Ringmaster's Story

A tale of reliving life.

A tale from The Randomizer Effect

My name was Charlene Augustus, and after living a wasted 86 years, I wanted to die.

I had every reason to despise my life. I was confined to a wheelchair because my legs stopped working years ago. Incontinence meant I sat in my own filth until my nurse arrived to clean me. My brittle bones and paper-like skin meant bumps and scrapes were instant and painful trips to the hospital. My cat scratched me and it became infected, costing me my left leg below the knee. My daughter had the cat euthanized while I was in the hospital, robbing me of the only creature I still loved while claiming to have my best interests at heart.

My family could not wait for me to die. To them I was nothing more than a drain on their inheritance.

I would have happily died, not for the family – who represented the worst mistake in my life – but to escape my wretched body. I would have died to escape my wretched life – my wasted, conformist, greedy life. I would have died to escape my loneliness.

There was one thing keeping my alive. Something I had found almost thirty years ago in a dusty corner of the Washington State Public Library in Olympia. It was hope in the form of a book. I had discovered references to the "Randomizer Field". I spent the next thirty years discovering how to compel it to work for me.

It was costly. I had agents locating rare books and documents all over the world. I had translators of dead languages make these arcane documents their priority in life. When my son, Lance, found out about my research, he as much as exploded. To him, that money was his to use, not mine.

His father had earned it all. My husband, who lived the life of freedom I wanted. My husband who died forty years ago from the sort of heart attack that kills you before you hit the ground. I had admired him so much. Yet, I never loved him. He was my duty, a husband I was required to have. A husband people told me I was lucky to have.

Lance was his boy. He taught Lance everything about the business. Lance ran the business then, though I owned it still. A fact he hated.

Michelle, my daughter, was entirely my fault. I tried to make her into a society girl when the age of the society girl was long dead. What I made instead was a greedy, bitchy, hateful shrew.

All my mistakes were grounded in my need to be one of the successful "normal" people. How my mother had driven it into my head, that one was to be a part of society. Wealthy and successful or nothing at all were the choices placed before me. Unthinkingly I offered those choices to my children.

Some forty years too late – too late for my children – I realized there are better ways to live.

The time was fast approaching. My spells were ready, if untested.

I had sent agents to quietly create a new persona. The persona had to match what I could create of myself, and I was limited in what I could do. The "Randomizer Field" could do anything, but I had not the time to wait for the perfect incantation. I didn’t have the centuries to learn the nuances of controlling the Field. I had to work with what was simple to do.

My agents built a seventeen-year-old girl named Dara Elderclan into the system. She was a trust ward of the state of California, considered by a judge long deceased to be mature enough for emancipation. They were to build parents for the teen. Both "perished" the previous year in a road accident. I had my private liquid capital trusted to the persona, providing almost $40,000 in interest per year, after taxes and fees.

I left my estate intact. I didn’t want my family to stop me from trying this. If it worked, if I hadn’t deluded myself and this was real, then I didn’t want them hunting Dara Elderclan down for her money. If it failed, it would kill me.

The agents purchased a good, if small, house in Burbank, California. I chose that city because it was the sort of place where I could easily adapt and be a teenager again. I doubted anyone would notice I had no parents. No one would notice my minor wealth.

My agents purchased a small car of the sort a wealthy teen might drive if she wasn’t pretentious – a nice Nissan Altima, in black trimmed with bright red and a slate gray interior. Colors that I loved.

I studied the young. The next generation always did things slightly differently from the previous. I could fit two generations in the time since I attended High School. I had much to learn.

In my studies of present day youth, I discovered a counterculture of a sort I had loved when I was young. Similar in most respects to the "Beatniks" of old, these "Goths" added a love of humanity’s darker side, a balance that American culture lacked. I decided that if this were successful I would be a Goth, as I had been prevented from being a Beatnik.

