I wish I meant it

I wish I were making a statement with my life.
I wish there was a tune in my head that made me strut out of step,
Rather than my syncopated rhythm owing to my unsteady gait.
I wish I was trying to make a point with my gender neutral coarseness,
Rather than overcompensating for childhood shyness.
I wish I were trying to support women's independence,
Rather than struggling to be content with my loneliness.
I wish I were rebelling against a life in a cubicle,
Rather than turning my back on a closed door.
I wish my life were intentional,
Rather than simply rationalized.

Next time

"Hey, I heard you don't have a ride,"
And before I know it, you're in the passenger seat and we're laughing together.
We sing the same songs on the radio and you compliment my voice.
We talk about our pasts and our dreams of the future.
We show each other the edges of our emotional scars,
And at some point, I tell you how much I've loved you.
Before I know it, you say it back,
"Actually, I just called my brother. He should be here any minute."
Maybe next time.

My hands are dirty

One pumps the soap onto the other, and immediately they're sliding around each other, hot and slippery, over, under, between, my left screamining, oh, oh, right there, don't stop, don't stop, oh, the quickie rinse, and one more time with a towel between, just to be kinky.

Breaking Promises

I made a promise
Long ago
When I was young
and full of hope.
The time has come.
My youthful self gazes at me,
Eyes shining with optimism
Asking if we will keep it.
I hold her chin and
kiss her forehead.
"We'll see," I lie.

Nagging Thoughts: Loved the Way I Am

See Background for previous post

And I disagree with my friends on another point. I don't want to be loved the way I am. I think that it would be a sad, pitiful creature who accepts me as I am today and is willing to live with me this way for the rest of his life.

I am not perfect. I will never be perfect, but I'm a lot further from perfect than I potentially could be. I want to be loved for my potential. And while I want to be loved today, I want it to be understood that I am striving for better, and if they have that in mind, they can encourage me to be better, rather than, "why change, you're fine now".

Think of it. A guy decides he loves you "as you are now." He doesn't expect you to mature, or grow, he's okay with you staying at that maturity level forever. No. I don't want that. He's settling for lower than he can get. See my potential. Be with me for the person I want to be, whom I'm trying to be. Help me get there. And for the rest of your life, you will be with a person who is better than the person you first met.

Nagging Thoughts: Being Honest.

You know how you're in a conversation, and someone says something and your brain flags it, but you can't think of anything to say so you just smile and nod? And then later, your brain's analyzed it and you discover you actually do have an opinion. Well, "Nagging Thoughts" are going to be my outlet for expressing what I couldn't come up with a response for earlier.

Background: I was having a conversation with two guy friends and my sister, and we were talking about Twilight and how it caters to female fantasy, and I said, "Well, guys, take notes, because those are some of the things girls want." And both the guys immediately said, "I'm not going to pretend to a girl. I want to be loved the way I am." And at first, I felt shot down, and I agreed, I mean, who can argue against honesty and being accepted? But then I thought about it a few days later and now...

I think that's cheap. There are romantic elements that I want to experience. I want to be told I look gorgeous, and I want a guy to do my chores for me just because it'll make me feel special. And the thought that if, for example, I dated either of my guy friends in the conversation, if they didn't naturally want to say I looked pretty, or if they didn't feel like doing the dishes, they wouldn't. That in their opinion, if a guy wasn't born complimenting women and naturally a servant, that I shouldn't be able to experience romance. That honesty is more important.

Well, no, in my mind, it's not. Not at the expense of my self esteem. If I look and feel fat, and my significant other "lies" and gives me a compliment, I want it. If the last thing he "wants" to do is the dishes when it's my job but he knows the past week has been rough on him, I would greatly appreciate it if he denied himself and did my chore. I recognize that romance is not natural to some men, but I don't accept that as an excuse to be an asshole to your girlfriend, in the name of honesty.

