two hours.

But tonight she had a very different dream.

o o o o o

She was in a small canoe like boat that was decorated with flowers, tied all around the rim. She was in the back of the boat in a comfortable woven rattan chair. She did not have a paddle. She was floating along through a maze of reeds. There wasn't much room between the boat, the water and the reeds. It seemed to be about daybreak or sunset as the light was not direct and there seemed a mist or thin fog in the air making it difficult to see ahead. She felt an odd calmness inspired by the foreign terrain. She noticed a glowing figure in the front of the boat who was gently paddling. She could only make out that it appeared to be a woman with long blonde thick curls down to her mid-back. She seemed comfortable guiding them through the marsh labyrinth. There were only the sounds of some birds and the canoe brushing against low reeds.

"Where are we going?" Celeste thought.

And the woman replied, "To one of your places of power."

Celeste felt surprised as she had not spoken the words and yet the woman answered her question. She thought to herself, "Is this real?"

"As real as anything is." The ethereal being responded.

Celeste was startled. "How can she know my thoughts? How can I keep from thinking?"

There was a delicate laugh, like Glenda the Good Witch. "You can't stop yourself from thinking and don't worry, if you like you can banish me and end our connection." At that moment the boat bumped to an abrupt stop. Celeste woke up.

She lay very still in her bed, wondering where she was. Was she in the boat, fallen from the chair? Or was she in her bed in the middle of the night? She moved her toes and felt Cleopatre, curled up asleep, a lump on top of the covers.

"No, I am awake and that was just a dream." she thought. She peered into the darkness to listen for a response. None came.

"So, it was just a strange dream. Strange yet beautiful and actually soothing. Not my usual nightmares of conflict or homelessness." she said to Cleopatre, who was motionless but for slow, steady respirations. She closed her eyes as if to bring the scenes back into view. What had the woman told her? They were going to one of her places of power? She had never been canoeing in a place like that before. Canoeing yes, but she always had a paddle and she knew the destinations. She hadn't ever been in such a maze of reeds either. She had no sense of direction as the sun wasn't visible. She found herself getting sleepy which was welcomed as she usually would remain awake for awhile.

"I must call Marguerite tomorrow. She loves dream analysis. She can help decipher this." She rolled over to her side, nudging Cleopatre as she repositioned her feet and promptly fell back to sleep.

o o o o o

She woke to sandpaper kisses from Cleopatre on her cheek.

"Oh, Cleopatre, you are too rough for my face! Ok, okay, I will get up and get your breakfast, just let me wake up." She glanced at her cellphone as the alarm hadn't gone off. The screen was blinking the little alarm picture but no sound. She pressed the dismiss option and gasp as the current time appeared, 11:15am.

"Oh my God, no wonder you are hungry! How did I sleep so long? She queried while tossing the bedcovers aside.

"I haven't slept so long, in, in, in a wicked long time. I don't even remember!" She filled the electric kettle with tap water while Cleopatre jumped on to the cafe chair. She scooped dry organic cat food into Cleopatre's fiesta ware dish and got the cat fresh water. Cleopatre jumped down to her breakfast and Celeste scooped two teaspoons of #211 into the infuser basket. She went to the bathroom while the kettle began it's heating noises. Cleopatre crunched loudly as the morning ritual of final two scoops of oatmeal went into Celeste's breakfast bowl, topped with cinnamon and chopped Granny Smith apple. She sat down and texted Marguerite.

{Hey sweets, how R u 2day?Had amazing dream last nite.Need help 2 analyze it. Time 4 t later?}

Marguerite would already have been at the library as she was working the dayshift this week. Depending what tasks she was assigned Celeste could hear back in minutes if she was restocking books or hours if she was on the circulation desk. Marguerite was a natural librarian, spending most of her awake hours since she was able to read, at whatever library was open. The university nearby her parents house had an undergrad library that was open 24 hours and no one asked for an ID. If she wore celebrity style sunglasses, a beret, her London courier bag, jeans and Converse sneakers, she blended right in. She looked like a freshman for six years. Her parents were professors so they never minded that she was in a library, somewhere.

"What's safer than the library for a teenager?" her mother would respond when other parents learned of Marguerite's late hour curfew. She was basically a book anaconda by the age of twelve. The elementary and middle school libraries were a joke to her. The neighborhood branch of the public library was her "convenient store" just in for a quick read, when in a pinch, she had run out of her home stash. Luckily the main branch was a quick bike or bus ride. Everyday there was something either due or had just arrived, a request from another intersystem library. With the advent of text notification she was happily surprised as if a long awaited Christmas present had been delivered. Some days there were books at circulation and more just logged into receiving in the bowels of the library.

"I have enough here, no need to call down and get those. I'll be back in a day or so and can get them then." Funny that now she got paid to accept the bins of book shipments and prepares them for patrons. In middle school, Marguerite had had the usual pre-teen ESP, Ouija board, hand writing and dream analysis obsessions. At sleepovers, she and her friends would try to guess what each other were thinking or stay up most of the night with candles burning, nestled in sleeping bags, in a circle around the Ouija board. Desperately hoping for answers to the mystery of various boys.

Marguerite checked her phone on her coffee break. She would leave the library, walk four blocks for a latte. She would make up stories about whomever was in view. She saw Celeste's text and was very intrigued. She replied she could do tea at 6pm.

{Confirmed. :) c u then here @apt} Celeste responded. Her apartment was only 4 blocks in the other direction from the library. In spite of the proximity it was surprising how little they saw of each other unless they were in a class together. Marguerite had so many volunteer and community activities on top of working full-time, she often went straight from work to her next agenda. In the beginning, when Celeste had moved in she had fantasies of having her three main girlfriends over at least once a week. Sort of a Sex in the City clique. The first brunch she organized she went all out. Set the table with her grandmother's authentic retro tablecloth, her assortment of vintage fiesta ware and contemporary Crate & Barrel glassware. She had made her Grammy's homemade cinnamon rolls with lots of pecans added. Cava and oranges for fresh mimosas. She had even bought a french press as she knew that Elixabete had to have coffee on Sunday mornings. There was Greek yogurt with fresh kiwi, strawberries, raspberries, coconut and roasted hazelnut pieces. She was a bit overwhelmed but proud of herself for pacing her energy and pulling it all together. She cared very much for these friends and wanted to have a beautiful and delicious thank you for them. Each had been helpful in her own way after the crash and the long rehabilitation process.

The first to text was Penelope. She had a surprise call from Marc. He got back to the harbor early that morning. They had a long awaited reunion after 4 months of separation at 4am. They were enjoying spooning one another and planned to have breakfast & lunch in bed. She apologized and said she could get together in a few days after the initial reunion fireworks settle down to white hot embers.

Celeste's heart sank. She hadn't seen Penelope for awhile and was looking forward to it with anticipation.

"Well, it's not her fault he got back today. Cleopatre you can have a place setting at the table." she compromised. As she was grinding the dark roast coffee beans the next text arrived. From Elixabete, aka Elix, she was just back at 2am from a handball tournament and was super sore, super exhausted and super crabby from the poor team performance.

{Hey C, i will b terrible company after bad tourney. whole body hurts. need sleep and jacuzzi. u know how it is. ttyl}

Celeste plopped down on the futon. Of course she understood. She remembered how exhausting it was to play 4 or 5 games in two days. The bruises coming out in shapes of fingerprints, hexagons from the ball, etc. All part of the game. Epsom salt baths had helped her a lot and also getting the Kobe Bryant padded basketball under shorts. Everyone laughed at her because of the pouch in front, for her missing family jewels. They did not yet market them for female athletes so she had to go up in two sizes to accommodate her hips and live with the little kangaroo pocket.

"Cleopatre, should I just cancel it? There is so much fresh food! I so wanted our "Sex in the City" brunch together, female bonding extraordinaire." She held her phone, scrolled to Marguerite and pressed new TXT msg. The black screen stared at her patiently waiting. Her frustration was building.

"WTF, I was trying to thank them and make a nice Sunday for us!"

{Hey Rite, P &E cancelled so postponing :( ?when}

They had tried numerous time to get the Sunday brunch in and there was always something in the way. Celeste had drank the bottle of cava herself one Sunday surprising herself in the process. She enjoyed watching the bubbles around the fresh raspberries in her glass. She felt very elegant despite being stood up over and over by her best friends.

The cinnamon rolls had gone in the freezer and were consumed one a day until they were gone. She was surprised how well they tasted when heated up with a cup of tea in the afternoon. Perfect gouter material. Hard to believe the local bakery made so much money off just one sticky bun but they were delicious.

It made Celeste angry and hurt her feelings that she could not get her friends together for brunch. None of them had children even! She wondered sometimes if they took each other for granted that the others didn't realize how much it meant to her and that she had wanted regular Sunday brunches together. Something that resembled family time, regular meal together every week didn't seem like too much to ask.

She missed being with the team, training, competing & eating with the team. Within a day after joining the team's email list she was invited to a party to celebrate some French holiday. There would be baguette sword fighting. Her social life exploded, there was always someone getting together for something. She was forever telling her American friends that unlike the other teams she had played for, they all ate together after a game. No drive-thru, no eating in the car on the ride home, but real food, tableware and everyone sitting at a long table. So civilized, so European, so fabulously team bonding. At least until the Coca-cola/Red Bull/G&T swilling Jordi, a fast food outlier. Returning from NYC, he popped the paradigm. Mar & Marti, the 4 year love birds from Barcelona, went across the street for Boston Market chicken dinners. Bringing them back to McDonald's while Jordi and Alex(Canadian MIT student, who wore a Jackass jersey to practice & taught everyone the correct way to tie shoelaces) munched their way through Super-sized everything and Celeste ate a homemade PB&J.

Celeste boiled water for tea and nearly jumped out of her skin when the apartment door buzzer alerted her of Marguerite's arrival. She never remembered which button released the door entry so she always pushed both simultaneously, reminding herself to figure out which was talk and which was door release.

They gave each other cheek kisses and then made sure that Cleopatre hadn't escaped into the hall.

"Cute chili pepper lights, when did you get them?" Marguerite repeated as she took the nail polish Celeste passed to her.

"They used to be in Grace's kitchen. Not those exact ones. I saw them in Joie de Vivre, an adorable, wickedly dangerous shop on Mass Ave, after my Acupuncture Together appointment one day. They made me smile so I bought them. I leave them on all night so I don't have the overhead light glare when I make hot milk and honey in the wee hours. Every time I see them I think of good times in Grace's kitchen back in Madison. It's nice to feel nice and not just start crying anymore." Celeste replied while pouring tea and handing a cup to Marguerite.

"Thanks. Yum, this tea smells gorgeous!" she said.

"Let's go into the living room." Celeste said, putting the gingerbread, napkins and teapot on a tray.

"Ok." said Marguerite, following Celeste and Cleopatre into the cozy chick pad living room. There was an aquamarine pleather settee with an ottoman, an antique cruise ship deck lounger with soft pillows and a reupholstered club chair in a zebra print. Celeste lit a few candles and her desk lamp to provide a relaxing environment for dream interpretation.

"Do you have an extra notebook or paper and pencil I could use?" Marguerite asked.

"Sure, but what for?" Celeste asked, getting up and crossing the room to her mission style writing desk.

"I want to take notes, on your dream. I may have to do a little research and want to have as much detail as possible." Marguerite answered.

"Oh, okay. I don't think it's too detailed but whatever. Ha, I think you and I are the only two adults who still prefer sharp pencils over pens." Celeste said, handing Marguerite the supplies she requested.

"Hmm, this tea tastes a good as it smells. I'll have to get some the next time I'm in Harvard Square." Marguerite sipped from her cup, then took a bite of gingerbread.

"Hmm, wow! This is really good too! I've only had gingerbread as the hard cookie people. I never knew it could be cake like. Celeste, you know how to do tea time. Thanks." Marguerite leaned back into the deck chair closing her eyes for a few moments, letting go of her workday with each breath.

"Do you ever wonder if anyone famous sunbathed in this chair on some majestic ocean liner?" Marguerite said softly as if far out at sea.

"No but it's got you in it, in a tiny apartment in Cambridge. A librarian with a fabulous imagination could be famous. Don't you think so Cleopatre?" Celeste rubbed Cleopatre's forehead and then down her back as Cleopatre arched her back leaning into the massage.

"Ha, ha. Well, let's get started. Start from whatever you remember was the beginning." Marguerite instructed. Her pencil ready, poised over the paper, resting in her lap on a Georgia O'Keefe coffee table art book as her lap desk.

"Okay, well, I remember being in a small canoe like boat, decorated with flowers all around the edges of the boat. I was in the back of the boat and..." she continued to describe the dream. Marguerite jotted down as much as she could. She didn't want to interrupt Celeste because she seemed almost trance-like in the retelling. An interruption could jolt her back to reality and crucial details could be lost. Celeste was looking out the window into the darkness as she continued. Finally she stopped and focused on one spot as if she were watching something or someone. She stayed quiet and Marguerite kept her pencil ready for more. Marguerite jumped a little when Celeste suddenly turned to her stating, "That's it. That's all I remember." The trance was broken.

"Okay, wow." said Marguerite. "There's a lot in there." she continued.

"The boat can represent journey either you are on now or could be going on in the future or from the past. The woman, did she seem familiar? You never saw her face? Did she perhaps represent your mother or sister in anyway? Any vibe that you got from her?" Marguerite inquired.

"Well, no, not really. I mean, I had the feeling that I had no idea who she was or why I was with her or where she was taking me. She seemed in charge, not in a bossy way but she was doing all the paddling and steering." Celeste replied.

"Did she say anything to you? Did you ask her where you were going? Sorry if you already told me and somehow I missed it in my note taking." Marguerite flips through her papers searching for a question mark. Celeste was quiet, rubbing Cleopatre's neck as she had curled up in her lap during the storytelling.

"I don't remember any talking." Celeste paused again.

"No wait, there was talking." she slowly turned her head to look at Marguerite quizzically.

"And there was not talking talking." Marguerite laughed.

"What is not talking talking? This sounds like Alice in Wonderland!" she exclaimed.

"Hmmm, yes, perhaps and also the Wizard of Oz." Celeste smiled at the mention of Alice in Wonderland. She took this as a secret sign to get the tea set.

"Oh, really? Were there flying monkeys?" Marguerite's face lit up.

"No, no. No flying monkeys! Thank God, those things always freaked me out, even as an adult. No, but she seemed like Glenda the Good Witch, actually she laughed just like Glenda the Good Witch." Celeste marveled as if this solved everything.

"Well, I doubt any of my dream interpretation books mention laughs like Glenda the Good Witch. But I will make note of that. Perhaps it just means that you felt she was a benevolent woman." Marguerite seemed satisfied and turned back to the beginning of her notes.

"Maybe I should read back to you slowly what I've written and you can see if you have more to add or change?" Marguerite asked.

"Okay, more tea?" Celeste offered.

"Definitely. Thanks." Marguerite steadied her cup while Celeste poured, refilling both their cups.

Celeste nestled further into the settee which disturbed Cleopatre. She stretched a perfect yoga Cat pose and then curled back up in the nook between the pillow, Celeste and the settee back. Celeste held the cup in both hands, raised it to her face and took in a deep breath of the steam. Marguerite took a few sips, another bite of gingerbread and a few more sips to clear her throat.

"Okay, this is what I've got. Tell me to go slower if you need me to." Marguerite instructed and Celeste nodded with consent, then sipped her tea.

"You were floating along in a canoe like boat..." Marguerite continued. Celeste listened. She was drawn in by Marguerite's voice. She had done a lot of reading aloud when she had to cover the children's room at the library. It is something uniquely tender having someone read to you. Perhaps it's just another one of those tender things lost since childhood. Celeste remembered reading to family members when they were sick. She couldn't remember the last time someone had read to her.

Marguerite had taken pretty good notes, probably another expertise of librarians.

"This might sound weird but could you read it to me again? Celeste asked hesitantly. Marguerite took another sip of tea. It was cold.

"It's a deal if I can get some hot tea, mine's stone cold." she countered.

"You bet." Celeste got up to make a second pot of tea. Cleopatre seemed to think that meant something in the kitchen was for her too. She stretched a long downward Dog, then into a tall arched Cat pose and nonchalantly followed Celeste to the kitchen.

"You should tend to those holes in your nylons before they become runs." Celeste called from the kitchen.

"Ooh, you're right." Marguerite replied. She unscrewed the nail polish, hiked up her skirt to reveal several small holes showing through her mid-thigh pale winter skin. She dabbed each hole with the clear polish and hoped that it would suffice. She had only worn these twice and the teal color was hard to find now that spring/summer colors were in all the stores. Why the hell does the fashion industry live in another season ahead of the rest of us? Someone should fix that. It's ridiculous in New England and the upper Midwest as well as many other parts of the nation.

"Hey, I will replace those if they are ruined." Celeste offered as she returned with the fresh teapot and some sliced Granny Smith apples and havarti with dill.

"Oh, that will be hard to do at least not until next winter and IF teal happens to still be an acceptable color to wear, blah, blah, blah." Marguerite whined.

"It's so annoying! I should just buy 5 of anything I like when I see that color is IN again because it's as though it is contraband for years after. I like teal, it looks good on me and I should be able to find it every winter I need dark tights or nylons!" she ranted.

"Yeah, it is pretty ridiculous. I feel that way about salmon or cantaloupe or whatever that deep peach color is called. I hadn't really thought about that before. The fashion industry really does have us by the balls. Weird style changes, color hoarding and non-weather correlation distribution. If we are ever queen, we can make those changes. I also want daylight savings year round, just so you know." Celeste sighed. She was tired. She poured more tea for both of them. Tossing Marguerite's cold tea into a nearby plant saucer.

"A little tea won't kill it, at least I don't think so." she mumbled.

Marguerite layered a piece of cheese on an apple slice and took a bite.

"Maybe the next round is cava?" she tentatively suggested.

"I do have frozen raspberries, the store's still open and we can always have pesto pasta in a jiffy." Celeste responded.

"I just so enjoy that first sip that peruses one's bloodstream and the seductive wave of relief that follows. Wonder if there's a word for that?" Marguerite looked up, scrunching her forehead in concentration.

"Ah, Yah. It would be called 'Alcohol'" Celeste said laughing. Marguerite laughed and then started coughing as the sour of the apple had tickled her throat. The coughing and waving her hand to signal that she was not choking went on for a bit. Finally Celeste got up.

"I'm getting you some water. The tea's too hot to drink fast."

Marguerite coughed and nodded her head and swiped the tears from her cheeks onto the back of her hand. Glass of water and tissues in hand, Celeste gave them to her convulsing friend.

"Don't try to talk, it only makes it worse. Take some deep breaths, sip the water until it dilutes the sour patch wherever it is in your throat. Go gargle in the bathroom if you want. Funny thing the potency of a Granny Smith. Perhaps it's to follow how sour some Granny's are." Celeste rambled.

Marguerite was laughing and coughing again. Waving her hand this time to suggest "Stop, stop, don't make me laugh!"

Cleopatre had stayed at the kitchen door threshold watching Marguerite's fit from a distance. Not sure it was safe to be there based on the living room drama. Finally some bread and water had done the trick and Marguerite wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Hate to say it my friend, but I'm exhausted and have to have some quiet time for this brain of mine to wind down enough to entertain sleeping. I'd love to have you stay late or stay over even but I have to respect my limits as the doctor and physical therapist say." Celeste got quiet after her declaration.

Marguerite nodded, "Sure, of course. I should go." Celeste put things back on the tray and thanked Marguerite for coming over.

"It was really good to see you. I'm hoping we can get everyone together for my brunch idea one of these days this decade."

"Yes, I look forward to it. It will be a lot of fun to have everybody together again after so long." She had her coat on and was slipping into her shoes.

"I will let you know what I come up with after I do a little research on your dream. Let me know if you have anymore with this mysterious woman." Marguerite hugged Celeste goodbye.

"Ciao sweetie and sweet dreams to you." Celeste said as Marguerite walked down the hall towards the apartment building entrance and out into the night.

Celeste blew out the candles, took her melatonin, flossed and brushed her teeth. Cleopatre came into the bathroom and used the toilet. Celeste was still proud of having toilet trained Cleopatre years ago.

"Good job, Cleopatre." she crooned around her foaming toothbrush. Cleopatre rubbed against her shins and anticipating bedtime went to the bedroom and curled up at the foot of the bed. Celeste checked her phone for any missed texts, checked her alarm and set the ringer for alarm only. She turned on the sound machine ocean setting for 60 minutes and crawled into bed careful to give Cleopatre her space.

She was tired. Overtired. It had been great to see Marguerite and have some social time yet she had gone to acupuncture earlier in the day and stopped by to pick up library books that had arrived. All of this equaled too much for her brain.

"Cleopatre, it just isn't fair. I didn't even do that much today and yet I have a brain ache and really hope that it doesn't morph into a migraine."

Cleopatre nestled into the space behind her knees as Celeste was on her side cuddling an extra pillow. In the quiet she could hear her father's voice,

"Life isn't fair, the sooner you accept that the better." Obviously she hadn't accepted it when she was 7 or 9 or 11 or 16 or now. She lay in the dark, listening to the ocean, feeling Cleopatre curled up next to her. She thought about the day. She thought about needing to do laundry. She thought about whether she would meet someone and fall in love.

"Counting." she said to herself. Counting is what the physical therapist had said for her to do for any version of insomnia she experienced. She had said if you just keep counting eventually your brain gets bored enough to fall asleep. And so she started. 1,2,3...36...75..125...

She checked her phone, it was 1:30am. She got up and went to the bathroom. Lots of tea before bed is not a good idea for staying asleep. She went back to bed and was able to fall back asleep pretty effortlessly. She next checked her phone, it was 4am. She lay awake, she counted and then finally gave up and went to the kitchen to make hot milk and honey.

Much of life or quality of life has to do with our attitude.

Celeste stared at the milk watching as tiny bubbles began to form at the sides of the pot.

"What is hot enough and yet not scum forming?" she thought. Go with the flow, don't be annoyed that you are awake again in the middle of the night. It could be worse, you could have a migraine. You could be retching uncontrollably and have to go to the ER. She took the honey bear out of the cabinet and squirted some into her mug. The milk seemed ready. She poured it on hope of the honey and noted that scum had indeed plopped into her mug. She stirred and tried to fish out the scum but to no avail. It was in there somewhere and she would find it as she sipped and the stringy grossness stuck to her lips.

She went back to bed even though she wasn't sleepy. She wasn't supposed to engage her mind in the night. No reading, no crosswords, no list making, just counting. She climbed into bed carefully scooting her feet around Cleopatre who was sleeping in a blissful oblivion to Celeste's wakeful state. There was enough light coming in around the shades of her window so she could see. The parking lot lights were bright. She blew on the milk to cool it a bit. She had burned her tongue a few nights ago which had made it harder to fall back to sleep. She took a sip and sure enough the scum made a disgusting bridge from her lips to the edge of the mug. She tried to grab it but where to put it? She didn't want to get up and trudge back to the kitchen so she made a face and ate it.

"Tomorrow," she thought, "well actually today I better go to practice as there is only one more before Nationals. I want to cheer them on before they leave."

It was bittersweet whenever she went to the gym. Not as bad as it once was, she used to cry after she went. She missed playing that much.

"Can't risk anymore head injuries." she told her teammates whenever someone asked when she'd be back in goal.

"Once I'm done with neurological rehabilitation and my energy improves I will be a no concussion risk sport athlete." It had already been three and a half years, the concept of playing tennis still seemed way out on the horizon.

She finished the milk, set down the mug on the stack of books next to her bed, nestled her stuffed penguin under her chin and cuddled into her pillow. 1,2,3....

Her cellphone alarm woke her to take her morning medications, notice how tired she felt, reset the alarm for another hour and a half and promptly fell back asleep. The freaky early morning nightmares were exhausting as though she had really been awake in all the action the whole time.

"Why do I fall back asleep so easily at 9am and not at 4am?" she asked her MD. It seemed to be a kind of Zen koan. He knew other medications gave people these vivid, strange dreams, but not what he had prescribed for her now.

"I guess it doesn't really matter. It takes me a long time to fall asleep and a long time to wake up. Maybe that's just my brain having a hard time still with transitions." she thought to herself while sipping her second cup of tea at 11:15am. Seems the rest of the world has been up and at 'em getting ready for their lunch soon. She reminded herself not to compare herself to others.

"You have to go at your own pace. It's not a race. And you will have the consequences if you do not respect your limits." the doctor had said at her last appointment after she ranted her frustrations of being a prisoner in her body.

Why couldn't she just accept everything just as it was? Sometimes she wondered could giving up the struggle earlier realizing it did no good and wouldn't she rather be at peace than complain?

One day she had looked straight at Cleopatre and said, "Cleopatre, how do you stand living with me? All I do is complain? I can't even stand to hear me anymore!" Cleopatre yawned a full cat yawn complete with unfurling her tongue and twitching her whiskers.

"Thank God you don't really know what I'm saying. You would leave me for that hot alley Tom in a heartbeat." Celeste put some cat treats in Cleopatre's dish to appease her guilt. Then she read from her daily Zen book, finished her tea and texted Elixabete.

C{will you b @ practice 2nite?}

Elixabete was also a handball goalie but she had never been a soccer goalie so she didn't have to unlearn those habits. They had grown to be friends surviving goalie practice, comparing bruises and screaming for each other with every penalty shot saved or just a good save. The odds are really stacked against a handball goalkeeper. This had been particularly challenging for Celeste to overcome psychologically, she was used to far fewer goals scored against her in soccer. It felt very humiliating.

"I suck at this." she had bemoaned to the German goalkeeper who first gave her advice. He shrugged his shoulders, he had never been a soccer goalie. Most of his life he had been in goal and was here taking some finance courses. Celeste loved to tell the story of the first time she was in goal. She wished she could do an East German accent for the full effect.

"First," he said, "don't be afraid." Celeste thought, yeah well if you are afraid of the ball you shouldn't be a goalie. Oh how naive she had been. It was much easier to predict how a shot would come off a foot than being released from the end of the shoulder with all that range of motion. And these players were a lot closer than the average soccer shot- a LOT closer. Sure the goal was smaller but this game was fast. Which made it very exciting, which made it all the more gratifying when you did make a save. And so it didn't take too long before Celeste was hooked. She had never felt this alive as when she was a handball goalkeeper. So of course she missed it, all that fun adrenaline. She had read that a famous soccer pro said that retiring from professional sports was like coming off heroin. Celeste was grateful she had never tried drugs and hence no danger of addiction. She hadn't been a pro but she sure understood missing the highs of improving and competing.

Elixabete {yep. u coming?}

Celeste {thinking about it. depends on the day}

Elixabete {Awesome! Hope 2 c u! ciao ciao}

That put a smile on Celeste's face.

"Yeah, I've got to go tonight and give everyone hugs." turning to Cleopatre,

"Okay Cleopatre, let's plan this day of mine. Going backwards, tonight practice, rest and eat before practice. Bring tea and ear plugs to gym. Laundry, must do, out of underwear. Balance checking account and watch Bundesligia handball, if there are any games on today."

Cleopatre looked over from the end of Celeste's bed and meowed a rather demanding meow. Celeste looked up from her to do list draft.

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, right, we are out of cat treats. But I won't be able to do all that today and have energy to go to practice tonight. I'll cut you a deal, I'll look in the cabinet for an errant can of tuna. How does that sound?" Celeste brought her voice up a half octave to make it sound more enticing. Cleopatre had her morning bath, licking her front paw and swiping behind her ears.

"Guess that is an affirmative." Celeste said. Her cellphone rang, The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" She peered to see the caller, it was the CVS pharmacy. She let it go to voicemail. Just another prescription ready on auto refill, she presumed. Pretty depressing when the most frequent calls are related to your medical conditions. Insurance company, doctor's appointments, prescriptions and referral requests consumed most of her allotted minutes. Most friends texted to check in but she missed their voices. No, she really missed them. In person. With the time difference in Europe, she turned on her laptop and went straight to HB Bundesliga.

"Yeehaw!" she exclaimed as there were many games today including a rematch of Athletico Madrid and Barcelona Intersport for men and Metz vs. Holstebro for women. She got up from her desk and went into the kitchen. Cleopatre followed, ready to make due on the deal. She plugged in the electric kettle, scooped 2 teaspoons of #211 into the tea leave basket and nestled it into the top of the teapot. Pouring oatmeal into a bowl, sprinkling a serious dose of cinnamon on top and a half a chopped Granny Smith apple, breakfast was almost ready. Cleopatre meowed and rubbed her legs.

"Just a minute. I'll check for tuna after I go pee." As she washed her hands she caught sight of her hair.

"Shower" she said to her reflection, "add that to the list and subtract something else." She wondered who's idea it was to have bathroom mirrors always functional? Could they have a timer or something so it would look like a two way mirror or just dim out until after the morning caffeine was circulating? Cleopatre was right outside the bathroom door, clawing underneath the bottom edge to see if she could get it to swing open.

"Wow, you are persistent this morning." She heard the kettle shut itself off as she approached the pantry. She scrounged around while Cleopatre sat next to her feet, flicking her tail with impatience.

"Don't give me that tail sass, I'm sure I've got something in here." Celeste muttered. She was having to go all the way back to the canned goods and there it was. Not tuna. But something that sounded disgusting to Celeste could possibly be a delicacy for her devoted feline. It had been in her cabinet for over a year, almost a year and a half. It was from the previous year's Yankee Swap handball holiday party. One of the French had brought it. Goose something or other. She looked at the label. No surprise all French. She turned the can around to see if she could find an English translation in tiny print on the back. No such luck.

"Well, Cleopatre. It's 86 on the tuna but I have here some fancy schmancy French goose or duck something. Apparently all the rage for the bourgeois chats du Paris." She laughed to herself but then abruptly stopped as she had gotten the can opener and now was a bit hesitant to see what actually was inside the tin. Cleopatre was pacing back and forth in front of her food dish.

"Oh God, what if it smells absolutely disgusting? Or looks absolutely disgusting? I don't really know what IS in there, Cleopatre." Celeste said as she held up the can to the window light as if it were a jar. As if she could inspect before releasing toxic decadent French fumes into her humble, American abode.

"This is a time for Google if there ever was!" she declared leaving the kitchen. Cleopatre remained waiting with cat exasperation by her dish. Celeste entered what seemed to be the identifying words into Google Translate and waited. DUCK FEET was the answer.

"Oh God!" Celeste shrieked. "That can't really be it, can it?" Her eyes opened wide as she Googled French duck feet recipes. She clicked on frozen duck feet, French duck feet and was led to an international selection of what appeared to be lots of duck feet from the UK, South Korea, Poland, Ireland, Turkey and yes, indeed, France. She scrolled down as her face evolved various grimaces at the various display positions of these feet, without feathers or anything to make them less outrageously creepy. There was a Romanian chicken foot splayed open like an alien hand, three fingers and a thumb.

"Gross, GROSS, oh God, how disgusting!" she flipped down the laptop and jumped back as if they would soon be attacking her, all those amputated feet marching off the screen, just waiting for this very moment to scratch her eyes out. By now Cleopatre had left the kitchen and was sitting in the bedroom doorway watching Celeste wiggle and shutter in her desk chair while continuing to rant.

"Eeww, disgusting! Oh God, oh God, OH God, thank God I didn't open that, that...." she shuttered again. Just as she was calming down she suddenly remembered the can on the corner of her desk.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she jumped up, grabbed the can, ran past Cleopatre, out the apartment door and then the building door, straight out to the trash can shed. She fiddled with the latch, it needed WD40 badly. She was hopping as if on hot coals. Finally it let loose, the doors opened spontaneously and she threw the can into the farthest open trash can, slammed and locked the doors as if she'd just detonated a grenade. She leaned on the doors and caught her breath.

"Deep breath in, deep breath out." she repeated to herself and after a few cycles she was noticeably calmer. She walked back to the apartment building door, reached in her pocket for the key and then, "Oh, shit!" followed by grabbing at the doorknob.

"No, no, no please NO!" she had definitely done it. Locked herself out because of what? Yes, repulsive duck feet. She had indeed locked herself out because of FRENCH duck feet, no less. No one would believe her. She sat on a parking lot cement marker to review her current options. In her rush of disgust, she had not brought her phone with her either. Her friendly neighbor from Minnesota was defending her thesis that day and would not be back home for hours. She didn't remember the landlord's cell number and he would be busy teaching at the university anyway. She didn't want to admit it but her last option was the cranky old lady down the hall, who's TV was so loud, Celeste was concerned she would not hear the doorbell. She contemplated knocking on the lady's window with a stick but what if that freaked her out, causing a heart attack? No, she would just have to try the bell and hope for the best. Although this was giving an invitation for the elder to give another lecture about how the elderly are thrown to the wayside. The sick, the poor, the children all grossly neglected by society and in this day and age people should be MORE civilized, not less.

"Natural consequences." Celeste muttered her mother's words, ringing in her ears.

"Yeah, yah, I know. I KNOW!" she shook her head and walked around to the front of the building, up the stairs and began to open the vestibule door. Thinking better of it, she turned around and sat on the park bench that she usually passed on her way in and out.

"Maybe that guy on the third floor will have a nicotine crash and come out to smoke and I can just grab the door before he leaves." she pondered. Feeling relief to possibly avoid a geriatric rant, she felt confident in the nicotine addiction. So she sat, waiting for a burning craving to kick in to spare her a close encounter of the cranky, elderly kind.

"She's probably really lonely. I shouldn't be like this. Again her mother's voice piped in commentary.

"Yeah Mom, I know. Then she should get a cat or gerbil or plant to keep her company." she retorted, getting crabby herself. She hadn't had her oatmeal or even a sip of tea! How could she have gotten so distracted by duck's feet? She berated herself for not having breakfast before locking herself out.

"I should have written that on my to do list." she muttered and recrossed her legs, bouncing a foot in agitation.

"Come on dude! Don't you need your chemical fix already?" she whined. Then she scared herself. "What if he quit yesterday? Or this morning! He had his last cigarette with his coffee and then of all my luck he's quit! Cold turkey. Just like that!"

"You should be proud and happy for him." she heard her mother chime.

"Oh God, would you shut up already!" Celeste mumbled under her breath in case someone could hear her arguing with herself.

"OK, I will wait for what feels like forever, which will in reality be about another minute and pray like crazy that somebody is coming home from being out partying all night. No walk of shame necessary, just come home! And let me in." She started counting and watching some very tiny ants go in and out of a crack in the cement stairs.

