 
Cars, Snakes and Synchronicity

A collection of short stories and essays

By Becky Shafi

Published by Becky Shafi at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 by Becky Shafi

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Cars, Snakes and Synchronicity

She had said something funny. I turned to laugh as I entered the intersection. My eyes were off the road for no more than a second, or maybe two. Then I felt him. I guess I saw him before I felt him. It was a tall, black form appearing like a flash in the right side of my vision. Like a ghost or a specter, he came out of nowhere, slamming into my car - soft thud of body meeting hard, impermeable car. Then I sensed, or rather imagined, him falling away from the car, lying in a crumpled, still mound of mangled body parts. My car continued through the intersection. I pulled over to the curb, heart thumping, mind stunned, and all I could think was, "So this is how it feels to kill someone."

All of this started because of a snake - a snake and a rattle-trap car. I was driving behind this heap of a car watching in amazement as intermittent sparks flew out from behind it. The sparks were generated by the radiator that tapped the pavement in an on-off rhythm as the car bounced along. This mangled and rusted machine piece swung from the bottom of the car like a calcified relic from an ancient rain forest. I was mesmerized by the light of the sparks, rippling in a mini light show from behind it. The sparks fizzed like a slowly dying meteor. This automobile, if you could call it that, was clearly falling apart. At any moment it would stop and a pile of rubble would appear in its place like a rusty car fossil, decaying silently on the highway.

I was going through a phase. I often go through phases, but this particular phase had to do with synchronicity and my becoming more aware of it. I was trying to shift my focus to pay more attention to my external environment and what sort of messages the universe might be sending me. It was during this phase that I saw the snake. I was driving with my daughter. It was an unseasonably hot day. Heat rose from the hood of the car and flashed in my eyes as the sun seared the dry, hard dirt and brittle grasses outside. As we sped down the hill toward home, I suddenly noticed a huge snake. It was black with yellow stripes and I thought it strange that I hadn't noticed it approaching from the side of the road. It just suddenly appeared in front of the car, in a long squiggly ascent, it stretched from one speeding tire to the other. It was easily four or five feet long, seeming massive. I was surprised by the sight of this snake and was afraid I'd run over it. Though I didn't hear a thud, I nearly stopped the car to see if I had hurt it. I was stunned, but as with most sudden occurrences, once the moment's over it's soon forgotten and I continued home - forgetting all about the snake - and the rattle-trap car.

After several days I began to notice that I continuously followed cars with pieces falling out from underneath them. Some of these cars had dragging pieces. Others had bouncing pieces. Still others were scraping the pavement or rattling down the road. I thought it odd that I would find so many cars that were in this condition driving right in front of me. I started to believe there was something synchronistic about these events. One evening I borrowed my son's car. The weather was pleasant and the car was an old BMW convertible. I had the top down and had just dropped my friend to her house after the movie we'd just seen. Pretty soon I heard something dragging on the pavement. The night was quiet and I kept hearing a scraping noise. I became convinced that the sound came from under my son's car. Sure enough, after pulling over and looking under the car, I could see that the muffler had come loose from the engine and was now dragging on the ground. An instant chill seeped into my stomach. The universe was absolutely trying to tell me something.

I'm at my desk. I'm at work, but I'm doodling. I often doodle when I'm on conference calls. I draw small triangles and stars and make patterns out of lines and dots, creating deep and basic designs that speak to the eternal and the fundamental. These ink lines portray bursts from the universe at the moment of creation. They are endless horizons and animal footprints and the innermost parts of flowers. At least that's what I tell myself. This day I'm drawing triangle shapes that morph into a long line. I'm adding shadows, eyes and a forked tongue. Then I am struck by a sudden and shocking realization. I have drawn a snake. I realize that I've been drawing snakes for weeks. I look back in my notebook, finding no less than six snakes that I had doodled. Some were coiled, some straight, some wavy. Snakes. I was sure it was synchronicity. I looked up the symbology of snakes - snakes mean rebirth and transformation. I liked the sound of that.

My son gave me a call to tell me his car was stolen. Actually, it was my car that I had loaned him and now it had been stolen. Just a few months before he had totaled his own car so we gave him one of our old cars to drive. He wasn't happy with the car, but it was better than no car at all. He really couldn't really afford car payments and insurance premiums. Now this hand-me-down car had been stolen while he spent the night at his friend's apartment in downtown San Francisco. He parked between a Toyota Pruis and a Honda Forerunner. Neither of those cars had been taken. They were both still there in the morning with a big gap between them like a missing tooth where our old Honda Accord used to be.

I was in second grade. It was evening, after dinner on a hot, summerish night. My mom took a call and I heard her scream or shriek. I was petrified. Bad things didn't happen to me on a regular basis as a young child and a shriek meant bad news. It was my grandpa. He'd been hit by a truck and killed while changing lanes on the highway. Maybe the sun was in his eyes and he couldn't see the truck because of the glare. Since that day, whenever I drive on the highway, I've had that image of my grandpa, changing lanes into a huge semi truck, the sun in his eyes as he thought his last thought before the truck took away any chances I'd have to ever spend time with him again.

I'm in the bath contemplating my life. I need to break the spell of cars in my life and banish my fears once and for all. I decide I need to forgive the truck driver who killed my grandfather. I need to say "goodbye" to grandpa, because I never dealt with his death as a child. I imagine my young self hugging the old man, loving him and letting him go. I forgive all the fears that I've had since that time and going forward. I forgive the person who stole my son's car and the boy who ran into me while I was driving.

I realized that my life had been in a state of constant disrepair. I was so far gone that I sometimes thought I was dead, and I often wished I were. I needed to examine my inner life and make repairs. I needed transformation and rebirth, like shedding my old skin to allow a new fresh start. I needed to heal my fears and reassess the direction of my life. After some soul searching, I finally left the job that I hated. I started to write the book I had always wanted to write. I worked on losing weight and began to heal my closest relationships. In short, I began to like myself again. I found that I wasn't dead inside. I was just dormant through the long winter, waiting for forgiveness to thaw me out and for inner healing to bring the spring so I could begin to bloom.

As I walked back across the street to check on the boy that hit my car, I was astounded to find that there was no crumpled lump of mangled body. There was only a boy standing, trying to repair his bike. I had hit a boy on a bike when he ran a red light and sped into the intersection because he didn't see me coming. It wasn't my fault, and he wasn't dead. He was perfectly fine. In fact, he didn't have a single cut or bruise on him. All was well. The same was true of my life. I may have appeared to be dead. I may have been in desperate need of repairs. But, once I recognized the need for the work and began the slow process to rebuild myself, to repair my life and to change my direction, I was eventually healed.

The day after I hugged my grandpa and let him go, we got a call from the police station. They had found the stolen car. It was left at a local park, without a scratch on it.

~~~~~~~~

Who We Marry

Girl meets boy. Eyes stare. Lips smile. Hearts flutter. The gaze is held. Longingly. Lovingly.

I was 21 years old, an art student from the San Francisco Bay Area. He was 24, a café waiter from Egypt. On my morning walk to school I'd stop by his cute and charming, little café for my morning coffee. Somewhere between the dark and foamy cappuccino, his dazzling smile and deep, brown eyes I was drowning in infatuation.

It's been 25 years now since we exchanged our wedding vows at the hillside church where my father was a minister. It hasn't always been easy. I often can't understand his logic and some of his habits drive me absolutely crazy. Yet our lives are inextricably intertwined. I've often wondered at the fates that brought the two of us, a seemingly unlikely pair, together.

He is a cocky, handsome teen in Egypt. His good looks and joyful smile attracts the attention of many heartsick Egyptian girls. A handsome, happy-go-lucky teenage boy, what's not to like? But his heart wasn't in it. He had visions he knew were true – his future was with a light-haired, light-eyed girl in America.

I was an exchange student in Norway. It was the middle of winter and I was traveling on a bus. Outside the window the world was white and snowy. Inside the bus the passengers were white and pasty. I began to write a poem about living in an eggshell world where everything was sterile and uninspired. The poem was passionate and longing, crying out for the dark opposite of myself to come and complete me. The words poured out of somewhere mysterious and meaningful. I was stunned by how deeply I connected with the stark truth of the words.

I could have easily stayed in Norway and become the wife of a fisherman. Or I could have taken a job in a small Norwegian town, sitting sparkling and pristine on the side of a fjord. It was that achingly beautiful and that close to heaven. But, I returned home and eventually met Omar in that little café, on that bustling street, in the heart of the city.

Our first date was to a restaurant jutting out on a pier, overlooking the quiet water of the Bay and the twinkling lights of San Francisco. He was smiling, comfortable and free. He said he felt as if he'd always known me.

I was young and flighty, liking him one day and unsure the next. During a flighty period I decided to attend a University in Utah known for its design department and picturesque campus. I tried to fall in love with American boys but nothing stuck. Omar would call. He was missing me. He visited and we dined in an historic French restaurant and spent time walking together. Chatting together. Being. Together.

When I returned to school after winter break, he couldn't take it. His heart was about to break. He called day. And he called night. Our missing each other was almost unbearable. "I want to come get you," he said. "I want to marry you." "OK," I said, " Come." In this moment, in this blink of an eye, double syllable, I had irrevocably changed the course of my life forever. "Oh Kay."

He didn't waste a minute. He rented a car and got verbal driving directions. He didn't even have a map. He'd follow his heart. The night was dark and stormy. The snow out the window was blinding with near zero visibility. To this day he marvels that he even remained on the highway and didn't hit another car, tree or being. Speeding through the night, his love was his compass.

What are the fates that bring two people together – that match them across continents, and press them on through the storms? What are the seeds of knowing that plant themselves in the young? What are the ties that bind, against all odds, one heart to another and set two lives on one course?

What burning ember glows brightly despite cultural clashes and differences in logic and habit? Whatever it is defies heaven and is greater than earth and the three new lives that our union has created seem reason enough. These three fresh, young beings will go out and meet their own fates and be moved by their own rhythms. The rhyme and the reason of their parents will be but a whisper in their souls, a fleeting memory like a faded fingerprint leaving barely visible grooves on their hearts as they create their own constellations and chart their own courses across this vast and beautifully chaotic, yet infinitely ordered universe.

~~~~~~~~

How Walmart helped me find the secret of joy

For most of my adult life I've been seeking joy. I spent many years catching glimpses of it. Joy was there in touching moments with my family on a Christmas morning. Sometimes it would hang out with us for a whole week at Tahoe soaking up sun, water and sky. But true and lasting joy always seemed so fleeting and temporary. I was in constant wonder at its impermanence.

One day I found a book by Alice Walker called, "Possessing The Secret of Joy." Wonderful! I read the book hoping to possess the secret. The book was about female circumcision and other horrors. In the end Ms. Walker proposes that, "Resistance is the secret of joy." I believe that she meant that standing up in the face of wrongs and carrying on proudly and strongly despite injustices perpetrated on us is the secret to possessing joy. This spoke very loudly to me at that time in my life. I knew all about injustices because I was heavily involved in environmental and social justice causes. I felt that resistance was empowering and made me strong.

Over time I came to realize that resistance did not bring me joy. The more I resisted, the more things remained the same. For all my passion, I wasn't affecting positive change and I became a hard kind of person. "Resist!" It was in my voice and my mannerisms. "Wrongs are being perpetuated. Stand up! Fight!" I seemed to say. Sometimes I even found myself cowering against imagined oppressors. I can imagine I wasn't a very pleasant person to be around. Passionate? Yes. Fun and joyful? Not so much.