Teddy

I unbutton your vest and unfasten your overalls.
The ones I made when I decided that protecting you and letting you last decades longer was more important than being able to touch you.
I pull off your vest and see the flannel skin grafts on your chest.
You always needed some surgery or other.
I remember the first one.

I loved to rub the back of my thumb against the back of your leg.
I wore the fur off and then wore a hole in your skin.
I was terrified when I found it.
I ran to Mom and showed her your boo-boo.
I watched Mom sew it closed.
The pucker gave the spot friction.
I decided to rub your unappealing stomach and only use your leg for emergencies and big problems.
Eventually I wore a hole through your stomach too, so I migrated to your back.
But after that first time when I was five, I was the one to sew you up.

I covered your mouth with a cup until the anesthesia set you to sleep.
"Scalpel"
Mouth covered by a handkerchief, I handed myself the scissors to cut the thread.

Over the years, your fluff condensed, after being slept on, sat on, hugged and trampled.
I tore some fluff out of an old comforter and stuffed it in your chest.
This one heart shaped piece would dangle out, and I was always stuffing it back in.
Until the summer after you turned 18.

Then I decided major surgery was needed.
I went to JoAnn's, bought a bag of stuffing, gray flannel for the skin grafts, and camoflage flannel for your new clothes.
I would have preferred plaid pajamas for you, but they didn't have any.
"Scalpel" I said as I passed myself the scissors to clean up your edges so I could stitch easier.
I pulled the blanket fluff out of your body and packed you full of fresh fiber.
Now you can't sit anymore, and your arms stick out at different angles, and you look fatter.
But still, it's better this way.
I haven't touched you since.

Knowing it'll help you last, I've been roughing up your vest and pants instead.
As I run the back of my thumb across your belly, I'm 5, 10, 15, 20...
I feel safe.
I want to sob hysterically.
I want to fall asleep.
You were always there.
Dad wasn't always there.
Mom wasn't always there.
Even God wasn't always there.
But you were.

I tried to name you, but in the end, I'd forget and end up calling you, "Teddy."
It was the only name that stuck, unimaginative as it was.

I remember a picture of my first Easter.
I couldn't even recognize you.
Your fur was fluffy, not matted.
It was white, not dirty grey.
Your eyes and nose were bright, not chipped.
And you wore a yellow ribbon.
You were as big as I was.
I had to drag you around by your ear.

Why did I fall in love with you?
What was it that made you essential to fall asleep?

I used to use you for a pillow.
You used to fit in the crook of my arm.
But even now I wake up and look for you if I knock you off the bed.
I feel better feeling you under my arm or against my back.
You've been in my life too long for me to simply put you on a shelf.
I will always love you.

Living by Faith

The waves crash over my head, pushing my body down.
I kick and fight my way back up, gasping air, salt in my mouth.
Each time I surface, I try to empty my mouth of the water.
I'm not in control, but also not quite drowning.

Depression

I am alone, circling the black lake.
I focus on the green grass, the chirping birds,
Trying to remember the beauty of the forest.
One day I will return, if I am vigilant.
But I glance at the still waters casting twisted, ugly reflections,
And I trip.
My hand sends ripples across the surface.
I try to stand, but lakeweed has wrapped around my arm, pulling me under.
The more I resist, the more I struggle,
The more I am entangled.
I scream for help, desperately scanning the trees,
But no one is there.
The water is warm and soothing.
My movements become lethargic.
I fall asleep as I am slowly suffocated.

On Graduating

I'm sorry for not being miserable. I apologize to each person who has or will ask me if I'm sad it's over. No, I'm not. In a few weeks, or more likely, in September, then I will realize the difference and maybe then I will be sad. But today, I'm looking forward to graduation day. To the day after it, and the day after that. To a career and a smaller car and an apartment for myself and my Emalet. No, I'm not dwelling on the past four years of late nights and panic attacks, sleeping through classes and B papers returned. Of pop quizzes and lonely weekends. Yes I value the time I've spent here and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love the teachers and all of my classes, but this part of my life is ending and I'm ready, if a little scared, for the future.