"How does anything that small survive?" she wondered. Then as grief is known to do, she was hit by a wave of sadness from seemingly out of nowhere.

"Oh, Grace, I miss you so much."

o o o o o

Marguerite had meant to get straight on the dream interpretation but she forgot that she had signed up for a pottery workshop that weekend. She wanted to prepare for it by doing a little research and perhaps read a book or two for beginners. She had no comprehension of time. Many would be jealous for she routinely became so absorbed in what she was doing that she would be genuinely startled by an interrupting phone call or if a patron got tired of waiting and would break her concentration with "Excuse me? Umm, I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course." she would reply as it she had just stepped off a plane from Tahiti that very moment. It was just that she was sincerely interested in just about anything. Which of course was a bonus for a reference librarian. Once Celeste had asked her how on earth she could tolerate so many random questions. Marguerite had never thought of it that way. Yes, the questions were varied all day long but that was what was so interesting. She was always learning something new that she knew nothing about. Celeste had pressed her further, "But don't you feel uncomfortable with all that?"

"Uncomfortable with all what?"

"All that stuff people want you to know?"

"Oh, well I don't expect myself to know everything, I just expect myself to try my best to get an answer from the resources at my disposal." Marguerite calmly explained.

"That would drive me crazy, all that pressure. I would feel like I was on Jeopardy every day, forever." Celeste's voice sounded a little panicked.

"It all feels like little mysteries waiting to be solved and all these people come to me to help them hunt down the answer or at least get them in the direction they want to go." Marguerite sounded excited at the prospect.

"Hmmm, like a detective, sort of." Celeste pondered.

"Because I never know what the questions will be, I'm never bored and I learn a lot!"

"Alright, Miss Erudite, better you than me, that's all I'm saying." Celeste shrugged.

Marguerite was the only one in her group of nerdy high school friends who got a definitive appropriate answer from the career questionnaires. Librarian-Reference was number one and she had pursued it diligently getting a Master's in Library Science. She even loved the sound of it, Library Sciences. Whenever she traveled she made a habit to stop in the local library. You could tell a lot about a place based on the condition of the public library. She really loved it when over the entrance it was etched in stone, Blah, blah Town Free Library. A FREE library! As much as Carnegie may have been a jerk about somethings, he was the benevolent funder of public libraries across America. Secretly Marguerite and a few of the other librarians would have a cake together on his birthday, Nov. 25, unless it fell on Thanksgiving and the library was closed. Whenever that happened they would celebrate on the following Thursday to give a few days after the Turkey day indulgences to settle. They would take turns making a mocha buttercream chocolate cake or chocolate brownie cheesecake or equivalent decadence. One year someone forgot and they went out to the famous bakery in Inman Square, only to be terribly disappointed by stale cake and refrigerator stiff frosting. The real kick in the pants was how much they had paid for famous yet terrible cake.

o o o o o

Celeste realized she was obsessed with the tea set. She made up countless pro/con lists. Berated herself for not getting over it. A little girl's tea set, Alice in Wonderland classic, true, but nonetheless, a little girl's tea set.

"What is it that we are ultimately wanting with ANYTHING?" Celeste asked Penelope once. They were known to have conversations regarding the psychology or sociology of people's decisions.

"Mostly we think it will give us something we don't have. Not the literal thing, something much bigger, much deeper. I don't think most people are remotely conscious what that "It" is. Perhaps it is deemed a transformational magical thing? It sounds too ridiculous to say 'If I get X,Y,Z, I will finally be happy.' Nothing except penises are that simple."

Celeste was caught off guard, having just taken a sip of iced tea, she laughed uncontrollably, spraying tea over her cookies, the serving plate and Penelope's plate. Once recovered, Celeste said,

"Oh God Penelope! Sorry about that but jeez, couldn't you warn me before you say something like that?"

"Hey, did it go up your nose? Remember having sleepovers as a kid and how Dr. Pepper would burn so badly laughing it up your nose? I kinda miss that." she said longingly.

"Penelope you are one quirky chick." Celeste sighed.

"Oh please, what's wrong with a little shock factor. Have a little fun with language! Sometimes I have to refresh Marc's little gray cells. 'Hon,' I tell him, 'that was something you initially found absolutely irresistible about me. You can't have it both ways, now that you are my husband, now you will have to learn to love me. Before it spontaneously poured forth!"

"Perhaps after the thrill of the chase is gone, it's a whole new game." Celeste offered.

"You the new Dr. Phil in town?" Penelope bit into a fresh, non-soggy cookie.

"No, but lately I've been thinking about it. That concept, of the thrill of the chase and once a girl puts out-"

"She's fucked." Penelope finished her sentence. Celeste laughed but luckily no tea spray this time.

"Well, since you put it that way. Kinda. Yeah."

"Listen," Penelope leaned forward for another cookie which gave added emphasis, coming closer to Celeste. "remember, that guy--what was his name? Something French or Spanish, I forget. Well, let's just call him X. I remember laying on his bed whiled he was in the bathroom after we had sex. I lay there and lay there. The longer I lay there, by myself on the bed, clothes across the room, I eventually realized he wasn't coming back. He was done. And just after that realization I had the revelation 'OMG, I've just been fucked again!" She paused and took a sip of tea.

"Here's the deal, as a different ex once confessed to me, 'Some men are born with penises and some penises are born to men.' If a woman has any chance to make love with a man, he has to have fallen in love with her to the degree that her pleasure is actually equal or more fulfilling to his own."

"Whoa, whoa, back up a second. What was the men and penises thing? All men have a penis. I don't get it." Celeste blushed.

Penelope chuckled.

"Yeah, I was confused at first too until he substituted the word 'dick'. Then it all made sense."

Celeste was mouthing the phrase along with Penelope as if she were a Brownie reciting a new Girl Scout creed.

"Some men are born with dicks and some dicks are born to men. Basically men either have dicks or they are dicks. Get it? Penelope's eyebrows were up, encouraging Celeste to be honest. This was important stuff, she wanted to be sure she really understood. Much simpler than a 200 page self-help book, one sentence summary covered it.

"Oooh, I get it now." She was quiet and then asked, "ok, and this connects to that guy X, he was just a dick?"

"BINGO! Woohoo, you win the prize! And do you know what the prize is?" Penelope's eyes grew huge and the smile on her face was beyond a smirk.

"No Penelope, no I don't know what the prize is. Hopefully a secret, special gadget, a dickmeter? So I don't get fucked anymore? Maybe?" Celeste rolled her eyes and Cleopatre jumped into her lap.

"Geez Celeste, do I have to spell out everything?" Penelope teased.

"Yes, you do. That's why I have a friend like you. A man interpreter or undercover informant." Celeste countered.

"If you want to be made love to, the guy has to be in love with you. He has to have had a chance to get to know you, for a man to be in love with you. A dick will move on pretty quickly if it doesn't get some. He's not interested, in fact, probably not even capable of what women consider love, not teenage Hello Kitty love but Rumi love. Because as ANOTHER ex informed me about his erection, 'see no brain involved.' He had just been sleeping. A penis doing it's penis thing." Penelope raised her arms in the air, with a "what can you do?" expression on her face.

Celeste was now crying she was laughing so hard.

"Stop, stop! I have to pee!" she shouted heading to the bathroom.

"It is what it is!" Penelope shouted after her, the bathroom door closing. She poured herself some more tea.

"This is what they should teach in middle school health class. The real facts of life."

o o o o o

Elixabete had always had men after her unfortunately she wasn't very happy with her pied piper roll, so many rats following her. It was pretty disgusting when she was a teenager, grown men desperate for her attention. She was one of those people who always appeared older than she was due to her stunning features and air of sophistication. It came naturally to her, no effort, she was born comfortable with herself, her body, her aspirations. Many a psychologist would have loved to dissect her personality. Perhaps it was growing up in Axe-In-Provence, perhaps it was her mother's role modeling, perhaps it was her father's pure love and tenderness towards his wife, daughters, mother and aunts. Perhaps it was just karma or none of this. Whatever her aura of self confidence and feminine mystique was, it was a phenomenon. She rendered many a man a fool of himself. So spellbound they would have been embarrassed if they could see themselves with perspective.

The last time the four friends had gotten together it was Penelope's birthday. They gathered at Celeste's for take away Thai, champagne and birthday cake before going out dancing.

Elixabete had been reporting on her recent dating dramas. "There is just no challenge! They act like dogs, panting and looking at you with these wide gaga eyes, ready to hump your leg, they are so worked up. I want some intrigue, some mental challenge, some...I want...I want a monogamous James Bond!"

The women spontaneously cheered and raised their glasses. "To a monogamous James Bond for all!" They toasted. Elizabete continued, "The lawyer was intelligent, no doubt, wealthy, obviously--who in America drives an Aston Martin? But..."

"But he was too all in?" Penelope interjected. She went on as if she were reading a text from him on Elix's phone. "Hey, Elix, it was so great to see you. Thank you for coming by for coffee. Hope you have a great week-end and that I see you very soon." She pretended to put down a phone on the table. Elixabete clapped, laughed and pointed to Penelope in confirmation. After she swallowed her piece of shrimp, she said,

"Yes, Yes! He did say essentially exactly that! OMG, how sad, so predictable. So pathetic."

Marguerite quietly said, "Well, I would be flattered to receive a message like that."

"No hard feelings but you are an American librarian. You work in a church of books. I am a French woman. His text sounded like drooling. How do you call it, the kind with short legs and long ears that touch the ground?"

"Bassett hound." offered the librarian.

"Yes that's it. And by the way, he is too short. A man to be a man, needs to be full grown. If they are only a few inches taller than me, they aren't done yet, a perpetual boy or even worse a Napoleon!" Elixabete took a sip of champagne.

Penelope nodded. It had been challenging for her as she was tall and usually did look down on the average male. She was thrilled when she realized Marc was truly interested in her. He was an easy 6 inches taller. She appreciated being able to put her head into the nook of his shoulder and feel his arm around her. To look up to him, nestle into him, was it biological this desire?

"What about you Celeste? How are you doing these days. You've been awfully quiet tonight." Penelope asked.

"Oh, I'm okay. Still dealing with brain issues." She was getting fatigued exponentially to the time. She suggested cake to move the evening along. After singing in various languages and gift opening, they settled back into the furniture, sipping one last glass of champagne. The room was quiet but for the wind up clock ticking and dryer in the basement below.

"I think a monogamous James Bond is impossible. He's fictional anyway. What I want is a real man. Hmmm..." she contemplated the full moon outside the window. "Cantona!" she said with conviction.

"You want a what? I mean who?" Penelope asked.

"Cantona, Eric Cantona, most likely. Originally from Marseille, France, who went on to be a famous soccer (footballer) for Manchester United." Marguerite casually recited from memory.

"Zut! Marguerite! Yes, that's him. That's fantastic. How did you know?"

"I'm a librarian." she responded calmly.

"Oh, right, well, you do your job well then." Elixbete recovered any hint of embarrassment. She went on. "He went on to acting and played a French diplomat in Elizabeth, with Cate Blanchette. Has anyone seen his more recent film? "Looking for Eric"?" she asked eagerly.

Everyone shook their heads no.

"Mon Dieu, it's fantastic. We should watch it together some night. I first got it from the library," she smiles at Marguerite, "then I bought it online as it wasn't sold locally as a foreign film, British/French collaboration. I don't want to spoil it for you. Sincerely, it's awesome."

"He was infamous for literally karate kicking a fan at a match and was on probation for awhile." Marguerite added.

"Is he a keeper?" Celeste asked.

"No,actually his father was. Maybe even a goalie coach. I would probably stalk him if he were a GK." Elixabete laughed and then pressed for a date they could meet next. That had been four months ago.

Elixabete was back from nationals. It was obvious early on that the team wasn't doing well, she hadn't texted anything after the first day of competition. They would have had three games the first day. Celeste didn't want to make it worse by asking for an update so she waited. Elixabete had broken her pinky finger in the last game of regular season three months ago. It officially should be healed but she had kept practicing, taping it to her ring finger and so it was still swollen and painful after practice. The team was bringing a back up goalie but clearly Elix was the first string with injuries. By the afternoon of the second day Celeste's curiosity was too great. She tried to follow the federation website but no one was making it easy to track and she didn't want to deal with Twitter.

{Hey babe, how's it going?} she texted. There was no immediate response. They could still be competing or cheering for the men's team. At 10pm Celeste got her answer.

{Sucks. Don't ask}

Celeste felt badly as it was a long, expensive trip from Boston to Las Vegas. She had no desire to go to Las Vegas or Disneyland, which seemed to surprise many people.

"They both seem so weird to me, creepy fantasy and creepy debauchery. Why not go to an awesome Caribbean island for a week?" She just didn't understand the appeal and didn't understand why people didn't understand why she didn't want to go there. As for gambling, she remembered her college statistics professor, it's hard enough earning our money, why throw it to the lottery or the casino house. She also had not had a TV since it went digital so she was living outside her culture.

o o o o o

"How did the men do?" Celeste knew enough not to ask for any details about the women's team. No need to make a goalkeeper relive misery. They sat down with coffees and waited for the panini to toasted. It was always easiest to go to Lyndell's. They had parking. That saved a lot of discussion and hassle as well as transportation time not having to circle like sharks for a spot. Celeste took a bite of her chocolate croissant. Not bad she thought. She knew well enough to keep it to herself and not comment to a native Frenchie.

Elixabete sipped her cappachino and raised her eyebrows. They did worse than we expected but at least they won a few games. Celeste was quiet until she said Wow, that's a long way to travel. Was the competition that tough? Were people dehydrated and jet lagged? Or just not clicking? What happened? She finally confronted.

A combination of things I think, replied Elixabete. One team's goalie was just on fire. She literally saved her team. We just couldn't score on her or we would lose the ball. They have the fast break down, their goalie had an awesome throw, timing was perfect. It was beautiful and disgusting all at the same time. Celeste laughed. She had never perfected the long throw timing no matter how many times they practiced. It was really tricky to get the ball just where your wing was sprinting to the goal.

"You're good at throwing long passes." Celeste offered.

"Ha, well, thanks but the wings have to catch and score for it to be worth anything."

"I've been watching a fair amount of Bundesliga and it does look magical when the GK rifles a pass and the wing doesn't even break stride, 3 steps, kempa and GOAL! They make it look so easy."

"Hey do you smell something burning?" Elixabete looked over toward the ovens.

"Probably just your panini." Celeste said.

"Oh, yeah, zut! My panini!" She went over to the counter staff and sure enough it was her forgotten sandwich. Celeste watched the body language tell the story. Man apologizing profusely to beautiful foreigner, while she gestured everything was fine. He was trying to give her money back but she just waved it off.

Celeste could have easily eaten another chocolate croissant but she had gained twenty pounds in the past year. She felt alien in her now Rubenesque body.

"He wants to give my money back. It was my panini smoldering."

"Yeah I watched the mini soap opera from here. Get a pastry then, on the house, give him something to give you if you aren't going to take the money."

"These things happen, I'm going to get another one. Why shouldn't I pay for it?" Celeste suggested the sweets compromise and changed the subject. Any hotties after you at Nationals? She smiled and then swiped her finger along the inside of the cup and licked the foam off her finger.

"There were a few but I was in such a bad mood from handball, I couldn't deal with men too." Elixabete's panini was done. She returned to the table with it and a Red Velvet cupcake. Good suggestion. Have some. She pushed the cupcake towards Celeste.

"No more for me. I'm round enough my sassy friend. But wasn't there someone who seemed intriguing to you?"

"Yeah, there was one. But he didn't give me the time of day. Boys 101: you have to wait for them to hunt you. It's in our DNA for the past millennia, sad for the feminists but biology is biology.

"Oh come, you can't be serious. There are articles all the time about men who find it refreshing to be approached by a woman."

Elizabete blew on gooey cheese. Think about it. Have you or anyone you know been successful at approaching a male initially? To have anything more than just sex? Just to be clear, having sex is not a relationship.

Confirmed. Nodded Celeste. Let me think about it, I guess not. I don't know anyone who is in a real relationship where the female started it off.

"Too risky. Think about it, they figure if she was bold enough to approach him, who's to say she won't spit him out like watermelon seeds and move on to the next guy that catches her eye. Nope, a man wants to be the only one in the relationship with balls. Facts of life whether we like it or not."

Celeste started counting on her fingers, running through her list of male encounters & relationships. Making mental notes with this new information.

"This is pretty good. You should try it. What are you doing? Elixabete said.

"Going through and seeing if your theory holds up to my list."

"What list? What are you talking about?" Elixabete took another bite after wiping off the two inch thick frosting. "This is why Americans are so fat! Look at this, the frosting is as tall as the cake. Too much, much too much frosting." She shook her head in dismay.

Celeste went back to counting on her fingers and flopping back in her seat she dropped her hands in her lap. "Wow, I think you are right. At least your theory holds with my life experience. I'm going to ask others, see what they say. A little sociology survey. Damn, here I thought I was being so independent and confident going after some guys and all along Mother Nature was laughing."

Elizabete folded up the cupcake wrapper, the used napkins and sandwich paper into a compact unit ready for disposal. "No drama please, it is what it is. Might as well save your hunting energy for fresh batteries until a man starts hunting you. Ready for H&M?"

o o o o o

Celeste and Marguerite first met at the Cambridge Adult Education Knitting 101 class. Someone had suggested to Celeste that knitting was helpful for dealing with grief. It really hit her the year after Grace died, after the one year anniversary. She was gone and never coming back. It was beyond too painful. She had knit a little with her grandmother when she was in middle school but she would need a class to feel confident to try again after so many years. Besides it would be good to get out of the apartment one night a week instead of working late. There was really somewhere to be. Marguerite had never knit. She admired what a few of the librarians had made. There was a librarian stitch and bitch but she didn't feel comfortable being a brand new knitter there. A few had offered to teach her but she didn't know why she didn't want to learn from them. She signed up for a nearby class preferring to be new in a group of strangers.

Celeste and Marguerite sat next to each other the first night and struck up a friendship right away. Celeste caught on again quickly and helped Marguerite when she was stuck. After the third class, Celeste invited Marguerite to the local stitch salon, Pints & Purls night. They had made scarves for themselves, Christmas gifts and for the Red Scarf Project. Now they were ready to tackle something more structural, a hat. Flipping through pages of patterns while sipping lavender lemonade and nibbling chocolate croissants from dwelltime, they were overwhelmed with the many choices. Virginia, the owner of Gather Here, greeted them in her Midwestern friendliness. Celeste was quick to notice when she first started frequenting the store, to sit and knit on the sofa.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"Iowa." Virginia said.

"Ha! I knew it! Another Midwesterner, you are too friendly to be from here." Celeste looked side to side to see if anyone showed signs of being offended by her comment.

"We get a lot of Midwesterners in here and the exotic mix of internationals what with MIT and Harvard in the neighborhood."

Celeste smiled. "I'm from Wisconsin, Madison. I've discovered that if a stranger is willing to chat here there is a 98% chance they are from the Midwest. It's as if the locals are afraid you're going to try to sell them insurance when all you've said is 'Good morning.' while passing them on the sidewalk. Well, no wonder it feels so homey here."

"I don't know what to choose. I just want it to be doable and turn out correctly." Marguerite said with another binder of patterns in her lap.

"You'll be fine, besides you can always get help from me, here or at work. And as long as you don't choose mohair, you can easily rip it out and start over. Yarn is very forgiving." Celeste encouraged.

"Virginia, what can you recommend for an easy hat pattern?" Marguerite asked. She came over and pulled three patterns from the binder.

"These are all excellent."

And that was a few years ago. Since then they each made a baby sweater for a relative and graduated to making a sweater for themselves. Celeste agreed with whomever suggested that knitting was helpful for grief. It was soothing to her broken heart to make the repetitive loops interconnect into something that could keep her neck warm. It was meditative, giving her something outside of herself to focus on yet not overwhelm her state of fragile sadness. Sometimes she would even talk to Grace while she was knitting, telling her how much she missed her and also how grateful she was to have had such a friend. "I'm sure many people never have such a treasure in their lifetime." she said to Cleopatre.

o o o o o

Penelope and Elixabete met randomly as well but not at anything as domestic as learning to knit. They happened to be seat at adjacent tables at a speed dating event. Elixabete had gone not because she needed a date but out of sheer curiosity for this American dating method she heard about while living in France.

Penelope had gone as a dare to win $100 from a co-worker, who was too chicken to go herself. Penelope was game, an easy Ben Franklin. She negotiated her coworker to pay the participation fee as well. It was a no brainer, free money, free drinks and appetizers just to talk to 8 men. She was optimistic that perhaps there would be someone hot, intelligent and witty.

Before the first mini-date began, Penelope leaned over to Elixabete and asked, "You ever done this before? Got any tips?"

Elixabete replied that she was from France and couldn't believe that Americans actually did this. Didn't they know how to go out for coffee?

Penelope laughed. She had traveled a lot for work and growing up a diplomat's daughter.

"American's have coffee in their cars, on the train or even while walking to work. They don't think to have coffee with someone as a social event."

The men sat down across from them and the timekeeper hollered, "Go!"

It became obvious very quickly that the women were significantly more attractive than the men. Some of the men were painfully shy and others were smooth as a salesman on an elevator.

After the second "date", Penelope said she hadn't consumed enough alcohol to do this and asked Elixabete how she was doing.

"I don't understand American men. They dress like boys. Did you see the cappie and the other with a Patriots t-shirt and basketball shoes? More alcohol would help to a certain point. Nothing will help some of them I'm afraid they will never become men." Penelope laughed. The Europeans wore ironed button down shirts, dark jeans or slacks with non-athletic shoes. Quite the sharp contrast. Just then a new batch was up to bat and the clock was ticking. They stumbled over her name, Elixabete, after correcting each of them twice she gave up and left it at Elizabeth. They wanted to know where her sexy accent was from. No one knew where Grenoble was so she switched to France for the last three dates. At least they had all heard of France but she didn't dare ask if they knew where that was.

Penelope asked three questions which luckily used up most if not all of the time-her tactic to avoid talking much herself. She asked about their favorite sports teams and if they had ever gone to a game. Then, if they could have any car they wanted, what would it be, year, make and model. If any extra time, she would ask what celebrities they found most attractive. The guys were so caught up in sports, dream cars and babes that they would jump to the "Stop" announcement. She would smile and give a little tah-tah wave and think about her next free pedicures or massage.

Penelope offered her business card to Elixabete and suggested they meet for coffee sometime.

o o o o o

Marguerite forgot her lunch. She hated when she did that especially when it was a lunch she was looking forward to eating. It would keep until tomorrow. Her mixed greens, dried cranberries, walnuts and chevre salad with pain d'avignon parmesan toasts and a new Cardullo's discovery-lavender chocolate from Belgium. She didn't want to eat from the library vending machines so she went out to see what $5 could get her at the Broadway Market. The walk sign was on so she crossed right in front of the library and proceeded down the sidewalk towards the market. There were 15-20 construction workers sitting side by side along the low stone wall at the sidewalk's edge, consuming their lunches from coolers at their feet. As she walked past, in those twenty steps she felt stripped and dipped, swirled and twirled, slapped and smacked, kicked and licked, screwed and tripped, frisked and kissed, grasped and let past. She could feel the heaviness of her breasts, the curves of her hips, the line of her legs, the length of her hair, her only cover her sunglasses, for her clothes felt transparent. She kept her eyes riveted on the sidewalk ahead of her, they got only the left side of her face.

By the time she had gotten into the store she was flushed and wanted to go home for the day. She felt sick to her stomach and her heartbeat was still elevated and pounding in her ears. She found some Greek yogurt, a Granny Smith apple and a Payday candy bar. She treated herself to a Dr. Pepper going over the spending limit, rationalizing her need for soothing after the humiliation. She sat inside at the cafe table by the window and texted Celeste to see if she wanted company after she finished work. With every bite her stomach felt heavier and more queasy. She saved the Payday for later.

C{Sure! See you after work-lets get pizza}

Seeing Celeste's enthusiastic unknowing text made her want to cry. She hated whenever women were objectified by men and this mass objectification was unraveling her. It reminded her of the older boys who stole her books and teased her for getting good grades in school, on the bus ride when they were the last four left- two brothers, a neighbor and herself. She wanted to disappear and learned to make herself feel invisible. But the males kept seeing her, degrading her regularly. What was she to do? Tell her parents? No one was around to prevent the harassment and what if it made things worse? So like many females, she pretended they didn't exist, ignoring them the best she could, but it was real. It was happening. Losing track of time by the past haunts, she jumped up, tossed her trash keeping what she could recycle at home and braved the outdoors. She crossed the street in case the lunch bunch of feasting eyes wasn't finished, cut through the playground and slipped into the library vowing to put her lunch on the doorknob of her apartment as a new safety habit.

She went to the ladies room and splashed cool water on her face and washed her hands. At least this afternoon she would be on the reference desk, on the second floor so she would feel protected from the outside world for a few hours.

Celeste decided to make some gingerbread for Marguerite to have with her tea as she had liked it so much the last time. "Jeez, Cleopatre, we have almost gone through this large jar of molasses!" Cleopatre rubbed her calves and jumped onto the kitchen chair. Celeste had a little energy so she put on Pandora to the handball team club dancing collection and started moving to the music. She still couldn't turn quickly or spin without getting extremely dizzy. It made her heart happy hearing the old times so deeply associated with road trips and handball parties. By the time she got it in the oven, she had spent all her energy. She piled the dishes to soak in the sink, poured herself some iced tea and walked back to her bedroom. She closed the blinds and could feel her brain sigh in gratitude. She took a few gulps of tea with her afternoon vitamins and collapsed on her bed. Cleopatre followed and curled up at the foot of the bed, happy for a spontaneous nap time. Celeste leaned over and set her phone alarm for an hour. She closed her eyes and watcher her brain zoom around full of thoughts and ideas of everything but sleeping. She remembered how she used to power nap after lunch in her car and wake so refreshed in just 10 minutes. It seemed unfathomable now. How could her brain have completely lost that ability? She understood what they meant by saying sleep disturbance. It was extremely disturbing that she couldn't sleep normally anymore. Weren't the other symptoms enough to have to deal with? There was no mercy with mild TBI-a God forsaken place.

"Well, Cleopatre, you sleep and I will lie here and rest. Maybe today will be the day that I fall asleep for an actual nap." Cleopatre flicked her tail to cheer her on and twitching whiskers proved she was into kitty slumber.

It had been a quiet afternoon in reference. She completed some research requests for online articles and with no pressing library tasks she went online to review the upcoming long week-end writing retreat with Natalie Goldberg at Kripalu in Western Massachusetts. She had been there once years ago on a relaxation retreat after her grandmother had died. She had already read everything Natalie had published and was a year into doing her prescribed writing practice. She had always dreamed of writing a novel- isn't that a requirement fantasy of all librarians? The week-end was going to be a big deal. She already knew some of the format. They would be given a subject and ten minutes to write about it and then everyone would share what they wrote- ALOUD. For the first time ever, everyone would hear what she had written. She was a bit terrified of this. But she knew this was how Nat had been doing workshops for years and she would just have to buck up and join in.

o o o o o

Celeste had wandered into Cardullo's. She knew it was dangerous to her budget and her waistline but she knew she'd find something to give as graduation gifts for a few teammates wrapping up their time at MIT and in Boston. Commencement was a little over a week away. Harvard's was any day as she maneuvered around dollies of folding chairs, graduates and family photo sessions finally reaching the corner of Harvard Yard to come out closest to the square. She brought a few granola bars to pass out to the various homeless and street beggars. Usually it was gratefully received, twice declined for diabetes or peanut allergies and once for no teeth. The sidewalks were packed, she wouldn't tolerate being in this thick crowd for long.

She found a shopping basket and went over to the teas. She always got a huge grin when she came to the Harney & Sons section. A few years ago, she was in her favorite library courtyard, at the Boston Copley. She had ordered a Dragon Pearl Jasmine tea. The cafe worker handed her a cup and an ornately decorated pink package containing the tea sachet. She filled her cup with hot water and went out in search of a table. Passing the fountain, she smiled, "my little European getaway in the heart of Boston." She found a free table, appreciating the afternoon sun on that September day. She sat down and read over the entire tea wrapper. She opened it and was delightfully surprised to see the round Pearls of tea contained in the fine white triangular fine mesh sachet. Such attention to detail, she thought. She smelled the tea pearls and just breathing in the jasmine already felt refreshed. She turned over the tea envelope and impulsively pulled out her phone dialing the listed number. She got a menu to choose from various Harney's so she picked Mr. Harney, presumably Harney senior. The phone rang and a man's voice answered, "Hello, Mr. Harney." Celeste almost jumped out of her seat. "Ummm, the Mr. Harney? The king?" she hesitantly asked.

"Yes."

"Mr. Harney, I'm Celeste Brooke. I'm sorry, I was expecting a voice mail message."

"Oh, well, it's Saturday and I had a few things to do in the office and the phone rang. No one's here so I answered. How can I help you?"

Celeste laughed. "Well, I'm calling from the courtyard of the Boston Copley library where I just opened one of your Dragon Pearl Jasmine teas and I wanted to call and say that the package and smell of the tea are fantastic. I'm very impressed." Mr. Harney asked how the weather was as one of his sons was attending the Red Sox game that afternoon.

"Oh, it's beautiful here."

"Well, sometime you should come down to Connecticut and stop by for a tour. We'd love to have you."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful!"

"Thank you very much for calling and enjoy your afternoon tea." Mr. Harney said.

"I can't believe that I got to talk to THE Mr. Harney. I'm sure I will. Thanks very much." She hung up and sat for a bit, stunned by what had just happened. OMG, no one is going to believe me, she thought. Looking down, she was still holding the teabag. She put it in the still steamy water and watched with wonder as the little pearls began to unwrap and the scent of jasmine wafted up. A very light green golden color perfused her cup. "Ha! I haven't even tasted it yet!"

Now the shelves were full of Harney & Sons teas, a vast variety including a Wedding tea in an even more elaborate tin than the Dragon Pearl Jasmine. This would make a wonderful present for Yoli and Borja, newlyweds returning from their wedding in Spain. And two tins of Boston tea for the MIT students. Suddenly she remembered the lavender cookies from Provence. She hadn't thought of them for years, perhaps it was because she kept meaning to ask Elixabete about them. Wondering if she had ever made any. She asked the cashier. He didn't know but directed her to the imported cookies. There was lavender sugar and a spice jar of lavender. That is what it looked like in the shortbread cookies, little pieces of lavender. Maybe I can make my own, she thought. She opened the bottle and breathed in. Heaven! she exclaimed aloud. Then she walked slowly past the chocolate and picked up some marzipan covered in dark chocolate. In honor of Marianne, who was always pulling some kind of chocolate from her bag for them to share. Last but not least, a bottle of bubbly to have for the approaching double birthday celebration of Nataliya(Ukrainian) and Michelle (Swiss) and DONE. I'd better get out of here before I see anything else I have to have, she thought. She had her cloth shopping bag from Crete and was able to fit everything in after it was rung up.

"Perfect, all I need is to replenish the #211 supply and time to get home." She put in her earplugs as the music in Tealuxe was often too loud for her brain to tolerate. The promotion of 200gms of tea gets a free small Tealuxe teapot was back.

"Really?!" She looked at the counter server incredulously.

"Yeah really. Would you like one?"

"OMG, Yes! This is fantastic! I just bought wedding tea for a teammate."

The woman laughed. "Your expression was hilarious, like you just won the lottery or something."

Celeste laughed. She remembered the scene from "He's Just Not That Into You", when Scarlett Johanssen's character wins the free cooler in the grocery store. Too bad Bradley Cooper isn't in line behind me, she thought, I'd hug him in my teapot promo excitement too.

"Is that champagne in your bag?" the other clerk asked.

"Yep, 21st birthday for another teammate."

"Nice." he replied.

On her way home she felt better than Christmas shopping, no cold weather and a bag full of perfect gifts. She could feel herself crashing. Just one more splurge? At JPLicks? A coconut almond chip cone would just top off the day. She sat at a table outside licking the decadence and planning a nap. She picked at the paper covering the cone wondering why it had such super adhesive and finally popped the last bite in her mouth. Always a little sad at the end of an ice cream cone as long as she could remember. They should just last longer somehow.

o o o o o

Marguerite pressed the intercom and Celeste buzzed her in. She still didn't know which buttons were talk and door entry. Marguerite was dripping inspire of her umbrella. She left her shoes and umbrella in the hallway.

"Hey babe! You're soaked!" Celeste welcomed her in. "Do you want some yoga pants and a t-shirt or something?"

"Yes, that would be great. God, what an exhausting day!" Marguerite hugged her friend and feeling so welcomed in such a comforting way, her eyes welled up.

"Hey, what's going on? Are you okay? You need another hug?" Celeste opened her arms again.

"Yeah. Probably more emotional, period coming any day. But actually there were these guys today."

"What guys? Hold on, let me get you some dry clothes and I'll put on some tea." She called out from her closet, "some rambunctious teenagers at the library today, nothing better to do than picking on the librarian?"

Celeste handed the clothes to Marguerite, who was shaking her head.

"No, these were full grown men. Construction workers. A lot of them."

"Euew! Those are the worst!"

"I'll be out in a minute." Marguerite nodded in agreement and closed the bathroom door. Celeste and Cleopatre went to start tea. Penelope texted she was in the area and would Celeste like to have tea.

C{Sure, Marg just arrived. Call Lix & c if she's free 2!}

P{K}

"Pglot is coming by!" Celeste hollered as she scooped the #211 into her largest teapot. "Ooh, Cleopatre, maybe everyone can come for tea!"

"Meow" Cleopatre sat at her dish waiting for teatime cat treats.

"Oh, okay. Just a few." She dropped a few nuggets into the dish.

Marguerite came out of the bathroom. "Did you say something? And can I borrow a clothes rack to hang these on?"

"Yeah, sure." She pulled out a rack from the front hall closet and set it up.

"Cool, where did you get that?"

"It was Marianne's first and then Ignatio's. I scored it from his apartment the day we helped clean, when he moved to Paris. Ikea." Ignatio was a triplet. Not just any triplets, they each had a PhD and had been to Communist camp in Cuba when they were little. Ignatio was constantly hosting house guests and team parties. He was nicknamed the Energizer Bunny because he never stopped. Marianne was most famous for her blonde moments. Especially when she was head cheerleader at Nationals yelling through the Men's game against LA. When it was over, she turned to Celeste and asked, "Who won?"

