Peeing the way God intended

My feet cross the white pine floors as I head towards the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. The door is slightly ajar -- so I knock in case someone is in it. I haven't seen a clock so I'm not sure what time it is.

No one answers, so I open the door with my right hand and step inside. Skylights line the ceiling and a wash of pure white light cascades across the bathroom floor. I glance at myself in the mirror...I look like someone who's been homeless on a beach for a decade. My hair is wild and defying gravity in every direction. I take a step closer to the mirror and crinkle my nose. It's hard to see because my contacts are glued to my eyes at the moment.

I pull my contact case out from my toiletries bag and safely pluck one, then the other, out of my eyes. I blink a few times to make sure their aptly re-watered before heading to the toilet. It's super fancy -- with a heated seat.

Ahhh...

I look up and watch the clouds roll by through the skylights. Birds chirp happily in the distance, and I feel like I'm peeing the way God intended it; under the sky serenaded by nature. I sit on the toilet a lot longer than I need to, because I'm completely relaxed here. I look around the bathroom in awe. It's large -- there's a jacuzzi tub adjacent to a slate rock shower. Skylights are above both of them.

I can't wait to lay in the tub and watch the stars at some point.

I wipe and flush, and then head back to the glass counter top sinks to wash my hands. The faucet is automatic and the water pours from a flat open-spout. This bathroom is pure heaven. It even smells like pine...or is that cedar? My nose is a bit stuffed so I can't really tell.

My allergies are probably kicking in...

I dig through my bag and pull out a 24hour non-drowsy anti-histamine because I realize that in addition to my nose being stuffy, my eyes are starting to itch. After I brush my teeth and wash my face, I turn on the shower and wait a few seconds for the water to adjust before stepping under the rain affect shower head. I wash with purpose; making sure to scrub extra hard under my pits because I think I was sweating a lot in my sleep. I stand there, letting the water pour over my head, down my face, and along my back before trickling on my feet and disappearing down a drain. I help myself to the top-of-the-line organic/environmentally friendly shampoos and soaps -- and then grab a complimentary robe from a hook on the wall adjacent to the shower door.

Steam fogs the mirror, but I know that when I swipe it away, and take a good look at my newly washed self -- I know that a cleaner version of me will be looking back. And, on some level, I really feel like this shower, in this little oasis of a bathroom, has helped to wash away some of the bad feelings I've been carrying around with me. The ones that try to tell me that I could have done more -- and it's all my fault; when I know deep down that it's not.

At least, that's what I'm hoping.

Charlie likes Neil

"Charlie, I didn't know you liked Neil Diamond!" I squeal as I watch him dancing in the field.

The sun is high above us, and it warms my bare arms as I sit and watch him awkwardly rotate his middle to the beat. His Harley Davidson belt buckle swings left and right as he jives to the music.

"I dooooo, darlin'. I dooooo." he coos as he continues to dance. He makes sure to give me a big smile, and I happily smile back. I love Charlie.

A moment later a bluebird flies past us. I lean back on my elbows and squint towards the sky. It's purple in colour; with pink clouds. I don't remember seeing a purple sky before -- but I like it all the same. I stretch out my legs and cross one over the other. I notice my toes. They're cute. I'm wearing something I haven't really seen before -- a sundress which falls just below my knees. My flip flops are off to the left of me.

I stand and walk over towards Charlie. We're now in the sports bar and I'm barefoot on the sticky dance floor. The bartender smiles at me as I look around for my flip flops, but can't seem to find them. I start to get anxious about being barefoot in a bar, but Charlie laughs and makes me dance with him on the dance floor.

I look around for Deandra...but she's not there.

"Where's Deandra?" I ask him. I've forgotten about my bare feet for the moment.

Charlie ignores me. He stops smiling, but continues to dance to Neil Diamond. I walk away from Charlie to go towards the bathroom and see if Deandra is there. I walk down the long dark hall behind the bar towards the restrooms. There's no light in the hallway, so I follow the wall with my hands and try not to stumble.

I really wish I had my flip flops.

My feet start to walk through something sticky in the dark long hallway.

I can't see anything.

"Deandra?" I say. I take another step forward. It's impossible to see. My heart is racing. I think about going back but I want to see if Deandra is ok. I continue to fumble my way in the darkness by following the wall with my hands.

I'm scared.

"Deandra?" I call out a little louder. My feet are now completely stuck in something sticky.

I can't move.

"Deandra?" I say one more time.

I feel something walking towards me in the dark. I try really really hard to see what it is, but I can't...it's too black.

A moment later, the bathroom door opens and Robert walks out. The light from the bathroom allows me to see him as he steps into the shadows.

"Help me!" he says, and stands right in front of me.

"Huh?" I say. My feet are still stuck, and I can't turn around and run. My heart is beating faster.

Robert grabs me by the shoulders and says even louder, "Help me!"

I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out.

So I try harder and harder --


I'm only slightly murmuring something as I open my eyes. My heart is racing. I must have had a nightmare; but I can barely remember what it was about. Daylight pours through the windows into the bedroom that I've been assigned. I'm still wearing my clothes from yesterday.

I must have passed out.

Someone probably brought me up here. Or did I come up here myself? I'm too groggy to remember.

My teeth have a nasty film all over them. I look around the room and can't see my bags.

They must be in the closet.

I take a moment to allow my muscles to wake before placing one foot slowly on the floor -- then the other. A moment later I'm walking towards the closet to dig for my toothbrush.

As I do so, I can hear Neil Diamond singing from the floor below -- announcing to all within earshot that mid morning has arrived.

Midnight Meeting on the Lake

Peter approaches The Great Being on the water in front of Aunt Nancy's cottage.

"You've done well my child," The Great Being communicates to Peter, who hovers a few inches above the still lake. Purple light flows from out of The Great Being to every orifice in the sky and extends beyond the limits of our Universe. Night embarks on the lake and the raccoons mill about in the night; more concerned with scavenging for scraps from area cottages, than witnessing a great conversation.

"Thank you," Peter says and bows his head gracefully. "We are only at your service."

"She sleeps peacefully," The Great Being says and approaches the other two entities hovering above the middle of the lake. Pink light flows out of her, through the forest and extends into every living organism in the water.

She continues, "George is keeping a careful watch on her. She is safe for the time being."

The Great Being swirls in both its forms around Peter before continuing; "We are giving you another Angel to help with your watch."

Peter bows his head in acknowledgment. The clouds above them part open and on a translucent beam invisible to the human eye, a female Angel floats down to join them above the water in the middle of the lake. A loon catches this -- stares for a brief moment, and then continues about its business.

"Deandra, welcome." says Peter and greets her with a big smile.

"It's good to see you," she says as she floats above the still lake; blonde angelic hair cascading around her shoulders.

"Deandra has chosen not to return to human form." says the Great Being, "she feels she can be of more use to the cause in her natural state."

"Excellent." remarks Peter as both he and Deandra float back towards Aunt Nancy's cottage to rejoin George.

"George will be very pleased to see you," says Peter.

"Indeed," smiles Deandra as they pass over the boat house and float purposefully towards a bedroom on the third floor, unnoticed by most of the creatures in the area; except for the fact that the air is at peace and the leaves on the trees whisper rumours of their presence.

Tea?

"It looks soooo nice," my mother coos as we turn into the driveway of the cottage. It stands 3 storeys high. Floor to ceiling windows welcome us as we pull closer.

A man opens the front entrance to water some of the plants in the large buckets that decorate the pathway leading up to the cottage.

I step outside. It must have just rained recently. There is a dampness in the air; it's fresh. Not hot and sticky like LA. I walk around to the back of the car to grab my suitcase, but Uncle Hank shoos me away. The man that was about to water the plants has come over to us to help us with our bags.

I'm thinking he's the custodian.

" [garble, chuckle] Benny [garble, giggle, rumble] ...for not givin' yer more notice and we's appreciating it none-the-less." says Uncle Hank with a big smile as the man walks towards us.

"Don't mention it. I've put staff on rotation from the hotel. Just bear with us for the first day or so while we get the place in order -- but after that it should be fine."

Aunt Nancy introduces Benny to us. He works for them over at the resort that they own, which is adjacent to this cottage. He's Native. Tall. Kind face with a kinder smile. I think he takes care of this place when they don't use it -- and probably oversees them renting it out.

We say our hellos. I know that I'm not being as friendly as I want to, but I allow myself to not be hypercritical. I just need to get inside and get some more sleep.

Cottage season hasn't officially begun, so I suppose that most of the staff are just returning to work at the resort to get it set up for the swarms of visitors about to embark on it. I walk towards the door and follow Aunt Nancy into the place.

"Whad'ya think?" she says and raises her eyebrows with a big smile. My mother is able to vocalize the emotions that I don't have the energy to tap into.

"Fantastic! OH....I just LOVE the floor to ceiling windows. It's gorgeous Nancy! GORGEOUS!"

Benny brings my bags up stairs. He tells us to take a seat in the main room and he'll bring us something to drink in a second. Aunt Nancy heads into the open kitchen to put on a kettle. These people drink tea like it's going out of style.