My Toy

Master is holding a toy. Master is holding the shiniest, mostest perfectest toy in the whole world. I can't contain myself. I want the toy Master is holding more than anything I've ever wanted in my whole life. I bark and squeal and whine my loudest so that he will know I want the toy. Master takes the toy and gives it to another dog. Didn't he know I wanted it? The other dog is happy with its shiny toy. My shiny toy.

Master is holding a toy. Master is holding the bounciest, mostest perfectest toy in the whole world. I can't take my eyes off the toy. I jump up at Master and run and squirm with excitement so that he will know I want the toy. Master takest the toy and gives it to another dog. Didn't he know I wanted it? The other dog chases my bouncy toy.

Master is holding my toy. It is not shiny, or bouncy, but is my perfectest toy. I sit very still with my eyes on Master. He may give it to another dog. He kneels down to me, my toy in his hand. The one thing I want in all the world is to snatch my toy before he gives it away. But I watch Master. Below my vision he holds it out to me. Slowly, carefully, I take it in my jaws, without looking. His hand is still on it, and I wait, both of us holding the toy. He smiles and lets go. "Good girl."

Looking at you

You're talking.
Polite eye contact.
But you're so perfect my eyes are caressing your face before I can stop myself and I look away.
But you're still talking.
And it's polite to maintain eye contact, right?
So I return my gaze, resolutely keeping them on your eyes.
And your dark brown bottomless wells look back.
Where's the line between maintaining eye contact and staring?
Have I crossed it? Am I staring?
Can you tell?
I want to look away before you realize, but I'm locked into your gaze.
Wait... I don't think you've blinked yet.
Have you been...
No, you couldn't.
I look away.

On returning to the United States

I don't have a home anymore. I haven't had a home for the last six months. I have a place to stay, I live in a house, but it's not my home. Vancouver's not my home. Kent is not my home. Monmouth isn't home. I'm homeless. HOme used to be where ever I slept 5+ nights a week. But the Smith's have never been home. There is no end of the road for me. We arrive in America, we arrive in Portland, we arrive at OSU, we arrive at Monmouth... at none of these points do I drop all my luggage and say, "I'm home."

The Mother of Your children

Look at me.
See me as the mother of your children.
My thick thighs and astounding ass will ensure I have the energy to give you child after child.
My wide hips promise each one will emerge uncomplicated, from between my legs.
My belly has plenty of space to cradle them carefully.
My breasts are large and will not leave our children hungry.
My arms are strong, able to carry them.
My hands are small and nimble sliver pullers, hair braiders, button sewers, and tear wipers.
My hair is long and thick, keeping them warm in my embraces.
My neck is long, a head niche that fits them as they grow.
My shoulders are wide for piggy back rides.
My lips are full for mother kisses.
My ears are small and acute, hearing the smallest whimper and snicker.
My eyes are large and clear, seeing all.

ADD: Nature or Nurture?

On long car trips I'd watch the rain drops race each other to the bottom of the window, rooting for certain beads, for hours.
When the teacher told the whole class "heads down" because of the few, I'd have adventures in the cave of my arms.
When I had my nose put in the corner, I would name the bumps in the wall.
Now I stare into space while you talk to me.
Was it always in my nature, or was it nurtured in me?

I think I'm bored

I think I'm bored.
I swing my arm so my loose watch goes back and forth.
Like a pendulum counting half seconds.
I swing my arm the other way but stop.
The watch doesn't move right.
I go back to the first swinging motion.
I think I'm bored.

Stinky Bagels exercise

Copy Change of "I used to be but now I am" by Ted Berrigan

I used to be bubbly and elusive,
But now I am rooted.

I used to be elfin,
But now I am boorish.

I used to live each day for what it was,
But now I live for yesterday or tomorrow.