I constructed a general costume for myself. The dreamy feeling I had when doing this was wonderful – I was finally separating from conformity and discovering who I was. A lifetime too late, I felt my actual self bubble up to the surface.

And how I loved who this character was. I discovered a wit and sarcasm that had been suppressed in favor of propriety. I discovered an inquisitive intellect that had been hidden for fear of frightening men.

The costume was interesting. I chose colors first. I chose those same colors I had for the car: black, slate and bright red. They are so wonderfully contrasting. I loved horses, so I chose English riding pants in black, and thigh-high riding boots. I chose a black shirt to continue my frame and covered it in a slate waistcoat. A bright red English riding jacket with long tails covered the waistcoat. I covered the hands with slate gloves. The gloved hands would hold a folding walking stick. I topped the ensemble off with a custom made top hat, in a slate gray felt with a large silver ankh in the front.

The ankh represented life for the Egyptians, and so it would remind me to live life rather than live protocol.

I designed other outfits along the same lines, always with the bright red overcoat, sweater, or vest. I liked the idea of the wardrobe revealing the personality. I liked having a contiguous outer appearance.

My agents flew me out to southern California. They set up the house, prepared my empty room – the one I would use for the spell. They stocked the refrigerator and pantry, and put Dara’s clothes in the closets. A small stereo was installed in the bedroom. Another was installed in the living room. Compact disks of all my favorite music and many of the more interesting modern bands stocked the shelves. All the books I had wanted to read and books I had so loved filled the bookcases of the bedroom. Beautiful prints of famous paintings adorned the walls. The house would be perfect for a seventeen-year-old to live in.

Over their objections, I sent the agents away. Cash bonuses and reminders of their sworn secrecy awaited them in their homes.

That was the night. That night I changed my reality or I died. Either way all that was dreadful in my life would be over.

The floor of the empty room was marked to my specifications. Gold and silver inlayed the floor, walls and ceiling in patterns that I had wrenched from the arcane books my agents had located.

I sat in my wheelchair in the middle of the markings, repeating the incantations I had spent years memorizing and perfecting.

The sun had set hours ago. My body ached from staying awake and sitting so still. I had soiled myself and the room stank. Frustration mounted as I repeated the incantations. I could not falter, or all would be lost.

I knew that if I saw sunrise the next morning, then I could admit to delusion and take the knife to my wrists in an action I knew would end my suffering. Until then, I hung on to hope.

A clock in the living room chimed three. My weariness was beyond description. My amputated leg burned from the uric acid that soaked it.

My anger grew. My frustration grew.

My chest erupted in pain. I found myself trying to stand and I heard my brittle bones snap from the strain. As I hit the floor, darkness blossomed across my vision. Panic had me, death was here and it was here for me.

Light streamed in from the window. The stench of my filth infused my nostrils. My body did not hurt. It felt good to breathe, even in this stink. My pains were gone. I moved, and felt my leg whole again. I stood, looking down at myself. My dress was still stained from the filth, but it fit me short, as I had expected – as I had hoped. Excitement grew in me.

I ran to the bathroom – in the mirror my old self from seventy years ago looked back at me. She was a beautiful sight.

The expected differences were there. I was taller now than I had been when first seventeen. If my conjuration were precise, I would be 5'10" tall. My skin was perfect and smooth. Acne should not be a problem for me now as it had been in my youth. My skin was pale and even, and my long, thick hair was raven black. My brown eyes were dark, almost black themselves. My breasts, forever too large for me were finally of a more athletic size.

The best change was the weight. As a schoolgirl so long ago I had been dumpy. This body appeared to be of the perfect weight for its height.

I removed the soiled clothing and put it in the garbage bag my agents had left in the bathroom. I showered, cleaning the foul matter from me. I ran my hands over this new, young body and shuddered with delight. How wonderful it was to be young again! How wonderful it was to have been right! How wonderful to no longer have death lurking so close!