Then I went through a period in my life where I decided to look inside myself instead of outside to find my joy. I went on a self-discovery journey. Slowly, over time, circumstances were presented to me that made me question many of my long-held beliefs. True, I wanted to change, but to be honest I hadn't intended to change my world-view at all. I thought that my view was right and good and virtuous.

It's very interesting – when we begin to shift our focus and have a desire to come into awareness, many lessons and messages are presented to us. It was through a series of subtly amazing events that I came to realize that I had been very narrow minded in my views. In fact, I was horrified to find out that it was even worse than I had imagined – I discovered that I was ... a "hater."

Yes, I hated a whole host of characters. Mostly, I hated war, poverty and injustice. But I didn't stop there. I hated every government, company, country or person who (in my mind) had anything to do with perpetuating war, poverty and injustice. This may have been all well and good, but in actuality this cast a very wide net of so-called "bad-guys."

Very near the top of my list of social injustice perpetrators was Walmart. When it was time for me to change jobs, guess who offered me a good position? Yep, that's right, Walmart. At first I had my normal reaction – resistance. I don't want to work for the enemy. It's a matter of principle. Their hiring practices are questionable. They put small stores out of business. They support slave labor and mass consumerism. I could actually recite a whole, long litany of offenses. Because no one else was offering me a job, and the circumstances at my current job situation had finally become unbearable, I went ahead and made the move. I was going over to "the dark side."

Once I met the people behind the company and experienced their vision and values and learned of the company mission and personally felt how kindly everyone treated each other and their customers, I was completely won-over. It was incredibly humbling.

Here was a company I thought I knew and had judged incredibly harshly. Over the years people had tried to inform me of the error of my misperceptions. I wouldn't listen. My heart and mind and ears were closed. I could not be convinced.

When I was actually confronted with the truth, with the real heart of the people behind the corporation, I was dumbfounded. If I was so wrong about this, what else was I missing while I was so busy resisting? I decided it was time to let go of my preconceived notions. About everything.

My foundations were completely dissolving. It was time to reassess. I looked at every area of my life – my relationships, my home environment, my finances, my career aspirations – everything! I can't change all of this overnight, but I'm trying.

Through all of this I learned that there is good and bad in everything, including (and especially) in our selves. We're part of this messy, wonderful world and are therefore part of everything in it. Until we learn to accept the world on its own terms we will forever be in a mode of resistance, which is ultimately, terribly unfulfilling.

Resistance is not the secret to joy, acceptance is – acceptance, surrender and letting go. The truth is: Walmart is not all good, but neither is it all bad. You and I and everything else are in exactly the same predicament. We are not completely good, nor are we entirely bad. Therefore, who are we to judge whether another person, company or country is good or evil?

My new motto is: Look for the good.

There is some kernel of good in everything. Sometimes it can be very hard to see, but it's there somewhere. Look for it and give thanks for it. When you can finally see the good in every person, thing or situation, you will have found your joy.

I have a long way to go. Old habits are deeply ingrained and are slow to change, but I'm enjoying my new view on life. The truth is, resistance was completely exhausting. Acceptance is freeing and has another side benefit – the world is a much less threatening place now that I can see more of the good in it. I'm accepting life rather than resisting it and as a result my relationships are happier, my work life is more fulfilling, and yes, I can finally say, "I have truly found my joy."

~~~~~~~~

The Circle

I was walking to the recreation hall. It was time to start the Family Talent Show that I had coordinated. I thought of my father. I had always asked him to take part, to tell a story or recite a poem or to give a prayer. This year I had neglected to ask him. It nagged at me a little, but I brushed it off as I hurried to the rustic log building that housed the rec hall.

Up the hill, between the pines, my aunts, uncles and cousins were gathering. There was chaos as people found their seats. I didn't notice where my father was, as all the nervous children gathered around me to see where their skit fell in the show's line-up.

We were at our semi-annual family camp at Gold Lake. We gather in this Sierra paradise with all of our relatives for a week every other summer, enjoying the fresh air, pine trees, sparkling lakes and mountain trails. The talent show is one of the highlights. During the week you can spy small groups of kids running through their songs or chatting excitedly about an idea for a funny skit.

My father is the current patriarch of the family. He is the oldest living uncle. Of his six siblings there are only three still with us. During our week at camp, those who have passed on seem to constantly be with us. In every memory of years past, they are there. We remember when they sat among us in the dining hall, or when they hiked beside us up to the top of Indian lookout, or when they performed in the talent show. We can feel their presence very strongly as we gather in this old mountain hall.

My eldest cousin opens the show with a wonderful song called, "There you'll be." Her voice is clear and lovely and we're awed by the beauty of her song. She's followed by a few skits, and then some cute children's songs. Next comes the son of another of the eldest girl cousins. He sings a funny song and we're all laughing at the comedy of it, the wonderful way he delivers the lines as he plays the ukulele, his clear strong voice and comedic facial expressions. We're all so proud to be related to such talent and we thoroughly enjoy the chance to laugh together in a release of passions and emotions. For a moment we're able to forget the little stresses of our everyday lives.

Now it's my Uncle LeRoy's turn. He takes the stage with his guitar and leads us in a song called The Circle. "Every life is a circle, sunrise and sundown." We all accompany him and are reminded of the circle of life. We are all present in the beauty of the souls gathered in this room, from the oldest to the youngest. As we sing quietly, many of us have a lump in our throats. We're all getting older. Each of us remembers summers when we were much younger, the many phases of our lives played out upon this stage and in the fellowship of this family. We'll be here when we're older still, and our generation will replace the current one. We're hushed as my uncle strums the strings of his guitar and we all sing along. The song is over followed by loud applause and appreciation for his talent and thoughtfulness.

As we prepare the stage for the next act, our attention is brought to the back of the room. It's my father. Several nurse cousins are hovered over him. He's suffering some kind of attack. He's going unconscious. He's not responding. I'm incredibly scared. This can't be it. He can't die right here. Not tonight. I need him too much. We're not done. This show is not over for him. My mind is screaming "NO!" I'm helpless as others attend to him. Cousins, aunts and uncles are ushered from the room. Lay him down. Loosen his pants. Let him breathe. Pretty soon he comes to. "What is everyone looking at? What happened?" This is the right question.

The ambulance comes. He's rushed away. The family's shaken. If we hadn't been reminded of our mortality with my uncle's song, this incident with my father has absolutely forced us to confront it. The talent show was cut short by my father; in my organizing of the show I hadn't given him a spot, yet he ended up stealing the show. Each and every one of us was forced to realize the preciousness of life. I'm sure most of us in that room had instant thoughts of my Uncle Don, the oldest brother, gone more than seven years now and Aunt Vera, the middle sister who God took early because she was such an angel. And Uncle Wayne, the youngest brother who died much too soon of Lukemia. And, of course, our Grandma, my father's mother who passed in her sleep, in the rest home where she'd been for years, while all of us were gathered at this camp. It was at the conclusion of one of these talent shows, ten years ago, that we all gathered in a circle and remembered her life.

Some of the younger kids were sorry they didn't get to perform their skits. They may not realize it now, but their turn will come. They'll have their time on the stage, and they'll play out all of the dramas of their lives within the circle of this family.

The morning after the talent show I went with my mother and brother to pick up my father from the hospital. The doctors found nothing wrong and he was given a clean bill of health. In the car en route, I discovered a text message on my phone. It was from a friend who had no idea of what had happened the night before. She had sent an image. It was colored type on a white background that read, "Everything happens for a reason." There was no other message, just this image. I sat, startled by this message from the universe, but the more I thought, the more I was sure of the reason.

What had happened the night before was a simple, yet profound reminder of the absolute importance of family. We all felt the deep river of love that runs through the generations.

My uncle was right – life is truly like a circle.

~~~~~~~~

Laila

There are certain memories that can only be called haunting. These are the memories that won't easily leave us; the ones we can't lightly put aside and dust off when it suits us to think of them. I have one such memory that comes to visit with me. It settles and gnaws and tightens its grip reminding me of lives that were, and lives that might have been.

It has been many years since my trip to Egypt. My husband traveled much in his youth and had many friends in Cairo. We took a trip to visit them just a few years after we were married. We had our young son in tow, he was still an infant, but he was a good traveler. We were tall, fair-haired, light skinned Americans visiting the common neighborhoods in the sprawling suburbs of the capitol city. Our physical differences made us stand out and we attracted much attention just walking down the street. But, the Egyptians were so kind and generous. It was quite amazing how they would almost literally bend over backward to make us feel at home.

One day we went to visit the family of a good friend. They lived in a sprawling apartment on the first and second floor of a multiple complex building near the center of downtown Cairo. Several members of the extended family all lived together in that apartment. It was set up in a series of small rooms that all opened up to a central sitting room. The interesting thing about the apartments of that era was that the rooms were very small and the furniture was very big. Sometimes while sitting in one of those overcrowded dining rooms I would feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland with her growing potion, only it was the furniture that had started growing and would soon pop out of the confines of the tiny room. Another odd characteristic was the lack of adornment or decorations on the walls. Because the walls were concrete they could not take hooks or nails. Without pictures or decorations the rooms often felt cave-like and oppressive.

It was in a room like this that I met Laila. I had been sitting with Mona, the wife of our host. My small son was just settling down on my lap to sleep. The men had been gathered around us talking animatedly in Arabic, but their attention had been diverted and they had all left the room en-masse. Almost like a flash, Laila bounded in. She was a big girl with dark hair that was wound around her head in a pleasing arrangement. Her face was wide, inquisitive and open as if she wore all her secrets there. She had huge brown eyes that were so dark and deep they could have been black. She plopped herself down next to me, touched my shoulder in greeting and proceeded to coo over the baby.

Mona let out a little laugh and said something in Arabic. It was probably something like "Hello! Where did you come from?" They exchanged a bit of conversation and then Mona turned to me and said, "Her name is Laila. She was waiting to meet you. She was not allowed to come into the room when the men were here."

"What?" I said incredulously. "Why?" I turned to Laila to enquire and I saw her face looking at me in a pleading way.

"It is my husband. He is not like other husbands. He doesn't let me out of the house. He doesn't allow me to be in the company of men not in my family." Mona translated for us. My eyes opened wide and my mouth probably did too.

"I can't believe such a cruel thing." I looked at Laila in sympathy. "I am sorry." I said, "So sorry."

Laila continued, "I can't even go shopping. He has to shop for me. I can't leave the house." She shook her head. I felt her eyes pleading with me. I thought I could hear her saying, "Save me," as if her eyes were actually speaking with mine. I felt myself recoil. I looked down. I patted my baby. I looked at Mona and then back to Laila's eyes. I couldn't speak. I could only stare. The despair I found there was incredible. Laila looked down and continued her story.

She didn't know that her husband was so religiously fanatic when she married him. Her father was not that strict with her when she was growing up. She did love her husband's mother and was glad for her company, but she missed the streets and the outdoors. No one agreed with how her husband treated her, but it was his right and who could argue with God?

Laila was close to my age and had been married about as long as my husband and I had been married. She desperately wanted a baby. She cooed over my son and sang him a little song. It was a haunting, sad song full the sounds of longing and love. As she sang to the baby, she looked straight at me. In that moment I felt the very sad plight of women all over the world. Laila was so beautiful and so strong. She began chatting about babies and cooking and asking what it was like living in America. She was fun and chatty and very lively with such an inquisitive nature. She asked me many questions. I could understand how hard it would be for her not to be allowed to be social and out in the world.