Celeste cracked up, "You the head cheerleader!... We won silly."

Immediately she sheepishly replied, "Don't tell anyone I said that!"

Marguerite looked it over, collapsed it and set it up again before draping her clothes for optimal air flow. "I should have known, clever design."

"Yes, Pglot is near by and she's going to see if Elix is out of the lab. Can you believe it? We might actually all four get together without 50 emails, 20 texts and 10 phone calls-Inconceivable!" Celeste just loved that from The Princess Bride and would use it as often as possible even though most did not know what she was referencing.

The buzzer went off and the whole room jolted up.

"Will you buzz her in?" Celeste was pouring water into the teapot.

"Sure, which button?"

"Both, I don't know the difference."

Marguerite laughed and then a flash of light followed by a window rattling thunderclap. Everyone jumped again.

"That was a close one. Quick, shut down and unplug your laptop." Marguerite advised. Penelope burst through the door, looking like a very tall drowned Himalayan cat. Her thick auburn hair was windblown and dripping. Raccoon eyed mascara and smudged lipstick topped her tornado look. Marguerite laughed hard causing Celeste to look up from her laptop.

"No umbrella today?"

"Mangled in the wind tunnels downtown-useless-threw it in a dumpster." Penelope went straight into the bathroom to wring out her wet mop curls.

"Want some dry clothes?" Celeste hollered.

"Si! Muchos gracias! Lix can't make it, stuck in the lab running some experiment or code or whatever she does in there. She says 'Next time'" Penelope reported as she came out of the bathroom, towel turban on.

"Zut! I was hoping we could finally have all of us together without massive quantities of correspondence. Oh well, 75% is still really good for us." Celeste whined as she put three cups, the teapot and some gingerbread on the tray. She went and got her old handball sweatshirt and sweatpants for Penelope as they were the largest clothes she had. Penelope was significantly taller than Celeste, another thing to envy about her.

"Here, these are the closest things I have to fit you-Your Highness, Goddess, Amazon Queen." Celeste mocked elaborate presentation, complete with a bow and curtsy.

"Ha Ha. Not responsible for my gene pool shortie. Thanks and any chance you have a hair dryer for this toad strangled hair."

"What did you say? Toad what? Toad stranger?" Marguerite asked.

Celeste set out a fresh towel, the hair dryer and some sassy finisher product from SHAG Boston.

"Toad strangler." she enunciated and explained that in New Orleans that's what they call a very heavy downpour. It rains so fast and heavy that toads are killed in the flooding. "Thanks Babe! I'll be right out." She closed the bathroom door as it would take awhile to blow out her 10 pounds of hair.

Celeste poured tea and Marguerite mentioned shutting off the phones too when the next flash and boom were nanoseconds apart.

"Ooh! THAT sounded close!" Just then the lights blinked and went out. No drone sounds of hair dryer or the basement dryer running.

"Yep, I'd say that was pretty close." Marguerite said into the darkness.

"Hold on, I have a bunch of tea lights. There was a sale at Crate & Barrel, how fortuitous." Celeste smacked her little toe into the corner of the coffee table. "Ow! Shit!" she muttered.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sort of. My baby toe just went right and the rest went left. I'll be fine." She fumbled around her desk drawer for the kitchen matches. Explosion of light and the strong smell of sulphur were more intense in such darkness. She got the first candle lit and brought it with the box of tea lights into the living room. "This will be romantic!" she said as she spread the little candles on various horizontal surfaces. They could hear sirens.

"HEY! That was close!" Penelope shouted.

"Yes, shut off all of your electronic devices." Marguerite said in a flight attendant kind of way.

"Is that really necessary? Or just some old wives tale?"

"Pglot old wives didn't have cellphones & laptops!" Celeste teased.

"Lightening hit a tree outside my boss' house and it fried every computer in the house that was plugged in or turned on." Marguerite answered.

"I'll have to look up the part about the cellphones but better safe than sorry."

"Oh, wow, what a bummer. OK, I'll shut it all down sistah." Penelope plopped her work bag and purse on the sofa next to her and proceeded to unpack on the coffee table. "Is that cup mine?" she asked Celeste, "I'm freezing."

"I can get you a sweater too." Celeste offered.

"Just a scarf would be great, thanks love." She put two books, a pencil case, laptop case, an insulated to go mug, lunch container and makeup case in a pile. "WHERE is that phone?" she muttered into the darkness corners of her bag. The thunder and lightning were getting farther and farther apart.

"My God you fit a lot into a bag!" Celeste laughed.

"I'm a pro at squeezing everything I could possibly need into a carry on and purse. I even have malarial pills in here somewhere." she was still digging in her purse. "Aha! Gottcha! Escaped from your cellphone pocket you little misbehavin' devil. Place for everything and everything in it's place, that's what Granny always said." She shut off her phone and started putting all her clowns back into her VW Beetle. "Those vacuum packing bags, you know you suck all the air out, THAT really lets you pack it in. No pun intended. So, what's going on these days ladies? I don't remember the last time we were together." Her bags repacked she set them next to the door and picked up her tea. She folded her long legs under her, cupped the mug with both hands and put her face over the steam. "Ah, smells awesome! Thanks babe."

"211 Tealuxe" Celeste & Marguerite said in unison. "Jinx! You owe me a lemon drop martini-homemade!" Celeste shouted.

"Hmmm, if I weren't so cold, I'd love one." Penelope said.

"Well, I had a yucky, creepy day." Marguerite said quietly, staring into her cup.

"Oh, Yeah!? I'm sorry I forgot to ask. What happened again with the bunch of construction workers? They came into the library?" Celeste asked.

"No, I went out to Broadway market and...." she told the whole story including her adolescent school bus bullies.

"Fucking assholes." Penelope shook her head.

"Oh, Marguerite, I'm so sorry. That sounds horrid. Well, all of it bogus." turning to Penelope, "Confirmed, fucking assholes." Celeste nodded.

"What I hate most of all is that I just take it. I didn't stand up for myself to the bullies and I didn't do or say anything to the construction guys today." She looked down not wanting to make eye contact for fear she would cry.

"What did they say when you went by?" Penelope asked.

"Nothing. They didn't say anything. It would have been easier if they had. This intense group silence made me feel completely naked. And they were so close, one of them could have grabbed me if it wasn't broad daylight. The gang mentality-vibe was palpable. You know, how a crowd behaves immorally but if they had been alone they would not have done such things." Marguerite stopped.

"Well, men can be total pigs. I'm sorry that happened to you too. But it sort of seems to be somewhat just what we are dealt with. Being female and them all having dicks." Penelope put down her cup. "Comes with the biology. Try not to take it personally. It sucks. But it is what it is. I bet if you were with a guy it wouldn't have been as bad because they wouldn't want your man to see them ogling you. It's ridiculously primitive." Penelope stood up. "I'm warmer. Do you have ingredients for lemon drops?"

Celeste said she'd check and went into the kitchen.

Turning to Marguerite, Penelope continued, "Did I tell you about the whacky situation when I was in Sao Paolo?"

"Not enough lemons. If it wasn't pouring out, I'd go get some down at the corner store." Celeste said.

"Naw, that's alright. I shouldn't and then drive home in this hurricane. But NEXT time, we are oh so all over that. I don't care if I sleepover with Cleopatre sofa fur in my face."

Everyone laughed and the heaviness of the room lifted.

"Now what were you saying? Something about Brazil?" Marguerite reminded.

"Oh yeah, so picture this..."

Penelope sat at one end of his couch. She had just scooted down at the request of her tentative lover so there would be room at the other end of the couch for his roommate. Clearly not awake, the stupefied roommate clad in long boxer shorts and a wife beater shirt, stared ahead at nothing, broken only by occasional sips of his espresso. It was mid afternoon with the feeling of 6am. Between the "bookends" sat the Romeo, waking after his 3rd shift, lighting another cigarette despite Penelope's non-smoker status. She sat wondering what was going on. Hadn't he said last night for her to come by at 2pm? Why had he left a message for her saying he wanted to see her today? Hadn't that already been the plan? She had listened to his message as she walked up his street, something amiss. When she rang the intercom to be buzzed in, she was greeted with, "Who is that?" with a Billy Goat's Gruff troll voice . She pulled back abruptly from the intercom. Did I press the wrong apartment she wondered? Didn't I just text him telling him I was on my way? She sat contemplating cultural misunderstandings. She didn't speak Portuguese but his English had seemed adequate. She was perplexed at the situation. She had an odd moment of reverse perspective as if she were watching a movie, watching the three of them on the sofa. Except that she was IN this movie and there was no director to ask what the hell was going on? She fixated on analyzing, definitely cultural issues, definitely misunderstanding about getting together, definitely bizarre that the roommate didn't bother to at least put something over his boxers. They were strangers. This was very strange, at least to Penelope. A pit of irritation was forming in her stomach and with each exhalation of smoke it grew a little bit deeper. "OK,", she thought, "never assume a plan is a plan. I guess we are sitting here until he finishes his espresso. Or maybe I should just get up and go."

But that wasn't really her style. Sure she liked being spontaneous but if she had made a plan, she thought there was a plan. As a kid she would organize the local kids to play games, put on skits, sell lemonade, whatever was going on, she was behind it. As the time crept slowly, she put down the teacup and made note to keep a spare teabag in her purse. Her purse had two separate zippered bags in it. One an all purpose emergency kit and the other an entertainment emergency kit. A mini-book of quotes, mini crossword book, mini Yatzee and a mini deck of cards. Putting in a few tea bags was no big deal. She had spent to much time as a child waylaid during travels to tolerate any boredom as an adult. The room turning blue from South American cigarettes was beginning to get on her nerves. She started to feel a bit nudgy. There was also incessant, jack hammering going on outside the high-rise building, which didn't help. So the three of them sat there, all facing forward, as if waiting for the next train. Except for the boxers. Eventually the roommate got up, went into his room and the tentative Romeo silently stood up and went into the bathroom. She stayed on her end of the couch and watched the clock. Watched the small jerking movements of the second hand. She kept wondering with each advance of the minute hand if she should just pick up her shoes & exit before either door opened. Five minutes went by. She jumped as the roommate bolted from his bedroom, not looking at her, yelled toward the bathroom, "See ya later." and slammed the door on his way out. No response from the bathroom. She could hear running water from the sink. "Maybe he's shaving?" she thought. "This is ridiculous. If he's not out of the bathroom in two minutes..."

The clock second hand clicked to 2:30pm. The toilet flushed. More running water sounds and the door flew open, startling her again.

He came straight over to the sofa.

"Sorry about that." And Penelope wondered, which "that" was that? Forgetting his invitation to her? Forgetting she was on her way when she arrived at his door? Sitting with his roommate in his underwear? Or his being in the bathroom for the past 15 minutes? She just smiled and didn't say a thing.

"Now THAT my friends, is international cultural variance compounded with male communication, classic truth is stranger than fiction screenwriter material."

o o o o o

C{Hey, u watching Ham vs Barc?}

E{Not really. in the lab, when i can}

C{Great game! ttyl :) }

Celeste was probably one of the only, if not the only American who never lived in Europe who religiously watched EuroChampions league handball every chance she could. It was still sometimes a crap shoot whether the games posted would actually be streamed or not. She was in a crabby mood for a few hours when the Aix game was not showing. She loved watching Nicola Karabatic and he had moved to Aix from Montpelier after the betting scandal. She couldn't complain, the neighbors shared their internet password and she didn't have to pay to watch the best game in the universe. Today's game between Hamburg and Barcelona was extremely physical. Many times it seemed a fight would erupt. She had never seen that, how quickly the benches were clearing, except for American ice hockey of course. She wondered if they trash talked in English as they were mostly German versus mostly Spanish. Many were fluent in many languages as they had been traded to various clubs around Europe. Or maybe it doesn't really matter what language it is, a taunt is a taunt. The testosterone's turned up and let the brawl begin.

She'd have to remember to ask Elixabete if she ever saw an actual fight live in a handball game. Celeste was disappointed Barcelona lost in overtime. She was hoping it would go to penalty shots. It was so hot that morning, she had overslept and missed the Kiel game. Which was really a bummer because Omeyer, French national team goalkeeper played for Kiel. She was always curious to see if he would be on fire or not. When he was on, he was incredible to watch. Even if you had never played GK before he was amazing. At least for a few weeks the EuroCup semi-finals would be online. She'd be in heaven for 3 solid days. It's fun to see everyone with their national teams after watching them dispersed around Europe during Champions league. It was really hot. Dunk your head in the sink a few times a day hot. The fan noise bothered her brain so she would wear earplugs at home, indoors which felt a little absurd when one is awake. After yesterday with the excess traffic noise and piped music even in the outdoor cafe seating, it was time to price noise canceling headphones. Hopefully they had some smaller models so she didn't feel like an air traffic controller. She hated the neon hunter's orange earplugs as she felt she looked ridiculous wearing them in public. Especially with her glasses. Oh well, you just have to do what you have to do, she thought.

Always searching for some personal time distraction, to entertain herself, she decided to do a grown up version of a summer reading list. First, read ten memoirs, then something that's referenced like Catch 22 or Catcher in the Rye or Hemingway's Movable Feast. She had tried "The Man" Ernest, in her early 20's and found him much too much macho for her tolerance. Recently Moveable Feast had been mentioned in a few places so perhaps she would give him a second chance. Then maybe read something translated from a French, Spanish and a Greek writer. After Elix mentioned wanting a man like Cantona, she wanted to read the biography about him. Maybe a batch of biographies of famous athletes. That would probably take her all the way to Labor Day weekend. She'd have to get her own rewards as the librarians wouldn't have incentives for adult voracious readers. JPLicks coconut almond chip ice cream cone for every five books? Maybe it would be page dependent? She could ask Marguerite if she wanted to join her. Although she had probably already read all the books that are frequently referenced. She could just make up her own section for those she had already read.

Celeste and Elix's birthdays were coming up. Celeste still liked to make a birthday and Christmas wish list just in case she got some gift money and could get what she really wanted. Her family always had good intentions but somehow consistently missed the mark in the gift giving department. This made her a bit vigilant with gifts, wanting to chose something really special but sometimes it's tricky and just safer to give money. She did enjoy making homemade cards and collected free magazines around town, like the Improper Bostonian for collages.

It was her idea to get the handball team listed for free. She took teasing about it until it was discovered that one of the women's players found the Club there. Celeste would look to see if the ad was still running and smiled at her PR efforts. It took some finesse getting the word out that handball DID exist in the United States. Albeit, it is essentially third world handball here. Few sponsors, coaches, regulation sized courts, certified referees and a Federation that spins like a revolving door. The Olympics help for sport visibility. Some people use the internet to find Clubs, IF they think it's possible handball exists here, many Europeans don't think it does. Because there are no beginner leagues it is challenging for a newbie American to play with a seasoned European or Brazilian. Patience and money is what everyone said it would take to have team handball take hold in the States. Celeste had witnessed women's soccer and ice hockey make it into Olympic arenas, so eventually the reverse would happen. Handball had been in the Olympics for decades, it would catch on here too. It was a game an American fan would find fantastic and addicting, as Celeste had.

When Celeste was out and about she would listen for foreign languages and assess whether this could be a possible recruit. She got over being shy about it because players were always coming and going and the Club needed to keep at least a full roster of consistent players to have a chance competing. It was hard on the few players who stayed in Boston, making such great new friends and then have them scatter back over the globe one or two years later. There was a gathering at the London Olympics, some of the French and Americans were able to watch some handball finals. Not much competition for the lottery tickets for handball for the US citizens. Wise to capitalize on it before it's assimilated into American sports.

Celeste took out her fountain pen, Grace had given it to her years ago, and drafted her wish list.

#1 Alice in Wonderland tea set #2 Cantona; Man Who Could Be King #3 dinner outdoors at piattini's #4 JPLicks gift card #5 new sandals #6 new summer dress #7 mani/pedi #8 massage #9 facial #10 date with totally awesome available man #11 something I'm forgetting but I want

It seemed odd to her that she couldn't think of anything else. When she was a kid she would have a minimum of 25, sometimes up to 50. She would circle items in all the catalogues that arrived with new temptations beyond her world in Wisconsin. Maybe this was a sign she was getting older. Less is more. Experiences over things. She wasn't sure if she had ever actually put a man on the list. She would wish on her blowing out the candles but usually then it was a specific man not a generic. She was grateful that this year wasn't a major milestone. She didn't feel like a big to do especially since the concussions. She couldn't deal with the noise and general mayhem in a typical restaurant. Rattling dishes and people shouting conversations over the too loud piped overhead music, a recipe for migraine. Hopefully it would be cooler than this. Marguerite had said it would cool off by 20 degrees by tomorrow. That would feel like universal air conditioning. She was trying to determine how long it took the ice cube trays to freeze and whether it would cut time significantly if she used refrigerated water vs. cool tap water. There is probably a formula somewhere. At the thought of formulas she was profoundly relieved that she didn't have to take anymore physics or calculus for the rest of her life. Decadence to be able to choose her own summer reading list instead of a required one.

Relief from the heat came sooner and by evening Celeste took a reading break and walked down to the library to return a few things. She was feeling melancholy, mostly from the heat fatigue and nothing exciting happening. Sometimes she would have this let down after an exciting handball game. Remnants of her adrenaline/endorphin addiction she theorized. When she got home she poured an iced 211 and tried calling a few friends she hadn't heard from in awhile. She left voicemails and texts and then went back to reading memoir #2. It was very depressing and at one repulsive of scene of abuse and neglect, she questioned whether to continue. She dunked her head in the kitchen sink and made a bowl of popcorn. Reading and popcorn were hard core comforts. Curious and hopeful for improvements by the end, she kept on.

Elixabete phoned at 11:30pm but Celeste didn't feel like talking so she let it go. She hadn't checked email in a few days and decided she would look tomorrow. Some days she was extremely annoyed by email, the concept. She liked having letters come in the mail and missed that. Another thing to miss about Grace. There was nothing like seeing a letter in the mailbox, making a cup of tea or cocoa and settling in to read a Grace letter. Perhaps that was some of her melancholy too. Grief poking it's head up with her approaching birthday. Ten years since her Godmother died and five years since Grace died. She wrote down from the memoir she finished on Saturday some helpful information. A childhood therapist said 'no one gets "over" loss, it becomes eventually integrated into the person's life. '

She forgot to ask Marguerite about the dream interpretation the night of power outage. "I should make a list for Marguerite!" she said to Cleopatre, who was curled up at end of the sofa, out of fan range. She meowed. Celeste threw her some popcorn. Maybe in the heat her appetite would lessen and if she took two short walks a day, maybe weight loss would be conceivable. Even five pounds would probably help her bra fit better. The ridiculous comment about American's bust size growing since the 50's was no doubt attributed to the rise in obesity. No profound scientific mystery there. She felt the excess twenty pounds had morphed her into another person. She didn't recognize herself and was loathing putting on her bikini. That's what sarongs are for she thought. It's always too cold to go into the water at Revere Beach anyway. Beach handball would be starting soon. She hoped to go a few times this summer. To see people, socialize and attempt to stay connected to the team.

By 1am she had finished the book. It did improve some but the bottom line was horrific what the author had survived. They had been severely neglected by their parents and submitted to the most bizarre situations at a "foster" home.

"Well, it's done at least. Memoir #2 was as terrifying as Memoir #1 was grief-stricken. It was too disturbing in a psychotic torture way whereas the other was profound grief of a dying husband/father in a loving tender young family. So many flavors and intensities of human suffering. Hopefully Memoir #3 would be less tragic. "Time to try to sleep, Cleopatre." She brushed and flossed her teeth and then stared at her bed. She didn't feel sleepy. She hated tossing and turning. She hated counting. She hated the bizarre freaky dreams. In her indignant state she forgot to put on the ocean sound machine. At 3:10am she got up, peed, refilled her ice tea and went back to bed. She had wanted to try to make herself get up earlier than 11am but she hadn't been succeeding. Morning exhaustion, the haunting nightmares hung over her. Try the old 15-30 minutes to bed earlier over a few days, maybe that would work or she would just lie there longer awake.

11:08am, "no games scheduled today." She was disappointed but not surprised. She checked her email and two book requests had arrived. "Yeah." she whispered to the slumbering Cleopatre. Maybe she would see if some of the handball folks would want to have a little soiree on Saturday night. There were graduations, new jobs, a wedding and projects to celebrate. She sent out an email to see who was "in".

She made coffee, two slices of toast and cut up a kiwi. She had left the table leaf in and Ignatio's tablecloth on after the recent double birthday party. It seemed lonely to be there by herself but she was getting used to eating alone since her roommate travelled so much. She was grateful for Cleopatre.

"Cleopatre, what will we do for adventures today? I need new flowers, the prescription is ready for pick up and two books have arrived. Do you think I deserve a JPLicks for having already read two intense memoirs?"

Cleopatre flicked her tail but didn't move anything else. "I will take that as a yes."

She got out a scrap of paper and made her list for things to remember to talk to Marguerite about. After that was done she sat and stared out blankly past the cars in the parking lot to the trees. They were full now, completely green and hiding the apartment building behind theirs.

"Seems summer has completely arrived Cleopatre. Maybe Crate and Barrel has a portable comfortable beach chair on sale. I could maybe read down by the river depending on the noise factor. I would like that. I need some space- water and space. OK, it's a plan!" She made her next list for Harvard Square. Crate and Barrel was on the way. She'd bring the Southern France memoir along. She wanted to surprise Elixabete with some knowledge of Aix-en-Provence. She smiled and added JPLicks cone last.

"Kick off the summer reading program! Woohoo!" Cleopatre lifted her head and meowed in lazy confirmation. "Maybe I will get my cone before I go to CVS." And she rearranged the numbers on her list, sequencing them carefully so as not to back track. But the flowers will be thirsty if I read by the Charles. I guess I could pack them a drink and iced tea for me. But it all depends on a chair. She thought. She could check online before she left.

"Ugh, so much prep just to run a few errands. I should eat a salad before I go too. So high maintenance human beings!" Cleopatre meowed more definitively this time and Celeste laughed.

o o o o o

Marguerite was getting more and more nervous the closer the workshop came from the horizon. She had read everything she could about Ann Randolph and was quite impressed. She just wanted to know how truthful the course synopsis was when it said,"supportive & fun" and "all levels". She knew she wanted to transform her life but was not sure at all about having listeners. There was another workshop where it said, "optional sharing." "Excellent!" Marguerite blurted with relief. But then she realized that the dates were not over a holiday weekend. And it was a week long retreat. "Awww, shucks." She shook her head. She didn't want to sacrifice more than one vacation day. The next workshop was weekdays too. The next weekend workshop wouldn't be until October. Natalie Goldberg was not on the upcoming list. She had a new book out this spring so maybe she would be touring the Northeast. Marguerite checked her website only to be further disappointed. There was an upcoming week with Natalie in France! She would give up vacation time for THAT. But she would have to compete with previous students for only thirty spots.

"Yeah, okay, maybe someday." She considered going to Kripalu's R&R retreat, bringing a few writing books, notebooks, a box of pencils and make her own schedule. She scrolled down.

"Whirlpool! Yah excellent!. Hmmm, walking trails, massage Yes! and interesting evening lectures. Lots and lots of yoga. Not so sure about that." She was starting to feel overwhelmed by the July schedule and decided to talk to Celeste about it. Maybe she would even come along. That would be much more fun and Celeste could certainly use some relaxation, massages, whirlpool and tasty vegetarian meals. Suddenly she remembered her notes from Celeste's dream and realized those papers were stuck in her work courier bag and she should pull them out again. She had read a few things about the theme of water. Basically it symbolized life, living and rejuvenation. Celeste seemed to feel comfortable in the dream, traveling smoothly on the river. She didn't remember any swimming or animals in the water nor on the shore. She would need to verify that. It seemed she couldn't see her way, perhaps that simply related to her not being able to see clearly how to accomplish the next steps of her life. She hadn't mentioned if the water was moving fast, was shallow or deep either. "Ah, here we go, obstacles in the water. No mention of flora but the reeds were somewhat blocking their way. Creativity is blocked, not allowed to flow freely. Ah, rocket science. She has a brain injury, everything is pretty much blocked." Marguerite scrolled on. Rivers mean flowing certain directions toward a destiny. Marsh means illness from overwork and worry. Glowing- pay more attention. Blonde hair- goddess Guardian- will be treated with consideration by your friends. Flowers fresh-wreath-great opportunities for enriching yourself soon. Fresh flower garland- could be luck and success promise or warn of risks or sexual desirable fulfillment. Flowers-dreamer is full of expectation and hopes about dear things. Glow- strong psychic strength. Passenger- someone else brings you where you must go and how you can reach this place.

Marguerite looked up and realized she had been lost in dream interpretation for over and hour and didn't really feel much farther along than when she started. She phoned Celeste to see if she was up for tea, discussing writing workshops and if she had had any more dreams. No answer, she left a message and decided to walk to the store for fresh flowers. Ranunculus means radiant. Sweet pea for shyness. Lisianthus for calming. At least these meanings were clear cut. She walked along and noticed what looked like popcorn flowers covering much of the sidewalk. She picked one up. There was a tinge of red in the inner white petal folds. She looked up and didn't see where they were coming from until she came to the corner and in her peripheral vision caught a huge tree covered in popcorn. She had never seen anything like it and would have to ask the flora whiz librarian when she saw her next.

"Nature is just so amazing." she thought as she took a bite of her ice cream sandwich. The neighborhood kids looked at her as if she were an alien standing in line with them for the ice cream truck. She was flooded with memories as a fourth grader. The town they lived in that year had an ice cream truck all summer. The cherry Jolly Ranchers came in a 11/2" stick or slab. As your saliva dissolved the sour sweetness it would mold to the roof of your mouth and feel like a dental retainer. She wondered if they still made those big sticks. There were often a bowl of the small nugget size at the Cambridge Savings Bank until they cut costs and only had green peppermints.

When she got home she put the flowers in the living room and one in the bathroom and three on her desk. She felt better already. It was too late in the season for sweet peas, the ranunculus were sold out. She felt calmer overtime she saw the delicate purple petals and felt proud of herself for her self nurturing actions. She made a cup of Moroccan mint tea, put on her pajamas and started the next book from her bedside stack. She let herself read an hour past bedtime. Such indulgences.

o o o o o

Penelope was hard at work listening to a new Greek film and translating for the subtitles in English and French. She made decent money for it and enjoyed "foreign" films anyway. The concept of foreign was vague for her.

Due to her father's diplomatic international career she had grown up all over the world. Most Americans thought she was an army brat when they discovered she had grown up in more than 5 places, let alone countries. Like most things in life there were pluses and minuses. She seemed to effortlessly pick up languages and continually surprised whoever the natives were with her thick auburn hair, freckles and level of fluency for a young adult. Moving so much and so far between destinations it was hard to maintain friendships and she was perpetually new. She couldn't fathom growing up in one country, let alone one house. She didn't believe people who said that their parents had grown up in the same house they did.

"That's just impossible. Don't be ridiculous." was her response.

She had learned that no matter where you went in the world there was always someone looking to trick the new kid in town. She was not gullible and was street smart beyond her years. Marketplaces in Morocco, Athens, Paris, Cordoba, Istanbul and New York City are incredible schools. She would use humor to cover her toughness, maintain her femininity but let others know to not take her for a fool. She carried some perpetual sadness because naturally she was always missing somewhere, something or someone. Sure Facebook and Skype were great but when you miss a place, you miss part of yourself as well.

She was quick to make friends often because she looked so exotic that people just wanted to be near her. Her father would sometimes hire bodyguards to keep a watchful eye especially when she would take off for a marketplace adventure. She would complain if she figured out she was being followed by her father's hire and would give her father the silent treatment as punishment. She felt she could handle herself and didn't need any extra protection. The best bodyguards received a bonus for going undetected. Her twin brothers were six years younger so she felt like an only child except when the whole family traveled together. She had gone to Berkeley for undergrad to experience California and San Francisco. She enjoyed taking school breaks camping in the various USNational Parks in the western States. There were spring breaks eco-camping in Cosa Rica, WOOFing in Hawaii and once a typical American style Cancun trip. For graduate school, she had migrated east to Harvard University's prestigious linguistics program. She was fascinated by psycholinguistics, neuroscience/cognitive science information theory and Chomsky's language acquisition devise research. Cambridge, Massachusetts was a perfect place for her to be, for now.

o o o o o

P{Hey, Lix, how's trixs? Pleassssse leave lab & let's hit some clubs! Gotta dance this week outta me. Qu'est-ce que tu dit?} [What do you say?]

E{Marc aussi?} [Marc also]

P{Non, en mer} [No, at sea]

E{Oui, bien sur A dix heure} [Yes, of course at 10 o'clock]

P{magnify, a tout} [magnificent, later]

It was 8:30pm, Elixabete would have 30 minutes to wrap things up in the lab, bike home, shower, etc. She too was ready for dancing, loud American music, cocktails and BOYS!

Penelope put on Pandora Club Dancin Channel when she got out of the shower. She was wrapped in two towels, peering in the refrigerator. Marc was the chef of the family and he had been out at sea for three weeks. There were two chinese food cartons, one with rice and one with spicy, crispy pad thai, no longer crispy. She opened the cartons and dumped them both into a pan with some water to revitalize the rice, put the lid on and turned the gas on low.

"DON'T LEAVE THE KITCHEN WITH FLAMES ON FOOD! You are destroying all my All Clad!" Marc's voice rang in her ears even from a thousands of miles away. She looked in the crisper and was psyched to see a lemon. She took down the citron "Buddha's Hand", one of their best wedding gifts, a martini set said to have been originally used in one of the Bond movies. They were out of Lillet Blanc so no Vesper tonight, a homemade lemon drop would have to suffice.

The chinese food was sizzling by the time she gave it any attention. Priorities were the first 2 gulps of her lemon drop, extra sour. "Ahh! Perfecto, Parfait, Perfetto, Perfekt, Telia!" And she sang and swirled to Rihanna's Beautiful Girl. Dumping the steaming leftovers into a bowl, she sashayed into the living/dining area of the studio grad housing apartment.

E{jordi is dj'ing @ the estate, wanna go?}

Jordi was from Barcelona, another MIT graduate student and member of the Men's handball team. He had been playing handball longer than anyone, beginning in utero. His whole family played handball and all the men also refereed. His father had refereed professionally. Jordi had spoken with some of the Spanish All-star players who competed in the Big Apple tournament, who knew his father.

P{K. meet u @ central CSB ATM@10}

E{Ouais} [Yeah]

Penelope was going to straight iron her locks but realized now there wasn't time. It was a project, her hair. She knew the last time Jordi was DJ'ing there was a long line and some of the team was really pissed they couldn't get in.

P{Hey Celeste, jordi's dj'ing unite wanna join?}

C{Thanx Pglot 2 loud 4 me Have fun, c u}

Pglot was Penelope's nickname since her favorite Winnie the Pooh character was Piglet and she was indeed a polyglot. She couldn't remember which boyfriend had named her, but it stuck. As brothers are known to do the nickname was modified. One brother called her "BloodClot" and the other "Sesquepenelope" after sesquepedalian-lover of long words. Only her father refused to call her pglot, he adored his daughter and her given name.

She decided in five minutes which dress she wanted to wear and slipped into some surprisingly comfortable platform heels. She threw the necessities into her sassy Hobo bag. She'd get cash when she met Lix, in case they needed a cab later. Neither of them ever had to pay for drinks. They weren't manipulative about it, the men just wouldn't take no for an answer. They had a deal, if a dude doesn't go away after two declines then they would ask, "Ok you seem to really want to buy me a drink. Are you sober enough to buy one with no strings attached?"

They always said yes and so they would shrug their shoulders. They were given the stipulations so they can live with the consequences. There were bouncers near by if needed. They would politely accept their drinks and head across the dance floor for a good spot. In spite of their chick shoes, they could lose any guy in a crowd who had had more than two drinks, which was all of them by that time of the night. Both of them could put crowd weaving on their resumes. Penelope from all the marketplaces and general international public spaces and Elixabete from French football and handball games. They were having a great time. Jordi was having a very good night. Elixabete got a text from some of the team giving their coordinates.

Penelope signaled she was going to the bathroom just when some of the French, Spanish and Danes found them. Penelope could not understand what the problem was with American architects. There were never remotely enough women's toilets in any building for the ratio of men to women and efficiency of urinals. There was a monstrous line but she preferred to endure now then be desperate after any more beverages.

The American women amazed her with their intoxication and ensuing dramatics, especially in the women's room. Screaming to their friends in stalls, as if everyone was interested in their 'reality TVesque' shenanigans. Penelope always wore her wedding band. She wasn't remotely interested in all the male attention and at how little consideration was made with her visible commitment symbol. She just wanted a night out with girlfriends, dancing and having a good time destressing from the academic and job pressures. Luckily Marc and she had complete trust in one another. They had to with his occupation or they would not have lasted. Many couples don't, 3 months apart regularly requires a level of maturity that most people can't handle. Jealous tendencies, insecurity and plain imagination can ruin anything. But they were an unusual couple and so far so good. They had one of the most unique courtships in the history of the western world. Marc had lived all over the world too, not as an army brat but the son of a naval officer. At an early age he was fascinated by celestial navigation and just about anything floating, sunk or swimming in the ocean. As young as possible he was certified in scuba and had been on many wreck dives around the world.

Once Penelope made it from the Club's hallway into the bathroom, the line was squeezed between the stall doors and primping women in clusters by the sinks. Washing hands, dabbing smeared sweaty mascara, reapplying various potions to their face, necks, decolletage and one woman sprayed something up her very short dress at her coochy. The cacophony of drunken young ladies madly discussing what to do about whatever was transpiring was louder and more frantic than the Bronx Zoo Aviary. Penelope both loathed the place and found it hysterical. She could eavesdrop on all sorts of international conversations which felt like the easiest espionage. For some reason being in the US, people think no one else could be fluent beyond English.

The bathroom floor was covered with wet paper towels, cocktail napkins and a few tampon wrappers. The vending machine was sold out. One desperate woman was calling from a stall to anyone for a spare. She would even pay $5. Econ 101, supply & demand, Penelope smiled.