I walk over to windows which over look a three tiered deck that leads down to the waterfront. It really is beautiful. Tall fir trees line the property and offer it some shade and privacy. There's an immaculate outdoor kitchen on the second deck with the most gorgeous patio furniture I've ever seen. It's the kind that has pillows that you can leave out in the rain because they won't get moldy. Beyond the second deck on the floor below is a jaw dropping fire pit built into the bottom deck area and encrusted with gorgeous stones. There's a wet bar near by. Past that down the rolling hills is the deck on the water; equipped with a boathouse. The top of the boathouse has a sun deck, as does most of the waterfront.

But beyond the aesthetics, it's peaceful. It's early evening and the sun is still high. It won't be setting for another half hour or so. I think I will have a cup of tea before I hit the sack.

I feel like I'm walking through the pages of an Architectural Digest. I catch myself because for an instant, I start to think that Charlie would love this place, before remembering that he can't see it. I quickly swipe the thought from my mind. I don't want to cry anymore. Not here. This is suppose to be a place for rejuvenation. Where I can escape all the haunting thoughts that are trying to poison my mind.

A young girl enters. She's looks about 18. She smiles, kicks off her shoes, and runs upstairs. She's probably here to help Benny dress the beds.

"How many bedrooms are there Nancy?" my mother asks as she readjusts her sweater while taking a seat on one of the stools near the island in the kitchen.

"Uh...eight, I think. Right Hank?" says Aunt Nancy. "Hank?!"

He's nowhere to be found.

"Probably went to get more bags from the car," my mother says.

Aunt Nancy pulls some mugs out from the cupboards and digs around to look for some tea. It takes her a moment, but she eventually starts pulling out boxes of different flavours so we can pick one. I choose peppermint, and slide onto one of the stools beside my mother. A moment later Uncle Hank walks back in with more bags and drops them in the hallway before heading over to us."

"[garble, chuckle] down there by the lake. So I'll go check in the boathouse and make sure it's all fine." he says, and then heads out.

Aunt Nancy begins to tell my mother about what's on the other floors. There's a games room downstairs, along with a sauna. Off the master suite is a private deck with a hot tub if any of us want to use it -- although she thinks that Benny will have to get someone to clean it first.

I tell them that I'll hold off on the tour, and so we head towards the solarium room that is off to the side of the kitchen -- to sit on lavish couches and watch the sunset. And as it begins to bob lower and lower behind the trees, my tea is finally cool enough to take a sip. I nestle up to my mother who is having a very detailed conversation with Aunt Nancy about the resort and the renovations they just did this past winter.

I think they were right to bring me here. I'm starting to relax.

Laundry Room Visitor

I'm chasing my puppy. His little pink tongue sticks out and he pants while dodging left then right. I scoot around one of the trees in the backyard -- then the swing set. Sometimes he stops, looks at me, and then bolts away in a different direction. I run towards the picnic table where he is now standing on top of; barking me towards him so he can bolt again.

I look to the sliding glass doors and they are black. I walk towards them. Slowly. My puppy is barking in the background because I am now ignoring him. I slowly open the sliding glass door and step into the rec room. My sister sits on the couch watching TV. She ignores me. I walk past her towards the laundry room. I can hear a vacuum cleaner upstairs.

My mother must be vacuuming...

I open the laundry room door. It's pitch black. I slowly make my way towards the spot where I know a little string hangs from the light bulb in the ceiling. I try, but I can't find it. My eyes haven't adjusted yet. I keep swinging both my hands blindly in the air to try and catch it -- but I can't. I hear the rumble of the washing machine, and so I make my way towards it in the dark. It rumbles louder and louder...

I open the lid slowly to reveal...

...a pair of flip flops swirling around in the water. The water is blood red. I close the door and turn around to leave --

--but Charlie stands there.

He gives me a hug.

"How are you darlin' ?" he says with a big smile. There is a white light glowing all around him.

I start to cry.

"Charlie, I thought you were gone!" I say and bury my face into his chest. He laughs at me and pulls me back so I can see him. He smiles. "I'm not gone, see -- I'm right here. I'm here..." he says.

"We're here!" says my mother and softly nudges my shoulder. I open my eyes. I must have nodded off. I slowly sit up on the couch in the plane and take a second to reaffirm my surroundings.

"We're here honey," she says. "You can sleep more in the car, ok?"

"Sure," I tell her and look around for my shoes.

I can't remember what I was dreaming about. I'm just really really tired.

Sleep Awaits

I can barely keep my eyes open. The hum of the plane's engines is lulling me to sleep. That and the lighting. They've dimmed the lights so I can get some rest. Aunt Nancy and my mom are talking near the front of the plane. I'm resting on one of the leather couches, with a blanket wrapped around me for comfort.

Uncle Hank is up front with the pilot. Apparently he really likes riding in the cockpits.

I can't quite make out what Aunt Nancy and my mom are saying, but they giggle every once in a while. I like that they are able to not let what I've been through take away their natural joy. I think any concern that they would have, has now been alleviated. I'm here, in their presence. Nothing can really harm me now.

I roll over and try to get a bit more comfortable. This won't be a very long plane ride. I wonder if maybe I should try and hold off sleep until we get there -- but then my eyelids get heavy again and fatigue sets in even stronger.

I realize that I haven't really been sleeping these last few days; so maybe what I need is just a good long sleep. A real sleep. The kind that has you waking up feeling like a new person.

I look around the plane. It's very Miami Vice in decor. Beige leather couches, mahogany table tops and fixtures...

Yawn.

I'm at that point where despite the fact that your eyes keep going into lock down, I'm so over-exhausted that my heart keeps over pumping -- which jolts me awake. I take a slow deep breath through my nostrils.

In.....

Out....

Maybe the slow breathing will help me pass out.

I could really use a good sleep. It's been a while.

"HaaaAAANK!!!"

The automatic doors slide open and I walk through them to see a smattering of people waiting for other Arrivals. I turn left to head down the ramp, and see my mother scurrying towards me -- eyes focused straight ahead on her offspring.

"Thank God!" she says as she grabs both sides of my face and kisses my forehead.

"Mom! Stop it, you're embarrassing me!" I say half-complacently. She's making a bit of a scene, and I really don't feel like drawing any attention to myself. I just want to curl up and disappear.

She looks unapologetic; takes one of my suitcases, links arms with me, and we walk down the rest of the ramp.

"I'm glad to have you home," she says. She knows I'm tired. I don't feel like re-hashing what's happened. I prefer to stay silent.

At the bottom of the ramp await Aunt Nancy and Uncle Hank. They are probably the only two people who could make me laugh at this moment in time. They are...real characters to say the least. Funny...loving...gracious...

Aunt Nancy walks over to me and gives me a big hug. And then she begins,

"Don't you worry about nothin' darling. We're here to take you wherever you want to go." She says as she makes direct eye contact with me. It seems my mother and Aunt Nancy have concocted a "we're going to fix this" plan.

Uncle Hank smiles, walks over -- shoves Aunt Nancy aside and gives me a hug. He starts to speak.

Now...the thing about Uncle Hank (God love him) is that he gets excited when he speaks -- there's always a big smile, and his thick Newfie accent kicks in. For the whole time I've known him, I have never ever caught the first two sentences of anything he's said.

" [grumble garble grumble giggle] ...yer to and so I was thinkin' that it's nyaice to have yer home luv." He says with an even bigger smile.

He is a very kind man.

"So..." Aunt Nancy chimes, "Your Mom and I were talking, and we were thinking that instead of taking you back to your place downtown, or back to your parent's house -- we all thought that it would be nice if we could go somewhere; like a vacation."

A vacation does sound nice...

"Would you like that?" says my Mom as she pats my shoulder. I nod. I would like that...

"So anywhere you want to go is fine, do you want to go to someplace warm? Or maybe something exotic like northern Europe?" she says.

"Our bags are in the car." says my Mom.

I clue in. They mean right now...like, right now -- as in this instant.

"I don't really feel like jaunting around the world, I'm sorry. I just want to relax if that's ok..." I start, but Aunt Nancy has already come up with an alternative solution:

"Do you want to go to one of the cottages?" she asks.

Now; here's the thing about Aunt Nancy and Uncle Hank. They're rich. Stinking rich. You'd never know it to look at them, but they are. Uncle Hank struck it rich with some oil out East that was on land his family owned; and now -- they have palatial homes all over the globe.

I could do a cottage getaway...

I nod. Aunt Nancy notices that I'm wiped out -- I think they were so hellbent on making sure that I would vacay with them, that she accidentally overlooked my actual state: extreme fatigue.

"Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaank!" Aunt Nancy yells even though he's standing just inches from her, "Karen's tired. See if we can rent a plane to take us to...where do you want to go dear?" she turns back to me.

I shrug, "Just not one with a pool," I say. She nods, makes a quick I've got this thing handled look to my mother, and turns back to Uncle Hank.

"Hank! Why are you still standing there? We need a friggen plane to take Karen to that one we bought last year."

Uncle Hank is slightly caught off-guard. He pulls out his blackberry -- but I don't think he was quite following her.

"[grumble, garble, giggle]...yer want dear?" he says.

"HANK!" she snaps back.

Some people look at us awkwardly as they walk by. I give them a half-smile. It's the first one I've done in days. I notice that my heartburn is a little less than what it was.