At one point in the conversation we were interrupted by the sound of a loud shriek wafting in through the open window. It was a woman's sad scream ending in a long wailing moan. Mona and I looked startled and Laila explained, "Oh, that's just our neighbor Heba. She has gone mad, crazy." Laila took her hand and shook it in a circular motion around her ear demonstrating the international sign for insane. "Ya' anni" I said, using my limited knowledge of the Egyptian slang meaning "poor thing." The women laughed. At the time I thought how wonderful that the insane are not institutionalized in Egypt. They are kept close to their families for care. But on later inspection I wondered if Heba might have been a woman who had been driven mad by being imprisoned in her own home.

We chatted, spending a lovely afternoon, three women enjoying each other's company. But Laila's eyes kept coming back to mine. Her stories were funny or tender, but her eyes were pleading and sad. I wanted to tell her, "I want so badly to help you. I don't know what I could do or how I could change the nature of a society that allows women to be treated so unfairly."

Laila's eyes have haunted me all these years later. I still think about her and realize there are so many women the world over who suffer at the hands of men who still follow ancient traditions in some misguided fundamentalist belief that hiding women away will keep them pure and will elevate the men in the eyes of God. A few years after our visit to Egypt I asked after Laila. How was she? Did she have her babies? Did she move out of her mother-in-law's home? The answer to my questions left me breathless. Laila had failed to conceive. She couldn't have children so her husband had married another in order to grow a family. Laila had killed herself shortly thereafter. I cried. I cried for the injustice done to this beautiful soul who wanted to shine, but was born into the wrong culture. Some might say she died of disappointment or sorrow or loneliness. But I say she died of neglect. It was the neglect of the world that allows women to be mistreated, forgotten and abused. It was my neglect for not speaking out in the face of this terrible wrong.

I was much younger, much less wise all those years ago. I was a tourist in a country I didn't know. I was a woman spending time getting to know other women. At the conclusion of our afternoon conversation those many years ago, the men came to get us. It was time to go. I can't remember my last words to Laila or if I said a proper fare well. There was much commotion as we wandered to the front door of the house, shaking hands with the various family members, saying our thank yous and good byes. At the door, we were surrounded by a great mass of friendly people wishing us well. I searched their faces looking for the one that I now felt I could call my friend, but Laila was conspicuously absent.

~~~~~~~~

The Labyrinth

Betty had the weekend all planned. She would settle it with John once and for all. His negativity and anger was beginning to wear her out. It was time for an ultimatum.

Betty turned to look at John. His body was a hard ball of tension. His wide hands were fist-like clumps on the steering wheel. John's knuckles were strained white and even the dark hair on the back of his hands seemed to stand on edge as he drove. His face was screwed into a grimace as he stared at the highway that stretched in front of them. All of a sudden he slammed the flat of his hand on the top of the steering wheel with a loud thwack.

"God damn this traffic. I told you Betty, Friday afternoon is the worst time to leave town. How many times have I told you? Shit! We're not moving. Do you see that we're not moving?"

John turned to glare at Betty. His handsome dark features set in a scowl. His brown eyes full of accusation. Betty, feeling the familiar well of hate begin to burn quietly in the pit of her stomach, made her face passive and turned to look out the window. She stared blankly at the horizon while her mind took her back in time. Twelve years ago they had taken this same road trip to spend the weekend in the same, quaint wine country town. Betty recalled that weekend as magical, sensual and romantic. Things had been so different then. John's restaurant had been doing well, and they had plenty of money in the bank. John's mom had offered to baby sit the kids. Joey and Leah were so young. Their only problems were things like potty training and separation anxiety.

Life had taken some unexpected turns in the past twelve years. John's restaurant was now barely surviving. Business had slowly gone down hill. The kids were another story. Their son Joey had grown up to have a serious learning disability that left him isolated and struggling. And Leah seemed to enjoy pushing her parents to the edge with her reckless teenage exploits. On top of all this, John's mom had been diagnosed with cancer and had suffered several serious setbacks. Things were hard right now. They really needed this get-a-way.

It was a magical time, that far away weekend. Betty and John were young and in love. They had discovered the beautiful resort almost by chance when they happened to drive off the main street and spy the little cottages. The place was small, but beautifully arranged. Several tiny cottages were set around a park-like courtyard with a large, perfectly manicured lawn. Each of the cottages had views of the vineyards in the distance. The hills were so green and lush, dotted with scrubby oak trees, and topped by an expansive blue sky that had shone so brightly. Betty and John had instantly relaxed into their surroundings and into each other. They kissed and touched in the hot tub. They ate bread, olives and cheese on the expansive, green lawn and drank wine under the massive, droopy willow tree. Betty remembered that John had smiled and laughed easily back then.

The weather, the air, the sky, the scenery had all been so absolutely perfect. Betty recalled a remarkable moment from that distant time, a moment that she held like a precious jewel in her memory. She remembered that she had worn a new sundress. She could still feel how it had gently hugged her body. It was pink and filmy and flowing and that weekend she had worn it with nothing underneath. Her body was younger then. She had been lithe and lean and the sundress was like a sheer whisper, a thing almost organic and natural. John also loved the sundress. He especially enjoyed taking it off of her and filling her with his young body again and again so that the weekend became one long, pink, sexual blur.

Betty remembers standing quietly in her dress admiring the view, taking in the quiet stillness of the country. She felt the warm, still air surround her like a living being with its hot breath caressing her body. In that one, amazing and most unusual of moments, Betty felt at total peace with the world. It was as if her magnificent pink self had become one with the very atmosphere around her. In those few, fleeting seconds she had felt an incredible, shimmering lightness.

"John, did I tell you I booked the same cottage that we stayed in twelve years ago?" Betty spoke up trying to make her voice light.

"Yeah, you told me." John's voice was a monotone. His thick lips pressed into a hard line.

"Hey, do you think you'd like to cook our dinner and we could eat on the lawn like we did last time?"

"Listen, don't talk to me right now. I'll think about it when we get there," he grumbled.

Betty persisted trying to lighten the mood. "We could go shopping at that little general store before we get to the cottage. Remember that store?"

Just then the rusted red pick-up truck in front of them came to an abrupt stop. The red glare of brake lights seemed to invade the car as John slammed his foot to the floor. The car jerked suddenly to a stop and Betty let out a loud, stunned gasp.

"Shut up Betty! Just shut up until we get there. Just don't talk. You know how much I hate traffic. Shit! Shit!"

Tears welled up in Betty's eyes. She blinked hard and thought over and over, "I have to leave him. I have to leave him. I can't live like this forever. I must. I can't. I won't."

Betty slumped, silently brooding. Her brown, shoulder length hair obscured her face in its loose, natural waves. The lines on her face had begun to deepen in the last few years especially around the mouth. Her sadness and disappointment was starting to take its toll. At one time she might have been considered to possess a striking kind of beauty, but it had since faded. Her thick eyebrows and long black lashes framing the bright green of her eyes were still her best feature. When she was happy she sparkled. She just had a hard time finding her happiness lately.

John had relaxed some by the time they pulled into town. He swung the car into the parking lot of the general store and without looking at Betty, bolted out of the car and strode purposefully toward his shopping. Betty sat in the car trying to collect herself. A small part of her was wishing she could start up the Honda and drive somewhere far away. She would drive right out of her life and into a new one. After all, she had gone back to school when the restaurant started doing poorly. She had gotten her nursing degree and a found a job in a good hospital. She was sure she'd be fine if she struck out on her own. Finally, she heaved a long, ragged sigh and walked into the store.

They arrived at the cottage and it barely seemed the same place. It was much smaller than Betty remembered. The linoleum on the kitchen floor was looking worn and old. The florescent lights illuminated the saggy furniture with stark lines. She wondered what happened to the charm. Was the room that much different, or was it simply that she had changed?

The dinner was also not quite as planned. The weather was a bit chilly but Betty insisted on eating outside. The wind came up and blew away their place settings several times. She ran stubbornly retrieving them, wanting this dinner to be perfect and romantic. John had made a delicious feast. He really was a wonderful cook and Betty was always astounded at his ability to combine ingredients in just the right way. She felt so bad that his restaurant wasn't the big hit that he truly deserved.

Betty had bought herself a new blue sundress to wear. She wanted John to find her attractive again. But she was disappointed in how the dress looked on her older body. Her forearms were big, her belly had rolls and her hips were a bit bulgy. The dress seemed to accentuate these flaws rather than flatter them. Betty had brought candles and lit them on the dinner table. The wind kept blowing them out. The sky was dark with jaggy clouds moving quickly over the landscape obscuring the sun. The world seemed complicated and menacing. Betty felt a dark foreboding. They drank their wine quietly, looking at each other and taking in the view. They shared small remembrances from their last trip to this place. Betty watched John to see if the cleavage that was revealed by the swooping blue neckline of her dress moved him at all, but the wind became so chilly that she finally went inside and put her sweater on.

Once John had relaxed a bit and the evening seemed more in balance, Betty hesitantly tried to broach the topic of John's temper.

"I feel on edge all the time John, and so do the kids. I really can't live this way much longer. It wears me out and I'm tired." Betty's voice trembled on the last bit as she struggled with the feelings behind the words.

"I know how you feel. You've said it over and over. Do you think I don't know? Do you think it's just that easy to control myself with everything that's going on?" John's voice sounded as if he might veer out of control at any second. Then he said more quietly, "Look, I am relaxing right now. We're here with our wine. The kids are taken care of. Please, let's make the most of it and not dwell on the past."

It wasn't what Betty wanted to hear but she let it go. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was planning her escape. She'd be free of John and his negativity and she'd feel light again.

After dinner they decided to go for a walk down the main street of town. Cozy little shops and cafes lined the streets and peering in the warmly lit windows was entertaining. It was evening and couples strode up and down holding hands. Betty and John walked side by side, gazing straight ahead, their hands shoved in their pockets. As they walked their footsteps sounded crisp on the pavement dotting the spaces between their sparse words. Betty gazed at John now and then. He was tall and graceful and even with his grey, thinning hair, Betty still found him attractive. He looked as if he belonged in an old time western movie with his rugged good looks and chiseled chin.

They came upon an open area at the end of the main street. In the old days it had been an orchard that had over time given way to a dirt field. Twelve years ago there was a glider business in that space, but that was gone by now. Betty noticed a small display standing between the sidewalk and the open area. She walked closer and found a plaque engraved on a board standing at knee height and fastened to a tree stump. The plaque read, "This is a Labyrinth. Ask the universe a question as you walk the outer paths and travel toward the center. Hold this question in your mind and once you reach the inner circle the truth shall be revealed to you." Betty looked and saw the labyrinth. Someone had placed many small stones into a wide circular pattern. There were outer paths that wound gracefully to the center of the circle. It all seemed so ordered and slightly transparent, as if it had appeared out of the mist and might disappear at any moment. Betty knew in an instant that she'd try it. She knew what her question would be. Her heart quickened as she stepped into the stone path of the beckoning labyrinth. She closed her eyes and concentrated on a single thought "Stay or go?" Would she finally leave John once and for all? She promised herself that whatever was revealed once she reached the center would be her true answer. She'd follow it no matter what. She took her first few steps concentrating on the question, walking toward the center of the magical circle. Just then she heard John's voice breaking through her reverie. She had forgotten about him. She had left him standing on the sidewalk a few yards away.

"What are you doing?" He grumbled. "You might want to stay here all night, but I want to keep walking." His voice was full of contempt and impatience emanated from him like an odor. Betty took a look at the center of the labyrinth. She was filled with longing to take this path and decide her future. She desperately wanted to give her question to the universe and have an impersonal third-party finally decide her fate. Betty watched John's retreating figure. She realized that she would suddenly be alone in a void of darkness. A sudden breeze blew a menacing chill at the back of her neck and down her spine. She didn't want to be left behind, so she leapt over the stones and jogged briskly to join John on the sidewalk.

It hit her in an instant. She realized suddenly that in one quick, unthinking action she had sealed her fate. With a feeling of dread, she knew she would never get to walk her own path. She understood this meant she would forever be lead through her life and this union was her ultimate fate. Betty was inconsolably disappointed in herself. She had made the decision so easily. She hadn't put up the least bit of protest. She didn't even take a second to consider her own spiritual journey. Or, perhaps, had she? Maybe in that split second the magic of the labyrinth had declared its answer. How could she be sure?

Betty caught up to John and took her place beside him. As she walked she considered taking her hand out of her pocket and reaching for his.