I used to play, ever and always,
But now I work, day in and out.

I used to laugh and cry,
But now I only smile, when I remember to.

I used to feel hate and love,
But now I simply tolerate.

I used to believe in fairies,
But, alas, I have killed them all.

The Fire

The Bakers were camping midAugust when Mr. Baker's cell phone rang.

"Hi, Philip. Three more days... oh. Oh, no. Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay. Yeah. We'll be right there."

"What's wrong, Bill?" Mrs. Baker asked as she unpacked breakfast.

"Sara's gone into early labor."

"But she's not due for six weeks!"

"Phil's worried. The doctors are going to try to deliver the baby, but Sara wants us."

"Of course. Let's pack up."

"Leave it. Just grab our clothes and I'll take down the tent."

While Bill drove home, he had this nagging feeling like he'd left the coffeepot on at home. He tried to shake it, convinced it was his concern at leaving their food and coolers behind. But the fire he'd been building when he'd been interrupted had caught, and the crows had knocked over the paper plates from the picnic table. Soon the fire had spread to the dry pine needles and the hot, dry forest burst into flames.


The old fern was crowded and shriveled, shaded by tall trees who stole the light a hundred feet above, and fighting for what escaped with dozens of brothers and sisters.

It hadn't rained in a long time, and the fern's fronds were dry and brittle.

The smoke teased its fronds gently, and the fern sighed in relief. Almost better than water was fire. Fire chewed the leaves and scoured the forest floor, but it couldn't reach roots. A few minutes of almost unbearable pain, and then peaceful rest until the first rain.

And then the old fern had another chance at life. To grow anew among its brothers and sisters, bathed in sunlight that the bare trees could not steal. To have an equal chance at water and space.

The old fern choked on the smoke, felt the first flames, and smiled.


The ponderosa stood tall, fighting for the sun. Each year was a race. Who could grow tallest? Who would expand above the others, and hoard the most sunlight?

As they grew, lower branches died from unuse. The tree lamented its ugly dead branches running down its length

The smoke rose high and the tree hoped the fire would reach it. The fire would climb its trunk, cleansing it of dead branches, and release its seeds.

It could hear the crack of others letting their seeds go.

Unfortunately the fire would also claim its living leaves and branches. But everyone else would lose theirs as well. It was a small price to pay for the next generation.


The sleeping owl huddled in the back of its home inside the tree. The air slowly became thicker and sharper. The owl shifted its feet as the wood around it grew warmer.

Suddenly, the young owl awoke and flew from its roost. Something hot and bright was climbing the tree.

The owl saw that all the trees were covered in the bright stuff, and it tried to escape.

The smoke obscured its sight and choked its breath. Flying too close to a tree, the owl singed its wings. It was still surrounded, and it didn't know to fly to the lake, or to the south, where the town was.

The longer it flew, the less air there was. Finally, it passed out, exhausted, and died.

The Swallows Holiday

"Hey Bob? How's the brood?"
"Fine, thanks for asking, Larry. Hey, it's been awhile. Haven't seen you since-"
"About April."
"Yeah, around April... Well Margaret wanted to extend the nest, and it was a close call to get that done before she layed, and (you know how it is once they hatch) it feels like I did nothing but feed them until they flew off."
"I heard Maggie's still with you guys."
"Yeah. She swears she'll die either of loneliness or eagle food."
"Does she still dye her feathers?"
"I don't know who taught her to be so morbid. Eagle food, indeed."
"It does happen."
"But you don't think about it."
"Is she excited about the migration?"
"She's been threatening to stay and freeze to death."
"I imagine she'd starve before she- *cough* uhm, what do you think of Shawn leading this year?"
"It's always dicey when a youth leads his first migration. They never stop at the old fields, they're way too jittery about predators: sounding the retreat every time a housedog barks. I could lead the flock better then any fledgling on his first flight."
"I bet you could, Bob. Maybe you would have, if you'd have made it to the flock meeting last week."
"I've never liked flock meetings. All the gray fletched getting intoxicated on fermented lightning bugs. Once the crickets are gone, it's hard to stay through all the politiking."
"But it's time for a vacation, eh? I can't wait to get to Costa Rica. Sarah and I have been looking forward to it for about a month, now."
"I'm worried about Maggie even making it there. She spent so much time int he nest, I don't think she has the endurance."
"Looks like she's getting familiar with Shawn over there. I doubt his pace will be too hard on her."