"Look at your niece! SHE'S TRAUMATIZED OK? So go and find us a friggen plane so we can get out of here!" she looks back at me and shakes her head and frowns her eyebrows like he's completely lost it.

Uncle Hank still looks a bit confused, so she turns back around.

"HANK! We're in an airport. Go find someone who wants to make some quick cash -- like a pilot that just got off duty or something; and hire us a plane. Now!"

He starts to laugh. He always laughs when Aunt Nancy gets excited.

He walks away, and Aunt Nancy turns back to me. She's completely worked up by now,

"Seriously, how hard is it? We're at a friggen airport...there's planes all around. We want a plane. It's not rocket science," she says and then laughs.

"Oh Nancy," chimes my mother, "I'm sure he just didn't hear you at first; that's all."

"I don't care if he didn't hear me, he knows his niece has just gone through hell and he can't figure out that we don't want to drive 6 hours north? Jeez -- like, do I really have to think of everything?" she says and then laughs harder.

They love their banter.

My mother rubs my back as we head towards a little cafe to await Uncle Hank's return. I have faith that we'll be on a private Jet within the hour. He loves Aunt Nancy so much, that...if need be -- he'd buy the whole airport just to keep her happy.

Needless to say, he's my favourite Uncle.

Half-Catatonic Zombie

The cab slips into an empty spot along the curb. I look up to see three letters that will take me far far away from this place: LAX

"Hurry up!" I say to Consuela who takes her sweet time sliding out of the passenger seat. The cab driver has gone around the to the back of the cab to pull my bags out of the trunk.

Consuela stands on the sidewalk in her Dollar Store slippers re-adjusting her scrunchie. It's a humid day and her hair has lots of fly-aways.

"Thanks," I say to the cab driver and hand him some cash. He doesn't smile at me. No one has smiled at me in the last few days. No one wants to smile at a zombie.

I enter into the terminal, and proceed up the escalator to the gates for home. Just a few security checks from now I will be on a plane headed far far away from here. I've left behind everything that reminds me of Deandra...

I can't even think about her without the tears welling in the bottom of my eyes. I try to hold them back as I go through customs. I don't want any hassles. I just want to clear it, so I can be on that plane.

I proceed towards the line that the customs officer gestures me to, and begin to slip off my shoes. My feet are stark white. I haven't eaten in days. I throw my laptop into one of the containers on the conveyor along with my purse. Consuela places her Dollar Store slippers in a container along with her straw banana bag. She is being blessedly non-annoying, and I am very grateful for her silent support.

I put my boarding pass in my mouth as I walk through the metal detector. I stretch out my arms as the customs official wands me down. They recognize the sorrow in my face, but graciously they don't ask me the words that seem to create a spontaneous eruption of tears: Are you ok?

A moment later I am at my gate. I take a seat in one of the chairs. Consuela sits across from me and pulls out one of her Spanish translations of a Joel Osteen novel. The plane will be boarding soon.

And, I hope, as I move further and further away from everything that reminds me of what has happened -- I hope that I will feel better. Because, right now, I don't know if I will ever shake this half-catatonic zombie-like state that allows me to move from A to B.

Everything Aches

"Here," Brad says and sits down beside me on the couch. He puts a cup of tea in my hands. I haven't been able to stop crying. There is an unending surgence of water that pours out of the bottom rims of both my eyes.

I never knew I could make so many tears.

Everything aches; my back, the base of my skull, the bottoms of my feet. The front of both of my arms burn as if they are on fire and my chest feels as if it splitting in half. Each time I vomit, the female Detective in the room holds my hair back and rubs my back.

I like having her here.

"We found him a few lane ways down, he shot himself" Brad says. A few forensic officers are in my apartment taking samples of the blood splotches on the floor. They are also taking photographs.

I stand zombie-like and walk towards the bathroom. I turn on the water. They've already photographed and swabbed me, and I want to wash Deandra's blood off of my feet.

The water gushes out of the tap. I want it to tell me that everything will be fine, but it doesn't. It simply offers a service of physical sanitation. My soul is forever soiled.

I sit on the edge of the tub. The female Detective follows me to make sure I am ok. I stick my feet under the running water and watch as the bottom of my tub turns pink, then less pink, then white.

I feel my stomach start to churn and I turn around and reach the toilet just in time. I'm only throwing up little yellow yolks of bile at this point. The frustration my body feels from wanting to hurl an entire full stomach's-worth of contents is exhausting. I feel very weak and very light headed.

The female Detective hands me a Dixie cup with water. I take the tiniest sip.

And then I start to cry...really cry...with sound. This is the first time I hear what pain I'm in. I sound like an animal dying in the woods. There is nothing human or socialized about how I feel. It's raw -- and it needs to come out.

"Would you like me to help you?" she asks, and positions herself between me and the tap. I nod, and a moment later she lathers up the soap and helps me wash the caked blood from my feet. I watch as her hands fill with suds that turn brown, then a quick rinse, then a lathering of white suds that soon turn brown again. She touches my feet softly and with kindness.

I stare stoically at her hands as I watch her wash and rinse my one foot clean, then the other. I am a prisoner in a body that I don't want to be in; feeling emotions that I don't want to feel.

I sob some more; this time louder. A moment later I throw up some white bile. The female Detective hands me the Dixie cup with more water; and pats my face with a hand towel she so kindly wet just a moment earlier.

Something bad happened

My one eyelid unsticks, and I squint through the crust in my eye to see daylight fill my bedroom. I'm laying flat on my back, and letting the morning seep into my consciousness; birds chirping outside of my window, the fan blowing in the corner of the room, and the clock ticking.

I turn my head.

It's still very early.

I try to sit up, but my foot snags on the bedsheet. I open my other eye, and wiggle up into a sitting position. I am exhausted. My foot is still stuck to the sheet, so I throw my comforter back so I can investigate the situation.

There is a reddy-brown splotch on the sheet. I peel the sheet back, and unglue it from the inside of my left foot.

Must have cut my foot last night as I was walking in...

My foot must have bled a lot because there are streaks of blood on the bed and the floor.

Gross.

I limp backwards across the path of the blood-stained splotches on the floor, but then I realize that I don't need to limp because my feet aren't sore.

Weird.

I open my bedroom door and hear what sounds like a commotion out in the courtyard. There are more splotches of blood on the floor through my living room, and so I follow them into the front foyer.

I hear a muffled voice over some sort of two-way radio, and then a loud knock on the door. The walls shake for a moment.

"Open up." I hear. It's a man's voice. He sounds stern.

I open the door. A police officer stands there with more of a concerned look on his face. Then relief.

"Ma'am," he starts, "are you alright?"

I look down at my feet, then back at him. I'm confused.

"Yes." I say. My mouth is really dry, and so my voice is barely above a whisper when I speak with him.

"Ma'am," says the police officer, "come inside, we don't want you to see this."

"See what?" I say to him. I realize as I speak that there is a lot of commotion in the courtyard. He steps closer towards me. His shoulders block my view.

"Ma'am, please step inside. You shouldn't see this." he says and uses the breadth of his torso to push me back into the foyer.

By now, I've been startled sober. There are swarms of police in the courtyard. I can't see them, but I can hear them. Camera flashes. People's radio voices being half cut-off.

Something bad happened.

"What's going on?" I say. I'm angered now. This officer has steamrolled me back into my foyer, there is chaos just outside my front door, and my feet are covered with...

Deandra!

"Get out of my way!" I seethe at him. He grabs me with both arms, and pushes me further back into the foyer towards my living room.

"Ma'am, you must stay here until one of the Detectives can come and speak with you." he says.

"Moove!" I scream at him, and with a rush of adrenaline I shove him to the ground and run towards my half-open front door. My heart is pounding. There are frantic tears in my eyes as I open it and see...

...the unthinkable.

There is blood everywhere. Charlie is floating in the pool, and it's red. I fall on my knees as the tears flow endlessly out of my eyes. My heart has stopped beating.

Body parts are strewn all over the courtyard. Neighbors peer out of their windows. Their faces are white. I look to the steps that lead up to my front door; and see more bloody splotches.

I didn't cut my foot on the glass...

I know at this point as I frantically take in what I am seeing, that I am screaming. My throat ripples from the strain I am putting on it -- but I can't hear a thing. I scream and scream and scream as the tears gush out of the outer corners of my eyes and down the front of me. I scream and scream until I feel the police officer behind me put his hand on my left shoulder. I scream because I can see Consuela down by the pool patting Deandra's blonde hair as if to tell her everything is going to be alright; despite the fact that her leg is resting a few feet away and her arm is on the other side of the pool.

When Evil approaches

"When you are down on Earth, things will happen to you that will try to steer you off course," the Instructor tells us as he waives his hand in the air and motions for us to activate our sensors.

I pull mine out of my desk and place it on the right side of my head. The little soul beside me laughs. She likes feeling Earthly emotions.

"Now, has everyone activated their sensors?" the Instructor asks. We all signal affirmation by either nodding or using our joined consciousness.

"Very good, let's begin."

A moment later our Instructor begins to explain situations to us that might happen on Earth. The sensors are a simulator for how we might 'feel' when we're down there. We're told that they are only a replication, and that our Earthly feelings in our Earthly bodies will be 10 000 times greater that what we experience in our lessons.