~~~~~~~~

On Birthing Girls

I was huge with child. Our house was full and noisy with two little boys already. I was praying for a girl. I would pray so hard trying to visualize her little female body inside my womb. Please God, let this one be a girl. Please, please, please. Each time I went to the mid-wife, she'd listen to the heartbeat. Slow and steady, she'd say, like a boy. She was preparing me, didn't want me to be disappointed.

During the labor the midwives told me to visualize my baby coming out. They wanted me to take a mirror and watch the baby emerge. I couldn't do it. I kept imagining the little penis that would finally prove this baby was another boy. I pushed and struggled. Finally not caring what sex the baby was, I just wanted it out. Get out of me! Its time for you to show yourself – be yourself.

When the baby did finally emerge, it was a beautiful baby girl. I could not believe it. I was overjoyed, nearly disbelieving. I had wanted this baby girl so badly, had been praying so hard. I was surprised when I looked on her new, small vagina, the proof of her femaleness, that I felt an instant and deep sorrow. It was a deep woman-knowing vision I held. I knew within my soul that this vagina would cause her much pain in her life. Not the pain from the act of giving birth, but the pain that will come from men wanting to rob her of her sacredness. From men needing her for her sex and mixing it up with love and using her for selfish needs. My sorrow was so instant and so deep. I knew that it was the way of the world and that I could never protect her from it. I could never prepare her for it. And in the deep, woman-knowing way that I experienced in that moment; I knew that she'd never want me to.

~~~~~~~~

Michael Jackson: The King of Pop Meets The Prince of Peace

I am a PK. Don't feel bad if you don't know what that means. Most people are probably not familiar with this term unless they are a PK themselves. PK stands for "preacher's kid." My father was a Presbyterian minister in various small churches in the California Bay Area. Growing up, I spent many Sunday mornings sitting in a church pew watching the sunlight falling in candy-colored prisms through stained glass windows. During these church services I sat quietly listening, praying and singing. The singing was the best! I always felt the holy-spirit meter taking hold of me during those hymns. The holy-spirit meter is when you feel tingly all over and the warm feeling ascends your spine, dances across your neck and ends with the touch of an imaginary magic wand that taps gently on the very tip-top of your head. To me, this was the most real indicator of the presence of God.

Presbyterians are a pretty tolerant, open and easy-going bunch. As a small child, church was fun for me. We learned bible stories and ate graham crackers and attended picnics. Guilt and sin didn't enter into the picture. I learned that church and religion was all about community, love and openness. However, I'm afraid that I never really felt nor did I completely understand the figure of Jesus. In the Christian religion Jesus is the Son of God, sent to earth to redeem mankind. As a child I was taught that I should invite Jesus into my heart. I tried very sincerely, several times, to ask him in. I just didn't know how he would fit and what he was supposed to do once he got in there. Jesus' father supposedly gave him to the world so that we could have everlasting life. I never really understood that. Somehow the logic of someone dying for my sins was completely lost on me. Still, I could access my spirituality best through music and song. It was through hymns that I experienced the holy-spirit meter and through music that I was best able to get in touch with my personal faith.

As an adult I attended church only sporadically and had nearly all but forgotten the holy-spirit meter. It was upon the death of Michael Jackson that I experienced something like a religious reawakening. Michael was the undisputed King of Pop, a musical and theatrical genius. But more than that, the man had a message. Through the life, music and message of Michael Jackson, I have been able to relate to and understand the life and message of Jesus. It is strange (many may say 'unbelievable') and yet it feels very true and tangible to me. I'm sure most people won't like what I have to say. And, if you are a devout Christian with a strict upbringing you will like it even less - you may go so far as to think I am blaspheming. But, there is a lesson to be learned, and a moral to be found, and an amazing life to appreciate.

Michael Jackson had always been a part of my life. As early as grade school I was singing along to the song ABC with The Jackson Five. In high school, we danced to Thriller, Billy Jean and Beat it and watched endless hours of Michael Jackson videos on the new music channel, MTV. The melodic rhythms and catchy dance tunes of Jackson's songs painted the backdrop of my youth. While he was an integral part of the fabric of my life, I was not what you would call a fanatical MJ fan. I never bought a single album. I never had a poster of him on my wall. I never went to one of his concerts, or bought one of his books. Still, Michael was there. As Michael matured, I did too. I grew up, got married and had children. Michael did the same, in his own strange and spectacular fashion. He kept producing music, having surgeries and going to court. I was a busy mom; I just didn't pay that much attention to the King of Pop in his Neverland fantasy world. I didn't follow all of his trials and travails. I learned of his exploits only from the tabloid covers in the grocery store and the occasional story on the evening news. I never sought out news about Michael Jackson, I just didn't care that much.

Given my minimal attention to the King of Pop, I didn't immediately understand why I felt such a profound loss when he died. The depth of my emotion at his passing was a shock to me. The days following his death I sat glued to the TV with the rest of the world, trying to make sense of what happened. I watched MJ documentaries and interviews. I sought out You Tube videos of his music and discovered many songs and video clips I hadn't seen before. In that period of searching I was deeply moved by the magic of Michael Jackson, and I felt more than ever, the profound ways that he had touched the world.

Michael was a much maligned and misunderstood, eccentric musical artist and performer. But, I feel that he was so much more. As a performer, Michael Jackson had the ability to transform people, to lift them up and let them see the better part of themselves. As I listened again to the lyrics of his songs I found profound messages of peace, love and understanding. And what better way to send a message, than through music? If God wanted to send a message to the modern world, why wouldn't he do it through a medium that most of the world already follows? Why wouldn't he send his message through the music and song that comes to our ears through our television, our radio, the Internet, our iPods and in concert halls all over the world?

Jesus was the original Christian messenger. He was a gentle, humble man who traveled the land gathering crowds to teach them about the love between all mankind. Wherever he went he attracted masses of adoring and devoted followers. Jackson also had a message and traveled to spread his musical religion. People the world over loved and adored him as the King of Pop. He is arguably one of the world's most universally celebrated personalities. Today he has a following of millions, perhaps billions, of fans. Jackson's message was delivered with a good dose of pop music. But the lessons are there, front and center. In his song "Heal the World," he sings: "Heal the world make it a better place for you and for me and the entire human race." In "Man in the Mirror" he asks people to do better: "If you want to make the world a better place take a look at yourself and make the change."

Michael's messages were important, basic and deep. In the song Black or White he is making a statement about race. The chorus repeats: "It doesn't matter if you're black or white." The video shows people from many different countries and cultures, a favorite theme of Jackson's. Global and racial peace is at the heart of many of his most important videos. At the conclusion of "Black or White" we see a series of male and female faces morphing into every race imaginable: from Asian, to Hispanic, Middle Eastern, to white and finally black.

I realize that I want so badly for the world to hear, understand, and act on the messages in Michael's songs. "Heal the world, make it a better place...it doesn't matter if you're black or white... take a look at yourself and make a change." But I fear that Michael's messages will be lost because most people can't see past his eccentric personality. I'm sure that early Christians felt similarly. Many people had neither seen nor heard Jesus while he was alive. How could his message live on? I also realized that if I dwelt too much on the idea of Jesus the man, I would be less able to internalize his message. In addition, as evidenced by the holy-spirit meter, I realize that I am better able to hear a message when it is delivered through song... and dance.

Another hallmark of any Michael Jackson performance is his dancing. There is no one, but no one, who can dance like Michael Jackson. No matter the song's subject matter, watching Jackson dance is like nothing else. He exudes such joy in the physicality of his performance and he lets us revel in the glory of the human body. His energy is focused entirely on the audience and he gives every fiber of his being so unselfishly in each performance. Michael Jackson loves his audience and all mankind. With every note he sings we can feel it, see it and most of all - experience it!

In addition to healing the world and spreading peace, Jackson's other major theme was saving the environment. In his "Earth Song" Michael sings of saving the planet and its natural resources. The video is very powerful and extremely moving. The song lyrics say, "What have we done to the world? Look what we've done. Did you ever stop to notice, all the children dead from war? Did you ever stop to notice this crying Earth its weeping shores?"

This song is very prescient and seems to speak to the type of disaster that we are now seeing in the Gulf of Mexico oil spill tragedy. The song also speaks to the disaster in the Middle East and the endless wars that are tearing our earth apart: "What about the holy land? Torn apart by greed. What about the common man? Can't we set him free?"

I can't watch this video without feeling such an extreme emotion. In it, Michael shows us several families – one in Africa and one in the Middle East (maybe Palestine?) He shows dead animals, trees being cut down, ravaged and burned landscapes. As he sings with his arms outstretched (reminiscent of Jesus on the cross) the song builds in crescendo, emotion and speed and at the climax the trees, the animals, the landscapes, even the dead people are restored to life.

In an interview with Jackson in 1983 when he was just 24 years old, he says, "Kids and animals and God, they're so magic, I can't even explain it. When I am around them I feel like I can do anything. The majority of my success is from the inspiration of kids." At the 1993 Super Bowl in Los Angeles Michael gave a half time show that was an incredible tribute to global cooperation and understanding. The entire stadium held up colored placards that created a set of drawings by children. It depicted children of all races holding hands. Jackson opened his song "Heal the world" with the following statement: "Today we stand together all around the world joined in a common purpose: to remake the planet into a haven of joy and understanding and goodness. No one should have to suffer, especially our children. This time we must succeed. This is for the children of the world."

His song ends with a huge globe being inflated and children of all races in their ethnic costumes holding hands in a huge circle. It was so moving, and even on a field filled with the extreme masculinity and violence of a football game, the crowd was overcome with emotion and elation. The song ends with these words "Save the world we live in. Save it for our children."

Michael's love of children was well known. He built his Neverland Ranch, named after Peter Pan's mythical place where children never grow up, complete with a zoo and amusement park rides. He invited children, especially those who were terminally ill to enjoy the fantasy world he had created there.

The same year that Jackson made his incredible statement of purpose for saving the earth for our children and creating a "haven of joy," he was accused of child molestation. Jordan Chandler, a boy who had spent time with Jackson, accused Michael of an inappropriate physical relationship. The family took money instead of pursuing a trial. In 2004, he was accused again, this time by a different boy. They took it to trial and Michael was not convicted.

After Michael's death, his first accuser, Jordan Chandler, admitted that the charges were false and that his father had manipulated him into telling the lie for money. Even more incredible, Chandler's father committed suicide five months after Michael died.

In a sequence of events similar to Jesus' betrayal, his subsequent trial and finally his crucifixion, Michael was also falsely accused and sent to trial. During the child abuse scandals, Michael was almost literally crucified in the media. Just as Jesus had his mortal enemies, so did Michael Jackson. It seems that nothing good in this world can exist without the equal force of evil to counteract it. It's as if there is a kind of cosmic battle to create equilibrium – too much goodness may cause utopia, too much evil may cause hell – the world needs a balance between fanaticism and extremism. Or, perhaps it was simply a matter of being human – greed and selfishness can ruin the mightiest of mortals.

It was after the first accusation of child molestation that things started going downhill for Michael Jackson. He was taking painkillers and performing more facial surgeries. From a very young age, Michael had been under the scrutiny of the media. This can be very difficult for a young person who is coming to terms with his own physical identity. Now Michael had the world wondering if he were a child molester. It was a very painful time and he suffered greatly. Michael covered his pain by trying to make himself perfect. He had so many surgeries that at one point he looked positively grotesque.

It was a combination of the surgeries and his skin disease vitiligo that transformed Michael into a different category of human. He morphed into a being that was: not fully black nor white, not entirely male nor female, not quite an adult, but neither was he a child. It was so strange and almost surreal his transformation in front of our very eyes. No one could understand it. And what normally happens when people don't understand a thing - they instantly reject it. Michael became a different type of human being. His body was androgynous, his face asexual. His race was not easily identifiable. In essence, he had no human category. He had seemingly become all of us.

At the rehearsal for what was to be his last concert tour Michael told the assembled staff of dancers and singers that they were all about to embark on a very important mission. He said that they were part of something very special and it was all about transporting people to another realm though escapism – taking people to places they had never been before.

This is true! This is how I feel when I watch Michael Jackson, I feel transported to another time and space. I feel a celebration of life and living through rhythm and dance. Michael told the cast to spread love, to be love, to send love into the world all the time. He also said that part of their mission was to let people know that it's time to take care of the earth.

In the end, this music-loving PK has decided that she has found something transcendent in the life of Michael Jackson. Through his message I have rediscovered the meaning of Christianity. I am like that person who gazes upon a beautiful painting or reads a piece of poetry or sees a tremendous sunset and feels that they have been touched by the hand of God. When I watch Michael Jackson I feel awed, healed, uplifted. I believe in Michael's idea of remaking the "world into a haven of joy and understanding and goodness." And I hope to do all I can to carry on his legacy and his mission. I am comforted that Jackson's music will live on and generations to come will hear and be inspired by the artist who gave his life so that we could live again through rhythm and dance. Through Michael I feel that the holy-spirit meter is alive and well. I am so grateful for his time on this earth, and for the magic of his music and the blessing of the message that he bestowed so beautifully upon the world.