The architects should specialize in female industrial plumbing systems or the manager should just keep a female plumber in the Club on weekend nights. It didn't take too long for one or two of the toilets to become out of order further aggravating the situation. Losing such a high commodity as a functioning women's toilet, caused a disturbing ripple effect into everyone's night. Long delays of women at the bathroom, impatient men circulating the dance floor, fewer drinks being consumed, less for bartenders and the establishment. No MBA necessary. Invest in top of the line plumbing, double the number of female toilets, triple the number of trash cans, paper towels and tampons. Have some compassion.

E{Time to move on}

Apparently there had been a shark circling handball ladies and finally he just stood in front of Elix until she addressed him.

"You are the most beautiful girl in the world. Will you dance with me?"

"No, thank you." Elix replied and turned her back, moving herself into the circle of her school of fish for protection. The shark kept circling the group, trying to make eye contact with Elix. The song changed and she was suddenly on the periphery again. He moved right in.

"It takes a lot of courage to ask the most beautiful girl in the world to dance." He shouted into her ear.

"Save it for someone else." She shouted back. But the inhibition lowering of alcohol mixed with testosterone and adrenaline from gyrating low cut, tight dresses makes a horny shark too brave. Elixabete had turned her back on him once again. But he wasn't taking two no's for an answer. He closed the gap and put his hands on her hips, quickly moving them around to her front, pressing himself against her backside. In the next moment, he was bent over, falling to the floor, grabbing for his family jewels, breathlessly gasping "You Bitch!" but no one could hear him over Jordi's mix. Elix had older brothers. Brothers like to wrestle. She learned quickly how to put an end to anything if her "Stop" was not respected. She waved to her teammates and made her way off the dance floor, getting her derriere anonymously squeezed in the process. Penelope was just coming out of the bathroom and saw her at the corner of the bar closest to the entrance. This was the official meeting spot whenever evacuation procedures were evoked. Once they were out on the sidewalk Penelope could tell that Elixabete was more than the usual annoyed, she was angry. She was spewing French and Penelope was able to catch most of it but there was some slang that stumped her. Once Elix had cooled off she would want that vocabulary lesson but now was not the time.

"Assholes?" she queried.

"Bien sur!" [of course]

then she added "colossal" Penelope appreciated this as the word was the same in French and English something polyglots reveled in how many languages shared a word with the same spelling. Simple joys of a logophile.

"I'm sorry, that sucks. Jordi was doing a great job too. Oh well, unfortunately it comes with the territory. C'est la vie, n'est-ce pas?"

[It is life, is it not?]

"Oui. But sometimes I would just like to be left alone to dance with my friends, have a good time. No harassment. Is that asking too much?"

"Well, sweetie, due to your attributes, yes. Bio 101. If they don't have the discipline to override their amygdala- reptile brain, you are going to be essentially preyed upon for spreading their seed. So to speak."

"Let's try the Gypsy Bar. It's only midnight."

"Plan. New venue possibly new world." They hooked arms and then Penelope asked for her vocabulary lesson.

o o o o o

Celeste was really bummed that she couldn't go out to hear Jordi DJ and dance with the team. She had sublet from one of Jordi's roommates after she got out of the hospital. It had been a carnivorous Catalan clan who accepted her bringing green food into the apartment. The 3rd floor flat roof made for an oven that June. They would pass one another getting ice from the prolific ice maker, dousing an overheated insomniac brain in the kitchen sink. The ceiling fans moved the oven air but rarely a breeze moved through the window. They sweat together, watching the Celtics in the playoffs. Celeste munching her bowl of popcorn, the Catalans amazed she could eat it or apples everyday. Jordi would have marathon ironing sessions, watching Game of Thrones. Celeste smiled noting that not just the Greeks ironed everything-including boxers. She was impressed with the Spanish men, they cooked, ironed and cleaned their apartments.

There was a "Citadels night", a game of medieval nobles & intrigue introduced to the team by Ignatio, starting a craze. Jordi's girlfriend was over but declined joining in, seemed more concerned with her hair than learning the game, leaving Celeste the only female/American versus 4 Catalan MIT men. She frequently did well at this game, surprising all the non-concussed competitive brainiacs when she won, which she again did that night. At the famous first American team Thanksgiving (with rock frozen inedible turkey) Ignatio was barking at the other players to watch out for Celeste. "Pay attention! She's getting too many buildings again! She quietly wins all the time! We must stop her!"

Jordi was a great sport but when Celeste brought up having another Citadel's night he responded that would not be happening. Perplexed she asked, "Why not?" He looked at her with disbelief at her naive ignorance, she must be joking. "Celeste," he said with a matter of fact Barcelona accent, "You beat them, a woman beat them. They will never play with you again."

But who was she kidding. She couldn't tolerate Starbucks with her earplugs. She'd have to get noise canceling headphones but how alien would that make her look in a Club. She called Marguerite and invited her over. They could get a Domino's six Wisconsin cheese pizza and maybe even find some Leinenkugel's summer locally. Marguerite brought over her dream interpretation notes and her summer reading list and some chocolate truffles. It was cold and rainy an extreme contrast from the previous week. Celeste had leggings, jeans skirt, long sleeved t-shirt and a light wool long cardigan on. Marguerite arrived with the new industrial technology Blunt umbrella after the last gathering and black out. She was impressed with it's features. She gave Celeste a mini-demo and then left it to drip on the shoe mat. Cleopatre came over to sniff for anything good.

"Let's order pizza and then what do you feel like doing? Did you bring any knitting or do you want to do a crossword or watch whatever movie I have?" Celeste offered as hostess.

"Oh I do have knitting in my bag. I brought some dream interpretation notes although that wasn't very productive so far. We can see what you think. Wow, it is really coming down! It's what? 40 degrees cooler than last Friday?"

"Yeah, how wacky is that?! No wonder so many tornados in the Midwest." Celeste said.

"I also brought my summer reading list, if you want some ideas?"

"Awesome. Do you want some 211 before the pizza comes?"

"Definitely. Thanks."

Celeste went to start the kettle. This one was old, she'd had it since college. She would have to replace it soon. She should look for something really hip. Put that on her bday wish list too. There are probably some really groovy ones now, she thought. Cleopatre meowed. Her dish was empty. "OK, Cleo, you need dinner too but no Wisco pizza for you." She poured some dry food in her dish and replaced the water.

"Did you finish that shawl thing with your ripped out mohair?" Marguerite said toward the kitchen door.

"Yeah, now I'm doing a similar thing with this gossamer yarn for a summer neck wrap. It's micro crazy thin." she hollered back. "What are you working on now?"

"One of the fanatics at work convinced me that I could do socks if I could do a baby sweater and hat. I just started two days ago, so far so good but I haven't reached the heel turn yet." Marguerite said.

"Wow, you ARE brave." Celeste said as she brought the tea tray into the living room.

"Brave? I don't know. I was thinking more idiot." Marguerite looked up. Cleopatre was eyeing her yarn coming out from the knitting bag.

"Oh no Cleo. Not for you." Marguerite tucked the bag between her and the arm of the sofa to prevent temptation.

"I'm too tired to knit the spiderweb tonight. I'll just watch you knit until the pizza comes. I guess I am more hungry than I thought. Thanks for coming over. I was pretty sad knowing Jordi was DJ'ing and the team was going out dancing."

"I wouldn't want to be out in this weather in heels and everything."

"Do you own any heels?" Celeste looked at Marguerite quizzically.

"Well, actually, no. So I definitely wouldn't want to be out in heels in this weather!" Marguerite answered.

"Yeah, I had to give all my heels away. It was too frustrating seeing them in my closet and after my fall on Thanksgiving and the one on Newbury Street in my chick shoes, I figured I was pushing my luck until I finish my vestibular therapy and my balance can handle it." Celeste said solemnly.

"There are lots of nice sensible shoes." Marguerite consoled. "I stand most days so it's a matter of survival and not wanting bunions like my aunts."

"Good point. Tell me about your reading list?"

Marguerite took out of her planner and turned to the back. She would keep a running list whenever she heard of something she wanted to read.

They looked over each other's lists and then added a few to their own.

They both jumped as the buzzer signaled the pizza delivery. After quickly consuming their first pieces, Celeste changed the subject.

"Anybody ask you anything interesting this week?" Celeste asked.

"Apparently there is controversy over the actual date of James Bond's birthday, either November 11th or 16th. Either way he's still a Scorpio. Ian Flemings' first Bond book was Casino Royale published in 1953."

"Is that why Casino Royale is at the end of your reading list?" Marguerite nodded and went on.

"Half Scottish and half Swiss, his parents die in the Alps, climbing accident, orphaning him at age 11, raised by his aunt in Pett Bottom, near Kent. Fleming chose the name James Bond because he wanted something boring sounding. It's funny how a fictional character has converted a name into something associated with thrill, espionage, sophistication, a risk taking playboy."

"Yeah, that is pretty incredible. He was probably really risque for all the places he was getting it on with women. Was that in your research too? Pglot would be interested in that! By the way, did you know Marc named his childhood cat Miss Moneypenny?" Celeste laughed.

"It was mentioned on line, I don't remember which site. Train, plane, forest, stable, motorized iceberg, hospital, submarine, dingy and space shuttle, I could be missing a few." Marguerite had a calm, steady voice as if she were reciting modes of transportation and not places to have sex.

"The names for the female characters are absolutely hysterical. Let's see how many I can remember, Pussy Galore, Xenia Onatopp...Holly Goodhead. Oh man, I'm missing a lot. I bet Marc knows them all!" Celeste smiled.

"I wonder if he can recite the Bond family motto, IN LATIN." Marguerite smiled in knowing.

"Are you kidding? A family motto? What is it?"

"Orbit Non Sufficit" Marguerite said majestically.

"Translation please?"

"The World Is Not Enough. I wonder if Marc read any of the books or just saw the movies? Oh! The other question the patron wanted help with was finding a local Baccarat meet up group!" Marguerite shrugged.

"Hmmm, The World is Not Enough. Wonder if secretly Bond ever fell in love and had his heartbroken as a teenager? Something that made him such a playboy? Or would all men be that way if given the chance?" Celeste takes another piece of pizza.

"Only two movies that Bond falls in love with the Bond girl, Casino Royale and On Her Majesty's Secret Service. But conveniently both women die or are killed before the end of the movie so he is quickly a free agent, pun intended."

"Haha, you are as bad as my puny Dad. Bond doesn't seem to mourn very long." Celeste offered Marguerite another slice. Marguerite nodded, "Lesser known tidbit. Fleming wrote ChittyChittyBangBang."

"Get OUT!" Celeste said with disbelief and Marguerite smiled.

"Yeah, I was surprised too. Do you think Marc knows that?"

"He would know the family motto before that, I think. Marc's father might have made it their own family motto. He was a devote Navy man." Celeste said.

"Oh okay, all bets are off, too risky for me." She put down her knitting.

"How did he and Penelope meet anyway?" she asked.

"Oh, it's a crazy, insane romantic story. I don't think I can remember all of what she told me and Elix one night. I remember some of the places but she should really tell you." Celeste confessed.

"But I don't know when I will see her next, just tell me, come on, I'm not writing her biography or anything." Marguerite replied. BUZZ

Both women jumped again and Cleopatre flew off the sofa into the bedroom.

"That's weird. Not expecting anyone, are you? Probably wrong button." Celeste got up, unlocked the apartment door and looked down the hallway to the entry doors.

"Ha! Speak of the devil!" Celeste laughed and ran over to press the allow entry button.

"What do you mean, James Bond is here?" Marguerite grinned.

"Nope, but they could be Bond Girls!! It's Pglot and Elix and they look soaked!" Celeste grabbed two towels and went back into the hall to greet her soggy guests.

"You guys look like winners of a wet dress contest!" tossing them each a towel, Celeste laughed. Both women were carrying their high heels, their mascara giving them weasel eyes and their dresses clinging to their feminine figures. Elix more muscular than Penelope but both with the desirability ratio of 0.7. Celeste with her added weight came in at .80 and Marguerite was off the charts as an ectomorph. Once again, Celeste took out some sweats and yoga clothes for her friends and asked them if they would like a hot beverage.

Marguerite laughed, "You sound like Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory!"

"No cocoa or tea for me. Do you have the fixings for Cosmos?" Penelope called from Celeste's bedroom as she changed clothes. Elix hollered, "I'm IN!" from the bathroom. Celeste went into the kitchen and poked around in the pantry cabinet. "Check on the cointreau, check on the cranberry juice," then opening the refrigerator crisper, "two limes and one lemon." She came into the living room just as Pglot and Elix did, the three of them entering the room at the same time. Marguerite laughed.

"What's so funny?" Penelope said.

"Nothing, just you guys had perfect entrance timing, like a Charlie's Angel's opening scene."

"What's the verdict chief?" Pglot asked Celeste.

"Good news and bad news." Celeste mad a squished up face delivering the bad news, "Everything but vodka Sorry ladies."

"No worries Poopsie! Look what I've got!" She went over to her purse from the pile of wet objects and took out two 200ml Skye blue bottles. Holding them up in the air as if she were a game show hostess demonstrating a prize product.

Elix said, "When did you get that?"

"When I kissed Jordi hello when we got into the Club, he handed them to me on the down low. Sponsors gave some to the promoters, which in turn gave some to the producers which gave some to our fine Catalonian dude and here we are!" Penelope did a little sashay on her tiptoes to the kitchen.

"You've got everything else I hope...it's time for me to mix up some potions for the layyyyyyydies! Put on some music please!"

At this point everyone was laughing and looking forward to sassy beverages and the evening's party was on. Celeste followed her into the kitchen. "Let me get everything on the counter for you. Funny, right before you guys arrived Marguerite asked how you and Marc met. I hadn't started and said I would only know the places but probably not in correct order and missing some good parts. Time out, how come you guys aren't still out? It's not nearly closing yet."

Penelope nodded her head and started lining up her ingredients. She started on the citrus, made lime peel slivers and said, "Had to leave. Elix had boy trouble and then he had family jewel trouble so we left. It was pouring. We were soaked in one minute, then the taxi came and we weren't decent anymore to go to another club, SaranWrap dresses and all. So we thought we'd see if you bookworms were still up."

"You need anything else? Should I make popcorn or something? Parmesan toasts? I may have some Havarti, maybe a Granny Smith or kiwi?" Celeste offered.

"Sounds good to me."

"What part?"

"All of it." Penelope didn't look up, she was measuring and pouring into the make shift cocktail shaker, an insulated to go coffee thermos. Celeste laughed.

"Should have figured, you eat anything. OK, I'll make up some snacks and we can settle in for you to tell Marguerite the mini-series of you how met Marc. Does Elix know?"

"Bits and pieces. Hey, we can watch All About Steve or He's Just Not That Into You instead." Penelope stopped shaking the thermos and poured the pink potion into the first martini glass that she had already rimmed with sugar. Focused on her task, she examined the color and she held it up to the light and nodded.

"First ups!" handing the glass to Celeste to serve the others. "Looks awesome Pglot. Listen I could listen to your love story every night at bedtime and never get sick of it. Come on, be a raconteur." Celeste took the Cosmo to the living room. Penelope went on with her beguiling libation fabrication.

"She says 'Fantastique!' Celeste tells Penelope.

"Ah, tell Lix, de rein." [It's nothing.]

"No, it was Marguerite!"

"Oh really?! Ha. Cool. Almost done with #2." And she resumed shaking once the lid was on tight.

"You're life should be made into a movie. Seriously. Like you said, 'Truth is stranger than fiction.' Celeste watched her swipe a lime wedge gently spinning the edge of the thin glass in the sugar and pour in the potion.

"Who really said that?" Penelope asked wiping the bottom of the glass over a red cotton dishtowel.

"I forgot. I'll ask our resident reference librarian with Google back up. Thanks, go ahead and make your's next. Mine go super light on the spirits, K?"

"Got it. Coming right up, ma petit carcajon."

Penelope loved to call Celeste her little badger, due to Celeste's alma mater and the infrequency with which one used carcajon in conversation.

Celeste returned with Elix's mercis and started making popcorn, slicing cheese, apples and bread. She mumbled and rummaged in the refrigerator.

"What did you say? My God, I must be going deaf from the Clubs and concerts." Penelope said.

"I can't find the kiwi, I know I had one left yesterday."

"Oh, I used it. Needed more citrus juice for this last cosmo, which will have an interesting color. Not as bad as radiator fluid but possibly toxic looking. I'll take this one, chemist privileges. With that she added another splash of cointreau, screwed on the lid and began shaking vigorously. Celeste started a second batch of popcorn and took the first bowl to the living room.

"And you Cleopatre, we will share some but don't be Miss Piggy. Be right back with more snacks." Celeste said.

Marguerite was asking Elixabete if she had read the biography of Cantona by Phillipe Anclair.

"Yes." she replied.

Celeste and Penelope returned to the room with a tray of apple slices, cheese, Pain d'Avignon and more popcorn.

"Ok, so I hear there's a request for the story of how Marc and I met. You sure you don't want to watch a movie or practice French conversation instead?" Penelope grinned and took a sip of her Cosmiwi anomaly.

"Not bad. Necessity is the mother of invention! Sante mes amies! [your health my friends] Penelope toasted and went around clinking everyones glass. Careful to maintain everyone' eye contact to avoid the curse of seven years of bad sex.

Penelope sat down and took a deep breath. "Ok, if you insist. Here's the story of me and Marc, a Global groundhog day. I was an undergrad at Berkeley and some friends of mine wanted to go visit Vancouver over Thanksgiving break. All the non-Americans who didn't have anywhere special to go for the #1 family holiday. Someone found a 8 year old Toyota Celica we could borrow for the trip.

Marguerite raises her hand like a schoolgirl.

"Yah?" said Penelope biting into some cheese and apple.

"You drove from Berkeley to Vancouver for a week-end? Weren't you driving most of the time?"

"Yeah, well, freshmen aren't always so bright in calculating driving times and we had a free place to stay at one of the kid's cousin's house and yeah, it was outrageously idiotic. We actually left on the Tuesday at 5pm and rotated drivers only stopping to refuel and pee. We made decent time, under 14 hours if I remember correctly. Which was kind of dumb arriving at 7am. We were afraid to wake up the cousin's family so we parked in the driveway until the Mom noticed us and woke up her son. She figured whatever was going on, he had something to do with it. He fabulously had NOT talked to his parents about their niece and 3 co-eds coming for the long week-end. It was insanely awkward and someone mumbled that we could probably find a youth hostel to stay in but that got one of the girls to cry. Tears got us clearance into the house. By the time coffee was poured, we were officially guests. Very relieved, very tired and very grubby guests. We each took turns showering in the guest bathroom and promptly fell asleep on the two pull out sofas in the basement family room. Sick of the drinking age limits of the US compared to Europe, exhausted from our college schedule, we wanted to sleep for 8-10 hours and then go out. The cousin suggested we go to Granville Island Brewery first.

We might have looked like an interesting group of girls- a Serbian, a Spaniard, a Frenchie and your's truly. The cousin said he might bring some of his friends to meet us later.

We watched the brewery tour video and proceeded into the sampling room. It was already a bit crowded with a variety of tourists, clusters of girls and guys out like us and then some obvious regular locals. At one point, I looked across the room and saw Marc looking at me. He was with some really weathered looking older men so I just turned back to our chick conversation. We got another round of beer and I looked over and saw him look and then smile at me. He was definitely handsome, dark wavy hair, tall. But there was something strange about the guys he was with. Maja and I went to the bathroom and when we came back, he and his rough riders crew were gone. I didn't realize that they hadn't left the building, just all split up. Later that night I found out that Marc had watched us leave for the bathroom and moved in approaching Maria and Marie. By the time we had gotten through the bathroom line and returned to our table, he was gone. It turned out there was an upstairs area that they had gone to. After we left, Maria explained that he was working as an interpreter on a Russian fishing boat. The rough weathered men were the Russian fisherman. He was happy to speak English not about fish deals and asked questions about how long we would be in the area, where we were from and at the very end he asked for my name and Marie gave it to him.

The rest of the trip was basically drinking, dancing, seafood, sleep then coffee, over and over until we headed back at 4am Sunday morning and made it to our late morning classes the next day.

I had asked Marie where Marc was from but she just giggled and said she forgot to ask. When she told him she was French, he spoke so well she was smitten and basically just giggled like a bimbo. She was a light weight and it didn't take much to get her tipsy and nonfunctional. Maria had been distracted trying to decide on our next destination from the hotel map that she hadn't paid him much attention.

My junior year abroad I was primarily in Paris but took some holidays. Actually a lot of holidays, the French have a ton of holidays! A friend and I took a train to Southern France. I had always wanted to go to Aix-en-Provence, Marseilles and the Rivera. When I was a kid we had only spent time in Paris or with my father's family in the North. When we were in Aix we went to some of the healing springs, the incredible open markets and we each bought a proper market basket. When we got to Marseilles we were queens of picnicking. Taking a bottle or two of local wine, cheese, a baguette and sausages, we would go down by the docks and watch the boats going in and out. We found a little park nearby and lay in the sun for a siesta. When we woke up there was a little bunch of fresh lavender and a note addressed to me on our blanket. Lizette was a bit spooked until I read the note aloud and told her that I had seen this guy in Vancouver. He left a local restaurant name and asked if we wanted to meet for dinner. Lizette was a nervous Nellie and said that we should not meet him. I was curious if it really was Marc or one of the Russians. Although I didn't know for sure if he was an English & French speaking Russian, seemed unlikely. I wrote a response, brought it to the restaurant and gave the hostess some cash to deliver it when he arrived. Lizette was willing to spy to see if I could identify him after the two year hiatus. Then she was going to walk into the restaurant pretending to be my sister and explain that I had a migraine from the sun that day and couldn't join. Marc seemed disappointed but went on to have dinner with Lizette while I feigned ill. Once she returned to our hostel she gave me a small box of exquisite chocolates and a reply letter. She had been amazed how many questions he had asked her about me. Many she didn't know the answers to because we had only recently become friends and this was our first excursion together. He seemed quite relieved that I didn't have a boyfriend. But there wasn't much to be done to have an actual date because he was back out to sea the next morning. Depending on his next assignment he may have enough time to be in Paris for 1 or 2 weeks and would find me at the University. I wasn't sure how he thought he would find me and left the note in the bottom of my suitcase. As an aside we had an outrageous time in Nice and hung out with some Frenchie and his American friend who went to Harvard and was now at Columbia. THAT was the most fun of my junior year abroad. I wonder what happened to those guys or Lizette for that matter.

The next year for graduation, my parents said I could take a trip. I picked Crete and a few of the smaller islands. I felt fine traveling by myself on the little islands and would meet one of my cousins on Crete to hit as many beaches as possible during our stay. After graduation ceremonies, giving away everything but what could fit in two oversized suitcases, I flew from San Francisco to NYC. I made a layover to repack into one vacation carryon and stayed with a friend who was starting Columbia Law that fall. One shouldn't stray north of Columbia, we discovered quickly, suddenly feeling very white, very female and very vulnerable. We met with some of her high school friends for dinner in Chinatown. We called it an early night at 3am as I had my flight to Madrid, then Athens followed by a ferry ride, that same day. Someone in the group was having a birthday and wanted to go to the Hard Rock Cafe in Times Square. Talk about insane amount of electricity! Anyway, I made it to Madrid and was overwhelmed with fatigue and sadness. Probably pretty dehydrated and a little hungover didn't help. Suddenly I wanted to have a boyfriend going on this trip. It was strange, not like me. I was so tired I thought if I don't sleep I am going to be sick. I wished for some kind of napping pods, sound proof with an alarm to make sure to get to your connecting flight. Complete with a map of the airport, that place is ridiculously humongous. I had my yoga mat and slept 45 minutes on some marble in an empty gate area.

"Pardon moi, what's humongous? Elix asked. Penelope explained and went on with her tale. She arrived to the Pireus port and watched all the trucks and vans with everything from shingles to sheep drive on to the ferry. There were lots of people dragging everything from suitcases to plastic grocery bags filled with whatever people think they require. Being the cheapest form of transportation to the various islands, these were the salt of earth island hoppers or residents. I had planned to read Zorba the Greek but the diesel fumes were nauseating with the surging of the ferry so I people watched. It was amazing how many people were eating and drinking. The concession stand on the open deck was steady business. People also packed their lunches or perhaps their Yaya's/grandmothers had lovingly prepared for them. There was lots of smoking, the loud, constant drone of the huge engines and people shouting conversation. The next few days I sunbathed, island hopped and then it was time to head to Crete. My cousin met me in Heraklion. He had rented a car. He had driven in Athens before so I voted him most likely to keep us alive and refused to drive one kilometer.

"Who needs another drink? I am calling for an intermission." Penelope stood up and stretched. Elix raised her glass to Penelope and Marguerite went to the bathroom. Celeste said she would love to stay up but her brain was officially done for the day. She encouraged everyone to stay, brushed her teeth, put in earplugs and she and Cleopatre fell fast asleep.

Penelope sliced more bread and cheese and mulled some frozen raspberries to replace the lime juice. She brought the vibrant magenta Cosmos into the living room.

"Once again, a new invention. These look pretty amazing for substitutes, let me know what you think." She settled back into her spot on the sofa, folded her long legs under her and resumed her tale.

"We went all over the place, I have a list of all the beaches in my travel notes. We arrived in Matala about noon. It was very hot, 40C." she said looking at Elix. Marguerite asked if that was the place the hippies lived in caves by the beach. "YES! Excellent job 'Rite.

We parked and went into a little supermarket for water, beer, snacks and Magnum ice cream. I've seen it now here in the States but it was a first for me then. I remember laughing at the macho names for ice cream novelties, James Bond inspired ice cream cones. Eventually it cooled off, we climbed around the old hippy caves, swam, took a fabulous outdoor shower and put on fresh clothes. We walked down a main street with lots of tourist shops, cafes, jewelry and dish wares. We came to an open plaza area where all sorts of flowers, peace signs and hearts were painted on the road. We decided to eat at a little place facing the plaza. I could go on & on about the food but then we'd be starving for Greek food and Zoe's won't open for hours. We had some delicious table wine and were feeling the effects of the day in the intense sun and the alcohol. I went to the bathroom because I needed to and I always loved seeing the uniqueness of each Greek bathroom, no two alike. Everything from a hole in the floor to statues & fresh flowers next to your own sink in your own separate suite. I digress, but Greek bathrooms are a mini-adventure in and of themselves. When I came back, seated at the table next to us was, guess who? Yep, good ole Marc. This time with his brother, Xavier. I sat down and Marc stared at me and then looked away into his menu. He started speaking French with his brother but softly so that I couldn't hear him. My cousin looked at me, "What's up? Weird bathroom?" Then as he caught me peering at Marc, "Don't tell me, you already slept with those guys."

"No, but I have seen one of them or he has seen me at least two other times around the world."

"Shut up."

"No really." I said and I told him about Vancouver and Aix. When Marc saw us finishing up the traditional meal finale of watermelon and raki, he turned to directly face us. Introduced himself and his brother and asked where we were from and how long we would be in Matala. My cousin replied and then there was an awkward silence. Then I said that this was my cousin and that we would be on the beach tomorrow and to come find us.

Marc explained that Xavier would be working but that he was on holidays and would definitely find us. Just then all the power went out. We were waiting for our bill. Xavier explained that this had been happening regularly due to the economic hardship.

The restaurant staff quickly brought out candles for all the tables. Xavier invited us to stay for a drink while they finished their dinner and then we could go to the seafront bar that he recommended.

"Today is life. Tomorrow never comes." we toasted Matala's mantra. I stayed pretty quiet. I was tired from the traveling and the sun. The three men talked. It was so dark and quiet without all the electricity. No background hum of fixtures, no blenders whirring, no espresso machines hissing, no TV's or piped in music. The stars and moon were vibrant. It even seemed there were little fairies peeking out among the flowers in all the window boxes. It was magical. I excused myself to the hotel and my cousin stayed late.

The next day we went to the beach but didn't see Marc and that was it for then.

"We should be getting home, I'll finish the story another time." Marguerite had a spare key from bring Celeste groceries so she locked the door after cleaning up and leaving a thank you note on the refrigerator.

o o o o o

Celeste woke at 4am and stared at the ceiling after going to the bathroom. She thought if I don't fall asleep in 5 minutes, I will get up and make some SleepyTime tea. She had an appointment at Mass General at 9:30am, a time she was usually sleeping. She got up and made the tea.

"Cleopatre, why can't I sleep like you?"

It started to rain again so she got up and opened the window. She listened to the rain and fell peacefully asleep.

That weekend beach handball was supposed to start but the effects of the tropical storm kept the rain steady and the temperatures chilly. Marguerite came by on Sunday afternoon to knit, hang out, read, drink hot tea and wait out the rain. Randomly Marguerite looks up from her book and says quietly to Celeste, "What's it like? Being in love?"

Celeste looked up from her knitting, gazed out the window, smiled and faced Marguerite. "Well, that all depends on what kind of love."

"What do you mean?"

"There's unrequited love, there's puppy love, there's lusty love, there's unconditional love, there's First Corinthian's love, probably an infinite number in various languages. Are you referring to the concept of devoted, respectful mutual love? Not sure if there is a one word synopsis for that. Is that what you mean?"

"I guess so, yeah. I guess that one." Marguerite sipped her tea, the steam giving extra heat to her cheeks.

"Couldn't tell you. I don't think I've ever experienced it. Best bet would be to ask Pglot. She and Marc seem to have it, as well as rapture and sweetness, pretty much the whole package."

"Yeah, okay. I still haven't heard how they finally met. Maybe at your and Elixabete's birthday party. Do you have any ideas yet?"

"Nah, I'm not really in the mood for a birthday. Maybe if I had more energy or felt better or could go dancing or got to be the monogamous James Bond's forever Bond girl...."

"And which one would you be?" Marguerite was curious.

"Oh, I'd be me but with some super powers of my own, like a concussion proof brain, cat like reflexes for playing in goal and perhaps free use of a sassy jet so we could fly around Europe and pick up teammates so we'd always have a team to beat Gotham City! And always capture the gold at Nationals!" Celeste's voice got happier and faster as she imagined herself as THE forever Bond girl. "And I'd get another Beetle convertible aquarius blue, this time turbo, all my previous options like the cold weather package and maybe some groovy chick amenities like a nail, hair and make-up genie! And an awesome automated beverage and snack compartment. Press a button and hazelnut macchiato rises up into the upholder or seltzer with lime, brie and apple slices, Ritter Sport mini dark chocolate with whole hazelnuts or mini key lime tarts or"

"Stop! Stop! You're making me salivate with your exquisite car cuisine!" Marguerite and Celeste laughed.

"I suppose I am getting a little carried away but hey, why not? It is MY Bond Chick fantasy, is it not?"

"True." Marguerite conceded. "Should we order a pizza? It's too bogus to go out, STILL."

"Either that or I can make pesto pasta and parmesan toasts? I have some fresh kiwi and Greek yogurt for dessert. Do you want a glass of wine? It's left over, Elixabete brought it, if it hasn't turned to vinegar." Celeste offered.

"Sure, I'll test it. I could use some wine. I've been really stressed about this writing workshop." Marguerite confessed.

"Why is that? It's just for fun, right? It's not a contest or anything, is it?"

"No, nothing like that. I don't know, it's bringing up nightmare childhood piano recitals and any public humiliation from my past. I know it's stupid. I talk to strangers everyday at work. But I never share my writing, the real inside me, me me." Celeste handed Marguerite a glass of red wine. Marguerite lifted the glass to Celeste in a toast and took a hefty sip.

"To French vineyards! Not vinegar yet." she smiled and felt the warmth permeate her throat and chest.

"I'm hungry too. I'll start the pasta." Celeste and Cleopatre went into the kitchen. She gave Cleopatre some dinner and then put on the water to boil, the broiler to heat and grated the small rock of Parmesan for the toasts.

"Hey, I did some research on that dream of yours and it was a bit contradictory or confusing as there weren't really any direct interpretations. Was the river water murky? Did you feel afraid of the woman? Did she resemble anyone? I couldn't find anything specific about the garland of flowers around the edge of the boat. Maybe she was some kind of guide. A guardian angel? Could she have been Grace as an angel?" Celeste sat back down on the sofa. She took one sip from Marguerite's wineglass.

"Just one or two sips otherwise I'm in peril of a migraine later. Nope, definitely not Grace. She was blonde and glowing like a tinkerbell fairy. She was exquisitely beautiful in a mythical way. Sort of goddess like, I suppose. I don't remember the water conditions, just the reeds made sounds against the boat." Celeste rubbed Cleopatre who had jumped into her lap after enjoying her dinner.

"Obstacles. The reeds are obstacles but they don't completely block you. Maybe that's all the ways your post-concussion symptoms slow you down. And she's here to take you through this challenging part of your journey." Marguerite was getting more animated with the wine relaxing her usual mousey composure.

"Well, I could certainly use a guide through this horrendous ordeal. Seems all the medical people can't give me much to hang a hat on. Be patient. Everyone's brain is different. Work within your limits. No definitive time line for recovery. Nothing really to hold on to." Celeste said quietly.

The timer dinged. Celeste returned to the kitchen, added salt and penne to the water, buttered and sprinkled the Parmesan on the pain d'Avignon and slid it under the broiler. She kept watch to prevent a recurrence of her usual burning by neglect.

"Do you know how depressing it is to not have a life?" Celeste called out as she peered through the oven's window. Marguerite couldn't hear as the rain was coming down so heavily it drowned out Celeste's words. Marguerite went to the kitchen and asked what she had said and offered to help. Celeste handed her silverware and two glasses of iced tea.

"The napkins are in the top drawer of the little cupboard with the marble top." she directed.

"MEOW!" Cleopatre was whipping her tail back and forth, keenly watching a large moth that had escaped the rain but was unaware of it's new danger.

"What's up pussycat?" Celeste said coming into the living room.

"Did you ever wonder if the Bond Girl names, like Pussy Galore, were actual nicknames Ian Fleming had for his mistresses?" Marguerite queried.

"Who knows? I'm sure plenty of guy's have nicknamed their GF's at least variations of the theme. Betty Do Menow or Suzy Quickie, Dolly Wanna. It's probably a fraternity drinking game. No name your shame." Celeste was rambling as she tried to find where the moth had gone.

"Stop, stop. I have to pee!" Marguerite half ran into the bathroom giggling.

An audible crunch, crunch sound from the under side of the sofa was enough evidence that Celeste didn't need to worry about her wool sweaters.

"Good job Cleopatre! Excellent pest management. You earn your keep around here."

"What did you say?" Marguerite said opening the bathroom door.