I Ran the towel over myself, inspecting this new shell for signs of my previous life. Surgery scars were gone, as was the scar I had on my left knee from a fall. I could not find any imperfections on the skin – it was literally perfect.

I dressed in that glorious costume. It fit excellently. I must have spent an hour admiring myself in the mirror, vanity taking a hold of me. I knew I had work to do still, and I tore myself away from my narcissism.

In the kitchen, while eating a small breakfast pastry of the sort my doctors had not allowed me to consume in years, I opened the package that contained my documents of identity. I had a social security card, driver’s license, and a cash card that drew off the trusts.

The rest of the documents such as deeds to the house, proof of ownership for the car, and other necessary evils, I put in the floor safe in my bedroom.

I called an agent’s phone, leaving a message on her answering machine – a code that would let her know to declare Charlene Augustus dead and to provide a false body, rather than come back for mine. My old life was over, finally.

I gathered the house keys and wallet and placed them in the pouch that hung from my belt. Locking the door behind me, I stood – leaning my hands on the cane in front of me – and watched the neighborhood come to life.

That day I would register myself for school. It was a curious feeling, I had been so happy to have finished high school the first time, and now wanting back in. I wanted to live the life of a teenager, but avoid all the mistakes I had made the first time. Simply put, I wanted a second chance.

I waited for the state’s representative to arrive for our meeting. Once per week, he or she was to check on my welfare until I reached the age of consent. This was one of the prices to be paid for my rediscovered youth.

I prepared coffee, finger-sandwiches and a fresh newspaper for the agent, knowing it would be best to seem welcoming and friendly as well as intelligent and mature lest the agent force me into foster care. To those ends, I wore my most conservative costume.

From the kitchen window I watched a large car, of the sort typically used by municipal governments, pull up to the curb. An obese man of about fifty exited the car carrying a briefcase, and headed for the entrance.

When he knocked on the door, I answered immediately.

"Hi, you must be my ward officer." I said, motioning for him to enter.

He nodded his bored greeting and came in. I sat him down at the kitchen table where we could work comfortably on the forms that needed to be filled out.

He eyed the refreshments.

"Please, have some. I know what an laborious task it can be to start these procedures, so I wanted to take as much of the edge off it as I could." I said.

"Thank you, young lady." He said, smiling. He poured himself a cup of coffee while chewing on one of the small sandwiches.

He opened his briefcase and took out a package of forms. I took them from him, produced a pen and began to fill them out. He watched me for a moment.

"So you’ve done this before?" He asked me.

"Yes, I was warded in northern California for a few months. It’s Ok if I just fill these out for you, right?" I asked.

He nodded enthusiastically and picked up the newspaper.

I knew full well that he was one of those public servants who hated his job. My agents had probably learned more about him than he himself knew.

I had learned more about doing his job than he probably knew. I had to be certain the papers were perfect or risk a real hearing in front of a real judge. Only one on five hundred teens are allowed to live emancipated. I wasn’t about to subject myself to the stresses of the foster care system.

I filled out the forms, enjoying my improved writing skills. My old hand had become illegible from age, and these youthful hands could produce such clear script.

He ate the sandwiches and drank coffee, his face a mask of pure bliss. The poor man had the air of a haggard bureaucrat around him. He probably desperately needed a break like this. I hoped this meeting would make me his favorite weekly stop, further guaranteeing my position as an emancipated teenager.

Forty-five minutes later I had the forms filled out. I handed the package back to the ward officer with the pen.

"All they need is your approval and signature."

He gave them a cursory look, and signed where he needed to sign.

"I have to inspect the house." He said, then made a show of looking around the kitchen.

"Ok, inspected." He said, and signed another form.

He flipped to another form.

"I see you’re already registered for school. You haven’t left me much to do today." He said, with gratitude in his voice and a broad smile on his face. "I may actually get home on time tonight."

I smiled. The meeting was going as I had planned. He packed the forms into his briefcase, and left me the usual array of pamphlets and information governments loved to give people.