Leaves on Asphalt

There is something amazing about autumn leaves on asphalt.
I look at their curl, bright undersides contrasting with their own pale tops.
There is the hint of a shadow outlining each one, giving them definition.
The soft overcast lighting highlights their brightness while accenting the shadows.
Each leaf, maple, oak, or linden looks purposefully placed.
Each lies deliberately flat or curled, twisted or wrinkled.
I can picture myself staying here, sitting on the asphalt, afraid to disturb perfection,
Staring at this complex wayfare.
I could go blissfully crazy.
And people would point out that mad woman who watches leaves.

Bruegel's Tower of Babel

What would they have done when they finished?
The tower complete, they dust their hands,
Clap each other on the back
...And then what?
Do they all, really, climb eth monstrous staircase each morning,
So they can have dinner with the angels?
Do they move into the rooms near the top and send the children down to earth to get the groceries?
Do they keep their patience as every human on the face of the planet stomps past their front door?
Or do they move out?
Move on,
And become gardeners?

Thoughts of a Transient Nature

I like fall and spring best.
Can you read into something like that?
Does it reflect my transient nature?
Do I like fall and spring because I like change?
Or do I happen to enjoy the colors of fall and spring over the stasis of summer and winter?

I like overcast weather, too.
What does that say?
That I prefer reliability and consistency over extremes?
I enjoy sun and I enjoy rain, but...
Too much sun and I end up staying inside, watching the grass turn brown.
And too much rain soaks into my bones and not even a mound of blankets harvesting register air can warm me through.
But an overcast day...
If I wake up and it's overcast, I know there's no frost to scrape off my windows
And my cheeks and jaw will survive the walk to work.
I won't be squinting into the sun on while I'm driving,
And any pictures taken that day will be even-toned,
no backlighting or closed-eye smiles.

I guess you can't read into things like that.
Just take it at face value.
I like fall.
I like spring.
I like cloud blankets.
That's all.