~~~~~~~~

Suzette

Suzette popped a dusty orange triangle into her mouth and crunched happily. Her fingers poked back into the shiny red bag and fished out two more. Sandwiching them together, she broke one down the middle reducing their stacked height to ensure that they would both fit neatly into her mouth. It's really true, she thought. It's just like the commercial says, you can't eat just one. Only in my case it's more like you can't eat just one...bag! She smiled inwardly at her cleverness and let her fingers dive back into the bag.

Suzette stood smack dab in the middle of the bedroom that she had shared with her husband Tony for the past twenty years. They had lived out various stages of their life's drama right here in this room. Twenty years could take a toll on a body and a room. The faded curtains, crumbling paint on the windowsills and the dusty family portraits lining the walls and the tops of the dressers all stood testament to the passage of time. Suzette glanced at a photo of her and Tony taken on one of their first dates. God, she was so skinny then, and he was quite handsome. She could see how the younger version of herself would have fallen for his dark, rugged good looks. Next to the framed photo of the young Suzette and Tony stood the most recent family portrait. The juxtaposition of these two photos was a complete accident that created the effect of a fast-forward glimpse into their future. In the recent photo Suzette and Tony peered out from behind their two teenage children who were seated in front of them. Why did portrait photographers seem to prefer this stance? It made Suzette feel as if the photographers understood that once children were in the picture, the lives of the mother and father were forever relegated to the backseat. Even the distance the photographer had placed between her and Tony spoke volumes about their present state. Distance. She could see it in Tony's eyes as he stared at her from out of the photo. The happy-go-lucky expression from their youth was replaced with a darkness, a sadness that Suzette couldn't put her finger on. Was it anger, resentment, boredom? Well, Suzette had felt all those emotions and more during her twenty years of marriage. Suzette studied the image of herself in the portrait - the lines on her face, the double chin, the contours of her expanding, rounded hips showing from underneath the Christmas sweater that she had worn for their annual holiday picture. Suzette couldn't believe that time had stolen so much from her – a solid belief in the possibilities of the future, a carefree happiness, and mostly, her young, lithe body that used to give her such pleasure. Yes, all of those things were gone, replaced with a heaviness that had manifested itself into the bulky curves and rounded folds now covering every inch of her frame. Where did my joy go? Suzette contemplated the faces of her son and daughter. They looked much more like the Tony and Suzette in the before-marriage picture. Her kids were happy. Suzette smiled. Thank God for her kids.

Suzette plunged her hand back into the red bag and extracted a lone chip. She popped it into her mouth and crunched loudly. There was so much freedom in being able to crunch in solitude. There was no one to hear you and glare accusingly at your noisiness, no one to witness your sheer indulgence, allowing for a guilt-free chomping session. As Suzette munched, she gazed around her room and wondered how she ended up here. She was in the middle of her life with nothing but a middle of the road career, a faded and crumbling home and a marriage that was as equally non-descript. Her marriage was so much like this home, this very room – it had a solid foundation, but all around the edges it was falling into disrepair. It was faded, dusty and in desperate need of some patching up – generally succumbing to an overall, damaging neglect.

Suzette went back in for a final chip and then licked the spicy, rust colored remnants off of her fingers and wiped them clean on the tops of her jeans. Suzette was packing her work clothes and didn't want to stain them. Her company was sending her to Florida for a work conference. She'd be gone for a whole week. It wasn't often that she'd get a chance to travel and the prospect of five whole days and evenings all to herself was thrilling. As Suzette moved around the room stuffing this and that into her luggage, she spied an upside down penny on the floor. It was laying right at the end of her bed, just visible from under the drape of her threadbare cabbage rose bedspread. Suzette had always been a bit superstitious. When she was much younger, she'd pick up all the pennies she'd see - find a penny pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck. Suzette believed this and would happily pick up every penny that she'd happen across. Then one day one of Tony's elder aunts told Suzette that the upside down pennies actually brought bad luck. Suzette didn't believe it at first, but the next time she picked up an upside down penny, the words of Aunt Hilda stayed in her mind. The penny in her jeans pocket seemed to give off a heat all its own, but she kept it there, daring the bad luck to come – wanting to prove negative old Aunt Hilda wrong. However, it was Suzette who got the final word in superstition. Later that day little Joshua gashed himself on a rusty pipe in the yard. Suzette spent the better part of an evening in the emergency room. Ever since that fateful day, Suzette was a firm believer in the bad luck imparted on the person who picks up the unlucky penny. So, when she spied the Lincoln-memorial side of the penny peeking up at her, she looked quickly away and let the penny sit by the foot of her bed. She was determined that this would be a good trip - she wasn't going to let anything spoil it.

Going to her closet to choose her outfits, Suzette thought she'd try for a comfortable, sexy look for this trip. She'd bring her short skirt, her strappy, high-heeled sandals and her ruffled blouse. Now for the underwear – Suzette grabbed her black silky ones, the orange cotton pair and a few of her white granny panties, as her daughter referred to them. Then she spied her favorite of all sexy underwear - her lacy reds. They were hidden at the bottom of her drawer underneath a beige camisole, obviously not getting much use lately. She pulled them out and stuffed them into her bag. Maybe I'll get lucky, she thought. Maybe there will be a handsome stranger on the flight in the seat next to me. We'll fall madly in love and have a torrid love affair. Suzette imagined the scene. She would wear her lacy reds. The man would, of course, be extremely lovely - a tall, sexy man, like someone from a jockey underwear ad. He'd embrace her and kiss her passionately, sliding his hand down the smoothness of her back and over her rear-end clad in her skimpy, lacy red panties. Her large buttocks would hang out on either side; and he would be reaching, rubbing, stroking her roundness, the consistency of... oatmeal. Forget it. There was no way a handsome stranger would fall in love with her, much less want to sleep with her.

Suzette reached again for a couple of chips and chewed thoughtfully. I suppose if I wanted more of a sex life I'd need to lay off the junk food. What the hell! Some days she felt as if nothing mattered anyway, so she might as well do what makes her happy. It was true. The bright red bag on the top of her dresser did make her happy, provided her some comfort. Suzette lifted the bag and was relieved to find that it was still three-quarters full. She started to feel anxious when the bag got closer to empty. She dreaded the final bites when there were only crumbs and salt and spices, and she'd be left to lick her fingers until the bag was wiped clean down to the very bottom of the slick silver foil. There is nothing sadder than an empty chip bag when you still have the munchies, thought Suzette. She'd stopped by the Park n' Shop yesterday to pick-up a few bags for her trip. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to get to the store, or if they even carried her particular brand of cheesy chips all the way over there in Florida.

Suzette was leaving early the next morning. It would take her all day to get across the country. While she was vaguely worried about the kids, she knew they were old enough to take care of themselves. Josh and Alena were self-absorbed teenagers. She was fairly sure they'd hardly notice she was gone. As for Tony, Suzette was relishing a peaceful week away from his moods and tempers. She supposed that Tony wouldn't really miss her either. In fact, he might also be looking forward to the break from her. She knew that she could be hard on Tony, and it probably wasn't easy to live with an overweight, hard-to-please woman such as herself. Well, she'd show him. She'd have a wild, passionate love affair and finally put some spice back into her life. Thinking of spice, Suzette popped a triple stack of cheesy chips into her mouth.

The plane ride and the first few days of the conference were completely uneventful, if not utterly boring. Suzette sat in the meetings trying to pay attention to the topics. She made very few comments, finding she was totally unengaged in the subject matter. Her thoughts kept drifting to the shiny red bag in her satchel. When she finally couldn't take the boredom and the gnawing hunger in her belly any longer, she reached for the bag, drawing it out of its dark hiding place. Slowly, very slowly, she'd tug on the seams dreading the loud squeak when the opening would finally appear. The inevitable final rip was like a thunderclap in the room. Several heads turned to look for the source of the noise. The blond woman in front of Suzette frowned at her in disapproval. Go ahead and frown skinny bitch. You're just jealous because I can eat cheesy chips and you can't. Suzette snuck a chip slowly, being careful not to rumple the bag or crackle too much. She concentrated on chewing as quietly as possible. Suzette reached for another and tried to pop it daintily into her mouth. Just then the session ended and the room started to clear. A tall, graying man in a forest green polo shirt and pressed khaki pants approached her.

"Are you Suzette Bertoli from the San Francisco office?" he said genially putting his hand out to shake hers.

"Yes," replied Suzette through a mouthful of chips. As she reached out her hand, she remembered the orange goo on her fingers.

"I'm John Francis. I'm out of the Dallas office. I'm interested in the asset management project that your team put together last October."

Suzette smiled before she could clear her mouth of the orange spices and her hand flew to cover her teeth in alarm.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I get so hungry in these meetings. They keep us sitting for hours straight." Suzette took a better look at the man. He was roughly her age, handsome with full lips, dark eyes and heavy eyebrows. He was thick around the middle and balding a bit, but pleasantly so. Suzette saw him wipe his hand discreetly on the top of his pant leg. Darn, he got some cheesy dust. She cringed in embarrassment.