I don't know what "10 000" means, but I imagine that it means we will have more of a difficult time than what our lessons try to prepare us for.

"When the darkness, or Evil as it is called on Earth -- when Evil approaches it has but one objective: to engulf you and deter you from your mission."

My sensor doesn't really offer me much exposure to Earthly feelings, but the other little souls are having stronger reactions -- and I can sense theirs. I wiggle in my seat because I don't really like these types of lessons.

I think about the darkness, and how it grows. I think about how it couldn't possibly be stronger than me or my will. I think about how nothing the Evil could do can stop me from reaching out to my lost brothers and sisters below.

"The greater your mission," the Instructor says and looks directly at me, "the greater the Evil that will try and stop you."

The other little souls all turn to look at me. Some smile. Some stare and try to understand what our Instructor is saying to me.

I start to think that maybe the other little souls must not have as great a mission as I do, and maybe that's why the Earthly sensors don't work on me as well as they work on them? Maybe I'm stronger than they are?

I smile, and they all smile back and then return their gazes towards our Instructor who is still looking at me.

I smile at him. A moment later he continues with our lesson.

I have a great mission! The Great Being has given me strength so I can help our fallen brethren!!

My soul fills with love at the thought of this.

But then I remember what our Instructor said, the greater the mission -- the greater the evil, and I pause,

Because it means that a greater Evil is waiting for me on Earth.

George, grab her!

"Miss?"

"Ma'am?"

"Hey!"

The cab driver nudges me and I bolt awake in the back of the cab. The car purrs softly. He smiles to show that he was just trying to awaken me, and that he's not a jerk.

My mouth is dry...

I rifle through my clutch to find a credit card. I hand it to him, and then vigorously blink my right eye so that my contact won't be stuck to the top of my eyeball.

I really need a glass of water.

It's pitch black. Not a soul is around. I have no recollection of how I got here, but assume that after one too many martinis someone put me in a cab.

The cab driver hands me back my card, and I throw it back into my clutch. I struggle with the door for a second before I maneuver the best way to slide out of the cab, and slink towards the rod iron gate.

Creeeeek.

I close it softly behind me. I turn the corner and realize that I'm still wearing the flip flops that Eli gave me, and that I'll have to get my shoes back from him another time.

Crunch. Crackle.

Is that glass?

It's pitch dark out, so I can't see where I'm going. I try to step carefully because there seems to be glass around me...and why the hell is it so dark? Why isn't Charlie's sensor light coming on? Or the other one?

Must be a blackout...

Great. Now, drunken, I have to maneuver my way across the courtyard towards my...

Whooooah!

What was that? I just completely slipped in something gunky. I almost lost my balance, but managed to regain myself. My eyes are having a hard time adjusting, but there is something wet and slimy on my feet now.

"What the fu----" I whisper to myself.

"Mia," Consuela whispers from the top of the steps. "Mia, don't yer talk. Yer iz just come home quiet like yer iz, ok?"

I hear fear in her voice.

I take another step through the dark slime, and try not to lose my balance, but a moment later I hear hoof steps on the other side of the courtyard.

"Mia, yer iz need to walk quicker, ok?" Consuela whispers from the top of the steps. I don't know why she hasn't come down to help me through this muck -- whatever it is.

I hear a growl that makes the hairs on my arms stand straight up. The hoof steps start to quicken their pace.

They are coming towards me?

"George, grab her! I'll hold him off!"

The hoof steps are louder and approaching from behind, and just as I feel warm air from his nostrils breath on the back of my neck...

...I'm swooped up. A moment later I'm in the air, cocooned by strong arms.

The bull roars...it's deafening and the building quivers, but the wings on these strong arms pull me very far away from the courtyard -- towards safety.

And, eventually, the roaring stops.

That Moment

"How long have you been writing?" he says.

We're standing in very close proximity of each other, and despite the hundreds of people at this swanky pool party; it's like there's only the two of us there.

"Off and on for a few years, but I've really only been serious about it for the last couple of years." I say, and then look down because I think I'm blushing.

I like this guy. He's got that cool attitude of someone who is really confident with who he is, and I'm completely drawn to it. Plus, he's down to earth, and that just makes my knees quiver.

And, he smells good.

I smile as I listen to him talk. I have no idea what he's saying because my stomach is in knots and I'm completely overwhelmed by the emotions that are taking over. I like him so much that I'm beyond being self-conscious in my Kim Kardashian get up. He makes me feel comfortable. I don't want to talk to anyone else tonight.

Alex winks at me from across the pool. He has his arm around some actress. She looks so familiar, but I can't remember where I've seen her before. I raise my martini glass back at him and Dana draws me back into the conversation.

"Alex is good people," he says. I think they're really good friends. I like Dana so much that I don't even care that he has a unisex name. He makes it sexy.

"I'm naming my first born Alex," I say with an awkward laugh. I've used that joke a million and one times...why can't I pull up some new material?

Concentrate!

I can't concentrate. All I can think about are the next few moments with Dana. Spending the rest of the night talking. Walking arm and arm barefoot on a beach during sunset. Our honeymoon in Fiji...

Did I just scream out loud?

"Come, I want to show you something." he says. He grabs my hand, and it takes everything in me not to buckle over and fall into the pool from excitement.

My hand just feels right in his. I grab another martini as we walk towards the back of the party, past the hot tub and towards the overhang that looks over the skyline. It's breathtaking.

"It's amazing," I say.

And then that moment happens. That moment, when time stands still; and the air between you gets sucked away -- and breathless, your heart skips a beat as you lean in to kiss.

And it's perfect.

Eli's pool party

"You look hot!" Charlie says, as he puts down his Oprah magazine and walks over to me. I'm desperately trying not to tumble over in my 4-inch Prada knock-offs. He whistles and makes a hand gesture for me to turn around and give him the full view.

I do so begrudgingly.

Deandra walks out a moment later with two plates of food for them, looks at me, and with a big smile says; "You clean up nice!" as she puts the plates on the table.

"I look like Kim Kardashian." I say matter-of-fact. I'm standing there in a black sequined dress that barely covers my crotch.

Charlie pinches my bum before walking over to sit and eat his sandwich.

"What's wrong with looking smoking?" say Deandra as she takes a bite of her food.

Nothing I suppose...

"Ah, I'm just not used to getting fussed up. Do me a favour, if I bend over will you tell me if you can see my crotch?" I say and turn my back towards them.

I bend over a couple of inches. Deandra yells out I'm good, so I bend over a couple more...still good. A couple more...

"We've got pink coochie!" yells Charlie with a mouthful of food.

OK. Can't lean too far forward then when talking to people...

"Thanks guys!" I says as I continue my balancing act towards the rod iron gate. Deandra runs over to me and sticks my tag back into my dress.

"There, perfect!" she says. I give her a hug and head to the car...slowly...one pinched foot at a time.

* * *

"My brilliant writer!" Eli yells from the poolside bar of his mansion in the Hollywood Hills. I carefully walk towards him, grabbing a pink martini from one of the waiters that passes by me.

"Eli," I say slightly exasperated, and then gesture down to my shoes and give him a shrug. He laughs, speaks Spanish to one of the housekeepers, and a moment later she comes out with a pair of brand new flip flops.

"Eli, you're beyond fantastic!" I say as I kick off my shoes and slip my more-than-appreciative toes into their new more comfortable foot wear.

"You ladies and your shoes!" he says laughing. "Come, there's someone I want you to meet." he says and puts his arm around me to guide me towards a group of people clustered by the waterfall.

"Akiva," he says.

A moment later Akiva turns around with a big smile. "This is the girl I was telling you about," Eli continues. We exchange hellos and I become completely self-aware wrapped in a current of nervousness. The last movie that Akiva did had me screaming at the television because it was just so...edge-of-your-seaty.

I start to think that I might be overstaying my welcome, so after a few minutes of chit chat and telling him who my agent is and what else I have coming down the pipe, I excuse myself to go find a quiet corner and take a moment to process all of this.

I want to sit down on the edge of the pool and dip my feet into the water, but I can't. My crotch would be in full view. So I stare at my reflection in the water -- and it smiles back at me.

"Karen?"

I hear a familiar voice and turn around. It's Alex. I give him a big hug and forget about my crotch for a second.

"Alex!" I say with a big smile. With everything that has been going on, I haven't had a chance to get together with him. But if it wasn't for Alex I wouldn't even be here...

"It's soooooo good to see you!" I squeal and put my empty martini glass on a platter passing by with one of the waiters.

"Same. Everything going alright?" he says and grabs me another martini.

"It couldn't be better. I'm in my groove. Eli's happy with everything. I just..." I start to get choked up at all he's done for me...

"I'm just really appreciative of everything you've done for me." I say.

He smiles and shrugs it off. A moment later he waives his friend over. His very cute friend. I take another sip of my martini and check out my rear end in the pool's reflection to make sure my crotch isn't showing. I'm good.

This is going to be a very good night indeed.

He's Empty

"How long did it take Charlie to wash the blue clay out of his beard?" I ask as I walk over towards Deandra and lay my towel on the patio chair beside her.