My PAAS Part 1.3

After the workout, they staggered to the pool, sweaty and panting. Charlie pulled Jo into a side-hug as they walked and asked, "Feel better?"
"Yeah."
Tango fell in step and asked, "So, Papa Charlie, how does it feel to be in charge?"
Mike pushed Tango. "He can't be Papa Charlie. That's two names. He'd just be Charlie and then Charlie would mean "Papa's pet" forever, the way Papa means "Supreme Leader of the Universe"."
"It does not," Tango said.
"Does too. I asked him when I was a runt and that's what Papa said. So it's true," Mike said.
"To answer your question," Charlie spoke up, "I feel nervous. But excited. I'm looking forward to it, but I'm afraid of making a mistake."
Mike and Tango exchanged a look and even Jo laughed.
"What?" Charlie asked.
"Oh, Charlie!" Tango began in a sing-song voice, "It's my first time. I'm so nervous, but excited. I'm afraid of making a mistake and you'll never sleep with me again!"
"Shut up." Charlie chased after the two of them for a little, but gave up.
They regrouped at the edge of a cliff, a rushing underground waterfall roaring next to them. They lined up and stared at the black pool at the bottom.
"Man, I hate this part," Mike said.
"You can always take the runt path," Kilo pointed to a narrow pathway that curled from where they stood around the edge of the cavern to the pool below.
"We'll only treat you like a runt for a few days. Spoon feeding, changing your drawers for you..." Tango trailed off.
"What'd you say?" Kilo laughed.
"I mean, not really..." Tango said.
Jo was silent, standing with her toes gripping the edge of the cliff, her eyes closed, feeling the updraft of misty air on her face.
"Aw, I hate it when she does this," Mike said.
"You hate everything," said Kilo.
"Give her some space," said Charlie, and they all backed away from her.
Eyes kept closed, Jo slowly raised her arms. When they were level to the ground, she leaned forward just enough to send her over the edge. Her body stayed rigid as she fell and Jo pretended that she was skydiving through the wide blue sky, through bright, cold clouds, the ground stretching out forever around her... Jo learned how to time her dive just right so that she slowly pulled her arms over her head and they made their point just as her rotation through the air brought her head down for perfect submersion.
From above, it seemed like Jo lost her balance, went rigid, and for several agonizing seconds seemed sure to do a bellyflop or break her neck. Everyday they came here after their workout, and everyday they held their breath as she fell.
She slid into the water, speeding deep into the dark water. Jo angled her body up and floated for a moment, completely suspended. Then she gave a strong kick and swam back up. The boys all let their breath go when her head broke the surface.
"You know, it probably wouldn't be so scary if she didn't close her damn eyes," Kilo said.
"No one's asking you to watch," Charlie smiled.
"Come on, you pansies!" Jo shouted.
"Last one in's a scared little runt!" Tango shouted as he ran over the edge. Yelling, he decided at the last moment to do a cannonball, landing on his back. "Ow!"
Charlie and Kilo pushed each other over and managed decent pencil dives. Which left Mike at the top, staring down at them.
"Come on! Shouldn't it be easy by now?" Kilo shouted.
"It's never easy, staring at your own death!" Mike called back.
"You baby!"
Jo and Kilo started splashing each other. Mike couldn't even hear it over the waterfall.
Tango started the chant.
"Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!"
Jo and Kilo stopped splashing to join.
"Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!"
Finally with a terrified yell, Mike jumped into the oblivion.