"Oh nothing really. Cleopatre got the moth. Do you want more wine? Dinner's ready." Celeste announced.

"Oh no. I need food. I'm feeling a bit woozy." she blushed.

As they ate Celeste suggested Marguerite just go to a workshop where you didn't have to share your writing or just go and get extra massages equal to the workshop fee. Lots of massage sounded like heaven to Celeste. Marguerite said she would look into alternative workshops as it was a New Year's Resolution and she was getting antsy to cross it off.

After dinner they had a fresh pot of tea with Pepperidge Farm Mint Milano cookies, a surprise from Marguerite.

"My physical therapist theorizes that I became addicted to adrenaline and endorphins and hence my ennui with my capabilities or rather lack there of. How can I get endorphins and adrenaline and still stay within my rehab restrictions?" Celeste whined.

"Hmmm, good neurochemistry question. What did she say?"

"I didn't ask. I was pretty grumpy from the nausea and dizziness from the therapy session. I didn't want anymore bad news." Celeste said.

"We can research it ourselves. Where's your laptop?" Marguerite jumped up in service. "I'll get it."

"On my desk or bookshelf in my bedroom. Do you really think we can figure something out?" Celeste's whining leveled out.

"Only one way to find out." Marguerite had clearly clicked into reference librarian mode and was on more search engines than the CIA. Every once and awhile she'd say "hmmm" or "interesting" or "I should have thought of that." Celeste kept asking, "What? what?" but Marguerite was in hyperfocus on the screen and ignored her questioning. Finally Celeste growled, "If you don't tell me what I can do in one minute, I'm going to tell the neighbor to change the password!"

"Alright, alright. It seems the easiest and most convenient would be..." she hesitated. "Would be..." She peeked over her glasses and went bright pink as she said, "...orgasms. I guess get a man or a..a..a vibrator or um...oh gosh, do it yourself." she blurted.

"GET OUT! Google did not say that! OMG, show me that right now!" She grabbed for the computer and was laughing, then hiccuping with tears running down her face as Marguerite pulled the computer out of range. She started laughing hysterically too. Eventually Marguerite squeaked out, "wait, wait," and a few laughs later, "let me explain." Now Celeste was waving her hand and heading to the bathroom to heed her laughter bladder capacity warnings. Cleopatre was waiting at the bathroom door to be let in. As soon as Celeste opened the door, she scooted through and jumped on the vanity and meowed.

"Those big moths can make a girl thirsty, huh? Here you go." Celeste put the faucet at a steady slow stream and yelled out to Marguerite. "You better have that up on screen when I get there. I've got to see this. I will bet Pglot $200."

"No bets Celeste. I came to the reasonable conclusion. Actually, wait a minute, how do you feel? Right now?" Marguerite peered at her.

"Glad I didn't pee in my pants." She shut off the water and came into the living room and plopped herself on to the sofa. She took a deep breath and said, "God, I don't remember when I laughed that hard."

"Yeah, but how do you feel?" Marguerite leaned toward her slightly.

"Still very glad I didn't pee myself. Hmm, what do you mean how do I feel?"

"How do you feel, feel?" Marguerite insisted. Celeste was quiet. She usually didn't want to think about how she felt because it was just varying degrees of terrible. She looked Marguerite in the eyes. "Relaxed. Right now I would have to say I actually feel, well, I don't want to jinx it, but good. Yep. Right now, in this precious moment, I feel good." Celeste concluded.

"You can thank your lovely endorphins for that and probably increased O2/CO2 exchange!" Marguerite looked very smug. "Laughing is one of the ways!" She smiled broadly.

"What the hell does that have to do with a vibrator?" Celeste's face scrunched up her face, clearly bewildered.

"Oh, well that has to do with a different mechanism." She blushed again, her neck becoming splotchy. "Um, the orgasm. You don't have a boyfriend right now. Apparently falling in love gives you a dopamine rush and having sex releases endorphins." She closed the laptop.

Celeste laughed, "You'll never be a middle school health teacher, that's for sure! But wait, wasn't there anything else on the list? There must be more options than that? Aren't we more evolutionarily advanced than that? Going to comedy or sex shops? Those are my choices???"

"I also said falling in love." Marguerite chirped.

"Ha, and the likelihood right now of some hot, intelligent, available dude falling in love with an out of shape, brain injured, disabled woman....the exact probability of that? Zilch!" Celeste crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the floor.

"Sorry" Marguerite whispered, "I didn't mean to upset you."

Celeste took a deep breath and counted out loud, "dix, neuf, huit, sept...un." She took another deep breath. "It's okay, it's not your fault. It's not my fault. It just is what it is."

Marguerite took the laptop off the coffee table. "Hey, let's look again and go through it together. Maybe we can battle this endogenously after all."

"As long as there are no gigantic needles, bright lights, loud noises, noxious fumes, motion..." Celeste rolled her eyes and slumped back into the sofa and leaned on the arm cushion.

"Hope comes last." Marguerite said as she typed.

"What? Who said that?"

"Ukrainian saying." Marguerite replied as she scrolled.

"Really? Dina, the Bosnian/American says Bosnians say, 'No hope.'

"Was that before or after the last war?" Marguerite looked up.

"I don't know Marguerite. Whatever! It's what they say."

"Okay, maybe get some paper, I don't know how credible these are but here goes." Marguerite launches. "Sniff vanilla or lavender"

"Ok."

"Oh, that's really for anxiety or depression."

"Applicable." said Celeste.

"Hmm, next." Marguerite said.

"What?"

"Exercise. You aren't supposed to exercise until you get through the rest of your rehab, right?"

"Right."

"We already did that. The laughing." she added.

"Check," Celeste nodded, "but so much humor is situational. And when one is depressed and sick and tired of being sick and tired it's hard to find much funny."

"True. Do you know about Norman Cousins? It says here there are Laughing Clubs in India and something called The Happiness Project. I've briefly heard of that, it was on the check out display at the library. That can be your endorphin homework-Request it!"

"Yeah, I have heard of Anatomy of An Illness, I think that was his book. I could watch some Big Bang Theory everyday. The Three Stooges and Marx Brothers don't do it for me, too violent, too corny or too stupid." Celeste shook her head. "Next?"

"I've already said this one."

"Gimme that!" Celeste demanded. "It doesn't say vibrator anywhere! Have sex is what it says. Some personals ad I could write. 'Wanted: fantastic man for endorphin inducing therapy for brain injured woman, aka sex therapy.' They'd be coming out of the wood work. No pun intended. So, how about you? You got one?"

Marguerite blushed again.

"Right, stupid question." Celeste started laughing.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Ok, if you had one you wouldn't admit it. The secret life of Ms. Reference Librarian, a closet full of sex toys under lock & key."

"I DON'T have one. Really, I don't." Marguerite stuttered and looked at the floor.

"I know, I know." Celeste was laughing harder imagining Marguerite's hidden wardrobe of Victoria Secret, Frederick's of Hollywood, etc. Boas and costumes galore. "Well, you've got the librarian role-play covered!"

Marguerite was not amused.

"Maybe that's BOTH of our homework for this week, getting vibrators!" Celeste howled. Marguerite's blush deepened from her cheeks until blotches formed on her neck to her neckline.

"Alright, alright, I will stop teasing." Celeste took a deep breath. "What's next on the list?"

"Dark chocolate." Marguerite said quietly.

"I'm all over that. Except for the calories. I have already morphed into some Rubenesque model as it is. That's contributing to my depressed mood. I keep having to give away more and more clothes. And I am still shocked to see myself in a store window reflection." She shakes her head and looks at Marguerite's lithe frame.

"Next, nope. Next, nope, Next, nope. We have exhausted this site. It says to be afraid. People like the thrill of horror movies because fear releases endorphins and adrenaline. But I hate horror movies. I don't like being afraid. Besides my real life gets scary enough, not in a fun way. There is no leaving the theatre and having my old brain back."

"Yeah but maybe that's why you like handball so much? The thrill and tension and the odds against the goalie? Maybe you get some what of a rush from watching handball even if you aren't playing it?" Marguerite smiled smugly, Sherlock Holmes solving a case.

"You have a point there. I do love watching handball, the excitement and thrill probably does release some fabulous endorphins. And I always feel a bit let down when the game is over and I come back to reality of my daily life. And I could watch Nikola Karabatic play all day everyday."

Marguerite was rubbing behind Cleopatre's ears and under her chin. Celeste's alarm went off to remind her to take her melatonin and sleeping medication. She's still in her Nikola fantasy until Marguerite finally says, "Hellllooooo, are you going to get that?"

"Huh?"

"Off in your own little world of handball fantasy? At least no embarrassing shopping, no batteries required and calorie free. Your alarm was going off so I should probably go soon so you make your insomnia curfew. Is that what you call it?" Marguerite carried some tea things to the kitchen.

"Leave the dishes. We are agreeing that you are going home. I will do them tomorrow or in the middle of the night, whatever. Don't touch them, you, you, detergeo diligo!" Celeste insisted and began brushing her teeth.

"I'm going. I'm going, whatever you called me. I'll find out you know. OK, sweet dreams." She had her knitting bag, purse and book bag leaning together in the chair by the door. She put on her navy trench coat, swung all three bags over her left shoulder and was ready with her Blunt umbrella.

"Ciao, ciao. Thanks for the cookies and homework." Celeste gave her a hug and locked the door behind her.

"Cleo, I don't know about you but I'm hoping to fall deep into some delicious endorphin packed handball dreams...Nikola take me away."

Cleopatre said "meow" and curled up at the foot of the bed.

o o o o o

The week was going along uneventfully. On the week-end more handball teammates would be leaving for Europe so there would be picnics, dinners, karaoke and dancing. Lots of hugs, a few tears and farewell gifts would be given, some serious and some pranks. Celeste had started on her homework requesting The Happiness Project and picking up some more Belgian lavender chocolate. Perhaps that would have a synergistic effect boosting endorphins exponentially higher than each on their own. Phase 2 qualifications for Euro2014 would hopefully be online for free. She was sad that France would not be playing today. She was grumpy from nausea and fatigue and no Nikola dreams either. She was getting crabby about her upcoming birthday. She now understood why some people stopped acknowledging. When she was younger this baffled her. Why people would want to pass on cake, ice cream, parties with balloons? Now she knew balloons were bad for the environment, cake and ice cream would bring her hips and thighs to a larger girth and really she just didn't feel like getting older was something to celebrate. Certainly the American culture didn't value aging. She wanted to feel better, be cured, get a life. And maybe even fall in love. It all felt impossible. Somehow at that moment she thought of the movie, Whip It. One of the roller derby women tells the main character to "Be your own hero." This gets her to take out her old Barbie roller-skates and train.

"Yeah, Cleopatre, I need to be my own hero. Got any ideas?" Celeste turned from her desk to face Cleopatre snoozing on the bed. Beep, her phone signaled a new text. Notification from the library that Happiness was in.

"Hmm, synchronicity at play? Is this my answer? The quest for the Holy Grail to be solved for all eternity? Peut-etre. [maybe] At least I will give it a chance. All heros have to give everything a shot." She changed into leggings, jeans skirt and a fresh tshirt, slipped into sandals and grabbed her cotton scarf and jacket, just in case it was a chilly evening. Once outside she wished she had felt like walking earlier but c'est la vie. She was out now. Only a few blocks from the Cambridge main library, she looked for the neighborhood golden retriever who carried a toy in his mouth when out for it's walks. Celeste smelled the remaining peony and the honeysuckle twisted over the fence.

There were a few dogs chasing each other while the owners chatted in a cluster on the library lawn. Strollers, tennis players, teenagers, homeless, toddling toddlers, elderly, it truly was a community atmosphere. Everyone welcome, all nationalities, those with homes and those without.

Celeste went to the checkout desk. Gave her key fob library card to be scanned and told the librarian a request was in. She looked around for Marguerite but she could be anywhere. She didn't like to be seen chatting with friends as some coworkers would judge her slacking. The procedure was to just wave and give the 'call me' hand signal. Once Celeste ran into her in the ladies room so they made plans for tea when Marguerite was finished. Running into someone you knew in a public bathroom and making plans reminded Celeste of high school. Pre-cellphone era, it felt as if the planets were coordinating your social life. Celeste teased Marguerite that perhaps the bathrooms were bugged and someone would tattle on her for making personal arrangements while on the clock. Marguerite looked around suspiciously and then in a British accent made her exit, "Cheerio and thatch!"

Celeste picked up the new book, judged the cover and then put it in her cotton bag. Peut-etre [maybe] a coffee would perk her up. She walked the two blocks to the local caffeine distributer. She put in her earplugs as she entered. They had a steady excessive volume of music, patrons on cellphones or people actually face to face conversing over the background noise. Today was no exception. She had a to go cup and was thrilled to hear they were having discounts today. It was too loud to stay and read even with the ear plugs. Perhaps she would have to explore those pricey sound canceling headphones, not to play music but to actually cancel the world's ever increasing cacophony. She went back out to the library lawn and found an open bench. She sipped her coffee and suddenly woke up to the fact that it would probably keep her awake. She had a new book. Why not? Go ahead, live dangerously means having caffeine in the evening, woohoo!

Be Your Own Hero. She thought about that some more. How would she live differently if she really gave it a shot? She was already sick and tired of being sick and tired and couldn't stand to hear herself complain anymore. That could be a starting point. How much did Batman whine about Joker? Or Spiderman about the Green Goblin or Lantern or whatever his arch enemy was. What's my enemy? All my symptoms feel like the enemy or a punishment.Perhaps to start to conquer them I will need a different tactic.

C{Hey M, what do Superheros do when they are super crabby?}

M{Is this a Riddler riddle? :) }

C{haha. no, i'm serious. seriously crabby, superhero crabby}

M{idk need 2 research. ?chocolate, flowers, hot shower, popcorn & good read, Looking for Eric?

C{k, thanx}

An hour went by.

C{i put in laundry, read & popcorn, shower next}

M{U go girl! dupe those crabby patties!}

She hung the laundry on the Ikea racks making her nostalgic for Marianne, from Copenhagen and Ignatio, from Madrid. This did not help the crabby factor.

C{hey Pglot, i've got wicked crabby patties~any ideas?}

P{hey babe! Improve fung shui! put on dance music, make cosmo, sip/dance/vacuum }

C{sincerely? vacuum?}

P{In Bali they empty all trash everyday!}

P{unless Marc is home, kissing works wonders ;) ttyl bisous}

o o o o o

Make meaning. Invest in meaning. This was something else, a major issue. Celeste was feeling so empty because her life did not hold meaning for her anymore. How can one gain satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment from feeling perpetually sick and exhausted, a prisoner in her own body? All her life her basic motivator was accomplishing. She got tremendous satisfaction from getting things done, making things happen, assessing, improving, striving for betterment in all domains.

As she got into the shower, she remembered something she had read recently. The suggestion was to "do something to make yourself proud." Koan for the day, koan for everyday.

"Cleopatre, I want to feel like I'm winning at something. I want to feel like I am making progress. I want to feel like I am kicking azz. What can I kick azz at now?" Cleo gave her a blank look. She would stay in the bathroom waiting to lick the water drops left in the tub once Celeste finished. As she showered she kept repeating the question over and over.

"I need to kick some serious ass. Help me out here. I've got to figure something out soon or I'm going to go cuckoo for cocopuffs."

o o o o o

Two days later.

P{hey sassy! how r u?}

C{i want 2 go 2 Bond girl camp}

P{LOL, me 2}

C{can u get2gether 2nite?}

P{sorry i have 2 work}

C{k, have super day!}

P{u 2! :) }

Celeste checked it out, there actually is such a thing. Bond Girl Bootcamp. Not something for a brain injury to take on but it seemed wild that there was such a thing, not just in the US but in Paris and Rome too.

C{OMG, Bond Girl Bootcamp exists! In US&Paris&Rome!}

P{Freakin' Awesome! Sign me up!}

E{Vraiment?} [truly?]

M{Not 4 me but i want 2 c the pics!}

C{I already did skydiving 4 college graduation}

P{gotta run 2 class, 2b cont.}

E{in lab ciao!}

M{what r we going 2 do 4 bdays?}

C{idk dinner?}

M{@work ttyl}

"Cleopatre, THAT would have been an insanely fabulous way to celebrate our birthdays. Fly to Paris, buy French Bond Girl outfits, go to Bond Girl bootcamp...but not this year."

Later they had an email conversation. Celeste confessed it was an amazing fantasy only to outdone by having Nikola Karabatic as her personal 007. Pglot said it wasn't really feasible for anyone's schedule to take off for Parisian bootcamp but maybe for their next major birthdays. She suggested they get their own Bond's, go out to eat, dressed to kill. Marguerite reminded Pglot that she is the only one with her own Bond. Perhaps they were rentable somewhere?

Celeste responded, Just the movies, a Bond Tuxedo, Aston Martin DB5, Xbox games are all rentable but no REAL men.

Penelope left for class before Celeste could ask how many brothers Marc has and where they are located.

"Cleo, I really don't want this birthday but I don't think I'll be able to get out of it. It would be fun to get my hair done, dress up and go to dinner with Pglot, the gang and Marc's brothers. Were there enough to go around? I would LOVE to see Marguerite on a date! Hmmm, what would feel decadent and doable? She took out some scrap paper and sketched out below:

~a dozen peonies $60 ~haircut $120 with tip

~mani/pedi $70 with tip ~makeup Pglot will do for free

~dress $150 ~shoes&clutch $100 ~dinner for 8 $500? ~limo rental ?

Fantasy birthday, with a fantasy body and fantasy boyfriend. Then she crossed a big X over the list.

"Ugh, Cleopatre, this is just making me crabby. Maybe I should take a walk to the library." Cleopatre looked at her, twitched her tail and sat at attention.

"At least I learned a new word today. Maybe we could start our own fab chick club and call ourselves The Tutelarious Femmes or something. OK, off to the library in search of the Grail. How to be my own hero, how to gain super hero confidence and crabby patty management or get some ideas for something I could kick azz at."

The skies were rumbling. She hadn't brought her umbrella.

C{Hey M, got happiness proj, wanna do it 2gether?}

M{Good 4 u! I'll think about it}

Celeste walked home escaping the rain, poured a glass of iced tea and said to Cleopatre, "Here goes, homework #1. Bring on the endorphins Ms. Rubin. My tank is empty. Get comfy Cleo, hopefully it won't be too bumpy a ride." She wanted popcorn but ate a Granny Smith instead. She unplugged her laptop, shut off her cellphone and nestled in for an afternoon of rain and inspiration.

But the book didn't fit well with all that Celeste had been through and her current situation, suddenly she felt very sad and missed Grace very much. She sat down at her desk and started a letter.

Dear Grace,

I miss you so much. I miss how I felt you were always

watching out for me. You always had my back. I feel I

need that more than anything these days. Someone

who understands, someone who is okay when I feel

afraid or anxious. You could just be with me, letting

whatever had to ride out take it's course in such a

nonjudgmental and patient way. You were so sure

that things would work out.

I know that I just need to breathe with this and that you

are essentially always with me but I want to hear your

voice, get your letters and well, I guess, just KNOW that

you are out there working or cooking or volunteering or

getting your nails done. Even burping, I miss your belches!

I've been taught all these techniques to use when I feel

anxious. Counting, listening to calming music, going for a

walk and right now perhaps just this is going to help.

I went for a walk in the rain. It's humid and warm summer

rain. I try to focus on the present moment realizing that

everything is pretty much okay right in this moment.

But the anticipation of next week feels too much. I will get

through it and perhaps it will not be as I anticipate as

most things in life are. Right? We imagine them as being

one way and then everything ends up so different, or

just whatever it is going to be, for better or for worse.

I miss you my friend. I will do my best to have a decent

attitude and cope the best I can. It seems perhaps

ridiculous, perhaps it's just my anxiety has been lower,

waiting to rear it's ugly head. I should know that it will

pass as it has so many other times. I will read some daily

inspirations. Maybe some knitting will help too. I will try

that as well. I love you and miss you, sweetie. Dearest oldest

friend. Thank you for listening.

Cleopatre meowed for dinner. "OK, I should have something too Cleo. And then some mint tea and knitting. Maybe that will settle me."

Marguerite stopped by briefly to return the t-shirt picnic quilt she had borrowed. She could see that Celeste was tired.

"I'm anxious, I Hate it!"

"Just focus on today. Right now. Try to do that. Only be nervous when you have to. The time with the lawyers will come eventually but it's not happening right now." They hugged and Marguerite paused halfway out the door, "Call me anytime, OK?" "Yep, ok."

It was all easier said than done she thought. Why could she not turn and focus intently on the present moment long enough to shift the biochemistry of fear that coursed her veins? There's good adrenaline and bad adrenaline, she thought. How to transform nonproductive fear into something worthwhile? Is it truly a matter of sitting with it? The discomfort, the awareness of the irrationality of it. I'm not going through something unsurvivable but why does it feel that way? Worse than death is perpetually feeling profoundly miserable-as if something worse than death is happening. In death there would be relief at least that's how it seemed. So it's a game. A game with my mind and my endocrine fight or flight response. Strategies, coaching, staying in this moment, right here, right now. Nothing more to do than cope, breathe, and do the next best step. She decided to ask for some help.

C{Hey Elix, how do u prepare 4 a really huge game?What do u do with the negative fearful adrenaline?}

E{In the lab. will think on it & get back soon. hang in there. paix} [peace]

"I've already read so many books Cleopatre. How do I apply it all now? Look at the attorney as a 7 meter? Over & over? Stay calm, deep breaths. This too shall pass. What is the essence of it all? If I win, I win. If I lose, well it will be over which is a win. I will have done my best and I have to have faith that the path will continue to unfold, bit by bit and that I will be as okay as I can be. It's a beautiful sunny day. Why not fall in love with this day? Perhaps that is the new challenge, to just allow myself to kick ass falling in love with today. Doing something to feel even a little proud of myself. What can that be today Cleo?"

Cleopatre stared at her as if contemplating the monologue. The she walked over and rubbed herself on Celeste's legs, jumped into her lap and gave her a good head butt. "Thanks Cleopatre. You are a sweet being who gets it. I almost think you understand English. I know I can do this. Why am I so afraid?"

Take a walk, some inner voice said. Get some sunshine, be out in the world, not in your head, the inner voice suggested.

"Ok, thanks Tutelage. I will." she said to Cleopatre and to whatever force seemed to be guiding her. The walk was nice and the wait in line for her anticipated book request gave her another gift. There it was sitting patiently on it's little acrylic book perch. How Artists Work Daily Rituals.

C{Dear M, I LOVE the library! Another gift was checked out!}

Marguerite smiled on her coffee break. The soul salve of words. Is there a word specifically for that? Word medicine? Maybe in Latin. Verbum, lexis, medicine is medicine. Lexis remedium or verbum medicamentum. Lexis medicamentum or lexis pharmacon. She wrote out her list in the back of her notebook. Guess it depended on how many syllables one could tolerate.

M{ :) lexis pharmacon synchronicity. can't wait for your review}

Celeste poured herself some iced tea. The temperature was dropping and one could feel the air trying to rain but too far ahead of the droplets still. "If it gets any cooler I will switch back to hot tea." Cleopatre seemed to understand or not care. It felt like catnapping weather to her and so up on the bed nestled into the pillow, the stuffed penguin and the sheet, she curled up. The penguin was from the trip to the Aquarium with Sanja (another MIT student) and her visiting brother Urosh. They were from Nis, Serbia, birthplace of Nikola Karabatic. Sanja had taken Celeste and Urosh on an extensive tour of MIT, including the famous measurement of the Harvard bridge in increments of smoots. Oliver Smoot was a frat boy who in 1958 lay down repeatedly across the bridge, measuring 364.4 smoots, plus or minus an ear. Sanja had represented Serbia in a math Olympics, had internships at Facebook (she had to quickly make a page for herself before her first day) and Microsoft before getting hired by Google after graduation. Coming from a war torn country, she was amazed at being woo'ed with being put up in expensive hotels and limo rides from the airport. Celeste had been helped by all of her handball Club mates from war torn countries took her in when she didn't have housing. After the first hospitalization she stayed with Nader from Lebanon, Dina's mother's while she was back visiting Bosnia and Sanja in the MIT alternative dorm WILG for over a month.

Page one was inspiring enough. More of Benjamin Franklin! The Happiness Project began with his 13 virtues. "I wonder what Ben would say about my desire to kick ass and make myself proud?" Celeste smiled. That would be a funny seance session! His language was British English, definitely not American sounding. "Contrive day's business, take the resolution of the day, prosecute the present study." from his autobiography of an ideal daily routine. Celeste made note there was no mention of exercise. Perhaps that explains the portraits of his large protuberant belly. I wonder how many generations it took before the British English evolved into American English? Pglot might know, is that what linguists studied?

She liked the idea of asking herself everyday at 6pm what ass have I kicked today? "I forgot to bring a granola bar to the homeless guy at the library. Damn, flunked kicking homeless hunger's ass today." Cleopatre was unresponsive napping to the now harmonious falling rain. Celeste had picked some lavender on her walk earlier. Four stems in a dish near her on her desk. The thunder rumblings were far off. The rain and tree leaves made a beautiful background. She turned on Pandora. Opening the window as high as possible, she noticed she felt calm. She read down the list of names in the table of contents. She felt as though she had just been given super classified information. How artists, writers, scientists, composers spent their days or managed their schedules. She felt schoolgirl embarrassment over the unrecognized names and then would squeak "Oh!" at someone she'd love to spy on. "Maybe this will be just the coaching I need. All sorts of different kinds of brains working to tackle their work. Perhaps I'll discover what I might be able to turn into gainful employment one day!" Cleopatre hadn't moved other than steady respirations. Marguerite had mentioned sniffing lavender. How fortuitous some was bountifully growing just a block away. Celeste took another whiff. Light flashed in the sky. Could one sniff all the scent out of a sprig of lavender? She smiled remembering she had some Belgium lavender chocolate in her bookshelf for back up. It was getting cooler, darker and louder outside. Some jasmine tea would be wonderful to accompany spying on Georgia O'Keefe."I don't have any idea if they drink something special in the Southwest, they must. Perhaps sage?"

o o o o o

Elixabete true to her word, sent an email in the wee hours of the night.

Salut [hi] Celeste. Basically calm & focus. Breathing help keep

calm, good warm up, stretches and quick mental recovery.

If you make a mistake let it go quickly. Work on it in training

sessions. Do you have a reset word or movement to cue you

to let go of whatever just happened? Sometimes this works

very well for me. Example say Reset to yourself and make

two quick fists with your arms in ready position. No one but

you will notice. Btw, I thought you can't play anymore? See you soon for the next farewell or our brays! Abientot [until we meet]

Celeste thought about her suggestions. Yes about keep calm, yes about keep focused and the reset she had started to use and felt it was helpful.

"How to train now Cleopatre?" She paced and talked. "Maybe from now until Monday whenever someone asks me a question I will pause. Reflect on the question. If it feels challenging to focus count to five and breathe in and out. Only answer succinctly and nothing more than needed. Ugh, lawyers!" She shuttered. "Remembering that a good defense is good defense. Like Dina said, act like I could go on doing this everyday for 10 years. Don't take anything personally. He's doing his job. Hopefully all my test taking skills, all my past as a consummate professional and all my goalkeeper skills will serve me well. Not to mention whatever kind of mind training I've been doing coping with the brain injury and fall out of everything my world was. "Once a Badger, always a Badger." I got this. Calm, Focus, Reset. Practice tonight at the farewell dinner. Practice tomorrow on the car ride, at the meeting. Jeez, Cleo, I'm getting ready. Pre-game baby. Maybe stretching out isn't a bad idea either."

She got on some yoga pants and got on to the floor. The old routine still automatic. She had put on some team psych up music and smiled. Confidence, grounded confidence. Beware of looking arrogant that just pisses power men off. Better to be the mountain, yeah, a Zen mountain. It felt good and bad to stretch. She didn't realize that it had been so long. There were definitely trigger points in her hips and upper back.

"Got to get back into that everyday again!" she said as Cleopatre was weaving figure eights around her legs and arms and giving the periodic head butt. She loved having Celeste on the floor again. It had been too long for both of them. Simple very, very simple stretching out. Nothing fancy required just get your butt on the floor.

Maybe it would be better to be more like bamboo, rooted yet flexible. But then fluid like water, flowing around obstacles, yeah, Zen river. And clear like the blue, cloudless sky, yeah, Zen sky. OK, how about Zen nature? Full of everything and full of nothing.

Almost time to take a shower, put on a little makeup. Calm, Focus, Reset. CFR instead of CPR. This made her laugh remembering the scene in Casino Royale when Vesper discharges the defibrillator on Bond and Celeste had the French subtitles on. "Ca va?" [How are you?] He asked her after regaining conscious. It struck her as so hilarious, it just made the whole movie. Essentially after being zapped with 400 joules, one asks your rescuer, "What up?" It was brilliant. Ian Fleming probably wouldn't have appreciated it. Too bad.

"Calm, Focus, Reset. Calm, Focus, Reset. I can practice as I fall asleep. When I walk to the library, when I make tea, wash my hair or get the mail. Why didn't I think of this earlier? So much wasted draining adrenaline frantically discharging from my poor little adrenal glands. Cortisol is supposed to look nasty up close and molecular. Chronic stress hormone.

"I wonder what adrenaline and endorphins look like? What do you think Cleopatre?" She filled her water and dinner bowl. Now for the annoying, frustrating and downright mind boggling task of deciding what to wear for the casual farewell soiree. Perhaps a fairy godmother could whip up some sassy well fitting outfit for her while the shower chores are completed. Something feminine, fun, stylish and free- Abracadabra, rub the little mini genie lamp before she goes and perhaps some inspiration will come on it's own.

"Perhaps I should leave out some little treats, like cookies for Santa or Buddhist offerings for the hungry ghosts? Hmmm, what would be a treat for a fairy godmother? This seems to be a significant oversight of children's stories. And it could cost me a fabulous ensemble. Oh dear, how will I know? I don't think Google has this one."

Cleopatre followed her into the bathroom. "Calm. Focus. Reset. Calm, Focus, Reset...." she said silently to herself. Halfway through the shower it indeed felt like a mantra. She got ready and figured out something simple to wear. As she put on some mascara and she said to Cleo, "Somebody said the only thing to fear is fear itself. One of the Roosevelts I think, anyway, let's look at that. I'm either going to do a good job, bad job or mediocre job but whatever happens none of it will have been as bad as what I've been through. If I win, I win something. If I lose, it's finally over, which is a win. So the worst I have ever known is behind me. It may be tricky but I'll do my best, like I've always tried to do and that's all I can hope to do." Cleopatre hopped out of the bathtub apparently refreshed from licking remaining shower droplets.

The buzzer buzzed and it was time to go get the Basta Pasta & salad and have the farewell for Mickael and Pauline(going home to France then on to a year in Argentina. Tomorrow would be another day.

The soiree went very well. No one cried, perhaps they were all getting used to the coming and goings of everyone. Celeste was exhausted. Guests washed all the dishes and glassware and went off to The Cellar to watch the end of the Bruins Stanley cup game.

She fell into bed and asleep after about an hour and a half of settling her mind after so much stimulation. Morning came quickly with bad dreams of being in school and psychic forces trying to attack her. She woke up sweaty, kicked off the blanket and nestled back into the pillow, the alarm went off, she hit snooze three times and then dragged herself out of bed. A former coworker would drive her to meet the attorney and he would advise her on the deposition. Afterwards she slept the hour ride back to Cambridge, that part was done.

At home the anxious adrenaline was circulating again. "Breathe. Calm, Focus, Reset. Just breathe and don't fight it. It is your primitive hormonal system doing it's thing. You feel afraid. You will have to perform. Nothing to fear but fear itself." she said to Cleopatre who was curled on the end of the sofa. She lay with an ice pack on her neck and eventually napped for twenty minutes. She got up and made some iced 211 and picked up the latest library book. A Ukrainian folk tale about a "Fool" who makes friends who have unique talents and all help him to meet all the Tzar's challenges and finally marries his daughter.

C{Hey M, want 2 come 4 tea later? Will tell u my conclusion on happiness project}

M{Sure, c u later}

Celeste made some popcorn for her and Cleopatre. "Let's have a treat! Popcorn and reading!"

"Meow" responded Cleo and waited for stray popcorn from the hot air popper to miss the bowl and land on the kitchen floor. Once Cleopatre actually ate one midair. Celeste clapped. She tried tossing one to her but Cleopatre didn't seem to gather this was a new game. They settled on the sofa and enjoyed the crunch factor of a late afternoon gouter [snack].

It was a beautiful evening so Celeste decided to walk down to meet Marguerite as she got off of work. Marguerite treated for pizza slices and they sat on a bench outside the library, watching all the people and enjoying their mini summer picnic. "I will treat for ice cream from Broadway Market." Celeste offered. "Celebrate the steps forward, this time next week the deposition will be done and I will feel free of all that!"

"Cheers!" said Marguerite and they clicked their thermos to go cups.

"So, what's wrong with The Happiness Project?" Marguerite was curious.

"It's not really wrong, just not right for me, in my life after TBI and everything." Celeste said.

"Can you give me some examples?" Marguerite pressed. She had heard that it was great and really thought it could be a resource for Celeste to increase happiness factors in her life.

"Yeah, sure. She talks about dealing with clutter and buying her kids too many presents. Watching TV too much. Some of it I'm sure is great but I don't have clutter issues or a TV or excessive gifts for kids. I think she's really prepping herself so if and when a crisis hits she'll have a better baseline. No offense but she probably lives off in a 48 hours what I live off in a month. There just is this huge chasm of socioeconomic difference that really is never addressed. It will probably be very successful in the general American population. Not so much for the disabled, living at 200% poverty level. No one writes books for us, not a lucrative niche. But that's okay I'm getting used to it."

"Yes, hmmm I see what you mean. You need the sequel, AFTER the shit hits the fan. Yes, it has been very successful." Marguerite was quiet.

"Plus I get the sense that she has a household income in the six figure region." Celeste added.

"That's a pretty significant discrepancy. She lives in NYC, right?"

Celeste nodded.

"OK, even if they have a huge Manhattan mortgage, they easily have optional spending you can't probably comprehend. Me either for that matter."

"Yep, so I'm good to tell you I returned it today. Unfinished." Celeste looked sheepishly at Marguerite.

The heat wave was running a few days now. The idea of baking was out of the questions. Buttercream would slide right off a cake. Better to to for ice cream sundaes at JPLicks and call it a birthday.