"Yes, I was on the team that worked that project." She finally managed to reply. She wondered why she hadn't noticed him before. His name didn't ring a bell.

"Don't be modest, Suzette. I saw your name on those reports. That was some impressive work. I wonder if I could ask you a few questions?"

"Of course. Let's go outside. I hate being cooped up indoors all day. When I fly all the way to Florida, I need to enjoy the muggy Florida air, and at least pretend I'm enjoying my trip."

They stepped outside and talked a bit before the session reconvened. Suzette could tell he was interested in the subject matter, but in her paranoid state of mind, she imagined he was disgusted by the bulk of her body. He probably noticed the way her fat chest was exposed by the buttons on her blouse strained and stretched leaving gaping holes for the skin of her fat breasts to show through. Perhaps he also noticed the orangey salt prints on the cuff of her navy blazer.

Later that evening when the group assembled for dinner and drinks, she noticed John hanging around a younger girl from her office. Jeannette was short and busty with badly bleached blond hair. She smoked and drank and wore too much black eyeliner. She was also loud and vulgar. Suzette was baffled by the amount of men that would crowd around Jeannette. Even those men she thought were the shy intellectual types were on Jeannette like flies on poop. Suzette had always found Jeannette to be hard-edged and crude in an unfeminine way. Who knows, thought Suzette, maybe that's what men like these days.

Each evening Suzette would join the group at the bar. She would smile into her chardonnay and contribute to the small talk and jokes when she could. Inevitably, Jeannette would take her scotch and cigarettes outside to the patio and a whole cadre of men would follow. Suzette would be stuck alone on a bar stool with a few other older women. She'd share a bit of polite conversation and then head back to her room. The next morning she'd hear all about the group's escapades. They'd go to the karaoke bar until it closed, then they'd end up jumping into the pool at two a.m. Or they'd have drinks on the beach and then watch the sun come up from the all night pancake house. No doubt Jeannette was the center of attention the whole time. Suzette wondered why these midnight drinking adventures didn't even appeal to her. Had she lost her sense of fun? Oh, yeah, she remembered – she was old.

Suzette sat on her hotel bed watching the ten o'clock news, eating one chip after another and wiping her fingers on her filmy black nightgown. She sighed. Had she come all the way to Florida for this? Maybe it was the work of the unlucky penny. She had always been unlucky. How did these things happen to her? Or, more accurately, how did nothing ever seem to happen to her? Tomorrow was the last day of the conference and she was determined to make the most out of her last night.

Suzette knew she was fooling herself. She knew that a spicy love affair or an exciting adventure were just productions of her overactive imagination. The truth was, she was as solid, staid and predictable as her bulky, stalwart figure suggested. Suzette would never choose a night of partying and boozing over towing the line and doing what was considered right, what was expected of her. After all, it was what she'd always done. When her mother left town for weeks on end leaving an eleven-year-old Suzette to care for her younger brother and sister, she didn't complain; she just did it. When her teachers suggested that she might pursue a career in accounting since she was good with numbers, Suzette studied finance; even though she knew her heart wasn't in it – she'd rather have studied graphic arts. Her mother's stern warning always in her ear, "Silk screening will never pay the bills." When she met Tony, she never in a million years thought she'd marry him. She wanted someone poetic, romantic and outdoorsy. Tony was aggressive, business minded and well dressed. When Suzette got pregnant after six months of dating, she hardly gave it a second thought. It would be expected that she would marry Tony, and so she did. Now that she had reached middle age, it seemed that all the compromises, all the sacrifices she'd made in her life were stacking up like bricks, one by one so that she felt as if she carried a wall of burdens on her shoulders. She was full of regrets and disappointments. The unhappiness that she'd accumulated in every pore of her body was a constant companion to her now. It was something palpable, as if she could taste it. She knew it was crazy, but her unhappiness tasted incredibly like cheesy chips.

She knew it was time for a change. Just under the surface was a bolder, braver Suzette trying to break free. It was time she started doing what she wanted, following her heart, enjoying herself. Right now her heart was telling her that she wanted to go to the beach.

When the final session wrapped up the next day, Suzette rushed to her hotel room to check out. She felt thrilled and a little bit apprehensive as she contemplated her plan. She would leave the corporate hotel that her company booked for her and steal away to a little beachside resort. She didn't even bother to say goodbye to Jeannette, John or the others. They weren't interested in her so why should she worry about them? She packed quickly with a mounting determination. In the closet she found her sexy blue and white sundress. Peeling herself out of her office clothes and stuffing them into her luggage, she draped the sundress quickly over her head and pulled it snugly down her tummy, smoothing it over her backside. Slipping into her beach sandals, she sucked her breath in and stood to glance at herself in the mirror. If I suck my tummy in, I'm really not that bad, thought Suzette. She went to the oversized bathroom mirror and pulled her long, dark brown hair into a casual twist and pinned it up quickly with a bright yellow clip. She pulled a few strands of hair out of the clip and arranged them carefully to frame her face. The dark, wispy hair flattered her big, green eyes and high cheekbones. Suzette dabbed a bit of makeup on before plucking her new sunglasses out of her bag and placing them on the top of her head. One last look at her sexy self in the mirror and she strode purposefully out the room, luggage in tow, slamming the door behind her.

This was it! She was actually doing it. Suzette drove her rental car into the parking lot of the gas station convenience store across from her hotel. She'd pick up a map and a few things to supply her adventure. Suzette grabbed a few bottles of water, found a cheap bottle of chardonnay and searched the shelves for snack items or other things she might need for her drive. When she spied the familiar shiny red packaging of her favorite brand of cheesy chips, Suzette felt an instant rush of familiarity, as if she had discovered a long lost friend. "No, I don't need you this time." Suzette said out loud as she touched her tummy feeling the snugness of her dress, and imagining a thinner, chip-free waist. Suzette turned on her heel, to enter another aisle, leaving her chips behind this time. She searched for the map rack and found it near the front corner of the store. While she browsed the stack of maps, searching for one specifically for the Daytona Beach area, she noticed an unlucky penny on the floor near the tip of her white beach sandal. In fact, her big toe with its red nail polish was nearly touching it. "Shit!" Suzette exclaimed under her breath as she kicked the penny with a small sharp jab and watched it skitter across the linoleum to finally land under the candy shelves, right between the snickers and the starbursts. I won't let you ruin my trip. Bad luck or no, I am going to have a good time. She wandered around the store trying to ignore the red bag calling to her from the middle aisle. Oh, what the heck, she might get hungry. What if she couldn't find a place to eat? She might just need a few little nibbles. She walked quickly to the snack aisle, grabbed a red bag off the shelf, and promptly announced herself at the cash register. She didn't have to eat them. They were just in case.

Back in the car Suzette found a rock and roll station on the radio. It was amazing to her that the announcer called the Eagles' Hotel California an "Oldie." I guess that makes me an oldie too, thought Suzette. 80s rock and roll always made her feel a kind of reckless freedom. The music took her back to the days when she and her friends Jessica and Alison would cut school and go to the beach, or they would drive along the coast highway, radio blasting, feeling young and free and so certain of themselves. Those were the days before anything really bad had happened to them. Before Jessica had two divorces and three weddings finally ending up with a mastectomy and thyroid cancer, and before Alison's husband had shot himself on Easter day in the basement of their home when their boys were only five and seven. But back then, when the three of them were only seventeen, the world was still new and they were all so trusting of the power of their youth and so certain of the successes they'd attain. How naive they were back then. Still, Suzette would give anything to feel reckless and carefree again.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. She still felt a bit fearful, the worry welling up inside her. The feeling reminded her of the time, early in her marriage, when she had had enough of Tony's verbal abuse. She had finally realized that his anger and yelling were over the top; that she didn't have to put up with his irrational insults and violent outbursts. That morning, more than eighteen years ago, Suzette had packed a few things and piled little Josh into the car. Intent on leaving Tony and her marriage for good by going somewhere he couldn't find her, Suzette had ended up in a small town two hours North of the Bay Area. She was so sure that day, yet scared at the same time. She felt that feeling now. She wondered how different her life might have been, if she had just kept running, if she had hid from Tony and started a new life instead of chickening out and deciding to go back home the very next day.

Out the window, Suzette admired the scenery that was so different from the California countryside she was used to - the dry brown hills dotted with scrubby oaks, pines and redwoods, the cities that sprawled, clinging to the hillsides, surrounding the blue expanse of the San Francisco Bay. Florida was altogether different - a flat landscape that went on forever, without a single hill or promontory. The deep, forested fields of swampy greenness bordered by short, bushy palm trees dangling with lacy, grayish moss thrilled her. The blue sky laden with sporadic, ambling clouds lent a humid, tropical feeling to the air. Suzette had the window open and felt the warmth surround her, hug her, caress her.

As she drove, she planned the evening in her head. She'd find a hotel right on the water and ask for a room with a balcony over the beach. Suzette would unpack and open her bottle of wine. She'd sip the light, fruity chardonnay, lifting her glass in a toast to the Atlantic Ocean. Suzette would take a leisurely bath, shaving her legs and scrubbing her skin 'til it glowed. She would dress for dinner, but slowly, taking in the view, enjoying the sounds of the waves crashing on the beach below. She'd wear her slinky black dress. The one with the deep, plunging neckline that exposed creamy white cleavage and clung flatteringly over her waist making her appear sleek and slim. She would rub baby oil over her smooth legs. She'd spread it over her belly too, over her bottom, and down the backside of her thighs. She wouldn't bother with underwear tonight. Tonight she'd feel new and shiny as a lucky penny. She'd slip on her strappy sandals, the ones with the spiked heels. Suzette loved to see her legs looking long and luscious, her feet pointed in that tiptoe angle; the black patent leather criss-crossing her arch and the whole package culminating in her daintily painted red toes. Suzette would also straighten her long dark hair until it had a glow, like something liquid and flowing, spreading over her shoulders coming to rest lightly between her bare shoulder blades. Suzette could see herself in all her fresh-washed glory, strolling across the room, hips swinging, hair flowing. Her long, luxurious strides in their high-heeled splendor as she basked in the evening sun on the balcony, leaning over the edge and letting the wind play gently in her hair.

Suzette would wander, rather, sashay down to the bar. It would be quiet with the hushed voices of couples talking over their drinks. Light jazz would be playing in the candlelit darkness. The sound of ice clinking in glasses and an occasional giggle would come from the dark recesses of the room. Suzette would sit, her body illuminated by the candlelight. The magic of the lighting would cast a glow over her making her slimmer and younger. As she'd lean over the straw to take a sip of something sweet and strong, she'd look up and lock eyes with a fabulous stranger. He would be sitting in the corner, taking in the wonder of Suzette. Her green eyes and long brown hair, her black dress tracing the curves of her body, her breasts hanging over the table as she leans into her drink. He will be overcome with longing. They will smile at each other and Suzette will feel an instant attraction. She can tell by his sensitive, strong features that he is both poetic and romantic. He is tall, a handsome man, with wide shoulders and a strong, muscular chest. His graying hair is peppery, but thick. Not dropping her stare, he approaches her table and asks if he could join her. Suzette nods and lifts her hand, indicating the empty chair. They make small talk and smile at each other, sharing stories and drinks. Soon, his glances would linger a bit longer on her cleavage, and wander up to her lips. Suzette would notice his stare, his breathing getting harder, and before he even touched her she'd be on fire, a heat burning low in her belly. Her breath would quicken and she'd look up to see him sitting closer, his arm around her, resting on the back of her chair. They'd look into each other's eyes and no words would need to be spoken. He'd lean in first, and Suzette would feel the magnetism and move as if in unison with his body. Her lips would softly part until she'd feel his kiss, a light tentative touch at first, until they begin to crush their lips together, overcome with a fiery passion.