My Postapocalyptic Alien story Part I

Josephine Marie Kobler started to drop her guard the closer she came to the caves. Her pace quickened, she shouldered her rifle, and she pulled her hair out of the tight knot she kept it in when she was on duty. Her nightvision goggles adjusted to the inside of the cave, showing her the empty walls.
Fifty feet back, there was a 60 degree turn in the tunnel and a small security camera set into the corner. Jo gave the camera a salute as she passed it. Further on, the tunnel ended in a metal door with protected keypad. After punching the code she pulled the handle out and pushed the door in.
The caverns were dimly lit with halogen ropes hanging along the walls. Jo slid her goggles off and ran her gloved hand through her hair, loosening it while she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.
"Hi, Juliet," a nearby runt said.
"Hi, runt," Jo replied.
"My name's Max," the little boy demanded.
Jo started walking on. "You haven't earned a name yet, runt."
The little boy matched her pace. "Did you see any dragons today?"
"Maybe. Maybe I caught a little one and put it in my pocket as a pet. Maybe I'll feed runts to it until it's nice and big."
The boy giggled. "You wouldn't do that."
"I wouldn't?" Jo arched an eyebrow at the kid, but otherwise kept a stern face.
The boy stopped smiling. Jo turned away and kept walking. She nodded to the Mamas with chores and runts that she passed until she reached a large side cavern.
There were twice as many halogen ropes here as the rest of the cave interior, and there were extra lamps available. Equipment, tools, and computers were piled around the cave like artificial stalamites.
"Travis?" Jo called out.
"Over here."
Jo followed the voice to Travis' main computer console. He had frozen video footage on three screens, text documents on two others, and was listening to an audio on a sixth. He paused the audio and swiveled around to face Jo. Travis had short brown hair stuck which out at all angles, soft brown eyes obscured by the light glare off of his glasses, and his pale skin, light build and loose fitting clothing betrayed his mechanic nature.
"How was sentry duty?" he asked.
"Same old," Jo said, setting down her rifle and goggles.
Travis smiled and turned back to his screens. "You're supposed to check those back in," he reminded her.
Jo pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her belt. "If I keep them with me, I always know where they are. Besides," she said, "you never know when some runt's going to break into the lockers and mess with the guns."
"Always with the runts. They have names you know."
"Not to me. Not til they've proven themselves." Jo grabbed her favorite stool and sat down next to Travis. "Are you still working on the alien footage? You're never going to decipher it."
"Well I'm glad I don't have your attitude."
"Besides, aren't you supposed to be working on the hydro-cars?"
"I worked it out with Mama Bear that I am only required to work on community projects eight hours a day. Same as your sentry shifts. As long as I get my sleep and feed myself, I can use my free time as I wish."
"Yeah, well, I don't get a cushy lunch break like you do. I get a quick ten year old energy bar while looking out for badies."
Travis didn't take the bait but instead pressed a head set to his ear and played a section of the audio, taking notes. Jo hunched her back and swung her legs, watching. Finally she spoke.
"Hey, Trav?"
"Huh?" Trav grunted without taking his eyes off the screen.
Jo fell silent, staring at her hands.
Travis sighed and turned away from the console. When he saw Jo's eyes filling with tears, he softened. "What is it?" he asked quietly, taking her hands.
Jo smiled briefly. "It's just... today I got thinking... about before..." She glanced at Travis and continued. "And then when I got here and I wanted to talk with you..." Jo trailed off and some tears spilt over her cheeks. "Will it ever be normal again?" she asked, her voice cracking.
"What do you mean?" Travis asked.
"You know, living outside and all... I was remembering about living in the suburbs and how if I needed to talk we'd go for a walk outside and we'd go to the cliffs and sit and talk, and then I got back from sentry and you're busy, and I just miss everything so much..."
Travis knew he'd done nothing wrong, but he felt like an ass anyway. "I'm sorry. I was caught up in the tapes. Do you want to go somewhere to talk?"
Jo wiped one of her cheeks and laughed. "Like where? We can't just go outside. And anywhere we go anyone else can go too."
"I've got a good place in mind. It's not perfect, but I'd like to show it to you. Okay?"
"Just a sec." Jo dried her eyes and composed herself. "Okay," she said.
Travis turned off the computer screens and the halogens as they left. After checking the hallway, he led her further into the mountain. The tunnels divided, converged and twisted off into nothing, but Travis never faltered. At one point, the halogen ropes ended and Travis asked to borrow the goggles.
"How do you know so much about the tunnels?" Jo asked as she followed Travis, holding onto the back of his shirt.
"I know the inside of this mountain probably as well as you know the outside," Travis said.
Finally he stopped. "Okay, here's the tricky part. Well, okay, wait. I'll give you back the goggles," he took them off and handed them to Jo, "I can climb without them."