Celeste wasn't done with the deposition. She had lasted 41/2 hours and was quite pleased with herself that she wasn't with her head in a bucket retching, her cranium exploding. Funny our ideas of success after various life experiences. She didn't want to talk about it in case the defending attorney asked her if she had discussed it with anyone, she could just say her ride.

Cantona's biography had arrived so she would have her birthday book ritual after all. It would be so awesome if she could get to Boston Copley library to enjoy the reading room or the outdoor cafe. It seemed a thunderstorm could break out at any minute so she didn't want to attempt the journey until it had passed. She thought about going to Barkley's for a black and white frappe and a grilled cheese to celebrate June as dairy month in Wisconsin. Without a lactaid tablet such a lactose bolus would make her June as bloating to floating month. She made an appointment to get her haircut. It had been four months, her ends were dead and then she'd look sharp for Friday evening whatever ended up happening. Even if they just went for ice cream that would be fine.

"Nah Cleo, I really don't want a song or dance this year. I can go for my sundae, settle in with Cantona, a big bowl of popcorn and you curled up next to me. That's good enough. The lunch with the girlfriends on Saturday will be perfectly fabulously enough." She rubbed the back of Cleopatre's neck. A heavy wave of sadness flowed through her. She missed Grace. On the way to the deposition they had passed a Wisconsin license plate and Celeste smiled. "Thanks babe, Love you too!" she had said aloud. Then she explained to Talia about Grace. Talia was from the team and had a flexible schedule so she was livery service to the attorney's office two hours one way. It was a relief having that partly over.

"What to do Cleo? Do I make a bucket list? Is that what people do when they close the first half century books and open a new volume?" Cleopatre just purred and gave the squinty eyes that express cat love and deep satisfaction.

"I don't really feel like a bucket list. I've been so lucky and experienced so many amazing things in my life. You know what? I really am adverse to the idea of buckets. Just makes me think of barf buckets. How about a more pleasant association? A soaring list? Or I've got it! A Salig list! Yes. That's perfect. Salig- Danish word for deep happiness contentment such that you feel you are floating. A very specific kind of feeling blessed.

A cooler breeze came through the window and Celeste felt a bit annoyed the storm had held off. She felt a bit like having that free sundae today but didn't want to feel the sleepiness after the sugar crash. Her list for the day didn't help her lack of satisfaction. The main thing she needed to do didn't get done. She had been on hold with Social Security for thirty minutes- "Why didn't they use the call back system today?" she growled. She gave it the two more minute warning and then the countdown from twenty slowly and finally hung up. "I will just have to go there tomorrow by bus." she thought and wrote Dead End next to it on her list. A French song came on Pandora. Fluency in French would definitely make the Salig list. "But it's so much WORK!!" she grumbled. Could she just have french conversations running in the background and pray that her brain just sucked up the language vacuum? Fat chance. If that was the case all those tapes and classes would not exist. It couldn't hurt though. Next library trip she'd get some movies and check her own collection for French options. She was itching for an intense literary escape. A powerful vortex drawing her in so completely she would feel her actual life a dream. Marguerite was always good for a referral. The Cantona biography would not likely do it. Although Elix was certainly smitten so perhaps he would spellbind her as well.

Was that a good thing to wish for on the salig list? To be spellbound by a man? Sounded a bit dangerous. "I want some sexy shoes." she said aloud randomly. Perhaps some fun movie tonight, maybe someone would be around for a spontaneous chick night. She could offer cosmopolitans with real cranberry juice, still left over from the French farewell soiree. Get limes after the library, go to the bank or tomorrow. Get home before storm, main thing. What the hell will make today feel productive? She thought definitely crabby at Social Security. "Maybe the fresh air will help Cleopatre? she grumbled. "Endorphins!" she exclaimed and Cleo jumped awake, then sat up and washed her face.

"What can I do that is exciting?And is okay for my brain? Huh Cleopatre, what?what?what?" She definitely needed to shift her antsy energy. Perhaps it was the build up of tension with the approaching storm.

"What can I get done today?!" she growled. Cleopatre jumped down preferring to be away from Celeste in her current state and went to the kitchen to check for food. Celested followed her, gave her fresh water and decided she was too hot and crabby and needed to jump into a cold shower. She grabbed some fresh clothes and kept the water just tolerable, she needed to profoundly cool off.

"Good thing I don't have a boyfriend right now. He'd be fed up with this ridiculousness! I'M FED UP!!" she ranted to the shower head.

o o o o o

Penelope was really hoping that Iker was going to follow through and pursue Elixabete via the handball club. How often did he get to speak Basque in Boston, with a totally hot French woman? Not astrophysics, he would follow up, only a matter of when. In the meantime one afternoon in a n extremely boring lecture, she started the list. It could serve as a woo guide and Pglot was the woo agent! What would any man smitten do for a list? The preferences of whomever the babe the dude was pursuing. "Climb every mountain? Ford every stream?Pay E100,000? Or does a man prefer to to be his own Sherlock Holmes? Powers of observation, patience, time together unfolding the mysteries of that female creature? Men don't read manuals. Would they want a list? She started a fresh piece of paper, 2 columns, likes on one side and dislikes, not impressed by and to try. She didn't put Elix's name or any other identifying information on the page. However, if one knew Elixabete, there was only one, this was her.

Listening to the lecture for a few minutes it reminded her of one of her American schools abroad. She ended up repeating the same history curriculum for 4th and 5th grade. Exactly the same two years in a row. She didn't tell anyone. She figured it was the educational universe giving her a bye. She already knew the material being presented but class attendance was critical. She asked a pertinent question to fulfill her participation quotient and then went back to assessing her woo agent role. Old school was the village matchmaker, new world in spite of social media, the woo agent. She bequeathed herself Woo Agent 0069. She suppressed laughter brilliantly. All that training as a DK-diplomat's kid. She took a sip from her portable eco conscious cup and smiled.

"What about the ethics of this?" she thought, smile shifted to brow knitting concentration. Should she get consent first? From Elix, allowing her full disclosure of the mischief afoot? Class dismissed. She slipped the evidence into the back of her binder under the MISC tab. She needed to contemplate this. How would she have felt if someone had given Marc her list? She knew he would have sailed half way around the world for her because in fact, he had. More than once. Walking to her next class across the zigzags of Harvard Yard she decided she needed some research on this. Would men want a woman's list? And given the choice, would women let them have it? She was sure there would be cultural bias as well as perhaps cohort bias and extreme personal variants. Would her survey defy the bell shaped curve? At the bare minimum it would provide a dude a few first date ideas. That would be good, right? Suddenly she wondered was she messing with destiny? Nataliya (Ignatio nicknamed her "Princess") disliked garlic, onions and couldn't stand "smelly" restaurants like Zoe's or Basta Pasta but loved Mr. Crepe in Davis Square. She didn't like flowers but loved getting cards in the mail. Where there any penalties for that? Depends on the philosopher, religion, science, doctrine, blah, blah,blah. Would the receiver have to swear confidentiality, denying the existence of their target female's "List"? She was curious to talk to Elix, Celeste and maybe even shy Marguerite for their opinions and to Erik (Marc's best friend), Marc's brothers and maybe even her father. Next class she needed full concentration, no distractions, full focus Woo Agent 0069, PhD is the current priority.

o o o o o

Celeste felt better. She only woke up a few times, the night's nightmare had been PG-13 rating and she didn't have a headache. Perhaps the full moon had put her over the crabby patty cliff, whatever, she was just grateful to not feel miserable.

Cleopatre gave her a sandpaper "kiss" on the cheek and headed into the kitchen. Celeste got up, stretched a little and then went to join Cleo. She put on the electric kettle for #211 morning ritual and stared at the calendar. Less than 48 hours she was going to have a major birthday. "Cleopatre, I wonder what Dorothy Parker and Bette Midler's philosophies are about birthday milestones? I should investigate that . God what would be fabulous to have a sticky bun from flour today, ha- everyday for that matter!" She salivated at the thought, turned from the calendar announcing "No More Bucket List!" with enthusiasm. Cleopatre looked up from her kibble. "I associate buckets with retching in the ER-Bogus! From now on- I make a Salig List!" She continued on with her countdown speech, "I've been lucky so far to have already had all sorts of skydiving, scuba, snorkeling, French lightening kisses, stopping handball 7meters, international travel, self reliance/sufficiency to be so independent. All this before the crash. So now a Salig list." The kettle clicked, steam rose as the water rumbled within. She poured over the mesh contained tea leaves next proclaiming no migraine on her birthday, she would get a haircut. "Off with the dead ends!" she waved her oatmeal spoon over her head. She forgot how she was full of life when she had a little energy. She would need to watch it, not over do it/anything, so excited to feel a tad human. She'd be a racehorse out of the gate. Consequences- migraine, retching, buckets, ER, etc. Not how she wanted to spend anyway let alone her birthday.

Teacup in hand, she booted up Safari. "Good name, I'm on adventure hunting knowledge." she said to some marketing person in the world. Googled Dorothy Parker birthday philosophy. Nothing really there. "Ah, how about Mae West!" she clicked in. "Here we go Cleopatre." "You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. And 'It is better to be looked over than overlooked."

She laughed, "Oh my God! An ounce of performance is worth pounds of promises!" "A hard man is good to find." wonder what she would have said about Viagra?!

Kate Hepburn "Never complain. Never explain."

Billie Burke aka Glenda the Good Witch "Age doesn't matter unless you are a cheese."

Marilyn Monroe "Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world." And "The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes or just by staring into space."

Celeste looked at her phone, "Yikes Cleopatre, I've got to get going. I can't be late for the very important date!" she laughed to herself, threw on some clothes and was out the door. Maybe this birthday isn't such a big deal after all, she thought as she glanced to the bus stop and saw that it was empty. Her time was tight to get from Cambridge to South Boston within the hour, not much waiting time leeway. She started walking on toward the train in Central Square. She'd keep her eye out for the #1 and get on if it appeared. The hustle and bustle of the mid-afternoon made her brain a bit apprehensive. She took a few deep breaths as she walked to center herself and hopefully prevent an adrenaline surge fight or flight response. She really didn't want to feel that today, especially now her system will be stressed enough with riding the T and then another bus. Deep in thought, the #1 roared past. "Zut!" [damn] she exclaimed, annoyed and kept on. By the time she got to the first inbound stairwell, she saw the #1 stopped at the light. "So I saved .75, got some exercise and spared my vestibular system the over stimulation of a bus ride."

The train noise was LOUD as she descended the stairs. Time for the earplugs. Seeking out enough space to sit on the crowded bench, she could feel her body happy for the rest. Her extreme state of reconditioning was finally so persistent she didn't cry about it anymore.

o o o o o

The survey was proving to be more interesting than Penelope had anticipated. Two women with steady men said their honeys wouldn't want the list. One of the guys from the handball team said he would definitely want the list and felt that all men would agree. Later that day she got a test. Woman #2 who was VERY certain of her man's response, confessed.

"Of course I would want the list!" he said. Even though Iker was European, she was curious to check with a few American males. Perhaps some classmates or just poll randomly. She would need to do this carefully, already prepared for someone asking for her list. She'd simply flash her gold band and smile, "My husband has it."

"Bitch" one spit out at her. She quickly got into the crowd of students making her escape from Mr. Rejection Issues. Better to stick to those who will remain civil, she pondered scrolling her phone. When it rang, she jumped. "Jeez relax sassy boots." she muttered to herself as she answered.

"What sassy boots?" Elixabete laughed.

"Oh nothing. How's it going? You in the lab?"

"Yeah, Hey is the bday dinner tonight or tomorrow night?"

"Neither, tomorrow afternoon. Piattini's Newbury Street. Can you make it?" Penelope knew that Celeste would be sad if Elix wasn't there and it was such a hassle to schedule the four of them.

"Oui, bien sur. [yes, of course] That's super because I wouldn't make it out of the lab tonight.

"So, having any awesome fantasies about Monsieur Iker?" Pglot teased.

"Peut-etre [maybe] Elix drew out her answer in a suggestive way.

"Why are you thinking of leaving Marc?"

"haha, not anytime soon. No competition here, ma cherie. Shall we go to the MFA cafe again soon?" she coaxed.

"I don't know. Odds are he wouldn't be on shift. But it was fun speaking Basque again. Reminds me of my Grandmere, she was wonderful. I miss her. Oh, maybe I'm getting a little, how do you say? homesickness?"

"If you want to meet for drinks later let me know. Otherwise I will see you tomorrow. Sorry-lecture starting in 30 seconds. ciao ciao kiss kiss."

Penelope shut her phone before the TA could glare at her. Down the margin of her paper she jotted a few names to consider for her survey.

o o o o o

Celeste woke up at 12:30 and 2am. "Only a few more hours Cleo and the birthday is official." she said as she climbed back under her sheet returning from the bathroom. She lay there for awhile and then gave up, turned on the light and picked up the book about a young woman with ALS. It felt helpful to read about others who had coped with life changing illnesses. Profoundly life changing experiences people "get it." The would write things with a similar understanding of life "before" and the chaos of life with a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, mild traumatic brain injury, Lou Gehrig's or rare cancers. People living in "before" life they would see it as depressing something she would have thought when she lived in "before" time. She finished it, sipped some iced tea, turned off the light and fell into a nightmare. She woke again, cold and hot, her legs damp with sweat. She figured it all had something to do with her faulty nervous system. Brain chemistry imbalance or the medications or sympathetic sensitivity response to the fight or flight during the nightmare. She looked at her phone, 8:30am. She'd rolled over another year two hours earlier. No more anticipation, it was here. She got up and made some iced tea, turned on her light box and read in bed while Cleopatre kept sleeping. Her phone chirped as incoming birthday text wishes arrived.

She got up and took all the cards out of her Friday folder. Brought the tree gifts with her and started opening. She was careful to dispose of the ribbon before Cleopatre could eat it. Seemed so strange why a cat would want to chew curling ribbon but she had seen remnants in the litter box before Cleopatre had been toilet trained. The last thing she needed today was a kitty bowel obstruction and a major vet bill.

The phone rang, she didn't recognize the number. Intuition said "Answer it." It was a collections agency about a bill from over a year ago that she knew nothing about. "Guess that's what happens when your address changes six times in four months." So much for the vet bill, getting up for her debit card, she shook her head.

"Happy Birthday to me." she said as she dialed the rehabilitation hospitals billing department. Better to deal with it now and be debt free, as far as she knew.

"OK Cleopatre, part of this next budget needs to include deductible for next year. My God, it doubled this past year. Damn, that means $286 a month I have to save between now and February! Happy happy birthday to me."

The Europeans were always shocked when they arrived to America and began to appreciate their socialized medicine back home in a new way.

o o o o o

She made it in time the #7 bus coming 5 minutes after she left South Station. It was very cold on the bus, out came the scarf and double wrapped her neck. She watched various characters coming on and off the bus. She enjoyed being behind sunglasses and her earplugs hidden under her wide brimmed sunhat. Celebrities must enjoy being able to pass occasionally incognito. How long before they can no longer use public transportation? Probably directly proportional to how famous they are or is that inversely proportional? She was too tired to figure it out. Motion of the train & bus were definitely getting to her. She should have taken a Compazine suppository for such rides.

"Next time." she said to herself. Someone else had rang for the next stop. The guy telling the story about how the cops had broken down the door of his apartment thinking he was dead inside since no one at his work had listened to the message he left that he wouldn't be in. He was so reliable he said numerous times, that within a few hours of being missing some guy from his work called the cops. 43 years old, missing from work for a few hours and some guy gets the cops to bang down his door, only to find his alarm going off and his bed empty. He's in disbelief that the coworker wouldn't try to find him first and that it's good to know that people are looking out for him-except that he couldn't get into his apartment when he got home as the cops had replaced the lock they destroyed. All that for missing one message?

Always an adventure the city bus. Politicians, legislators and staff should have to use public transportation, she thought. Be leading examples of lowering the carbon footprints and maybe the system would get a little attention. The T elevators that smelled of urine were the worst.

She loved getting her haircut, except for the loud music. Can't wear earplugs and get hair shampooed, cut or styled. The shampoo technician gave a wonderful scalp massage. There was just nothing like someone else washing your hair. Someone famous commented that it was one of the most intimate things to do for someone. She couldn't remember who it was but it was true. Until she would wash her hair next, she would feel like an overweight stunt double for Jennifer Aniston. Already men were looking at her before the cut. It was the sunglasses and hat, she was convinced but no one said hello. Maybe she should just be satisfied as Mae West suggested- "better to be looked over than be overlooked." It felt strange to her, she understood she was attractive to men but it seemed confusing. She wasn't "ALL THAT", why did no one approach her? She remembered a few guys on the internet dating site commenting that she was probably intimidating to men.

"OMG", she thought, "you are f-ing kidding me? I'm in some nebulous zone of unapproachable because guys will only honk or whistle but no 'Hello, my name is..." It was really annoying when men commented why was someone as beautiful as she, even on the internet. She would scream at the screen- "'cause none of you bozos will ask me out!!" Then she would take a deep breath and "What the hell is so intimidating about me? You, you ball-less buffoons! Step up to the plate! Take a chance on a hot, smart sassy babe! Oh silly me. Grow some balls and be a MAN!"

But those days were long gone. No internet dating, no blind dates, no 8 minute dates not even a 2 minute date. It would be too intimidating to try to explain her situation/limitations from the TBI. It was hard enough explaining all that to her friends, people who loved her anyway. No, it would take one very, very special man, truly one in a million, to put up with her high maintenance sensitivities. Half of the time she couldn't tolerate herself! If she thought about it, it was really too depressing and it had already been depressing before the crash.

She caught the bus back to South Station. The T was an oven-no circulating air-hot, humid- over-breathed air all the way to Central Square. Once up to the street the sun was hot, the air thick and she needed to decide what to do next. Priorities. #1 Sit down. #2 Cold decadent drink. She passed Starbucks and the line was literally out the door. She walked further to 1369. There was an open table in the shade. Her phone rang just as she plopped into the metal chair.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!Have you been on the phone all day?" Penelope asked.

"No, multi communications, snail mail bday cards, texts and giving myself an email holiday. Got my haircut. Feeling glam and fat American sipping my high calorie iced latte. Two points for passing on the whipped cream. Everything on for lunch tomorrow?"

"Definitely! Just wanted to see if I could see you today at least to give you a hug. I have another lecture and will be free in an hour and a half plus walking time. Do you want to meet for ice cream?"

"No, I need to lie down."

"Okay, I'll text you when I get out of class. Can't wait to the the new you!"

"Not that transformative. Wish they had cut off the 20 extra pounds I'm sporting these days."

"Gotta go- prof starting- Ciao." Pglot was gone before Celeste could respond.

Wow, it was just a week ago I was sitting here with Geoffrey, visiting from Paris for an MIT wedding, she thought. She smiled, remembering when she sponsored him for his driver's license road exam. It was deceivingly difficult, he already knew how to drive & had skills to survive Paris however he wasn't prepared for the word behind. Geoffrey had rented a zipcar and they met at the test location, anxiously waiting for his turn. The veteran state worker conducting the test was all business and had a strong Spanish or Mexican accent that was a tad challenging for the native English speaking Celeste. As the sponsor, she sat quietly in the backseat, presented her active driver's license for inspection and clearly got the vibe to only speak when directly spoken to. Like many driving tests, parallel parking is a bit tricky and the tight Cambridge streets raised the bar. Celeste began to feel anxious when the distance to the curb was scribbled on the testing document. Geoffrey was asked if he had a license in his home country. It was clear that not only was Geoffrey nervous but that English was his third language lagging behind French & German. He was asked to pull over, put the car in park and to listen. He was not stopping behind the white line, pausing 3 seconds to look for pedestrians, then slowly approaching the intersection to assess traffic at the stop sign before proceeding. Celeste began to sweat, clearly he would have to immediately demonstrate proficiency or he was in jeopardy of failing. Pulling back out into traffic, she was tempted to whisper in French, pas sur la ligne mais avant (not on the line but before.) But she was worried if she did that it would be considered cheating and he would be flunked on the spot. Instead she tried to use mental telepathy, with a mantra of avant, avant, avant (before, before, before) she winched as he stopped on the line. She could see the tick mark and cringed. "Oh, mon Dieu, c'est terrible." {oh my God it's terrible.} She couldn't bear how disappointed he would be when he realized that he was failing, if he realized he was failing. The instructions to park in front of the testing center and turn off the car were given. Celeste braced herself as the guillotine was dropped. He failed, even with the warning he did not make the adequate corrections to demonstrate that he understood & he was a bit too far from the curb on the parallel parking. Geoffrey was very quiet. Celeste offered that next time he just use her car & that they spend some time practicing before the actual test. She reassured that it's very common in the US for people to have to take the road test multiple times before passing.

Feeling reprimanded in her own car, Celeste watched as the tester immediately removed all items dangling from the rear view mirror, "prevent any obstruction of view", before fastening his seatbelt. This time every intersection had it's own consistent rhythm. Stop before white line, count 3 full seconds, proceed slowly to stop sign, stop again, look right, look left, look right again and proceed. Parallel parking went better even with the station wagon's length. He passed! "Time to celebrate!" Celeste said. Geoffrey had time for a coffee & chocolate croissant at Au Bon Pain, at Mass and Putnam Ave. He texted Senad the news. Celeste felt like they had just graduated from a significant life event. She grinned from ear to ear a few weeks later when he flashed the official Massachusetts driver's license. Now he would be able to leave his passport at home, not worry about bouncers at bars or clubs and that was a freedom Americans took for granted.

He had been shocked that the reception had finished at 10pm-music, alcohol, everything completely over by 2200. She had warned him of cultural differences here in the States and liquor laws even could have forced an early shut down. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. She had heard through the team grapevine that he had made it to beach handball Sunday morning. He exclaimed they were even done with extra drinks at a local bar by midnight. So early!! He went on to say that there would be a second wedding in France for the other half of the family. Celeste said she couldn't wait to hear what time the Franco reception would end, if ever. She had felt sad that she hadn't pushed herself to become fluent in French before her brain got whacked. It would be beyond Sisphysis or Herculean efforts now.

By the time Penelope called Celeste, she had fallen asleep, exhausted from the day's outings. She texted Elix a proposal to meet at Miracle of Science or OM for sassy beverages and dinner. Elix was just finishing up in the lab and happy to go out. She was more in the mood for a non-MIT crowd so they agreed on OM at 9. Elixabete had received a text that needed some explaining and somehow she guessed Penelope would have had something to do with it. Penelope had time for a quick Skype with Marc, shower, chick prepping and set up desk for studying in the morning. She put out 2 ibuprofen and a glass of water next to her bedside lamp and popped out the door at 8:55. Their graduate housing was nearby. She walked in the cool evening air, glad to have worn a scarf and to have brought a light sweater. As she approached OM she sensed something was wrong. Her intuition was confirmed when she couldn't open the door. She pulled again, it was definitely locked. A man walking past informed, "They closed months ago."

"Oh, thanks." she said to him and then to herself, "Zut! I was really looking forward to their Buddha martini. Now where?" She could see Elix about a block away and started walking towards her.

Elix wasn't surprised about the closing. She remembered Jordi had done some gigs there and there had been issues of overcrowding and things getting rough.

"So, now what? Any ideas?" Pglot asked.

"Umm, no. I've only been to John Harvards to the team Christmas party. Oh, wait, one of the Spanish said that Pamploma is good. Desserts are supposed to be excellent."

"I'm game, let's go, I'm starving." Penelope said grabbing Elix's arm and wrapping it over hers. "Americans are so uptight. So weird that two women friends are suspect lesbians if arms are hooked walking down the street. Keep 'em guessing!"

They arrived. It was packed but more significantly they didn't' sell alcohol.

"Right now I need food more than a drink, believe it or not. Shall we eat and then get drinks somewhere else?" Pglot suggested.

"D'accord. {ok}" Elix opened the door and waved Penelope in. But when the hostess couldn't seat them and wasn't sure how long a wait it would be Penelope shook her head-auburn locks swaying.

"Next?" said Elix. Then imitating Frances Ha, she made a contestant loser sound "een" and quickly jerked her shoulder up. Penelope cracked up.

"Yeah, NOW I need a drink and food. Let's try that Greek God place, what's it called? Ah, don't tell me, it's on the tip of my tongue." Penelope's eyebrows knit with concentration, memory bank scan on.

Elixabete stuck out her tongue and looked down at the tip. Penelope laughed again and did the same. "I know it's there, I will remember once I have some calories to fuel my brain. Let's just walk down Mr. Auburn."

Off they went. "DEADALUS!!!" she exclaimed. "Yes, I knew I knew it!" Penelope smiled, satisfied. Elix laughed and in what seemed like a matter of steps, they had arrived. "Et voila!" Penelope brought her arm down slowly from overhead as if she were a prize model displaying what the contestant had just won. They were seated right away with the cool evening air there was a roof top table available. After the cocktails arrived and they toasted one another, "Sante!" Penelope took a deep breath and reached for the roasted pepper hummus, spread some on a piece of bread. She took a large bite and chewed contentedly.

"I didn't realize how hungry I am. Excuse my shoving my face." Penelope smiled. She took another sip, took another deep breath and on the exhale gave a drawn out, "Soooooooooooo, what's new pussycat?" Elix smiled and replied, "Yeah, pussycat, what tricks have YOU been up too?" smirking over her martini glass. Penelope's eyes got huge and she leaned in whispering.

"Did you hear from HIM? Tell me, tell me." She wiggled in her seat. The server came to take their food order.

"More time, more time. We need more time." she blurted.

"Sure, I'm happy to come back in a few minutes." he said.

"Great, excellent. Thanks." Penelope rushed. She was hot to know what had transpired since their last rendezvous at the MFA.

"What have YOU been up to Pglot? Come on, confess now and I wont' be..."

"What? You won't be annoyed?mad? Give it a chance Elix. What happened??!!" Curiosity killed the cat.

"The Club webmaster was emailed. Apparently someone reached out to the Club for my contact information, saying they had just met me.It sounded fishy so Nader called me to verify the story. I had to explain that I hadn't given the Club contact email but suspected it was YOU!"

"You both must have had a good laugh over that."

"Yah, it was the first contact not wanting to know about the team." Elix said.

The server returned and they placed their food order and another round of cocktails, plus water without ice.

"So did Nader give your number?" Penelope grinned.

"No, he would never do that. he got the guy's email and said he'd pass that along if the story was legit." Elix shook her head.

"I can't believe you."

"What? You seemed attracted. I never saw you light up except after a 7 meter save as when you were chatting away in Basque. He couldn't as you for your number he would have gotten fired if your complained. You didn't offer your number, so I just gave a possibility. What's wrong with that?"

They were quiet for a moment. Each took another sip. The sky was clear. Stars a bit washed out by all the city lights but it was nice to be up above the street, roof level view. "It's pretty cool up here, huh? Look, I'm sorry if you are upset. I didn't mean for that, it seemed it could be fun and he seemed like a nice guy and he's a hottie and well, he seemed happy to speak Basque with you too."

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry." Elixabete reassured. Their food arrived and they chatted about the birthday lunch for the next day with Celeste and Marguerite. Elix's birthday would be in a few days. The team would go out dancing at either Phoenix Landing or AnaTuAna. The au pairs would be upset as they were under age in America but the rest would still make up a fun group. Penelope ordered a creme brulee and Elix a cappuccino. She was contemplating going back to the lab.

"Just start fresh early tomorrow. Get some sleep. Real sleep, in your bed, not on the couch in the lab." Penelope lectured.

"OK MOM, I'll think about it." They used the bathroom, Penelope invited for Elix's birthday and they walked down the 3 floors of stairs and out on to the sidewalk.

"The moon is gorgeous, ne c'est pas? {is it not?} Penelope swooned.

"Yeah, supposed to be a Supermoon soon. So, Mom...."

"Yes, ma petite Elix?" Penelope mocked.

"Yeah, so, Ms. Arrangeur, Where do you think we should go on our first date?"

o o o o o

Celeste could feel it coming on. She had dreaded this would happen. She had felt some neck pain in the night and now wished she had gotten the ice pack on it then. She took some migraine meeds and ibuprofen 1200mg. She'd give it ah hour, in the dark, resting, ice pack, the whole 9 yards and then reassess the lunch concept.

"Yah know Cleopatre, it is too much to ask for? No migraines on a milestone birthday?" Cleopatre just flicked the tip of her tail in acknowledgement, otherwise she appeared to be asleep. Celeste turned her phone to alarm only and focused on her breathing alternating with counting. Marguerite had texted she'd like to bring over sticky buns from flour, if Celeste wanted one. Various teammates texted happy birthday and miss you. A friend from graduate school was helping a friend move from NYC to Boston, maybe lunch depending on when they were done, she texted. CVS text alerted her prescriptions were ready and the library alerted that 3 books were in. Even a package had arrived, luckily not requiring a signature so that she was not loudly buzzed awake. When her alarm did go off she reset it for another 45 minutes, she might fall back asleep and give the vessels in her brain a better chance to settle down and stop the pounding.

Marguerite went ahead to flour. No response meant Celeste was probably still asleep after little sleep the prior night or she was resting. Only a grandmother baker could out do flour's sticky buns. Celeste's birthday was an excellent excuse for her to have one herself. "Happy Unbirthday to me." she said as she pulled apart a side of spiraled bun, the brown syrup and a few pecans dripping onto her fingers and plate. In the first moment she sunk her teeth into the sacred sweetness and tender dough, she knew, it was made earlier that day.She took a deep breath as she chewed the orchestra of delicious playing in her mouth. Even her teeth were happy at the soft, freshly baked yielding sustenance. As she was licking her fingers she looked up and caught the eye of a man watching her. He smiled. She shrugged her shoulders in a "what other choice do I have" manner. The napkins were a bad idea in two ways-one, the paper just sticks and tears apart making a very sticky paper mess and more importantly decadence is wasted. Marguerite could feel the heat of his attention flushing her cheeks. She hated that and desperately wished she could control it. She wished that her book was able to stay open on it's own so she could bury her nose there. It was quixotic to read and eat one of those buns but a challenge to keep pages from sticking together from even a nano drop of liquid confection. She wished she wasn't alone. She had the boxed sticky bun on the table, maybe he will think it's for a boyfriend. He went back to his article and hot beverage. Perhaps he was a TA or a grad student or a post doc. "He could be in my age bracket." she thought. He looked up and saw her looking at him. She smiled and blushed. He smiled back. "Oh God," she thought, "what if he comes over here and talks to me?" Her face grew hotter. She had more sticky bun and remnants on her plate. With laser focus she fixated on finishing. After another bite she could feel her stomach butterflies taking off. She wished someone would call her but then realized she'd get her phone all sticky, so she cancelled that hope. "Oh God," she panicked, "what if he doesn't come talk to me or a gorgeous girlfriend or wife arrives, kissing him." The butterflies molted into rocks. "Ugh, how the hell do people do this? He hasn't even said hello and I'm a mess, literally and figuratively." He glanced at his phone. "He's expecting a call, probably from his hot babe." She felt immediately convinced and then sad. He got up, cleared his dishes and headed to the wait station. The rocks morphed into just a pit. "I'm such a dork!" she thought. "He would never be interested in me." her internal critic railed. Instead of going out the door nearest to him, he turned around and headed back. He looked around the chair he had just occupied and picked up a piece of paper from the floor. Watching him stand back up, Marguerite's butterflies were back. "OMG, what if he wrote me a note?!" He turned and gave her a little wave, smiling as he put the paper in his rear jeans pocket and walked out the door. Marguerite let out a huge sigh, not realizing she hadn't been breathing. "I'm freaking ridiculous." she muttered as she popped in the last bite.

o o o o o

Celeste's alarm went off. She was disoriented, not having any clue where she was. She had been having a strange, sci-fi's pharmaceutical PG-13 dream with robots trying to find her in a complex dorm/office building. She had been in a vent system crawling, hoping she wasn't detectable with their high tech infrared or some other high tech equipment. She stretched out her ankle, pointing her toes and felt Cleopatre. At the same time her eyes were beginning to recognize the bookshelves and window. "Oh yeah, I'm in Cambridge, at Julie's." Julie (from Eden Prairie, MN) was yet another MIT student working on a thesis. She was a hammer thrower, cyclist and huge Harry Potter fan. Like all MIT Beavers, she worked beyond diligently. Trader Joe chocolate chips within arms reach, hoodie up, earbuds with Harry Potter soundtracks, she transcribed telehealth interviews and compiled data. Celeste posted a sign on Julie's bedroom door, "Chamber of Thesis". Ignatio was poised, wanting to know what the first argument would be about. Nader commented too, often friends should not roommate. Celeste had moved directly from Jordi's to Julie's. The two Midwesterners got along very well, weathering Hurricane Sandy, Winter Storm Nemo and the Marathon bombing lockdown. They would monitor the ratings before watching a HP movie because the Dementers gave Celeste nightmares. Julie would give warnings, "Scary moment coming up. You better put down your tea." They were both in awe the night a large Barred owl sat perched on a Subaru roof rack just outside the living room window. Julie was very tolerant of Celeste's brain issues and Celeste was happy to cheer Julie on through the thesis duress.

Celeste sighed with relief. she remembered this was her second time waking up for the day. The first was to her throbbing head pain. She drew her focus to her occiput. The gel ice pack was now body temperature. She then scanned her forehead, behind her eyes, her jaw, no pain. She focused on her stomach, no nausea but some grumbling, she hadn't eaten anything all day. "Hey, Cleopatre, looks like I can go to my birthday after all. Woo hoo, no emergency room!!" She sat up checking for dizziness or a rebound of headache. No dizziness, check. No pain, check. She had two more hours until the lunch reservation. "Shower or oatmeal first? Cleo you must be hungry and I should work on my blood sugar before risking a black out in the tub." It was a hot, humid day even with the shades drawn and the fan directed at the cafe table. She already wanted to dunk her head as the oatmeal was making her sweat.

"Holy shit it's hot! Good thing my phone was off, I wouldn't have been able to sleep." she said as Cleopatre lay sprawled on the cool kitchen tile. She blew on a spoonful of oats and wiped the sweat off her forehead with a napkin.

o o o o o

Celeste was looking forward to feeling like a real human being, going out with friends to a favorite restaurant. She looked out the window at the cloudy sky. She hoped the rain would hold off and they could eat outside. It made her feel as if she were in Europe, nestled down below the sidewalk traffic. Plush window boxes buffered the tables from the pedestrians as well. She rested and read a little until her shower. A dress she hadn't worn in awhile was a little snug but wearable. She felt victorious after having to give up on so many too small clothes. With her Jennifer Aniston hair style and sassy dress she actually felt good. It was a rare feeling since the crash. She smiled, gathered up her purse, gift card and sunglasses walking out to the front porch to wait for Penelope. She had already picked up Marguerite. Elix would bike over the Harvard bridge meeting them after her morning lab session. Celeste saw a blimp.