"Foooorever!" she laughs back. I guess giving each other makeovers while plastered on margaritas wasn't the smartest idea after all.

"I still can't believe you hadn't washed them off by the time I went to bed," I say as I kick off my flip flops and start to apply sunscreen to my arms. They must've had the clay on their faces for at least 7 hours.

She reminisces for a second and laughs while shaking her head. "I love that guy," she says.

"Yeah, me too." I tell her as I pull a trash mag out of my bag and lean back in the chair. Who couldn't love the complex-full-of-contractions-bends-the-way-your-brain-is-trained-to-classify-things-but-it-doesn't-matter-cuz-he's-just-so-real-and-warm Charlie?

"You better be nice to that Detective," Deandra coos from behind a script "I don't want to be dealing with crazy Robert for the rest of my life."

I smile at her. I'll be nice. But just to keep up the fun of the banter I say, "Well...maybe if one of us wasn't so desperate for a date that they'd entertain anyone they meet on the Internet; then maybe neither of us would be in this situation."

I let it hang there for a moment to see how she'll respond.

"Bitch," she says without looking at me.

I readjust my lounger and roll over so that my shoulders and back can get some sun. I'm suppose to be handing in the first Act later on today. It's mostly written, but I just want to give it a once over with fresh eyes before I send it off.

Deandra is quiet. I hope I didn't upset her.

"Be nice to me," I say to test the waters "or I'll take out that part I'm writing for you in the movie."

She doesn't respond.

I flip over and pull down my sunglasses to see she is crying.

"What's wrong?" I say as I scan around for a tissue -- knowing full well that there probably isn't one.

"I don't understand what I did to deserve this," she says and starts to sob a little louder. I scoot over to her chair and put my arms around her, and let her cry it out for a minute or two.

I pull back and look at her, "I don't think you've done anything to deserve this." I say. This isn't about her at all.

"Well, then why do I have some crazy obsessed stalker who's gone AWOL and could hack me to pieces any second?" she says in a hysterical tone.

"Um...." I start in an effort to bring this down about 4000 notches, "because....he's crazy. Him, not you."

"Yeah," she snorts back "but I must have done something." She's in full-on sob mode. Her shoulders are rising and falling 3 to 4 inches as she hyperventilates her words through her tears. I feel really bad for her.

"Look at me," I say after a moment.

Eventually she does. She has this pout on her face like a little child.

"All you've done," I say with a big encouraging smile "is be your awesome self. And Robert, who isn't feeling so awesome, has decided to latch on to you in an effort to capture that and feel better about himself. He's empty."

I pause for a second...maybe that's what I saw? An occupant of an empty soul?

"Yeah," she says as she wipes the snot away with her wrist, "but it doesn't make this any more pleasant for me."

"Of course not!" I say and stand. There's a fun song playing softly on the radio that she brought out. I walk over to it and turn it up. I walk back to her and grab both her arms to try and encourage her into a dance-a-thon on the patio. Very Grey's Anatomy season 1 and 2.

"I'm not in the mood," she whines as she stands and starts to half-sway to the music.

"Deandra," I scold "everyone is always in the mood for Rihanna!"

And before she has time to respond I push her into the pool; then jump in after her. Moments later I remember the snot on her wrist and console myself into thinking that there is (hopefully) enough chlorine in the pool to dissolve it.

For now, Rihanna is doing a great job of cheering up Deandra from her mild, but understandable, panic attack.

He has a small penis

"More wine?" the waitress says.

I shake my head no.

Brad makes a taunting 'awe c'mon' face -- but I'm feeling guilty about leaving Deandra on her own.

"I can't," I say with an apologetic look. He shrugs his shoulders and calls for the bill. We've had a nice time. This place is really...fancy-ish, except people are dressed pretty casually in it so I don't feel uncomfortable.

Actually, maybe fancy isn't the right word. It's urban. Chic. Contemporary. In any case, the food was delicious, but there's a nagging in my stomach that wants me to get back to Deandra so I know she is ok.

Brad smiles. I'm not really able to get caught up in it because I'm imagining worst case scenarios back at home base.

I think he gets it.

"I'm sorry..." I whine, "It's just, she's my only friend out here and...I worry."

"No, it's fine." he says.

I can't tell if it actually is fine, but if he's going to take it personally then maybe this is a red flag that Brad and his fragile ego aren't going to cut it.

"I'll feel better once he's apprehended," I say.

I try to coax him back into a conversation, but the air has gone a bit stale. I don't understand why he isn't understanding that I can't just forget about the fact that my only friend out here is in pending danger, and how that just might be a buzz-kill for my libido; but apparently he is taking this as a personal hit.

So I stop trying.

After a long and silent car ride home, I hop out of the car and head towards the rod iron gate. I can't even be bothered to say polite pleasantries...but I guess he feels awkward as I start to walk away so he yells out the window,

"I had a nice time,"

Really? You had a nice time? Are you fucking kidding me?

"Me too," I say through a fake grin and quickly walk away. He yells out that he'll call me, but I've already blank-slated any future plans of him and I walking down the aisle from my mind.

Sorry Brad. You're self-absorbed, fragile, and you suck. So do your fucking job so I can rest at night knowing that my friend is safe...

"Well, ain't that the prettiest ball o' sunshine walking straight towards me!" says Charlie. His eyes smile, but he can't. Deandra has him and her in some sort of blue face mask.

I plunk down beside them.

"You're the only two people on earth who can drink margaritas while encaked in a face mask," I say as I reach for the pitcher.

They have a glass for me waiting on the table.

I pour.

"How was your date!" Deandra squeals with glee only slightly more elevated than the excitement level usually reserved for my mother.

I look at her, roll my eyes and take a gulp.

"He has a small penis," I say.

Charlie laughs, his face mask cracks and Deandra scowls at him.

"Babycakes," says Charlie "ain't nobody be wanting one of those."

They chuckle manaically for a few seconds. Everything is funnier when you're drinking margaritas.

A moment later he tops off Deandra who raises her glass and says as loud as she can given her slightly restricted facial movement; "To large penises!"

"To real men," I correct her.

"To real men with large penises!" chuckles Charlie.

I love these two.

They make everything better. I am definitely using them as characters in something I write in the near future.

Dinner Date

"Nyo Deal!" Consuela screams at the TV while shovelling Ben & Jerry's into her mouth.

"Dat Howie Mandel, he iz no like to touch da people's hands! I iz reading in dat magazine dat he is hates de germs. He iz brings da new bed into da hotel wis him!" she tells me as she piles another spoonful into her mouth.

I ignore her as best I can.

"Loooook Mia, he iz don't touch der hands. He iz only touch wis hiz fists!" she says as Howie Mandel fist pumps the contestant in congratulations for moving forward in the game.

"Yer see?" she says to me.

I nod and continue to flip the pages of the trash mag I'm reading. A moment later the doorbell buzzes. It's a really sad buzz; it kinda looses its oomph one or two seconds into it before trailing off into the faint cry of a dying electronic cow.

Consuela ignores it.

"Uh..." I start, "are you gonna get that?"

"Yer get it Mia, I iz busy!" she says and doesn't even turn away from case number 23 being opened.

I walk towards the door. I start to think that maybe I should increase my pace before they --

Too late. The dying cow serenades us one more time as I open it.

"Hi," says Det. Stevens.

Well hellooo...

"Hi!" I say and completely forget that I look like crap. He starts to tell me that he was in the neighborhood, and I try my best to readjust my shirt as inconspicuously as possible.

"Did you maybe want to get a bite to eat?" he asks.

"Absolutely! I just need a minute," I say and invite him into the hallway. A moment later I'm whizzing by the living room and racing to my bedroom to grab...

...a jean skirt? I rip off my pyjama bottoms and throw it on. Then a tank top. Hair back in a pony tail...hoop earrings. Some lipstick...

Deodorant!

Ok. I'm good. Where are my flip flops?

"Bye!" I yell to Consuela as I scurry back to the foyer where Det. Stevens is waiting.

"Sorry about that," I say with a smile and walk into the courtyard. Dina-Pina is sitting on her patio reading a script. She waives to us as we walk towards her.

"Have fu-un.." she sings as we pass by her.

"Where's Charlie?" I say. I don't like leaving her alone when he's not around.

"He'll be back." she says with a big smile and shoos us away. "Go. Have fun. I'm fine."

I hesitate for a second. Something in my gut is haunting me about leaving, but if Det. Stevens is fine with popping out for dinner; then I should be too.

Stop worrying so much, Karen.

I walk over to her and give her a big hug. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" I say. She instantly frowns at me and gives me that 'don't ruin this for yourself' look. I roll my eyes when I realize how dumb I'm acting. I wish her luck on whatever lines she's studying and turn to walk towards the rod iron gate.

"Everything OK?" Det. Stevens says as we pass through the gate. My gut tells me 'no', but then I think that I am maybe overreacting. After all, I'm a writer. We can insert the worst-case-scenario into anything. Charlie will be back soon enough.

I shake off my neurosis and slip into the passenger seat of his very clean car.

Clean cars are a good sign...

I start to enjoy myself. A moment later I forget about the fact that I overreacted, and start to unwind as Brad begins to tell me about his day.