"Where's your room?" he would say in a voice hoarse with emotion.

"Upstairs," she would murmur.

"Let's go," and he'd pull her by the hand, Suzette would feel at once feathery and made of rubber, as if her bones were made of solid steel giving way to a molten lava that would soon evaporate. They'd walk arm in arm to her room, his hand encircling her waist, and Suzette would feel beautiful, desirable, like she hadn't felt since she was a teenager. Outside the door to her room, he'd turn, lean against the wall and draw her body into his. He'd grab her lower back and pull her closer, tighter. She'd melt right there and kiss him from his ear, his throat, and down to his chest while unbuttoning his shirt. He would take the key and let them into the room. They'd undress each other tenderly and he'd thrill to every curve of her body - her breasts, her belly, her thighs and calves. No place would go untouched. They would meld together wordlessly, with only moans of ecstasy punctuating their touching and stroking, until they finally fell into a sated, satisfied sleep.

In the morning they'd make coffee and watch the sun rise over the ocean. He wouldn't talk about his PTA president wife in Cleveland or his job selling software applications to sanitation companies. They would simply bask in the glow of their recent lovemaking and both would feel that the other was absolutely perfect. They'd part without promises to see each other again. They'd simply be grateful for what they'd shared, a break from the routine, a chance to love unconditionally and without obligations, a shared fantasy for a single night, a moment in time that could not and would not ever exist in reality.

Suzette was lost in her imaginings and barely realized that the highway she'd been following had turned into a throughway and she was fast approaching a stoplight. She slammed on the brakes of the rental car and was instantly jolted out of her reverie. Narrowly missing the little red Nissan in front of her, Suzette realized that she was now entering the beachfront town she had located on the map. She followed the signs leading toward the downtown. She scanned the area for the hotel that she had so vividly imagined. Nothing resembled her imagination with the balcony over the beach and the swanky bar off the lobby. Suzette drove up and down the beach front road until she finally found a run-down motel just across the street from the row of fancy houses and timeshare units lining the beach. It wasn't what she was expecting, but it had a certain charm. Pulling the car into the dirt and rocks of the parking lot at the back of the old motel, she noticed that it was actually just a home that had been divided into rooms. There were two or three rooms upstairs and four small units along the bottom floor. The place had been painted a gaudy peach trimmed in white. All around, the paint was peeling, the windowsills sagging, and roof tiles were hanging listlessly or missing altogether. Some efforts were made to add decorations that would lend to the beach charm of the place, but the fisherman signs and strewn shells managed to look more like castaways creating a neglected, abandoned feel. It was completely quiet as Suzette stepped from the car, and she wondered for a minute if it might actually be abandoned. The office was located on the lower level under an overhang, facing the road. The sign in the window said "open," but when Suzette pulled on the doorknob, the door was locked, and wouldn't budge. She peered through the dirt and stickers on the window and spied a small cluttered office desk bordered by a Chinese screen separating the office from a small living area. A ratty, gray-green overstuffed couch was situated along the wall. Suzette noticed a shadowy figure rise from the couch and approach the door. The door suddenly opened and Suzette stepped back as a woman emerged and said, "Hello, can I help you?" Suzette realized the office was also the woman's living room. She had been watching T.V and folding towels, for the guests no doubt.

"Would you have a room for tonight?" Suzette asked hopefully.

"For how many people? Just one night?" the woman asked. She was as tall as Suzette, looking her square in the eye, with the most penetratingly clear blue eyes Suzette had ever seen. She was a good fifteen years older than Suzette with the weathered, tanned skin that was so common of the beach women of Florida.

"Just one, just me, just for tonight," Suzette answered.

"Come in," the woman finally said, stepping away from the door so Suzette could enter. Glancing over the register book that lay open on the desk, she lifted her head and swiped a drape of blond brown hair highlighted with generous streaks of silver off of her shoulder. "Room 15 is available. Would you like to see it?"

"Sure," Suzette answered.

As she walked around the side of the building she chatted with Suzette.

"My name is Angelina. I'm the proprietor here. I think you'll really like room 15. It's on the corner, nice and quiet." Angelina approached the door to the room and Suzette noticed a small chair set off to the side, pretending to be a front patio. A faded, peeling wind chime hung directly over it. To the left was a staircase leading to the upper-level.

"What do you think? Would you like to take it?"

Suzette stepped into the room. She loved it in an instant. While the outer façade of the hotel was neglected, the room was pristine with a charm that the exterior just couldn't muster. A cheery bedspread adorned the bed in a deep turquoise shade that made Suzette think of deep water and cool breezes. The color was repeated in throw pillows that perched on an inviting loveseat and in a cloth that draped the small round table. The room was complete with a small kitchenette, lacy curtains adorned the window above the sink. Suzette was thrilled.

"Yes! I'll take it. I love it." She smiled at Angelina.

"Wonderful! Let's get you set-up." Suzette followed Angelina back to the office.

"The beach trail is directly across the street, there is a crab house restaurant just down the road, and I host a happy hour at five o' clock right here at the office, if you'd like to join us." Angelina smiled at Suzette. From behind her wrinkled skin and bright eyes, Suzette could see that Angelina was hoping for some human connection. It must be lonely living out of a motel office.

Suzette unpacked her bags in the sparkling room and felt a thrill of possibilities. She was still smiling to herself as she trudged back to the car for the plastic bag she'd filled at the convenience store. Back in the room she placed her water bottles, the chardonnay and the cheesy chips on the counter in the kitchenette. She was too excited to be hungry or thirsty. She took a look around. This room, this beach, this adventure, she was proud of herself for daring to do her own thing. A thought momentarily crossed her mind. What if I struck out on my own? I could live in a small apartment as cute as this, and always make my own decisions, live the way I want to live. The idea was titillating.

Suzette dressed in jeans, t-shirt, and flip-flops and made her way to the beach. The air was heavy and humid, there was a faint haze that caused objects to appear muted around the edges so that the apartments lining the beach seemed soft as clouds, as if they were actually floating or hovering there, shimmering in the diffused light. Everything was quiet, Suzette thought - magical. The waves were much softer and calmer than those she was used to on the West coast. The sand was much cleaner, with little pristine shells, like treasures from the sea tossed up carelessly along the shore. The whole thing had an air of suspended reality, as if when Suzette stepped off the wooden stairs leading down to the beach, she had stepped into a dream. Suzette walked feeling as if she were actually gliding. Squinting her gaze over the horizon, she took deep breaths, clearing her mind, thinking of nothing in particular except this ocean, this sky, this moment. There were very few people on the beach, and it seemed to stretch for miles. Suzette sat down, staring at the ocean until the urge overcame her and she lowered her body down to the ground in a full lying position. She didn't care what she looked like, or if she got sand in her hair. The image of a beached whale momentarily crossed her mind, but she banished it in an instant. She stared at the hazy, dusty late afternoon sky and listened to the sound of the softly crashing waves, a bird call here and there, the soft breeze. Soon she was floating. She could feel the rotation of the earth; could feel her connection to the sand, the dirt, the wind. She felt her being meld with the ground until she lost all sensation of the boundaries of her body. She was like syrup poured over the sand, sinking and absorbing down to the core of the earth. In an instant, she was one with all beings. In this state of deep realization, Suzette felt a communion with the small birds that ran along the edges of the waves and with those that flew in and out of her gaze. Happy, supremely happy. These words kept coming into her mind. And, Suzette was happy.

As she spun through the atmosphere Suzette thought how different this experience was from the one she thought she'd been seeking. When had she ever taken a moment to be truly alone, to explore her connection to nature? She thought she was hoping for a handsome man and an affair to fulfill her. But this was better, oh so much better. Why were humans always needing another person to confirm their worth? If I found a stranger to appreciate my body and my beauty, would I be happier than I am in this moment? An affair would be messy and complicated filled with guilt and deception. What I really need is to accept myself, accept my body, to realize my own beauty and my worth. As mixed up as I am, I need to forgive myself. I most definitely do not need to find myself in the arms of another mixed up person, adding their burdens to the wall of burdens I've collected through my life.

Suzette, feeling both dreamy and ethereal but simultaneously as solid and present as she'd ever felt in her life, decided to forgive. She started with herself. I forgive myself for being a fat cow, and for giving in when I should have stood up and for being timid and always towing the line. I forgive myself for not being a good wife, a good mother, a good friend. I forgive myself for being self-absorbed and self-pitying. I forgive myself for being human. I forgive my mother for all her faults and for the many burdens she placed on me when I was younger when I didn't understand what she was going through. I forgive Tony for all the little hurts that I have stored up and held against him for so many years. I forgive him for not knowing how to overcome the chasm that has grown so deep between us for so many years. Suzette ruminated on her generosity. While she was at it, she'd forgive all of humankind. She'd forgive her co-workers for being indifferent to her, and she'd forgive Alison's husband for committing suicide, and she'd forgive the universe for giving her best friend Jessica breast cancer.

For every act of forgiveness Suzette felt a little lighter. It was as if she was removing actual pieces of her body and holding them into the wind to be carried away on the tides and the currents. This hurt had manifested itself in her belly, and that one in her thigh, and another in the underside of her arm. She peeled and plucked, forgiving this hurt and that slight, revealing memories so old and so buried, she hadn't realized they were lurking there. At one point she wept. The pain was so deep – the healing such a relief. Suzette had lost all track of time, and when she finally felt the urge to get up, she didn't know if she had slept and dreamt the whole thing or if it really happened. But as she walked back to the motel, Suzette was sure that she had changed, she felt - cleansed.

Returning to her room, Suzette glanced at the clock. It was nearly five and she wanted to join Angelina for her happy hour. Suzette jumped into the shower, letting the water remove the remnants of sand and salt air from her hair and skin. She put on a sundress and sandals, grabbed the bottle of chardonnay and headed out the door. Angelina was in front of the office turning the area into a makeshift patio. Dusty, white plastic chairs had been arranged in a semi-circle and next to the wall was a rickety wooden picnic table set with a few food items. A bottle of wine stood sweating in the evening sun and some clear plastic glasses were waiting to be filled.

"Evenin'!" called Angelina as she looked up from setting out another chair. "Enjoying your stay?"

"Oh, yes, very much," Suzette answered. Her wet hair dripping on her shoulders felt after-shower fresh in the humid air. "I brought a bottle to share. I couldn't drink this by myself. I'm afraid it's not chilled though." Right now Suzette was looking forward to a cool sip of white wine. Luckily, the bottle on the table looked cold and ready to drink.

"Fabulous! I'll just go and stick this in the 'fridge." Angelina disappeared inside the motel office and Suzette heard kitchen noises wafting through the open front door. In a minute Angelina appeared again with a small plate piled high with chopped carrots, celeries, tomatoes and cucumbers. "Can I offer you some veggies? I like to eat healthy myself." Angelina smiled, her blue eyes shining.

"Thanks. I don't eat enough vegetables." Suzette took the plate offered by her host, selected a few of each item and asked, "Where's the dip?"

Angelina looked visibly pained. "Try it without dip. Chew it and really taste it. I bet you'll love it." She took the vegetables to the table and poured Suzette a glass of the cool, crisp wine. She picked up her own cup and plopped herself on one of the chairs. "So. Tell me about yourself." Angelina eyed Suzette while sipping from the small clear glass.