"Oh no, if the Red Sox are in town it will be impossible to find parking. I should have checked their schedule. Damn!"

"Chill. we will find something. I can always drop you off and go park." Pglot reassured.

"How did I end up with so many gorgeous girlfriends?" Celeste thought. "Ah, yes, the handball team." She looked out over the Charles at the Boston skyline, the Citgo sign, the Prudential--she really loved Boston.

"How are you feeling today Celeste?" Marguerite asked. "Is yesterday's migraine gone?"

"Yes, thank God. I'm pretty good today. It's really fun to get to go out with friends, like a real person"

"Oh come on, you are a real person!" Penelope interjected.

"Well, most days I don't feel like one. But lets focus on finding parking, it's almost reservation time." she said irritably.

After they had parked Penelope pointed out every open parking space they passed, fortifying her "See, no worries" attitude. The three were seated outside. "Something's different." Celeste said, looking around. "I don't like these hydrangeas, they look so uniform in all the pots, they look plastic. And the sidewalk seems so close we aren't nestled down in a private spot like it used to be." She noticed the fresh brick walls that had been redone and were indeed much lower than before. No more pretending Europe, America was too visible and bustling by them.

Twenty minutes later Elix arrived. She had gotten stuck behind some pedal cabs and tourist blocking the bike path.

"Bonne anniversaire Celeste!" She cheered and gave the southern France three cheek kisses greeting.

"I don't know about you ladies but I need a cocktail. I'm wicked crampy and need some anesthesia. Anyone else?" Penelope confessed.

"Yes, everyone order whatever you want. My sister and brother-in-law sent a very generous gift card so European style I invite you for my birthday!" This would mean no arguing over the bill.

"I have to go back to the lab so none for me." Elix said.

Celeste urged Marguerite to try something new. She settled on a Bellini, champagne with peach nectar. The waitress brought bread and olive oil and took the beverage order. Celeste wanted mussels and Marguerite ordered proscuitto mozzarella salad. When the drinks arrived, Celeste raised her glass to her dear friends thanking them for everything and wishing to everyone's good health.

"Sante" Elixabete toasted.

"Yasoo" said Penelope.

"Cheers" added Marguerite.

"Skol" Celeste smiled, remembering an old Danish American boyfriend.

"Ahhh, that's much better." Penelope sighed. "I'm always glad to have my monthly when Marc is away and I can let the inner bitch run freely. I don't have to apologize for anything. 'Sore boobs! don't hug so tight.' The Polynesians had it all figured out. As far as I'm concerned they were the most highly evolved civilization, way ahead of us. At least as far as male/female psychology is concerned." She paused for another sip of her lemon drop.

Celeste looked baffled. "What are you talking about? I mean about the Polynesians. I get the whole tender breasts thing." They laughed, the common bond of female cycling that men could not really begin to comprehend.

"Oh, it's fantastic! When Marc and I were in Hawaii I read on some educational plaques about their multi-hut housing arrangement. Women and children lived in one set of huts and men lived in their huts together.There were separate sex huts, as in "get a room!" and there was a menstrual hut." She gave a smirk and then tossed a piece of bread in her mouth. "Yum! Tastes like Europe!"

"So women would go to a hut and hang out together for a week?" Marguerite asked.

"Yeah, get this- the non-menstruating women would watch your kids and bring you food and whatever you needed." Penelope explained.

"Whoa, awesome idea!" Celeste raised her glass.

"Wait, it gets even better. Wanna know what happens if a dude decides to go check out the ladies hut?" Penelope leans back in her chair to build the suspense.

"What?" the three others chorus.

Penelope leans forward with dramatic effect, wiping another piece of bread through the olive oil and whispers, "He's killed." Then smacks the tablecloth, "Isn't that some kind of consequence?! And you've got to bet some guys just couldn't bear not knowing what was going on over there."

"Isn't that fucking fantastic! They probably never had divorces, no arguments about keeping the hut from being a man cave pit! Brilliant, absolutely genius. I wonder if the sex huts were sassy..." she drifted.

Everyone was laughing and nodding in agreement.

"I'll be researching Polynesians later." Marguerite said. The main courses arrived.

"I wonder what the men did without TV or video games in their man huts?" Celeste queried.

"Talk about the hot women, burped, farted, lots of arm wrestling. Some form of gambling, for sure." Elix offered.

"Oh, they ate separately too. The men were afraid that their mojo would get stolen by the women if they ate together." Penelope added.

"Hmmm, this is so delicious, anyone want a butternut squash ravioli?" Marguerite held out her plate.

"Oh sure, thanks!" Penelope speared one with her fork. "Ok enough of the ancient world. Cough it up Elix-what's going on in your manly world? Did Iker contact you?" She waved the ravioli in Elix's direction before putting it in her mouth. Her eyebrows raised, smiling as she chewed.

"Who's Iker?" Celeste and Marguerite said in unison.

"And what kind of name is that?" Celeste added.

"Basque." Elix said through a mouthful of salad. After she swallowed, "Spanish side."

"And yes, he did. And how would he have been able to do that Penelopeeeeeee?" Elix grinned.

"Excuse me but you have some spinach in your smile." Marguerite said quietly.

"Mon Dieu {my God} how attractive! Merci" Elix held a napkin over her mouth as she ran a finger over her teeth.

"So, what happened? When did he reach you?" Penelope could not wait for an answer.

"Few days ago." Eliz shrugged.

"What do people do for a date in America?" she asked.

Celeste suggested bowling.

"That way you don't have to look at each other all the time. You can check out his shoulders, back and bum when it's his turn to bowl. And you can see what kind of sport he is. It's an American thing. You have boules in France, we played that at French camp when I was a kid."

"Interesting, never did that for a first date." Penelope mused.

"You went to a French camp?" Elix had never heard her speak French.

"Not in France!" Celeste laughed. "Northern Minnesota, they had language camps. It was awesome, we even exchanged our money and could buy actual French candy in the store. But you had to speak French to buy anything. It was a great incentive." Celeste smiled nostalgically.

"Oh how bizarre. I never thought of such a thing. But if you couldn't go to France, why not?" Elix smiled back.

"You could bring a picnic to the Charles and watch the boats." Penelope suggested.

"In France we usually go for a coffee at a cafe and then for a stroll if it's going well." Elix replied.

"What about you Marguerite? What do you like to do on a first date?" Penelope asked.

Marguerite flushed pink on her face and neck.

"Actually I haven't had a first date." she said quietly, looking down at her plate.

"Okay, so what did you do with a friend who became a boyfriend?" Pglot expanded.

"Um, I haven't done that either." The table got quiet. No one had point blank asked before, everyone just figured she was just private and didn't want to join into previous boyfriend banter.

"I haven't had a boyfriend before." she further clarified.

They either reached for another sip of alcohol or took another forkful of food. Leaning forward, Penelope whispered.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just assumed."

"And I'm not gay either." Marguerite said, her skin darkening.

"Oh, I didn't mean that either. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay. I'm making this even worse aren't I?" She apologized again and then to everyone for changing the tone of the lunch.

"Just forget about it, Elix. I hope you & Iker have a great time doing whatever you decide to do." Pglot said cheerfully.

"Yes, here's to the excitement of something new!" Celeste raised her glass, "May we all get some awesome hotties this year. Pglot you're already covered, so here's to keeping him." She laughed and they toasted again multilingually.

The server cleared the table and offered coffee, espresso and dessert.

"Definitely!" said Celeste. "We would like that chocolat tartuffe thing and a piece of tiramiso. Coffee anyone?"

"Cappachino if you have it." said Elix. and Penelope seconded.

Marguerite shook her head.

"Bring extra spoons, please." Celeste added.

"Now's a good time for gifts." said Penelope. "We pitched in for a variety of things. You will probably guess who gave what."

She handed Celeste a gift bag with an image of an old world map. Inside she found #211 tea in a large tin with 3 books, suspected to be from Marguerite. There was a gift certificate for a day of beauty at Moose & Mimi from Penelope and Elixabete. There was a card signed by many of the handball team with a t-shirt from the recent fundraiser.

"Wow you guys, this is amazing. You are so generous. Your friendships are the best gifts and I love spending time with you- the best present presents." She go up and hugged each of them.

Dessert and coffees arrived. "Everyone has to try both. They are delicious but very different." Celeste said, passing out the spoons. There was a brass street band playing remixed versions of pop music. Marguerite was enjoying guessing the songs.

"Is it too loud for you?" Marguerite asked Celeste.

"Yeah, but at least we are outside so it doesn't ricochet against the walls. I'm okay. Thanks for asking." Celeste replied.

"I think the meter will run out soon. Shall i go put more in or shall we go?" Penelope said.

"I need to go back to the lab." Elix said, "per usual."

"That's fine. We've been here longer than an American lunch, so they deserve the table back. Sorry you guys all had bird poop on you." Celeste smirked. Earlier one got Penelope's purse, then one got Elixabete's back and Marguerite's shoulder was hit.

"It's good luck!" Penelope said.

"I'd rather get luck some other way." Elix said, peering over her shoulder to see the damage.

"Me too." said Marguerite.

"Well, thanks so much for a wonderful lunch. My family has paid for it. Thank you for the gifts, they are wonderful and most of all thank you for being such awesome friends." Celeste concluded.

They got up from the table. Elix unlocked her bike at the top of the stairs and hugged everyone goodbye. Penelope took the others home and went to the library to study for a few hours before the team was meeting for dancing later.

Celeste came into the apartment, greeted by Cleopatre, she plopped on the sofa. "Well, that was fun." She rubbed behind Cleo's ears. "Another decade older, this is a whopper but I'm not a cheese or wine so my age doesn't matter, right?" She took off her shoes and dress. She noticed there was chocolate sauce from where the strawberry had fallen off her spoon.

"If you can't eat it, wear it. I hope I can get this out-Google wash chocolate sauce tomorrow. I need to rest now." She lay down on her bed and fell asleep. It was hot. She had gotten up a few times to dunk her head in the sink and sip or gulp some bubbly water. She lay awake feeling the night creep towards dawn.

o o o o o

The next day, Celeste had a doctor's appointment. The train ride was too far. On the way home the anxiety and uneasiness was building.

"Almost home, almost home." she repeated to herself as if soothing a child.

"You are okay." was her mantra. But she didn't feel okay at all. Her system was not happy with all the train travel and motion in the outside world. She had grown used to the stability of being in the apartment and this was over-stimulation. She hated this feeling with a passion and yet there wasn't much to do but lie down when she got home. She rested for a few hours and still the feeling of being scared, of uneasiness, of an inner shaky remained.

"Oh Cleo, I wish they had invented a medicine for this. I really hate this feeling." Cleopatre hopped up on the bed and nestled next to Celeste.

"Hopefully tonight I will sleep and this will have run it's course in the night. Too much motion today." Celeste closed her eyes. Maybe she would try to read for distraction. She wished her mind and body would listen to her telling herself that in this moment, she was okay. Her brain just didn't believe her.

o o o o o

Celeste dreamed of watching herself sleep. There was a radiant light as if from a full moon but opalescent and sparkling softly and whispered to her.

"You are doing fine even though it doesn't feel like it. It's challenging but you are doing your best. Rest for you are working very hard."

Celeste woke up and turned to the window to see what had woken her. There was nothing there, she could hear the early morning songbirds beyond her window shade.

"I wish I had a coach for dealing with this and someone's shoulder to lean on. Comfort, I need a lot of TLC." Cleopatre's whiskers twitched with her dreaming and Celeste fell back to sleep.

The next few days she felt restless. Grumpy from the heat but still held off putting the air conditioner in her only window. "It's not good for the environment, costs much more money than the fan and I often get too cold. So I will wait until I am really melting at night before I block my view." she told Marguerite. There had been a display about various climate change issues at the library. She had filled out a questionnaire and received a free promo pedometer. She gave it to Celeste. "Maybe it will help feel like you are making progress knowing how many steps you took that day."

"Gee, thanks Marguerite. Yeah, it will be interesting to see how much I walk and some incentive to do at least 2 walks a day. Maybe I will inadvertently get rid of some of this fat!" Celeste smiled.

"Hey, how's the writing coming? Did you find a workshop that you don't have to read out loud?" she asked.

"Yes, I did. It's in August. I signed up and requested time off work. Maybe you should come with me? You don't have to do the writing workshop, just get a massage, take walks by the lake, go to meditation if you like." Marguerite encouraged.

"Sounds great buy I don't know what I will need to save for hotel stay for the next deposition. Would rather think of a weekend with you and peace and serenity but I'm still on hold waiting for the attorneys to figure things out." Celeste sounded discouraged.

"One day it will be all over. It will be behind you and I bet you will have a whole new feeling about your life. We'll see. I can go again with you someday. We can look forward to it. Put $5 into a jar." Marguerite rallied.

Finding people who were free during the day was tricky. She could meet various MIT teammates for a coffee at flour but mostly socializing was with Julie and Nataliya. Nataliya worked as a medical interpreter for Ukrainian and Russian speakers and supplemental income as a server. Her schedule was different everyday which made for spontaneous pockets.

"Hey Celeste, Mickael and Pauline gave me 2 passes for the Kendall theatre. Do you think there is anything quiet showing that you'd like to see." Nataliya's voicemail began.

"If it gets to be too much we can always leave, too." she added. "See what's showing. Text me! Bye love!"

Celeste navigated to the Landmark theatre site and exclaimed. "OMG, there's a new one!" She immediately called Nataliya.

"HI! did you see Before Sunrise, Before Sunset or something like that? The third one is out. Before Midnight and it's set in Greece! Oh, I would really love to see that."

"Okay, I'm driving back from Shriner's now. How about we try the evening show? I can pick you up in a half hour and we can get tickets, then walk around." Nataliya said.

"Perfect, I'll eat some pasta or oatmeal and be ready to go. Wow, I haven't been to a movie in ages. Like years, I think. I'm so glad you want to see Before Midnight. You really need to see the other movies too. It will make more sense but it should be fine to see on it's own." Celeste's voice was perky. "See you soon!"

"Cleo guess what?! I got my JPLicks free birthday sundae email & I'm going to a movie! Yahoo!" She put on the kettle for oatmeal, changed clothes and put on some eyeliner and mascara. As she held the eyelash curler clamped she said, "Cleo, do you think I'll ever go on another date? Do you think anyone would be willing to accommodate all my high maintenance brain issues?" Cleopatre just looked at her and then walked into the kitchen and sat next to her empty dish. Celeste put on some Parisian jazz Pandora radio and ate her oatmeal while Cleopatre crunched her kibble. Simple single bowl dinners. Celeste brushed teeth and sat to wait. Nataliya texted she had arrived and off they went. Movie theatre adventures for two women who wished for love like the movies so easily create.

o o o o o

Later that week Celeste sent out a "Sex In The City" -esque email to Pglot, Elix & Marguerite.

Subject line: Faithfully engaged is faithfully charades?

Okay ladies, I overheard a conversation on the train the other day and I need some background check because I may be the last woman on the planet didn't know that when a man is engaged he has free rein to sow his oats as wildly as possible before he's married and yet the message to society is that the woman is taken-that ring there is his reservation token chip. She's marked. I was under the impression that once engaged you were monogamous as a couple. But apparently it means you don't date other people but it's okay to have sex with them. It's only cheating after you are married. Now, how happy would the betrothed be to find out about the extra serving of dessert from across town? I guess this makes sense about how the bachelor party shenanigans doesn't seem to count apparently either. Which potentially is more dangerous if the professional tart is not impeccably healthy and taking precautions. I wonder if a wedding has been called off after the bride discovers the video of her groom getting down and dirty with the "party favor." Furthermore, what of the karmic debt of the extra dessert, if it is known to her that he is engaged? Is that just as bad as being involved with a married man? Does a piece of paper hold how judgement falls? No woman of the world would rush to the altar thinking that would keep her partner true? If she's that worried, she should always be worried. And my friend from Venezuela assumes her husband will cheat on her and that it's completely normal and he's a priest!

Did anyone find out if the Polynesians were monogamous or everyone slept around? Whoever happened to be in the sex hut was free game?

Penelope responded: Premarital sex was casual but once permanent relationship established monogamy was it. However, there were societies with polygamy even polyandry-woman has multiple husbands. And I did find out that arm wrestling was popular!

Marguerite replied: Really quickly, engagement is contract to get married not else stated. Perhaps monogamy has been implied but not given in definitions of engagement. Wiki has one section mentioning infidelity as reason to break a betrothed but some cultures the betrothed(engagement) happens as part of wedding ceremony. Guess we have been assuming more about engagement than meets the eye of the ring!

Elixabete weighed in: In Europe many people never married raise children together, are a family in society's view. Don't assume they are open marriages like Baudelaire and Sarte--although seems Baudelaire's feelings were hurt by Sarte's younger female companion. They lived in separate apts. B & S. Seems main issue would the other party feel a violation had occurred or not? Would they be jealous, angry, feel betrayed? Seems that's who to ask, non?

o o o o o

Another week-end evening home alone, bored, doing crosswords and listening to Pandora radio. Celeste was trying to make the best of it. She had run errands that day, gotten herself some mini calla lilies, prescriptions, a new G-2 mini pen, some envelopes and redeemed her free JP Licks birthday sundae.

She had noticed a group that were obviously Europeans, standing in line for Bartley's Burgers. She liked guessing which country people were from and well as if any were handball players. Surprisingly there was a free table & chair outside JP Licks. As she enjoyed the coconut almond chip, hot fudge, walnuts melting into one another, the Euro group started filing in for their ice cream. She couldn't let them go by without asking.

"Excuse me are any of your group handball players by any chance?" she asked what appeared to be a father.

"What?" he replied. As if he didn't understand the question. She asked again.

"No, why? We're Danish."

"Always recruiting," she replied, adding, "Danish are good handball players."

"Oh yes, the women's team does quite well. No, we are just on travels. Not staying."

"Thanks. Well, enjoy your trip." She went back to her sundae. She had picked up a new crossword book and found she was quite rusty. It had been awhile since her last book. She had been reading a lot instead of puzzling. She wished she had a great novel to escape into, the Cantona biography was proving slow. Perhaps everything would be drawn out, he was only 15 years old and she was bored. Definitely not captivated.

"Cleo, maybe I need to go for a walk. Maybe I'll return a couple of these books that have been considerably less than engrossing. Maybe when I get back I will be inspired and have a new amazing outlook on life. Could something happen to me that would evolve me to some new level of life understanding?" Cleopatre swished her tail, catching a dust bunny in her fur.

"I suppose it never hurts to consider it a possibility." She picked up two books, removed her bookmarks and paused the computer. "I can request more when I get back. Something to look forward to." she said to no one, as Cleopatre had walked to the bathroom.

She missed the spontaneous soirees at Ignatio's. She thought about the infamous Basta Pasta probability pizza box top with Dr. Arganda-Carreras scribbling, to defend his answer to Nader's puzzle: if you are given 3 boxes to choose from and one is taken away what are the odd's of getting the prize in the remaining boxes. It was a real live Big Bang Theory moment, to go down in team archives. Nader (PhD nano candidate from Lebanon), Robin (Asian American photographer who was regularly asked how long he had lived in the States), Sarah (North Carolina economist), Senad (Bosnian IT & dedicated 1369 coffee drinker) and Celeste had finished the delicious pizza when Nader opened Pandora's box with his puzzle. The room quickly filled with Mediterranean vs. Middle Eastern MIT heat on top of the already warm weather. Sarah diplomatically declined to give her answer. Celeste said all she remembered from statistics was not to gamble, which she refrained from doing. Senad was quietly in the background, googling the answer on his phone. Celeste still had the pizza top with her various handball team archival items.

It was chilly so she wore a summer scarf. I wonder how one goes about getting an imaginary friend? She laughed at herself. She tried to remember if she had one as a child. She couldn't remember. Must not have been that great of one, if I had one. Everyone was working or they were with their sweethearts or they were in Europe or they were in Europe with their sweethearts.

Oh mon Dieu, I can make up whoever I want. Would she dare to be imaginary friends with Nikola Karabatic?! That made her laugh out loud. It was always so enjoyable when he greeted her on her dashboard and in the Black&White casual on her macbook desktop. And of course she could watch him play handball all day long. It would put her over the top to see him play live. "Slow down, sistah." She said aloud. It seemed funny to think of an American woman fantasizing about various celebrities, American athletes, etc and how many of them knew of Nikola? No naturalized Frenchies or Serbs either, 100% born here, grew up here, lived & worked here American. How many of them?

"Thrilling isn't it, Nikola? Doing laundry, looking at pictures & ehf clips of you for hours. Yeah, I know. I need a LIFE! I don't want to be a Sheldon doing my laundry on Saturday night. How can I make some fun, huh, Niko?" Cleopatre jumped up on the end of the sofa, head butted Celeste's knee and sat down. Celeste pondered.

Hmmm, what would I ask you if I was granted an interview. First I would say that I was very sorry about losing your father so young. That he had been such a great man so many people wrote as well as a great GK coach. I wonder why he didn't encourage you or Luka to be keepers? I would say that I have lost some very significant people in my life too young and it is unbelievable pain. Nothing like athletic pain. And then I would be respectfully quiet, allowing some space for that until he broke the silence signaling the shift to interview mode. Can you imagine that a mid-aged American woman has you for an imaginary friend? And if only a language brain SIM card existed so I could suddenly be fluent in French.

Her mind bounced around from do the photographer's make you shave your chest? Who was your hero growing up? Did you see "Waiting for Eric"? Have you ever met Cantona? Did you know that your lips look very kissable? Oh, whoops, sorry about that, so inappropriate! but they do. Lucky, lucky Geraldine. That is some kind of karma. Focus--How did you decide on your back tattoo and is what it's all about on the Internet in English? Is is some ancient New Zealand or Tahiti symbol meaning Tribal Handball Chief?"

Her "Should I Stay or Should I Go" ringtone broke her trance. "Hey what are you doing right now?" Marguerite asked.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. I'm bored beyond ridiculousness." Celeste confessed.

"I'm done with my project group meeting. Can I come over?" she asked.

"YES!YES! Please, I could never last 30 days as a monk or hermit. Probably not even 5 days. I've made Nicola Karabatic my imaginary friend. And I've been interviewing him like a teenager without a microphone." Celeste explained.

"Who's Nikola, Kar..ah..how do you say his last name?"

"Care-A-Bat-tich" Celeste slowly enunciated. "I'll show you. I downloaded a new desktop & dashboard photos this evening. Probably the only Non-French, Non-Serb middle aged woman in America. Ok, see you soon. Oh! wait, did you eat?"

"No, they had coffee and cookies the kind with scary food coloring. I'm starved." Marguerite's phone beeped, battery low.

"OK, see you soon, I can make pasta or order Domino's Wisco 6 cheese?" Celeste offered. There was no response, she looked down at her phone. It blinked call ended.

Lurching toward Cleopatre, who was giving herself an elaborate manicure, spitting into the fur between paw pads and pulling her claws between her teeth, Celeste cried exuberantly, "We have company coming!"

"Meow" said Cleopatre.

"Seriously meow." Celeste replied.

The buzzer buzzed, Marguerite knocked on the door as Celeste poured the pasta into the boiling water. "Coming!" she hollered.

"Hey, thanks for coming by. I was getting a little cuckoo on top of Sheldon laundry night. I'm making some pesto pasta. Do you want some iced tea? I don't have anymore wine but we could go get some."

Marguerite lifted a bottle out of her courier bag. "Et voila! {And here!} Marguerite handed the wine to Celeste.

"Magnifie!{Super!} Celeste countered. They all went into the kitchen, even Cleo. Celeste opened the Beaujolais and took two wine glasses down from the cabinet. As she poured, she explained.

"He's a Serbian born(same town as where Sanja is from) French handball player."

"Who is?" Marguerite looked confused.

"Nikola Karabatic. My imaginary friend. Sorry, we were talking about him earlier so I just continued where we left off." Celeste clarified.

"Oh, okaaay. Are you spending too much time alone? Cheers by the way or Sante." Marguerite raised her glass.

"Sante! To imaginary friends and real ones who show with wine." Celeste smiled and sipped the wine.

"Oh fabulous, I needed that. Merci beaucoup." she added.

"My pleasure. Hmmm, it is good. Got it around the corner, the Cellars bargain bin." Marguerite exhaled loudly. "Mind if I go sit down, my feet need a time out."

"Sure, go ahead & put your dogs up. I'll finish making the parmesan toasts and a quick spinach salad. Then we can eat!" Celeste said.

Marguerite went to the sofa and reclined on the oversize pillows and took another sip of wine, closing her eyes. She wanted to tell Celeste but she wasn't sure if she would judge her and she just wanted a nice, friendly, simple, easy rest of her evening. Cleopatre jumped onto her lap.

"Hey, Cleopatre, how was your day?" she rubbed between her ears and watched the tip of Cleo's tail flip back and forth. She whispered, "Next time I'll tell her. When I have more energy and I'm more prepared for a variety of reactions." As if Cleo could give her confidence and reassurance all would go smoothly, she purred loudly.

"Almost ready." Celeste called from the kitchen.

"Ok, thanks. Do you need any help?" Marguerite offered.

"No, kitchen is too small unless you're having sex with the other person. Wait a minute, that didn't sound right. I mean not that you're having sex in the kitchen but in general, just having sex with the other person. 'Oh brother,' she mumbled to herself, 'I can't even talk about sex.' Never mind." She finished getting the plates and silverware out and picked up two cloth napkins.

"No offense but you're not my type." she joked as she set the table.

"Right, I could never compete with Nikola Karabatick." Marguerite smiled.

"Tich not tick." Celeste corrected, placing the final fork.

"Tich" Marguerite was tired. She was sad. She was tired of her life drama and non-drama.

"Ok, dinner is ready." she announced.

"Meow"

"Oh, what about you? Okay, quick kibble and we all Bonne Appetit!" Celeste turned the kitchen light off, the chili pepper lights glowed red.

"How about some candles for ambiance? Do you want something else to drink or just the wine Marguerite?"

"No, this is fine for now. Some tea later would be nice. Thanks." She pulled out her chair. "Smells good, I'm really hungry. Thank you."

"You bet! Thank YOU! So, Bon Appetit! " Celeste raised her glass to Marguerite.

"Bon Appetit indeed." Marguerite confirmed. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"Salad's really good, dressing is awesome." Marguerite complimented.

"French recipe, really easy. Grace taught me, after her junior year abroad in college. Never buy a bottle of dressing. I'll show you next time. You ok? Something going on? You seem extra quiet." Celeste asked.

"Yeah, I am tired. Long day, long week, long..." her voice drifted off.

"Well you do work full-time and then have all that community service stuff you do. At least you can relax at the writer retreat at Kripalu. When is that again? Next weekend?" Celeste looked up from her plate.

Silent tears were streaming down Marguerite's face.

"Oh, my God, what's wrong? Celeste reached out to squeeze Marguerite's hand.

"Oh," she drew in a deep breath and sighed. "I'm just exhausted. Lots on my mind. Forget about it. I'll be fine. Let's just eat, enjoy the meal, the wine, Cleo and relax."

"OK, are you sure you don't want to talk about something?" Celeste offered.

"Yeah, maybe another time, when I can be clear in my own head. Don't take it personally, I just don't have the energy to go into it all." She started down at her plate, gently poking around a gemelli with her fork.

"Oh, Marguerite, seriously are you okay? Did your doctor call you?Are you sick with something serious? You are scaring me." Celeste sounded panicy.

"No, no, really I'm okay. Nothing like that, I would tell you. Let's just drop it, okay. For now. I promise when I'm ready, I'll tell you all about it." she said with a calm, reassuring tone.

"Well, alright. I'm all ears whenever you need me." Celeste picked up the bottle and poured more for both of them. Then she smirked,

"Hey, I'll share Niko with you. He's great at making me feel better."

Marguerite laughed out loud and then Celeste laughed. That was all it took, Marguerite suddenly let all the built up tension go. She laughed so hard, she was crying and trying to catch her breath. Cleopatre looked over from licking her paw to see what the uproar was all about. Not understanding, she went back to pulling a claw through her teeth. Another full feline mani was underway.

o o o o o

Penelope was feeling bored of studying and in need of some spa time. She checked online to try some new DIY facial. Whipping up some yogurt and honey she slathered her face and set the timer. The YouTube video was of a cute, teenie, British teeniebopper, who made excellent eye contact with the camera. There were funny splat sounds into the bathroom sink. As she rinsed the sink it reminded her to do her handwashables. She definitely didn't feel like doing that. She missed Marc and their weekend afternoon sex naps. Perhaps once the mask was done she'd just have one of her own. She had fresh batteries since his last trip out to sea. Of course, she preferred his fabulous love making but this would do the trick and maybe after a power nap, she could focus on studying better.

Another reason she missed Marc was the refrigerator. He did the grocery shopping when he was home and he always kept it well stocked. Not just with the basics but he would make up fruit or pasta salad, tunafish, guacamole, tzatziki and soup. She knew she was spoiled. She ate a piece of cold pizza figuring that any mask that went in her mouth was edible, although could make for bizarre taste. Tomorrow was beach handball. She'd need to have some picnic items for that so she would be forced to go to the store later. What fun for a Saturday night? She had so much reading to do by Monday, she physically could not read it all if she took more than 2 hours break the rest of thoday and would have to get up early to read before the beach. Unless it rained- then handball would be cancelled. Her phone timer beeped, she had looked at her phone wondering why. She had forgotten about the mask and had become engrossed in her assignment. She loved the sensation of surface cracking when she moved her lips, puffed out her cheeks and raised her eyebrows. She rinsed it off, put on some moisturizer and realized that her face actually did feel better.

Okay, let's make this a new habit.

She poured more iced coffee nd went back to reading. It was ridiculous how whenever one is in school with reading assignments all you can think about are all the books, articles, any other kind of printed word you'd rather read. She made a little sign, "FOCUS!" She would read for 45 minutes take a 5 minute stretch break and resume until she had to eat to keep her brain glucose level adequate or she had to pee, whichever came first.

Elix was in the lab, she had spent the night on the sofa in the corner. Luckily no one else was planning on working until 3am. She had promised her mother not to go to her apt that late on her own. It was impressive how little sleep she had gotten used to getting in the MIT atmosphere. She was going to meet Iker for coffee about 4pm at flour. He had not complained how much time she spent in the lab as he was frequently working himself. It would be wonderful speaking Basque, a refreshing break from English or French. There was a Canadian in her lab so they spoke French frequently when the English only speakers were out. But Basque in Boston? Hardly anyone knew Basque here.

She texted him that she would be a little late, between Dutch and Spanish time. He would find a table and wait for her. It was always insanely crowded at lunchtime. Luckily, he was able to find a table outside and the scattered clouds made it tolerable without an umbrella. Neither of them understood why there were so few places to eat outside in America, especially during summer weather.

Elix arrived. They did the customary cheek kisses. Someone asked if they could take one of their chairs and then Iker asked what she would like to have. She gave a few options in case something had already sold out. First choice was latte and sticky bun. She had highly recommended them Iker. The lemon ginger scone was a good back up or orange cranberry but likely to be sold out by this time of day. When he returned he was pleased he was able to fulfill first choice. Their sticky buns were still warm from the oven, likely the third batch of the day. They sat for a leisurely hour and then Elix regretted that she had to return to her experiment, next phase was in 15 minutes. She mentioned a few teammates had been bowling in Davis Square and would he like to go sometime? He hadn't ever gone before but was happy to try it. They would arrange a date later as Iker needed his work schedule which would be posted the next day. They gave customary kisses goodbye and that was that.

o o o o o

Celeste was concerned about Marguerite. She would just have to be patient and wait until she was ready to disclose whatever was going on. Sunday had been boring. She walked to the library to return a few books. Picked up a hot coffee to bring home and ice. She felt stuck in waiting mode. As she walked she thought of how many times she had been at bed rest unable to go for a walk. Why couldn't she be outrageously content with being able to go for a walk. Along the Charles it was beautiful. The sky filled with colorful pinks and cloud swirls. She saw the couples walking or jogging or biking. A few families out walking together as the summer heat had lowered to a comfortable level. There were a few people who appeared to be living near the boathouse. One in a wheelchair. There were too many homeless everywhere. She had been tired lately, or more tired than usual. Perhaps she'd take a nap when she got home. She hoped one or two of her requests would come in on Monday. Friday's choices had been a huge disappointment.

When she got home there was a letter taped to the mailbox. She took it in to the apartment and poured some iced tea. She went to the bathroom to wash her hands and dunk her head in the sink to cool off. She let the excess drip into the sink, then towel dried her face and hair. She put on a fresh t-shirt and brought the letter and tea into the living room. In the heat, Cleopatre was stretched out on the hard wood floor as if to create maximum air circulation.

Celeste opened the letter recognizing Marguerite's handwriting, she read on.

Dear Celeste,

I'm sorry I wasn't ready to talk the other night. I guess I am nervous about your reaction so I decided to write you first and give you some time to process everything and then we can talk.

The other day at your birthday lunch it was really uncomfortable. It's just easier to say I've never had a boyfriend and in a way I haven't.

I have a problem, I seem to only get attracted to people who are unavailable. Lately there's been this co-worker, who's practically married to another librarian(they work at another branch.)

I don't want you to tell Elix or Penelope about this. I hope you are okay with that. Maybe at some point I will but I'm not ready now. I will give you a few days to think this over and then let me know when is a good time to talk. I really hope I don't lose you for a friend over this.

Your friend,

Marguerite

Celeste was stunned. She had read the letter quickly so when she came to the end she took a deep breath.

"Holy cow Cleo. I would have never ever thought." She read it again, this time more slowly. Then she texted Marguerite.

{Don't need extra days Talk asap Of course I'm still your friend!}

o o o o o

Elixabete met Iger outside the Davis Square T station on Holland Street. Customary greeting kisses followed by how was your day? and they arrived quickly, discovering that this was New England bowling aka candlepin. Iger was pleased as the balls were similar in size to boules as opposed to "big ball" bowling. They got into some friendly competition and made bets for beer. The time went quickly and there was another group waiting for their lane so the moved on to try the local beer. Iger had won so he picked up the tab and they began discussing what they had found most unusual about Boston. Iger asked, "What is ish?" Elix said she didn't know and was curious how it was used.