I don't have a boyfriend

"I'm really excited about this project," says Garry Marshall with a big smile as he stuffs his napkin into the collar of his t-shirt.

I love when people do that. So old-school.

"Me too!" I squeal. It's a beautiful sunny day. The patio isn't too packed, so we don't have to yell over the hum of people chatting. The waiter comes over to us and refills our water glasses, before putting the Perrier back into the ice bucket beside our table.

"You were the only one I ever wanted to direct it, and I'm so excited that this worked out." I say between mouthfuls of lasagna. Garry Marshall was right, the food here is fantastic.

"I've been a fan of yours for a while," he says and uses the bottom of his napkin bib to wipe some sauce that trickles down the left side of his mouth. He's such a cool guy. Laid back, wearing a baseball cap and generic tee. It's taking everything in me not to reach across the table and give him a big hug.

"Karen?"

I open my eyes to see a shadowy figure leering over me. Rays from the sun pour around his head like a halo.

I sit up and readjust myself on the patio lounge so I can see who this is more clearly.

"Did I wake you?" he says. He's wearing a nice-ish suit.

"No, it's fine." I tell him just as Dina-Pina pipes in, "Karen, this is Det. Stevens, you know -- the one I was telling you about."

"Of course," I say. I apologize for not calling him back. He shakes it off with a smile. A nice smile...

He turns to grab another patio chair to bring closer to me so we can have a conversation. I turn to Dina-Pina who quickly mouths 'cute' with a big smile before settling back into her full-on suntan mode.

"So," he starts.

He really is cute. He smells cute.

"I just have a couple of questions about what happened with you and Deandra the other night..."

Deandra! Finally!

He explains to us that Robert was in violation of his restraining order, and as soon as they find him he will be taken into custody. He tells us that Robert's obsession with Deandra is very serious, and asks us not to walk alone at night. He tells us that Robert is not at his apartment, his family hasn't heard from him -- and that there were some disturbing things found in his apartment that make them believe he suffers from mental health issues.

"I could've told you that," says Dina-Pina with a dry tone. She clears her throat.

I tell cute Det. Stevens my version of the events, and am really honest about the fact that I was very drunk at the time -- he laughs.

"That was smart of you to yell out for your boyfriend," he says while jotting down notes.

Ah -- the prod.

"I don't have a boyfriend," I say matter-of-fact. He looks up, and smiles before putting the patio chair back to it's original place. He walks away saying he'll be in touch.

I can still smell him for a few moments after he's left.

"I need to cool off," I say to Dina-Pina who laughs as I dive into the pool. I bob under the water watching the sun dance off the ripples above me. In a moment I'll return to Garry Marshall, but for now I want to encapsulate everything that just happened in case it becomes significant.

Las Mujeres y el Dinero

"Dis iz my bible!"

"I iz what it seys I iz!"

"I do what it seys I can do!"

I walk out of the office and towards Consuela who is repeating after Joel Osteen in the living room.

"My heart iz open!"

I sit down on the couch behind her and watch. She says that Joel Osteen is helping her believe for her Taco Stand. I want Consuela's dreams to come true, so I tolerate her yelling at the TV.

She doesn't notice me, so I stretch out my legs and place my feet on the coffee table in front of us. I actually don't mind Joel Osteen. Him and Victoria just might be the two happiest people on Earth, they are encouraging with their big bright smiles -- and they seem to be doing wonders for Consuela's self confidence.

I sit for a while and watch as she scribbles notes with her pudgy little fingers. Her scrunchy has come loose and her hair tumbles off to one side. I resist the urge to fix it because I don't want to disturb her.

Beside her is a copy of Las Mujeres y el Dinero: Toma Control de tu Destino.

I laugh.

Her determination alone will get her that Taco Stand.

I look at my toes and calibrate whether I have enough energy to give myself a pedicure. It's late evening and sleep is starting to set in.

A moment later I reach over and fix Consuela's pony tail. Her flyaway hairs were starting to drive me crazy. As I smooth her burly hair with my hands and reposition her pony tail, I lean over to see her notes. They're in Spanish, so I don't really understand them.

"Consuela," I say. I figure she'll just ignore me if she's too into her Joel Osteen.

"What!?" she snaps.

I'm bored, so I take that as an open invitation to start a conversation.

"Consuela, why do you think you need Joel Osteen to help you buy your Taco Stand?"

She ignores me, so I prod her again.

"Consuela..."

"WHAA-AAT MIA!? Yer iz no let me talk to yer when yer iz writing -- so why iz yer talking to me when I iz have to listen to da message from Senior Osteen?!?!?"

She's having a mini meltdown, and so, I manage it the only way I know how:

"Answer the damn question!" I snap back at her.

She turns around and glares at me with tears in her eyes.

"Beeecuz, Mia" she says.

Her chin starts to quiver and I feel bad for pushing her. I really should manage my boredom better.

"Yer iz don't understand der people I iz deeling wis. Dey iz don't like me. Dey iz not care about me. Dey iz don't want me to have my Taco Stand. So, da Senior Osteen, he remind me dat my Taco Stand iz important to God -- and so, God will change der people's mind."

Poor Consuela, her Taco Stand politics are starting to get to her. As soon as the tears fall, I take that as a cue to walk away. There's a clinking noise outside in the courtyard, so I open my front door to see what's going on. Charlie stands on a ladder near Dina-Pina's apartment. He's installing a new sensor light. A moment later the entire courtyard is illuminated. It's quite jarring.

I close the door and go back inside. My eyes take a moment to readjust. I hear Joel Osteen telling Consuela to give her dream to God.

There's something very comforting about that idea.

A moment later I pick out a nail polish for my toes. I figure my time is better spent giving myself a pedicure than derailing Consuela from her life's dream.

Zen Moments

ding. ding. ding. ding.

The car quietly rings to remind me that the keys are still in the ignition, I grab them before sliding out and walking through the rod iron gate.

It's late morning and the sun is already warm. I start to unbutton the top I'm wearing to allow for a small breeze to sweep through my arms and cool off my body. There's sweat stains under the bra line of the tank top I'm wearing. Fantastic.

I turn the corner and see Charlie sitting on Dina-Pina's patio. I laugh. He's this burly biker dude; beard and all. Lots of heavy silver earrings hanging from both ears. The kerchief. Tattoo on his left forearm of an anchor; and he's sitting there reading Martha Stewart: Living.

I plunk down beside him. He's obviously here to keep watch over Dina-Pina.

"You are hilarious," I say to him as I take off my shirt, and let the tank top underneath air dry.

"Whadya mean?" he says with a twinkle in his eye as he looks up from his magazine.

"Charlie," I start -- we have a good rapport and so I don't mind continuing the joking around, "I'm just gonna be very frank with you..."

He looks at me sizing him up, then assessing the magazine he is reading, before I continue;

"Are you gay?" I say.

There.

It's out.

There's no taking it back.

And, without missing a beat Charlie sings, "Like a bluebird singing in the wind, darlin' ". He winks before returning to his article on how to darn gun-holsters or something. I like that he winked at me. I feel very safe around Charlie.

I kick off my shoes and let my toes breathe. The heat always makes my feet swell in these shoes.

I close my eyes, and nod off for a split second before the front door opens and Dina-Pina walks out with a bottle of nail polish.

"Hey!" she squeals and walks over to give me a half-hug before taking another seat. "How'd your meeting go?" she asks. I like that she is involved in my life. It's really nice to have a friend here.

"It went ok. I'm just really tired -- but he was happy with what I've written; so that's always good."

Dina-Pina starts to apply polish to her nails. She raises one leg and curls it into her on the seat while she does so. She starts to tell Charlie how he'll have to be her body guard when she's a big-time actress. I haven't seen a screen test of her, but if I'm given the opportunity I'd love to get her an audition for something.

"Oh!" she says, and stands while waiving her wet nails in the air frantically. "I can't believe I forgot to tell you this. It's the most weirdly ridiculous coincidence. A detective came by to ask you some questions on what happened when Psycho paid a visit the other night, he left his card. It's on the counter."

She nudges Charlie with her foot, "Char - would you?" Dina-Pina says to him in a sweet whiney voice, and like Pavlov's dog he rises, still engrossed in his decor magazine, and walks inside to get it. She shrugs and motions to me that she can't open the door because her nails are wet.

I think it's funny when people explain the obvious.

"You'll never guess what his name is," she sings to me as she nestles back into her seat and applies a second coat.

Before I can guess, she blurts it out: "Brad!"

We laugh. God certainly has a sense of humour. I lean back and close my eyes. The sun is now above us, and so I let it wash my face with heat for another minute or so. I love moments like this; peaceful. You can hear the wind whistling, the birds chirping in the distance. Even the hum of cars on the street add to the symphony of serenity. It's important to soak up these moments when they are presented to you. I believe it's part of the reason we're here.

The first 10 pages

"You seem distracted, everything alright?" my agent says, and ricochet's me back from my zombie-like daydream. I turn away from the window and walk back to my seat in front of his desk.

"Sorry," I say "I guess I have a lot on my mind."

He puts the opening to my movie down and says with a big smile, "I love it!"