With the goggles on, Jo could see that the tunnel had ended in a vertical shaft which Travis was cautiously climbing. Jo followed behind him. At the top, she asked, "how much further?"
Travis glanced down the tunnel. "It ends a little further, but I was taking you right here," he slapped the rock at the top of the climb, "have a seat."
"What is this place?" Jo asked.
"I think it's an abandoned tunnel project meant to connect back to the surface. Anyway, take the goggles off."
"What?"
"Take 'em off." Travis waited to hear the goggles clink against the rock before speaking. "Remind you of something?"
Jo's smile reflected in her voice. "Oh, sure, lots of things. Mostly unlit caves."
"No. Remember how some cloudy nights we'd stay too long at the cliffs and by the time we realized it, it'd be too pitch dark to find our way home?"
"Yeah, and we'd spend the night out there, scared to death we'd roll off the edge and when we'd get home at dawn we got chewed out by our parents."
"Well, here we are. As close to home as we can get. Now, what's on your mind?"
The next morning, Jo made her way to the soldiers' quarters, eyes red from lack of sleep, and muscles stiff from sleeping on top of a small rock cliff.
"Ho, Juliet," several soldiers greeted her in the locker cave.
"Ho, Charlie, Tango, Mike," she responded. While Jo was not the only female soldier in the community, she was certainly the first, and therefore was given the only female code name in her unit.
Charlie had fast growing blonde hair that was always in his eyes, Tango was a short Asian-American, and Mike was proud of his muscular build and African-American heritage.
"Looks like you didn't get much sleep last night," said Kilo, pulling his curly red hair back under a bandana, "who's the lucky father?"
Jo snorted. "Like I'm going to hang up my gun and retire to the maternity cave."
Mike flexed his arms and torso. "Hey, Julie, next time we make a run into town, let's grab some contraceptives and have a go. How about it?"
Jo threw her bandana at him. He caught it, smelled it, and pretended to swoon.
Charlie leaned against the locker next to Jo's, swept his blonde hair out of his eyes and said, "Give it up, Mike, you know she's only got eyes for Romeo." As Juliet's childhood friend and part time mechanical expert in the unit, Travis was called Romeo, an honorary unit name.
"And you've been listening to too many of Mama Cat's stories," Jo punched Charlie in the arm. He pretended to be hurt and walked back to his locker.
"But honestly, you and Romeo have been together, right?" Kilo asked.
"Nope. Never." Jo said as she changed into her workout clothes.
The boys chortled in disbelief.
"Not even before in high school? You two must have been an item," Tango said.
"How old do you think I am? I never even went to prom."
"Serious?" Mike asked, "How old were you when the bombs dropped?"
"I'm not telling you, muscle-head."
"Oh, man, our baby girl's never even been to prom!" Mike said. "We gotta do something about that."
"Oh, yeah, Mike, we'll get right on forming a planning committee. Should we plan pink and blue streamers, or the classic white?" Charlie said sarcastically.
"Ha, ha. But we gotta at least teach her how to dance." Mike said as he scooped Jo up and threw her over his shoulder. Jo struggled, but Mike held her firm as he started swaying back and forth, humming a waltz to himself.
The other boys laughed until Papa entered the locker cave. They immediately became silent and froze at attention. Mike turned around when the room got quiet. He dropped Jo and stood at attention. Jo stumbled, gained her balance and joined the others.
"Am I interrupting something?" Papa asked in a stern voice.
"No, Papa, sir!" the unit said in unison.
Papa walked the length of the cave, looking at each member and their locker. After he passed Mike and Jo, Mike nudged her with his elbow. Jo hit him back and Tango tried to stifle a laugh. Papa turned around. "Is there something funny, Tango?"
"No, Papa, sir."
Papa returned to the cave entrance and faced them. "Mama Fox has informed me that several of the crates of food we brought back from our last trip were compromised. We are scheduling an early trip into town to restock on food and equipment. Charlie, get a haircut and make sure the entire unit is ready to go at 0500 tomorrow."
"Papa, sir, does that include Romeo?"
"Who, Charlie?"
"The mechanical expert, Papa, sir."
"Yes. That includes the mechanical expert. At ease." Papa exited the cave.
Everyone relaxed. Jo punched Mike. "Don't ever do that again," she hissed.
Mike laughed. "Hey, it's not my fault some crates got food rot."
"Didn't Papa know we gave Travis a name?" Charlie asked.
Tango answered, "Yeah, but you know how Papa feels about civilians."
"Travis doesn't count as a civilian. He works just as hard as we do to keep our community running," Jo argued, "He's the best-"
Kilo interrupted. "Easy, Julie, no one's putting down your boyfriend. Papa just doesn't want to acknowledge his name."
Jo groaned in frustration. "I need to beat something up." She slammed her locker closed and tightened her sneakers.
"How about this, after warm up, you get first dibs on the punching bag," Charlie offered as they made their way into the training cave.