"Meet you at the park 7 ish." he said.

Elix started laughing. "It's not a word. I didn't understand it at first either. It means I will meet you around 7 o'clock but I'm not telling you exactly by saying 7:12pm or 7:15pm.

Iger laughed and said, "Whatever! I just learned that last week."

"How about "what the fu*k?" that brought more laughter.

They moved on to Mr. Crepe and enjoyed a dark Belgian chocolate with strawberries and kiwi crepe. Elix felt comfortable with him, like a cousin, perhaps because of the Basque and his familiarity with her grandparents region. She needed to go back to the lab and he offered to accompany her to the Kendall stop. He was going on to an international dance performance at Emerson. Due to being on the train there were quick cheek kisses and abientot's (see you.)

As she got to the lab Pglot texted.

P {Hey, how was date? in lab now?}

E{OK but he's keeping his distance}

P{doesn't want to screw up}

E{mayB got 2 work now ttyl xoxo}

P{ciao ciao kiss kiss}

Penelope was hot and bored studying at home. The A/C was still in the basement storage. It was too heavy for her alone and Marc had forgotten to bring it up before he left. The drone of the fan was annoying her. She was hungry and tired of eating noodles and butter. She craved coconut almond chip ice cream and a reasonable climate to concentrate. She went to the back of the hell closet to her winter jacket and stole $5 from herself. The end of the winter she would put five $5 bills in various coat pockets for a fun surprise later. It was becoming her ice cream ATM. She packed up her laptop, charger, notebook, various pens and earplugs. She wrote a note to her neighbor for help with installing the air conditioner in exchange for a jug of Cambridge Brewing Company IPA.

Once out on the sidewalk, she realized it was cooler outside than in her grad housing apt. She made a beeline for JP Licks and saw one of her classmates in line. They chatted and whined about the heat, various professors and projects. Penelope always asked for a cone and the last three had been so soft they had dumped the cone into a dish which killed the concept. She sat at the indoor counter watching her arms pop up with goosebumps from their powerful A/C and the internal cold of the ice cream. She thought about how many weeks until Marc would be home and whether she would be cycling when he first arrived home. She checked for the word of the day at various sites.

arsenal- very lame, but addlepated-WOW! that even fit her, eccentric.

disinter- yuck!

poetaster- hmm, sounds worse than being a bad poet.

"OK, no more cunctation!"

o o o o o

Marguerite was nervous to talk with Celeste even though her text was clearly supportive. She had so much shame baggage that had been locked and disguised that she feared an avalanche if she spoke about it. But she had been hiding and essentially lying sometimes about her whereabouts and it was leveraging her. Maybe by admitting her secret life she could begin to change it. Didn't they say the first step was admitting you had an issue? Or was that just for alcoholics, gamblers, binge-eaters, etc? The secrets a secret and the patterns a pattern and I want a real life without this.

Celeste had been researching about women who are perpetually with unavailable men, seemed a consistently theme was being emotionally unavailable themselves. Celeste though about this. She thought Marguerite was a reserved person, she's a reference librarian! She tried to remember if Marguerite had spoken of any meltdowns or if she had ever seen Marguerite cry or get really angry. She just seemed under control. She wasn't sure if that was remotely related or not. She couldn't ask anyone because obviously this was confidential. She wasn't really sure what she was going to say except that she didn't really know what to say.

The buzzer rang and Cleopatre jumped off the sofa and went into the bedroom. Celeste released the door and went to the hallway to greet her friend.

"Hey Marguerite, good to see you." Celeste hugged her quickly and they went into the apartment.

"Do you want some iced tea?"

"Yes, it's brutal out there and supposed to be hotter tomorrow." Marguerite was awkwardly stiff.

"Listen, Marguerite, first, I'm honored as a friend that you felt comfortable to tell me. Honestly, I don't really know what to say except that I will do my best to be supportive."

They both drank some iced tea and there was prolonged silence.

"I don't really know what to say either I guess. I'm not used to talking about it. I just know that I want to stop doing it. Maybe one day I'll have a chance to have a real boyfriend." Marguerite kept looking down at the carpet.

"Well, if and when you feel like talking I'm here to listen. I don't know if there are people who specialize in this kind of thing, as therapists, I mean." Celeste said.

"I'm sure their are. This is America. I just don't want to go there at this point. I haven't tried to stop on my own yet." she confessed.

"Last Sunday I told him I had to stop. But I've said that before so I don't think he believed me. I haven't called, emailed or texted him since, so I am feeling more like this time is for real. And of course, I told you so that a big difference too." Marguerite looked up at Celeste.

"Thanks for not judging me."

"Sure sweetie. it can be rough being human." Celeste got up for more iced tea. "You want more too?"

"Sure, thanks." They changed the subject and left the huge elephant topic in the corner of the living room for another time. Right before Marguerite left, Celeste confirmed her confidentiality and that was all. There was no emotional avalanche.

o o o o o

Celeste woke at 3:34am. She took out her earplugs and turned off the fan. She hoped the sound was of rain but then realized it was a chorus of air conditioners. I hope everyone's A/C use doesn't make next summer even hotter. She got up and went to the kitchen for some iced tea. In the refrigerator she spotted the chocolate Belgium LU cookies that Nataliya had. They had been melting so they put them in the refrigerator. She took one out of the little tray. The chocolate was cool and sweet, the layer wafer cookies crunched softly and it all melted quickly in her mouth. She took another. Snacking in the night was something she never did before the crash. She had always just slept all night. She wouldn't lose any weight at this rate.

Wow, poor Marguerite. I don't really know how to help. I guess you just make yourself available and just be with her if she needs company. Not rocket science, mostly ancient compassion.

She took up a crossword puzzle. The day ahead was predicted to reach 100'F. Would she plan to go to the library for respite or go to the mall to exchange somethings. Perhaps she should try being at the mall by 11am, even if that meant not doing her light

box treatment.

I'll have some energy if I get out of th eheat before it reaches Athenian proportions.

She went to dunk her head in the kitchen sink. She felt sleepy but wasn't sure if she would lie awake for awhile. She hoped she could avoid the early morning nightmares. That would be a nice vacation from her mind and perhas help waking in the morning without adrenaline surging through her system. She was dripping onto the cheap newsprint of the crossword puzzle so she put it away and turned off the light. If there was a goddess of dreams, she begged her to spare her the nightmares just until the heatwave broke. There was only so much she could take.

Sleeping until 10:30am, she felt groggy from freaky dreams and was not ready to go out into the outdoor oven. She turned on the light box and checked her horoscope and email. She realized she would have to go to a cooler environment or her down mood would sink deeper.

"Tomorrow, Cleo, cooler tomorrow." She took another sip of iced tea. With a steady intake of iced tea and whatever caffeine it held she didn't want to even consider her energy level on herbal tea alone.

She read through what she had from the library, did a few crosswords, dunked her head numerous times and stared out the window. Cleopatre slept the entire day. The library would be closed by the time it would be cool enough to walk there. She thought of popsicles and frappachinos, ice cream and anything very, very cold.

This weather had to be endured just like a snowstorm. Except that the heat brought a lethargy that was beginning to feel like a depression setting in.

I could watch a movie then go for a walk. I should get out of the apartment for awhile.

The fan blew hot air. A breeze was blowing outside but what they really needed was a 20 degree temperature dropping thunderstorm. She made herself a cheese sandwich. Randomly she remembered when Nader and Ignatio had come over the past winter to keep her company, have dinner and watch one of Celeste's favorite old movies, The Diner. She felt like a shut-in getting a visit from them. They were kind international friends, to watch old American movie, much cultural humor lost.

I'm lucky to have the team, everyone who's taken me in, everyone who still interacts with me. They easily could have let go of our friendship as soon as I stopped playing.

It was bittersweet, to have such dear teammates and to have lost that part of her, the athlete, a sadness accompanied the gladness whenever she saw them.

She made more iced tea, dunked her head and did pages of crosswords, too many repeating clues. Eventually it was 7:30pm. "Time to walk Cleo, gotta get outta here before I cook into a cucukoo." She walked down Ellery, crossed over Mass Ave and headed to the Charles. Too much in her head, she watched the teenagers stand on top of the bridge railing, talking each other into jumping. One of the Canadian geese hissed at her as she passed by. Many baby bunnies along the bushes nibble, nibbling noses. Bikes and runners whizzed by. "I just want to be OK" played in her head. "I just want to be OK today." she sang and then hummed. Finally she sat on a bench.

I just want to give up. Can't I just give up. This is too hard, I've been at this so long already.

Her appointment next week with the neuropsychiatrist, would she tell the truth when he asked about having thoughts of death?

How many of these people going by have wanted to give up too? At least they can run their stress off.

"Niko, I can't keep going at this. Although I don't have a way out. Not an easy one at least. I just want to feel like I'm making progress or that I have a chance to have a life again. You know, a real life, with meaningful work, an apartment, play sports, jeez, even have a chance to fall in love."

"Don't decide today. Take today off from decisions. Just walk, look around. That's enough for now, okay?" she heard him suggest softly.

"Ok, I won't decide anything today. Tomorrow. I can decide tomorrow." She said aloud, as she looked out over the water, at a tiny bunny just peeking out by some reeds and at the people.

"No decisions, no planning. Just the here now thing, huh Niko? I wish I could hold someones hand. I know it's hot. Just a couple of fingers would be nice. It would make me feel that maybe just maybe I could someday be OK."

On the bench a few yards away, a teenaged couple were talking with their heads very close together, gently caressing one another's arms as they held hands. She turned away from their intimate coziness. The impending kiss was definite. She thought of a real live kiss, slow and sweet, gentle and full of electricity. She thought of her French lightening kiss so many years ago. Could there be such a thing as a profound kiss? It was still delicious.

The breeze picked up and blew the hot summer air through the hanging willows near by. The bridge jumpers were screaming and squealing in the distance. The moon was ripening, probably would be full in a few days. The sun had been a blazing, red orange, right before it set. It felt like everyone had so much to do except for her. Even getting their exercise, they looked so busy. Headphones, water bottles, iPod's strapped to biceps, etc. She had had all the time in the world day in and day out. So many would envy how much time she had.

"Could I try to just be content with this moment, Niko? And what of you? Do you get tired of all your fame, photo shoots, training and competing? Do you have ideas of what you will do next?" Celeste walked along interviewing her imaginary friend. She wanted to feel inspired, hopeful. Her well had been dry from so many days of excessive heat and poor energy.

Why is it so hard to just be content to be walking along the river on a summer evening?

It was getting darker so she headed back home. Thirsty even though she must have already had twenty glasses of iced tea already today, she gulped down one and half more. Dunked in the sink again and remembered the ice cream.

"Cleo, half a gallon won't last 3 days at this rate." She wondered if she would be able to fall asleep.

I need to do something tomorrow that will give my life some meaning-something to make me feel proud of myself. Today was empty and I don't remember anything fulfilling from yesterday either.Maybe tomorrow someone will want to go to the beach. There. That's an idea.

o o o o o

Penelope drove Celeste and Marguerite, Elixabete would come by T later. They would meet at the usual site of beach handball at Revere Beach. Celeste had borrowed an umbrella from one of the Spanish and was thrilled that Penelope had a few beach chairs in the trunk. Celeste had packed havarti, tomato & pesto sandwiches and 4 thermos of iced #211. Marguerite brought various Lu cookies and fruit salad. Penelope brought her sass and homework. She surprised everyone with cosmopolitan ice cubes. Only two a piece as they were in the intense sun. "I'll never understand why they don't make cocktail popsicles. Pina Colada, Cosmo, Sex on the Beach and sell them, of course with proper ID. Out of a cooler, just like the Italian ice guy. The ladies had to admit she had a point and they loved her prototype samples.

"You better hurry up with a patent Pglot. Patent law reform is now first inventor to file. You've got to file before you launch Pglots Pops!" Celeste cheered.

"Too busy with PhD homework--priorities. Maybe Marc can look into it when he gets home."

"Is that soon?" Elix asked.

"I think so, I was trying to figure it out the other day, but I may be off a week. I hope he comes when I don't need the hut."

"Hey Marguerite, have you got anything great to recommend? You know on of those books that towards the end, you start reading slowly because when it's done you feel like you've been left. A well written resonator? Is that a genre?" Celeste asked.

"Not that I know of. I will have to think about it. Nothing immediately coming to mind." She went back to reading Anne Lamott's classic, "Bird by Bird."

"Can one of you explain why we can't sunbathe like men here?" Elix queried.

"Pilgrims, uptight Pilgrims, still have Boston by the balls. I'm sure there are places in Cali that it's no big deal. There's supposed to be nude beaches on Martha's Vineyard somewhere." Penelope said.

"I don't need to be naked I just hate wearing a top."Elix muttered while she retied her bikini strings around her back.

"I agree. I loved the feeling once I got over feeling self-conscious in Greece. I once went topless at South Beach in Miami and a man invited me to his birthday party that night. That's when I realized when not in Roman don't do as the Romans." Celeste sighed and the other's laughed. She continued, "So ridiculous, breasts are in our faces everywhere in American advertising and we can't actually expose real ones? What's with that?"

"What would happen if we started our own protest? A breasts out instead of a sit in. If anyone comes over we just start speaking French and feign ignorance. How about it girls, our own form of Bastille Day! Libre les seins! {Free the breasts}

Penelope pulled at one of the bikini strings dangling down Elix's back. Eliz laughed.

"Maybe they would ticket us for disturbing the peace or indecent exposure," Marguerite sounded nervous "or ask us to leave."

"We just got here. Pipe down on the bikini coup d'etat and do some homework. Go out in the ocean, take your top off & bottoms if you like and float around away from goggling eyes." Celeste mumbled. She was stomach down, topless before the discussion had even begun. She was enjoying feeling very far away from the apartment and didn't want to be kicked out, ticketed or oogled by teenage boys or full grown ones for that matter.

"I doubt any lifeguards would say anything. They'd just enjoy the wildlife show with their binoculars."

"OK, I will read two articles while I roast and then swim." Penelope suggested. Celeste drifted in and out napping, while the others read.She forgot that the beach made her horny. She'd just have to have a rendezvous with her battery boyfriend later. She wished she had some real male company. She missed kissing and holding hands. There seemed to be so many couples everywhere and the beach just exaggerated the PDA. She envied the ones playing in the ocean. Embracing in the cool ocean, skin slippery from sunscreen, cold pockets of water in the under current, relief from the heat and gravity.

She thought of a former boyfriend, "Otter." Pure joy when playing in the waves. His smile, curly mop dripping and muscular physique easy to see in her mind. She smiled. And when he ate lobster?! Only an otter could extract every bit like he did.

"Hey, Pglot. Is there a word for how the shower after a day at the beach feels? Or the smell of your skin after basking in the salty air and water?" Celeste asked.

"Not that I know of, but there should be. Almost ready to swim?"

Everyone stood up.

"Guess that's affirmative."

The pre-dip tossing began; sunglasses, hair clips and hats fell on to the center of each towel. Penelope and Elix raced to the water and once in deep enough dove under. Celeste and Marguerite walked along cringing and moving more quickly as the sand began burning their soles. By the time Celeste and Marguerite were knee deep they could see Penelope swinging her bikini over her head. Tide was high or she would have been yelled at by the lifeguards. Celeste and Marguerite laughed.

"She just couldn't wait to get out of that suit. I wonder how much she retained of her homework or if she just glazed over the words." Celeste commented. Marguerite nodded.

"How are you doing?" Celeste asked more quietly.

"OK, Thanks. Will you go all the way out where they are?"

"Not sure. Depends how cold the water gets. But I haven't skinny dipped in a very, long time and today could just be the day." Celeste grinned.

The heat wave and possibly climate change made the water tolerable. Celeste was surprised as she kept heading out towards P & E and was comfortable. Usually she hadn't gotten hot enough on shore or the water was arctic feeling and she had to retreat back to the sun toasty towel. Now Elix had her suit off and they had tied them around their waists to free up their hands. They were obviously having a fantastic time bobbing on the waves and floating on their backs. Neither one had been in the sun much their skin was white, white when it broke the surface. Celeste joined them while Marguerite held back to where she could stand.

Penelope called out to her, "Come on Marguerite, come all the way. It's fabulous out here." Celeste had slipped out of her bikini and held it over her head like a World Cup trophy. Pglot and Elix cheered. The ocean bath was exponentially more sensuous than being in one's own tub. As an outdoor shower expansively more refreshing than an indoor one.

Marguerite bluffed fear of deep waters to disguise her modesty. The other neither pushed nor believed her. She stayed watching just beyond conversation distance. They drifted from her until it was difficult to identify their faces. They looked like mermaids or porpoises playing together. She had forgotten what caused her inhibitions but they held her firmly back from the freedom buff.

The life guard was whistling for them to come back to shore. None of them stayed above water long enough to hear the warnings. Even while floating on their backs, their ears heard only ocean or each others laughter. Marguerite hollered to them and waved her arms to come back to shore. They waved and cheered back. The lifeguard proceeded to pull the rescue kayak into the water and headed out to corral them back into the buoyed area.

Surely they had known they went out beyond the ropes. It was a simple concept. Why didn't they just follow the rules! Marguerite had returned to her towel when she realized the lifeguard was going out for them. By the time he had gotten close enough to realize they were naked, one by one they noticed him. He yelled through a megaphone to return to the designated swimming area.

"Nous nagerons beaucoup dans l'ocean, Monsieur." {We swim in the ocean alot, Sir.} Penelope shouted back.

"What? I said get back into the swimming area."

"Je ne parles pas l'anglais." {I don't speak English.}Elix yelled back.

Celeste was smirking and purposely not making eye contact with the lifeguard.

"Please clothe yourselves. This is not a nude beach. Get back into the swimming area or I will call the Coast Guard to come get you." he threatened.

"Oh mon Dieu, pas de Coast Guard. Ma mari est avec le Coast Guard." {oh my God, not the Coast Guard. My husband is with the Coast Guard.} Penelope giggled quietly.

Celeste had already gotten her suit back on, which was a little tricky while treading water and half floating.

"Mes amies le joue est fini. J'espere encore un autre jour." {My friends the game is over. I hope for more another day.} Celeste called out.

The life guard continued to herd them back and repeated the warning. Speaking louder English for emphasis, ignoring the increasing one's volume doesn't increase comprehension.

"Quel dommage." {What a shame.} Penelope said as they dove under the rope re-entering the swimmer territory.

"Hey, come on, we had fun. N'est-ce pas? {Did we not?} said Celeste.

When they got back to their spot, Marguerite was reading or pretending to read. She had earbuds in and so Celeste snuck up from behind her and dripped some water on her shoulders. She jumped and everyone laughed, except Marguerite. She took out her earbuds and looked a bit cross asking if they had been told to leave.

"Relax Marguerite. Everything is fine. We spoke French, he spoke English, loudly. We came to an understanding. Everyone's good." Pglot explained. "By the way, what are your reading our fair librarian?"

"About writing."

"Oh, well just remember a diplomat's family must be protected by unanimity."

"No problem. I don't know what I'm going to write about yet and I highly doubt I will get published anyway." Marguerite replied.

Elixabete suddenly got up, sprinting towards some pillaging seagulls who had gotten a plastic grocery of chips and sandwiches from under a families umbrella. In a flash seagulls were descending and fighting over the ripped bag and spilled lunches. One seagull had made it out with a half sandwich in it's bill only to have another chase it. It lost a large piece which was missed by the pursuing gull and landed on the hairy back of an overweight sunburned man. He didn't even flinch but no one surrounding wanted to approach him to check his status, sleeping, drunk or dead. When Elix ran into the looting mass of gulls she didn't know what she was getting into. They moved quickly dragging pieces of bag, wrapping and expanded the bird buffet by double. She was yelling in French, the gulls were squawking and a few of the family members came running up from the water. Celeste was laughing at how quickly the whole scene turned to chaos when a gust of wind caught the umbrella, once airborne it hit an escaping gull and then flipped end over end down the beach, hitting little kids, making women scream and finally a John Doe Dad caught it, closed it and returned it to the lunch-less owners. Their towels were covered in crumbs, bits of bologna and mayo splattered among potato chips and Cheetos. The orange Cheeto powder had been tracked by gull feet looking artistic. Primarily it was a disgusting mess with sobbing children, distraught from the attack.

Elizabete came back shaking her head. Everyone settled down form the excitement. The family had packed up all of their beach gear and left for the snack shack. They left the area littered with scraps. The flock of gulls returned for the left overs and nearby toddlers screamed with delight chasing the gulls over and over. Neither the gulls nor tots became exhausted of the game until all the food was gone.

"Hey, I have a typically taboo topic to bring up. I want some advice." Celeste began.

"I'm all ears." Pglot said.

"What is taboo?" asked Elix.

"Off limits, banned, barred, not socially acceptable." Marguerite said not looking up from her book.

"Oh like politics or religion?" Elix asked.

Celeste laughed, "Neither, it's about money! No one has to disclose anything personal. I just want to get a better handle on my own finances. I've had a trillion different types of budgets over the years and I still haven't found anything that's foolproof. Or spend proof! Does anyone mind broaching the subject? Why is it so difficult? And why are Europeans better savers? Somebody must have an explanation for that. Seems ironic that in more socialized societies people would be better savers. They are taxed at a higher rate but maybe all the programs do leave more income for savings?" Celeste rambled.

"There isn't as much space to have so much stuff that's for sure."Penelope said.

"I was shocked the first time I heard how many Americans pay to have things stored. Things they obviously don't need." Elixabete contributed.

"In general there is value put on having something of higher quality so that it will last longer and is more repairable not disposable as so much of the World of Walmart. You may have fewer clothes but they are of better quality so you don't need more space either." Penelope said.

Celeste went on, "Recently I've added a Sisyphus category." Everyone's head turned except Penelope's. "Excellent Celeste, I like that! After the Greek who pushes the boulder up the hill only to have it roll back down?" she laughed. "It's always something, a surprise excise tax bill or the water pump on the car goes, street cleaning tow." she listed.

"Yes, there seems to always be something that needs attention that I hadn't planned for. I seemed to always be using up my emergency fund and then some went toward debt and it just seems like I never get caught up. So Sisyphus concept is that shit will happen that wasn't in a category or it cost more than was allotted. I understand I also have to be more disciplined. It's really hard going from a middle class American salary to 210% poverty level. I have to manage my deprivation feeling better, try to figure out how to plan for that too I suppose. So what is everybody's two cents?"

No on offered any financial advice. No one even spoke. There was an extremely awkward silence. One Celeste could not even remember happening in this group before.

Penelope confirmed, "Guess it is a taboo subject. My Dad ran the finances in my family and it was extra tricky with all the different currencies we lived with. It sort of made it feel like play money. I pretty much just spent whatever I had pretty quickly after I got it, before we moved away from whatever I had my eye on. Marc is much more the person to get advice from. He's the saver, planner wizard."

Elixabete agreed with Penelope. "We don't speak about personal finances outside. It's just not done." All eyes fell on Marguerite and her eyes dropped to her towel, her toes in the sand, the horizon and finally she confessed her family never spoke on the subject either.

"Jeez, I'm not asking for disclosure, I want strategies, people. Tips, things you've found helpful." Celeste was a bit exasperated that her female friends were so tightlipped or useless in spite of all their education and intelligence. Penelope just shrugged and said "Ask me whatever you want about sex, I just can't offer much other than talk to Marc when he gets home."

Marguerite piped up, jumping at the opportunity to change the subject. "Speaking of Marc. You know, Penelope, I never heard the ending or rather the beginning of your relationship. You told us about Vancouver, Southern France and Crete. But when did you really meet him?"

Penelope was scrounging around in one of the picnic bags and took out some grapes, cheese and European cookies. "Who has the baguette?" Elix pulled one out of her backpack and put it next to the spread.

"OK, do you really want that story or would you rather a trashy American Cosmo for everything men want women to know but are too embarrassed to tell them?"

"I abhor that the library even carries that magazine. No thanks, much prefer truth, it's stranger than fiction." Marguerite replied. Elix said she'd put in earbuds since she knew the story and had more reading to do for school.

"I am always up for a Pglot tale. Even if I have heard it a few times before!" Celeste propped her bag under her head and pulled her sunhat down over her eyes. "I'm still listening under here."

Penelope had been through a rough break-up. She had been dumped from her longest relationship, 18 months. She had been working hard in school and doing some translating work which her boyfriend did not find acceptable use of her time. He had already started back dating a previous girlfriend so there really wasn't much to do except retreat and lick her wounds. What he didn't know was that she had been working extra towards a bonus which she had planned to use for the two of them to have an impromptu long 4th of July vacation in the Virgin Islands. Her sister had never liked the guy and said good riddance, go on the trip yourself and sign up for every spa treatment or "extra" they have.

"I have always wanted to swim with the dolphins. But I think it's only offered in the British V.I., Tortola. I'll look into it." she promised. As they hung up, she googled to book her "recovery" island indulgences. She mistakenly booked her hotel in St. Thomas thinking she had clicked on the St. John's hotel of the same name. In the end it worked out as there was a huge festival on St. John's for the 4th of July covering the entire island. Not quite the quiet, peaceful, serene setting she needed. Even the turtles left to escape all the chaos. Luckily she went to St. John's on the ferry the first day. Refusing to pay a taxi to down down the hill from the hotel to the ferry dock, she stood out as there were no sidewalks and hence no other pedestrians. Several Jeeps of natives honked at she and she would just smile and wave as she jumped towards the roadside flora to avoid being hit. Why spend money for a ride I can easily walk in 20 minutes? There Celeste, there is your financial advise. The next day she took the ferry over to the British Virgin Islands. It was a longer ride than to St. John's. She enjoyed the scenery and the people watching. American tourists were always good for some humorous behavior. The ferry dropped them off and they proceeded through customs. She was asked if she had anything to declare and she replied, "Just my lunch, which I will not be leaving here." The officer had smiled at the thought of an American bringing their lunch with them. She had packed water bottles with vitamin C and electrolytes as the temperature and humidity made for constant sweating if one moved at all.

She had only been walking for 10 minutes down the main road when she felt a sharp pain in her heel. She took another few steps gingerly and again each time the sharp pain recurred. Perplexed she looked at the bottom of her shoe while stretching her quadricep.Nothing unusual. She took one more step and yelled, "Fuck that hurts!" She sat down on the side of the road and took off her shoe. She looked in her shoe and pulled out a thorn that was 3 inches long and quite nail like. She wasn't wearing any socks and saw that she was indeed bleeding from a puncture wound in her heel. Not a lot but some.

My God! They have nail thorns in Tortola. Keep an eye out for those!

She tossed the offending natural foreign object and resumed her hike. She walked up a steep hill, with a grade meant for a mountain goat. There wasn't much shoulder on the road here either. Cars would suddenly appear and were not expecting pedestrians. When she got to the top, the views were breathtaking. The ocean had a gorgeous transition of colors from an emerald turquoise to a deep, dark blue. There were beautiful orange flowering bushes. As she started down the winding road she began contemplating breakfast. She had set aside some cash in the bottom of her shoe, under her inner sole for emergency taxi money. She had her credit card for actual purchases, a towel, sunscreen, homeopathic remedy emergency kit, lunch and spare electrolyte powder for water bottle refills. The road zigged and zagged so many times she thought she'd never get to the bottom. Finally there was an off shoot road that appeared to reach a beach. She took off her Nikes and walked over to an abandoned ramshackle beach hut. No one was around. It had obviously been there for quite awhile with various quotes and signatures covering a variety of surfaces. There was a "bar" counter with empty shelves underneath. Many bikini tops or bottoms were strung around like an island version of prayer flags blowing tattered in the elements. Carvings in the main structural wooden posts gave away the dates of many a party. She felt a bit like an anthropologist, wondering about all the people who had been there before her. How many didn't make it home due to ocean riptides or the steep narrow roads. No breakfast here. She walked towards the buildings farther down the beach hoping for an open restaurant or cafe. She noted there seemed to be very few people out and about. Perhaps the island wakes up closer to noon here, she thought. The only things she knew about the island was that it was a British colony and somewhere there was swimming with dolphins.

She found an open cafe and took a seat overlooking the water. One couple sat a few tables away otherwise it was eerily empty. Looking out she must be caught in a dream, surely this wasn't real. Watching the couple, she missed her boyfriend, felt heartbroken and then angry. He could have been here, enjoying this paradise with me! What an idiot. He had a number of very annoying habits. She bit into her toast after reading the label of the little jar of preserves. He chewed his nails down to the quick. He never put the seat down. He never balanced his checking account and frequently said, "I thought about calling you." But besides him breaking up with her, the main deal breaker was he was terrified of flying and hated to travel. "Plenty to do or not do here, why do that somewhere else?" was his argument. "Oh well, it's over. Time to move on." she thought as she finished the last piece of strawberry. She requested the bill and left her credit card on the little tray. The waitress returned and said she couldn't process the credit card. System was down, could she please pay with cash. She took the remaining bills from her wallet and asked for change. She planned to walk farther down the beach to at least a few other beach goers. She didn't want to be the sole female sunbathing. After 30 minutes of walking the found a few families set up but they were pretty close to some tourist shops and a gas station. Not the glamourous back drop she'd imagined but safety in numbers over seclusion as a single woman. She lay down her towel and being in the islands promptly put on sunscreen and took off her bikini top. She relaxed but was too hot to sleep as well as her intuition was giving her vulnerability signals. She drank more water to replace the steady sweating and then went out into the dazzling Atlantic, quite magnificent compared to the Boston version. It was deeper than she expected pretty quickly. The waves were breaking without a strong under tow. She preferred having someone to play with in the water. And that's when Marc showed up, again. This time he was not going to let her slip away without somehow at least getting to share a meal with her, the elusive globetrotting goddess with thick auburn curls and a smile that melted him. And so it was, they shared her picnic lunch, the afternoon and then had dinner and then breakfast and then lunch and then dinner...

o o o o o

Once everyone was back home showering off the salt, sunscreen and sand, they each thought that indeed there should be a specific word for a post-beach day shower. They would meet up later in the week at a farewell dinner for Jordi at the Midwest Grill, a Brazilian restaurant perfect for the attending carnivores. His research in the States was wrapping up. He would come back briefly to finish up some last experiments but it was time to go back to Barcelona. To start teaching, finish up his thesis, defend and become Dr. Jordizyme, Professor Martu. There would be a final DJ performance but the venue had yet to be determined.

For a long time Celeste couldn't attend farewell dinners, they were just too sad and she loathed crying in public. Even though Mike had warned her the handball team would regularly break her heart with all the coming & going, she apologized to the departing, deliberately saying "No goodbyes, see you soon." and stayed home from those BTH events. Days before a farewell she would remember when she first met the person, whether it was a tournament, practice or a party, what their very first conversation had been like and how they responded to her welcoming them to the Club. Oddly as one of the newest people to the sport she took on a role of hostessing the States, Boston, Cambridge and the BTH family. Offering to help them in anyway she could as a guide to US customs, bureaucracy and friendship. Doing whatever she could for them to feel welcome, more at home while frequently oceans away from home and that if she didn't know something she would find out & get back to them.

INSERT: HOOTERS STORY & "fuck your google maps"

Monday began in a seemingly routine steamy summer manner. Most everyone choosing iced over hot coffees, sticky even just after their morning shower and groggy from the week-ends festivities.

By 8:45am the library already had a small crowd at the door, eager for the free air conditioning and resources after being closed on Sunday. The private detective sipped his iced latte, loved the ease of blending in. Surveillance would be a piece of cake and the librarian would have no reason to suspect his motives when asking her for help at the reference desk.

Infinity hallway was picking up and the immigration officials were getting confused by all the buildings being identified by numbers instead of having a name like every other campus. They would be looking for her lab, as that was the most likely place to find her. She would not be expecting to be deported and they were used to this part of their job.

The Coast Guard court marshall was just about to knock on the merchant marine's wife's door, when a neighbor locking their door, informed her that she had already left for the library and classes.

Julie brimming over with joy at being newly engaged, walked down the entry hallway. She couldn't wait to tell Celeste her news. She was exuberant with the surprise of being popped the question, 6 months after their first date to the Lincoln movie and JPLicks ice cream. It would be hard to tell her roommate that come fall, Paul would be moving in and Celeste would need to find another place to live.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Other books by CC LeBlanc:

Tell Me This: Encouragement and Hope After Brain Injury © 2013

About the Author:

Originally from Madison, Wisconsin, Ms. LeBlanc spent 3 years at the University of Wisconsin-Madison before transferring to the Physician's Assistant Program at Duke University, receiving her Bachelor's in Health Sciences and Physician's Assistant certificate. She has worked in private practice orthopedic surgery, HMO outpatient surgical specialties and an integrative primary care/complementary medical practice in the Boston area. She was in administration & project management prior to the disabling car crash concussion.

She was a soccer goalkeeper competing for her high school, Madison 56ers and university. She played ice hockey with the University of Wisconsin-Madison Women's Club team while in high school and university. Years later, she took up the challenge of team handball goalkeeper and played for Boston Team Handball Club until injuries forced early "retirement". She has a passion for handball and is looking forward to it becoming the number 2 sport in the States.

In 2009, she suffered a sports concussion from a handball shot to her forehead and then two months later received a debilitating concussion when her Beetle convertible was rear-ended &totaled. She has been disabled by her numerous mild Traumatic Brain Injury symptoms. Writing down what she wished to hear, the pocket-guide for brain injured survivors called, Tell Me This:Encouragement and Hope After Brain Injury was published in Nov 2103. A YouTube channel by the same name was launched July 2015.

She has been narrating for the Braille & Talking Book Library at The Perkins School for the Blind in Watertown, MA , off & on(due to her brain injury) for 7 years. Recently she began volunteering for green Cambridge during the SolarBug neighborhood program, Campaign Nonviolence and considers herself a Peace Rebel.

She lives in Cambridge with her son and their rescue cat, Cleopatre.

You can read guest blog posts & interviews on her website:

www.catzleblanc.com

She would love to hear from you! catz@catzleblanc.com

If you are in Europe, Africa, Asia or South America and will be coming to the States for education, to au pair, work or sabbatical;

YES, we have Olympic handball in America!

www.bostonteamhandball.com

www.usateamhandball.com