"Thank you" I say. I am tired. Pumping out the first few pages have been hell; especially since I'm worried about Dina-Pina. My stomach has been off since that night -- and, I just don't feel like myself. Like I'm suffering from some sort of jet lag. Like the world is this murky haze-filled representation of itself. Like I'm only 75% here.

"Wow," says my agent as he walks over to a pitcher of water and pours me a glass. "You really are tired," he says as he hands it to me. I like this glass. I think it might be crystal.

"I'm sorry, I think I might be coming down with something." I reply.

"Well, we can do this another time. I think you're fine to send these off. I'd love to do lunch later on this week and find out what happens next. Thursday good?"

I nod, take another sip of water and stand. I tell him 'thanks again' and apologize for being so out of it. He tells me not to worry about it, and he's look forward to lunch after I'm all rested up.

And so, I walk out down the long corridor to the main elevators. At least, I'm pretty sure I did. I'm so tired that by the time I'm back in the car, I have barely any recollection of what just happened.

The Acceptance Speech

"And the Oscar goes to..."

I take a deep breath. The corset that my stylist made me wear with this dress is digging into the bone between my boobs. It hurts. My temples throb from my hair being pulled back a bit too tight; and all I can smell is the hairspray that they used to shellac my hair.

The room goes silent. I think of everything that got me to this moment, how no one knows who I am as I walk quickly past the red carpet. The paparazzi all have their backs to me, as I pull out my phone and take a self photo of me with the large Oscar statue guarding the opening to the theatre. I put my phone away and give a quick waive to one of the actors in my movie being bombarded with white flashes. They waive back. We'll talk later.

I think about all the times I gave up. About how I used to judge my worth based on what someone else would think. About all the people that didn't believe in me.

I think about the people that really mattered, the ones that did believe in me, and how I lost some of them too soon.

I think about sitting in front of my teddy bears every day as a child, and reading to them from a blank photo album -- how every day was a new story, with new pictures that formed in my mind.

The crowd roars, the music trumpets.

"I knew it!" squeals my Mom. She stands and helps me rise. I try to adjust my dress without being too obvious, since there are now three cameras on me as I scoot my way through the aisle. I'm concentrating on the important things: one foot in front of the other. Don't trip on the steps. Smile back to the people that extend their hands as a gesture of congratulations.

I think I'm trembling. I can feel the sweat pouring down my armpits. I walk towards the podium. A tall lanky model hands me my Oscar. I have no recollection of taking it in my hands, but all of a sudden it's there; heavier than I had imagined.

I take my place in front of the microphone; and try not to squint under the bright lights. It's hard for me to see who is in the audience. But I know they are all there - the Hollywood power couples, the veterans, the living legends, the next hot thing.

I think I have forgotten to breathe this whole time.

"If I happen to pass out, don't worry -- I just have yet to breathe."

They laugh.

"A lot of people have asked me where the inspiration for this story came from -- and to be honest; it was inspired by an event in my life that shook me to the core. Writing, for me, has always been a necessity. Like breathing. You can only go so long without it. I guess I just want to thank everyone who decided to take a chance on me, and for the movie patrons who really honoured me by going to see it over and over again. I'd like to thank the Academy for honouring me this way; my family for always being supportive of me. And, for all of you budding artists sitting at home, being ridiculed, or unrecognized -- don't give up. The universe has an obligation to rise to the occasion, and as long as you continue to believe in the person you know you are capable of being, you will be fine -- no matter how wide the detours are. In the end, the destination is always the same. So if you're unemployed, or heartbroken, or discouraged -- just know that most of us in this theatre right now have been there. But the one thing we all have in common is that we never sold ourselves short, and we didn't give up -- at least not for long. Thank you."

Not in the mood

I haven't left my apartment today. After sleeping most of the day away, I've forced myself to get out of bed, and head to my laptop. Despite the fact that I have the world's biggest hangover, I sit here; staring at my computer screen.

I can't stop thinking about Robert, and the green apparition that I saw.

Consuela enters carrying a cup of tea.

"Der is no peppermint, only da chamameel" she says and plunks it down beside me. She sits on a trunk to the right of me and wipes away the sweat from her brow.

"Thanks," I whisper.

Consuela is silent. She lets me stare out the window.

Nothing.

Sigh.

"Yer iz want me to rub da shoulders?" Consuela asks. I nod, and a moment later her chubby little fingers are trying their best to massage the tensest part between the tops of my shoulders and the bottom of my neck.

"Consuela," I say while she continues to knead, "did you see the green demon inside of that man?"

"Mia," she says in a tone I haven't hear before, "dat iz not no demon."

I let her rub my shoulders a bit more, thank her, and take a sip of the tea. My stomach is hollow and raw from all the vomiting, but the tea does seem to soothe it.

Consuela turns to exit, and I let her leave. I'm too hungover to talk about Robert and the events of last night. I have a meeting with my agent tomorrow and I need to have the opening of this movie figured out -- at the very least, I need the first 10 pages to be solid.

I stare out the window. It's night now. The crickets are chirping.

I don't allow myself to think about Dina-Pina and if she's ok. I can't afford to go down that train of thought. I take another sip of tea.

My guilt about not checking on her starts to seep in.

I decide to call her in a little bit; after I've written some pages.

Having somewhat soothed the guilt I am feeling about the whole situation, I try to use the few brain cells that I have left to write the opening.

I definitely drank too much

Click.

ZCHroooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

The hum from sensor light is deafening as we stumble through the rod iron gate into the courtyard. Everything is making me nautious - the sticky night heat, the reflection of the moon on the pool, the sound of Dina-Pina's kitten heels half-dragging as we cross the cement deck.

Why is that light so damn bright?

I squint and hold back some of the vomit that rises in my throat. Definitely drank too much.

NEED WATER.

We cross the shallow side of the pool and walk towards Dina-Pina's patio set. I need to sit down for a moment. I think I might throw up.

"Why aren't you answering my calls?" says a deep angry voice from within the shadows. It instantly startles me and makes me forget about my nausea. I don't like this voice. It has a sub frequency of control that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

He rises from one of the patio seats that is hidden in the shadows; and Dina-Pina instantly pulls in a little closer to me. She's scared.

"What are you doing here, Robert?" she says as sternly as she can. I'm silent for a moment. I don't know who this person is -- but I know it's bad news.

"You're not suppose to be here," she says. She sounds stern, but from where I'm standing I can see one of her eye muscles twitch. I know that she is under a lot of stress.

"You need to go." I say as soberly as I can. I have no idea who this guy is or what he wants, but if he doesn't leave soon -- I might just have to hurl on his shoes.

"MEEEEE-YAAAAA!" Consuela screeches from the top of the stairs in front of my apartment door. I ignore her.

"Where have you been?" he fumes and takes another step into the light. He's nice looking, but the anger bleeds out of his eyes; and I realize as I become a little more faint - that I'm having trouble breathing.

He continues to yell at Dina-Pina; and while the whirlwind of chaos ensues, I notice a green outline that hovers just above the bridge of his nose. When he turns his head, the outline stays put, and I notice the mist-like formation of a face that isn't his.

There's something living in Robert. Something I've never seen before.

I hear the frantic slapping of Consuela's dollar-store slippers hitting the cement steps as she races down the three flights of stairs from my apartment to where we are standing.

"MeeeeeeeeeeeeeYaaaaaaaaaa - don't yer go near him! Don't yer go near him!" she screams, and hustles her way towards the both of us; swiffer in hand.

I extend my left arm out and yell at her, "Stop!"

"What?" says Robert and turns his attention at me. A moment later the misty green face resumes its position inside his skull.

I think this is what we call the point of no return, so I go with it.

"Uh, you heard me asshole" I say.

He takes a step towards me. I see a misty-green muscular leg with a hoof step towards me a fraction of a second later, and resume it's position within his body.

Dina-Pina is trembling.

He's close enough that I can smell him now. I look deep within his eyes, and behind the blue colour that he's been given in the natural world, lay a very cold set of black eyes. I don't know what this enemy is.

"Robert! Please! Just go!" she pleads. Her lips are trembling now.

I take a short breath to help with the dizziness of the spins that have inconveniently decided to kick in, and say:

"In about two seconds Robert that door over there is going to open, and my sleep deprived trigger happy cop of a boyfriend is going to take about three seconds to assess this situation, and blow your fucking brains out. So - if I were you, I would GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!"

Robert stands there for a second. And, since I have nothing to lose I yell for Brad.

"Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad! Heelllllllllllllp!" I scream and it echoes off of the walls in the building. Some lights begin to turn on, and a second later Robert begrudgingly retreats. I see a green tail swaying behind him as he hustles through the rod iron gate and exits the courtyard.

"I'm calling the cops!" Dina-Pina screams after him.

And while she dials the police, I crawl over to the bushes and throw up. When I'm done, I roll over and try to allow the coolness of the pavement to offer me some comfort. And in a weird way, it sort of does.

Not in Kansas Anymore

Click. Click. Click.

Dina-Pina's kitten heels are the only sound on the street as we walk towards the Sports Bar. I still have the tumbler from her apartment in my right hand. We are linked arm in arm; the official tipsy-girl travel position is in full swing. I'm certain that I might fall over; the vodka sodas with lime crept up on me.

"So...where are you from?" I ask matter-of-fact. I can hear a sort-of accent, but can't really place it.