The carrot that Suzette had begun to chew stuck in her throat, as she tried to answer despite the dry vegetable turning to sawdust in her mouth. "Um, well, I had a really nice walk on the beach." Suzette cleared her throat. "How is your day going?"

"My day? This day is the same as yesterday is the same as the one before. I am not interesting. I am interested in you. What do you do? How did you end up at my motel?"

"I could ask you the same thing," said Suzette. "How did you end up working in this motel?"

"Ok. You're a tough one. I'll ask you when you get a few more glasses of wine in you." Angelina took a thoughtful sip of her wine and pulled her left leg up under her to sit on it. She scanned the motel and parking lot and looked out over the distance. "I never meant to end up here. I just kind of fell into this, but it suits me now and I do alright." She smiled a thin smile at Suzette.

"Do you have a family, children?" Suzette started to get more curious about this bright-eyed woman with the healthy habits and the raggedy happy hour.

"Sure. Doesn't everybody?" Angelina's piercing gaze bore deep into Suzette's as she assessed whether she could trust this stranger with her life story. "I have three children, all grown. They all pretty much hate me."

"What? How could that be? You seem to be a perfectly nice person to me." Suzette didn't know how to take this pronouncement, and feeling awkward she stared into her wine as if examining it for imperfections.

"Sure. Sure. I guess they're mad at me for the way I treated their dad. He got to be boring. When I found another man to give me attention, I took off with that guy. They didn't really like that very much." Angelina's eyes looked to the ground, but Suzette could see she was searching her long ago memories.

"Was he worth it, that other guy? Where is he now?" Suzette thought perhaps he also lived in the motel.

"Worth it? I ask myself that question all the time. I guess I had exactly three beautiful weeks with that guy. That's it, that's all, end of story. I have no idea where the bum is now. But, he was generous enough to leave me three perfect weeks, a mountain of debt and a broken heart to boot." Angelina looked into the sky as if she might be able to get an answer from heaven. "No. I guess that's my biggest regret in life. My kids hate me. I hurt my husband real bad. I'm alone now and probably will be forever. I have my memories, but memories won't pay the bills, you know what I mean?" Angelina looked Suzette straight in the face with a wry smile. "Sorry you asked?"

"No. Not sorry. It makes you real. We all have our burdens." Suzette answered holding Angelina's bold gaze.

"Easy for you to say Miss Corporate Executive."

"Yes, its true I am on a work trip. But, my husband and I have our troubles."

"Is he banging his secretary?"

Suzette nearly choked on her wine, "God, I hope not. He has a part time assistant, a man who is nearly seventy years old!" The women laughed, the tension relieved.

"Some guys are into that." Angelina winked.

"Nah. That's not it. It's just that I don't feel like I'm in love any more." Suzette surprised herself, she hadn't ever said those words out loud, hadn't ever admitted it to herself.

"Oh come on! Love is so over-rated sweetheart." Blurted Angelina, leaning over coming closer to Suzette, making her point "Seriously. Does he take care of you? Is he always there for you? Does he care about your day, what you're thinking about? Is he planning a future with you? That's the most you can hope for. Hollywood has kind of messed everyone up. Plays with our minds, you know? Every woman who buys this fantasy is expecting a Prince Charming, and they think that if there's not constant passion and excitement, then something's wrong. Hollywood love stories are nothing more than fairy tales with a happily ever after ending. What Hollywood has forgotten is that most marriages are boring ever after. But, take it from me – boring ever after is a heckofalot better than lonely ever after. Be grateful. Seriously." Angelina ended pointing a scrawny, tanned finger in Suzette's face.

Suzette looked surprised and turned away gazing into her wine, feeling uncomfortable again. She sipped and nodded thinking about Angelina's words.

"Hello Joe! Betty!" Angelina jumped up and shouted loudly, "Come and join us! This is Suzette, she just arrived today."

Suzette looked up to see an elderly couple come out of a downstairs room. They must have been in their eighties. Gray haired and bent over, they were wearing brightly colored Hawaiian shirts and overly large khaki shorts. Holding hands and walking unsteadily, they approached the happy hour, smiling up at the beaming face of Angelina.

"Joe and Betty are my favorite boarders! They come each year and stay for a week. They especially love to catch the sunrise every morning."

Joe was settling into his chair as Betty gathered some goodies onto plates for the two of them.

"That's right. We live in Kansas. No oceans, no sunrises over the water, no Angelinas to talk to – so, we come here once a year. It sort of feeds our soul." Joe's gnarled hand reached out to pat Angelina's knee as he looked at her with genuine fondness, and she returned the emotion.

"You watch the sunrise every morning? I'm not sure if I have ever watched a sunrise. I am either always sleeping or getting ready for work. What time does the sun rise tomorrow?" Suzette asked, feeling as if she was planning her next great adventure.

"Tomorrow, the sun will rise at 6:32," said Betty as she handed a plate to Joe.

"You haven't lived until you've seen a sunrise over the Atlantic," Joe chimed in.

"I think I'll do that," said Suzette. "Yes, I will! Thanks for the tip!"

The four of them shared small talk as the sun went down and the evening darkened into night. Suzette learned about Betty and Joe's grandchildren and neighbors back in Kansas. They were expecting their first great-grandchild in July. Suzette had an image of Betty and Joe sitting at the top of a green hill covered in flowers. Gathered below them were all of their children and grandchildren at picnic tables and on blankets -the numbers of happy families spreading on and on into infinity, the future generations forming a solid, unbroken line. Suzette wished to have such a strong bond with her family, to be the head of something so lasting and permanent.

Later, wandering back to her room, Suzette felt happy that she had made some connections, some new friends. She felt free in the company of pleasant strangers, glad for a break from her constant thinking and worrying. As she approached her room she heard the cell phone ringing from inside.

"Mom! Where are you?" Her daughter's voice whined from California.

"I'm sorry sweetie. I forgot to bring my phone with me outside. Is everything ok?"

"Yes. But, when are you coming home? Things aren't right without you. Dad's acting weird. I think he misses you. I miss you too."

Suzette's heart swelled with emotion and longing for her family. She missed them. "I'm coming home baby. I'll be there tomorrow. I'm coming home."

As Suzette drifted to sleep that night, she experienced a quiet peacefulness and something that felt a bit new to her – determination.

Suzette's alarm woke her at 6:15. This was her last day, her last adventure. She dressed quickly and headed out the door to cross the street. She sat on one of the top steps of the wooden staircase leading down to the beach. From this vantage point she had a perfectly clear view of the ocean. Everything was quiet. She felt the same magic she had the day before. Suzette took a deep breath and held it. Feel it, remember it, hold it, she told herself, this is your happiness - breathe it in. In a few moments she was astounded at the sight of the bright orange sun just peeking up over the horizon. Suspended. Mesmerized. It happened much faster than Suzette imagined. From a small sliver of burning orange to a bright ball of firey red, the sunrise was amazing and Suzette's heart was filled with the wonder of the natural world. This was her new day.

Suzette looked up and down the beach. Just ahead of her and several hundred feet to the North she spotted Joe and Betty, sitting on beach chairs facing the sun, holding hands. They must have sensed her looking, because just at that moment, Joe turned and waved. He didn't look at all surprised to see her. His expression was conspiratorial, as if they now shared a secret. Suzette waved and smiled enthusiastically until Joe turned back to gaze in silence over the ocean.

Feeling energized, Suzette headed back to her room. She made herself a cup of coffee and drank it leisurely at the small breakfast table. On the pad of paper that was left for guests, Suzette wrote a note for Angelina:

Thank you so much Angelina. My short stay at your wonderful motel has changed my life. I will forever be grateful that on this trip I learned - forgiveness is healing, but you have to start with yourself. Family is golden, though it is never perfect, and old age is not to be feared, but rather embraced \- it is just another season to enjoy good friends and to be eternally grateful for every sunrise. I wish you all the best, Suzette

Suzette decided to pack. She wanted to drive along the coast on her way to the airport. She was ready to go home. While she packed, she noticed a penny at the bottom of her suitcase. She looked closer and saw that it was indeed an upside down penny. Picking it up, she turned it over in her hand, "From now on Suzette, you will make your own luck!" She plunked the penny down on the kitchen counter, lucky side up. She knew Angelina would find it later. She gathered all of her things, and headed for the door. With a finality of purpose that felt entirely new to her, Suzette pulled the red bag of cheesy chips out of her carry-on bag and left it on the kitchen counter. All the false comfort that that little bag gave her, all the insecurities and disappointments that she tried to bury with little orange triangles were gone - she would leave them behind. Suzette took a last look at the cozy room, closed the door and headed toward home.

~~~~~~~~

Lessons from the trees

This morning I woke earlier than I probably would have liked. My son and daughter wanted to go for a run and I was going to show them an old backwoods fire road that I knew of.

We're on vacation at our beloved Gold Lake Family camp, tucked away in the California Sierras, elevation six thousand five hundred feet with eleven cabins, three tent cabins, a main lodge and a rec hall. Altogether we are sixty-three aunts, uncles and cousins. We brought twenty-seven cars, one boat, three guitars and one dog. We've been gathering during the summers at this high mountain camp for almost three generations. We're a close-knit, jumbled, variety pack of loving, quarreling, playing, singing and hugging mass of humanity. We enjoy each other's company and those family members that couldn't be with us this time and those who have passed on are still close with us as we tell our stories and remember out Gold Lakes past.

This morning as I walk with my children through the meadows and forests of my youth, my thoughts are sentimental and sweet. The trees are waving their greetings, the fresh green grasses of summer are bright and inviting while the birds chirp their morning music.

We find the old dirt road between the trees and my kids take off on their run. They are much faster than I have ever been or ever will be and they have left me alone in the quiet morning sunshine. I wander into a pretty little glade between the pines. It's quiet except for the breeze and the birds. I stand, being still and observant. I breathe deep of the mountain air and listen.

As I slowly become part of the forest, I realize how much the forest and this piney glen are like my family. In this small area there are fresh and energetic young tree sprouts standing proudly in their youth. There are older trees with dead areas at the bottom that are now sprouting with new growth as they reach higher up toward the sky. There are tall and majestic older trees, standing stoic, staid and comforting. Other tall pines are in the stages of early death, with dry and deadened wood running up and down their beautiful, tall trunks. Some are growing crooked, having been through a hard winter or a bad patch that stunted their growth. Other trees seem a bit different, with pine needles long and pointed rather than fanning out in boughs and branches that are laced with tiny, pointy needles.

For all of their many differences, the trees stand together in beautiful harmony - the entire not complete without each individual - the whole not quite as beautiful without each solitary and unique quality.

My kids return from their run and we head back toward camp. It's a glorious morning and I feel I've been changed. I realize that I may not have particularly wanted to wake up so early this morning. It would have been easier to have slept a bit more and then walk bleery-eyed to the lodge to drink my coffee. But I would have missed this early morning glen and this communion with nature. I realize that my children have helped me to grow.

The same is true with this week with my extended family. I could have easily chosen to stay home from camp, to stay at work and earn a living, to continue with my daily life - but I would have missed sitting next to my cousins at the campfire and hearing their stories. I would have missed sitting with my aunts and uncles, mother and father at the dinner table. I would have missed our hikes and our adventures, conversations and rememberances.

We are the pine trees. We gather together in this mountain paradise and commune with each other in love and support. We are in every stage of growth - of life and of death, of youth, middle age and majestic seniors. We suffer our rough patches and celebrate our regenerations. We stand united in our starkness, our stickiness and our scraggly, barked tough exteriors. We are the forest. Together, we never stop growing.