"Kansas." she says and bursts out into laughter.

I can't resist, and so I say the first dumb thing that comes to my mind -- which I'm sure she's heard a million times:

"You're not in Kansas anymore!"

Hardee har har. What a lame ass. I can't believe people actually pay me to write for them...

We turn the corner. There's a modest sort-of Sports Bar with a couple of bikes parked out front. It doesn't seem too sketchy. I guess Dina-Pina could read my mind because she instantly chimes in;

"It's not as dingy as it looks, besides -- it's safe."

One of the bikers waives and gives a big smile, as we approach. I feel like an extra on the set of MASK and at any moment Cher and Sam Elliott will walk out.

I start to hear the music from inside as we approach. Another burly biker dude walks out to light a cigarette and gives a bigger smile and waive to Dina-Pina. As the door opens and closes behind him; the music crescendos -- and it's actually stuff I know. I already like this place.

The second biker-dude walks over to give her a hug.

"Hey Charlie!" she says, and hugs him back. There's sincerity. This guy is a good guy despite his appearance.

Say her name! Say her name! I whisper to myself as they greet each other. But he doesn't. Just a 'hey'.

We walk inside. The crowd is sparse, but it is really clean and the guy behind the main bar waives us over. Dina-Pina leans over and gives him a big hug, and we take a seat on the stools. He pours us two shots of tequila. I shrug and suck it back, and take a look around the room. A couple of bikers are playing pool. They must belong to the other two who are out front having a cigarette. There's some trucker-types watching a game. Fairly tame.

Dina-Pina's phone starts to ring, and ring, and ring. I look at her as if to say answer it, but she just sends it to voicemail. The guy behind the bar looks concerned, and I know there is some sort-of story behind all of this -- but a moment later I forget because the BEST song in the world just came on, and so, Dina-Pina and I gravitate towards the dance floor -- hips swaying left and right. A moment later a hodge-podge of bikers and out-of-town trucker types join us, because it's fun. Ridiculous. Completely nonsensical.

But safe. Very very safe.

And we apparently, all love dancing to this song.

We should be dancing

Sigh.

Even with the moon in full view, I can not see the Hollywood sign from the window in front of my desk. The crickets tell each other stories in the background as I stare at my blank screen. I still haven't figured out how to start my movie. Eli said he wanted lots of tears, and well, the only way to do that is to make it as believable as possible. So I don't want to choose a beginning that will have people rolling their eyes instead of forgetting to eat their popcorn because they're so engrossed.

It has to be perfect.

I look at the clock. It's just after 8. The apartment is silent. Actually, the whole building is pretty silent. Considering this isn't the greatest area of town, the neighbors are actually blissfully quiet -- which is great for me. It's easier to write when you don't have to pretend not to hear the screams from an alcohol induced domestic fight on the other side of the walls.

Why am I thinking about Tracy Chapman? Oh right -- the song.

I wonder what Dina-Pina is doing and if her audition went ok? I decide to step out of my comfort zone and go over and bug her. She can always make up some excuse if she doesn't want to entertain...but something tells me she would be cool if I pop over.

I throw on a new tank top to replace the stenchy smelly one I've been sweating in all day, and pull my hair back into a ponytail.

* * *

Dina-Pina's apartment is on the first floor parallel to the shallow end of the pool. She has a nice courtyard in front with some patio chairs, a table, and a barbecue. I knock moderately loud on her door -- I don't want to startle her, but I also want to be heard.

A moment later she opens the door. She's wearing glasses. At first I think I might have disturbed her, but she gives me a big smile and ushers me in. I ask her how her audition went and she says 'fine'. She doesn't want to jinx it by talking about it; so we switch the conversation back to me. I tell her I still haven't figured out what type of job my character has or the best way to kill off her friends. She laughs and pours me a drink; vodka with soda water and some lime. It's very refreshing on a sticky night. It goes down quickly, so she tops me up again moments later.

"What if she was having some sort of party on a boat, and the boat capsized?" I say to her.

She pauses for a moment while she takes a gulp from her glass and then says, "that could work. A lot of people do that -- throw parties on boats."

OK -- so I have a starting point.

"What do you like better, I mean what would make you cry more; them throwing her a surprise party on the boat -- but in a weird twist of fate she misses it and they all die...or --"

I take another sip.

" -- or...she's on the boat with them but is the only survivor."

I wait it out while Dina-Pina thinks about both scenarios. I look around the place to see if there are any clues as to what her name really is -- like a phone bill on the counter; but there's nothing.

"I don't know why," say Dina-Pina, "but I'm not really crazy about the second scenario. There's something icky about her being the only survivor."

"Too much?" I say matter-of-fact.

"Yeah, it's too much." she says back, and tops off both our glasses.

Just then her phone rings. And rings. And rings.

She looks at the screen, but puts the phone back down. I raise my eyebrows because there is obviously a story behind the unanswered phone, but all she says is that it's someone she doesn't want to talk to right now; and makes a funny gab gab gab gesture with her free hand while rolling her eyes.

We laugh.

Dina-Pina decides that we need to spruce it up a bit. She tells me that there's a sports bar two blocks from here that she works at sometimes; that we could go there and have some free drinks and hang out with the boys. It sounds like fun, there'll be a dance floor and it's stumbling distance from here -- so why not? As she heads into the bedroom to change out of her comfy clothes, I swig back my vodka soda with lime and smile to myself. It's nice to have made a friend so quickly.

Sunny Morning

The sun pours in through the bedroom window and nudges me awake; I've overslept.

I groggily wake up one limb at a time before taking that first 'fully awake' deep breath and open my eyes. My hair cascades around my pillows and shoulders; and in certain streaks it is copper -- fully luminescent from the sun's rays.

I am an image of pure perfection.

I smile, then rise; and catch a glimpse of Medusa staring back at me in the mirror.

Correction: I am not an image of pure perfection. But with coffee, a good shower, and makeup I can fool most.

I walk towards the kitchen while extending my arms behind me. A flock of bluebirds brings a silk robe towards me and a moment later I am dressed. Mice hand me my golden slippers, a duck hands me my coffee mug, whilst fairies struggle to manage the decanter without spilling a drop. A hedgehog waits diligently to the left with a mop in case they do spill.

I twirl and break out into song to which they all harmonize perfectly to. We extend into a choreographed dance about coffee and how wonderful mornings are, before I clap twice and dismiss them all.

I walk towards the front door to see if anyone is in the courtyard. I need to rhyme some ideas off of someone and Consuela is no where to be found.

I open the door. The sun hasn't quite reached my side of the building within the courtyard, so a chill strokes my right shoulder as I tighten my robe around me, and reach into the mailbox. I look towards the pool. On the opposite side, there is sun; and so Dina-Pina sits there reading a script and not noticing me.

There's an envelope from my agent, so I bring it back inside to read. It's a contract for the script. Standard. Sign here and here. A little sticky note suggesting a time we should get together this week. I skim it over really quickly to see how long they've given me to write the first draft...

...3 months.

Really? That seems like a long time. Maybe when I go in, I'll see if there's another project I can take on.

I leave the contract on the table, and head back to my bedroom to throw on my bikini, grab my sunblock, and head out to the pool.

* * *

"Hey!" I say loudly to Dina-Pina as I approach with a bag full of magazines that will happily keep us occupied for the next few hours.

She looks up from behind her white plastic sunglasses and gives me a big smile.

"Hey, yourself!" she says back.

I wonder if she doesn't know my name either?

I lay my towel on what can only be described as the most uncomfortable poolside chairs ever made -- hard white plastic from the 80s. Skin gets 3rd degree burns when making direct contact with it. Welts form on the backs of your thighs if you sit too long. I make sure my towel is covering most of the torturous surface before plunking down and applying sunblock.

"What a great day!" I say both to her and me.

"I never get sick of the weather," she says, and puts down her script. I ask her what she's reading and she tells me its for a lifetime movie of the week with Dean McDermott. She has a minor role as a neighbor. Well -- it's not her role yet, but we are both very optimistic.

"Positive thoughts!" I say exuberantly.

"Exactly," she says back. Her audition isn't until later on this afternoon, so we have plenty of time to chat and hang out. I like this new neighbor of mine. I haven't really seen any of the others just yet -- but I'm sure I will. Dina-Pina tells me that a lot of them are quiet and keep to themselves.

She asks me how my script is going -- I tell her I'm stuck on what type of job the main character has. I ask her if she thinks its believable that a really rich character would fly her friends in for something.

Dina-Pina crinkles her nose to that idea.

I knew it.

I start to wrack my brain about tragedies that could wipe out a whole bunch of people. Plane crash is out.

Bridge collapsing?

Dina-Pina doesn't think it's possible that all her friends would be on the same bridge at the same time.

A Terrorist bombing?

Too unbelievable.

I decide to take a dip in the pool; maybe the change in temperature will help channel my thoughts. I'm not too worried. I know I'll figure this out in the next day or so. And in the meantime, might as well enjoy the moment for what it is -- a nice lazy day by the pool, catching up on trashy magazines and flipping ahead to see what trends are coming down the pipe for the next season.



THE MONKEES - DAYDREAM BELIEVER
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