"Welcome to Burbank, Miss Elderclan. I’m Joe Packard, I’ll be your ward officer." He handed me a card.

"There’s my number if you ever need it, I suggest you carry it with you. Since you’re changing districts and not a recent ward, I’ll spare you my usual speech about the ward system. And since it’s obvious you’re smart enough to handle emancipation, I’ll spare you my usual responsibility speech as well."

He offered me his hand, which I shook heartily.

"You can call me Joe, by the way. I suspect you’re going to be my favorite ward." He smiled.

We rose and made our parting pleasantries.

I parked my Altima in the student parking area, some distance away from the main building. I stood by my car for a moment and collected myself. School likely was very different from my previous experiences. I was going to have to work at adapting and be quite cautious.

I straightened my riding jacket, put on my top hat, and slung my backpack over my left shoulder. With my walking stick in hand, I headed for the doors.

Students in very ‘normal’, mundane looking clothing stared at me. I enjoyed their befuddlement. Never before in my life had I been so apart from the crowd, such an ostentatious outlander. I remembered being ordinary and watching oddly dressed people pass, and feeling envious. I should have lived my life this way the first time.

As I entered the building, I located the queue I needed to start my orientation. I stood in the "E-H" line and let the process ensue.

As I approached the table, I tipped my hat to the faculty member who was behind it and gave a small curtsy. I wished to avoid conformity, but not be impolite or unkind to people, so I chose a manner that was of myself instead of propriety. He smiled at me and I handed him the syllabus a councilor and I had worked out week before.

He scanned the barcode at the top of the paper and handed it back to me.

"New student, right?" He asked.

"I am." I answered.

He handed me a page that the computer had printed after he scanned the syllabus.

"This is your locker assignment, homeroom number and other tidbits of information you’ll need." He explained. "Go to that group over there, in about half an hour Ms. Jackson will take you and the other new students on a tour of the campus and get you all squared away."

I tipped my hat in parting and thanked him. I went to the cluster of students he had indicated.

I smiled greetings at anyone who made eye contact with me.

I noticed a girl sitting on a bench, looking bored. She had a beautiful face. She was wearing very pale makeup and dark purple lipstick, a black bodice and floor-length skirt. A shawl over her shoulders completed a lovely and dark ensemble.

She wasn’t so far from the group that I would fail to notice the tour begin, so I went over to say hello.

As I approached, she looked up at me.

"Hey" She said.

"Hey. Nice outfit." I said, using my walking stick to indicate her clothing. "I love the lipstick. My name’s Dara." I offered my gloved hand.

She took it, and shook enthusiastically.

"I’m ArliCat. You’ve got a great look going yourself. Goth?" She asked, and I smiled.

"Of course. Who else would have such a sense of style and sophistication?" I gushed, striking a thoughtful pose.

"Would you happen to be new to this school as well?" I asked.

"No, been here since I was a sophomore. Senior now."

"Ah, as am I." I heard an adult behind me call for the new students to listen. I turned to look. "Oops, time for indoctrination." I turned back to her. "Assuming I don’t emerge an automaton, perhaps we shall see one another later on today?"

She laughed at my derision. "Yeah, that would be pleasant. Nice meeting you, Dara."

I tipped my hat and turned to join the group.

"I’m Ms. Jackson." The woman announced. She was a tall, African-American woman with the look of someone who had been doing her job far longer than she had the will to.

"Ask me anything you need to, this will likely be your only easy opportunity to get familiar with this campus." Her instruction lacked any verve.

She motioned everyone to follow. She showed us where all the important places were, and familiarized us with the way the rooms and lockers were numbered. She explained the cafeteria pricing and when lunch would be for the different classes. She answered the asinine and engaging questions with an identical lack of enthusiasm. Her whole speech was informative but delivered as if she were somewhere else and had left her body to handle her work, which may not have been too far from the truth.

As the tour drew to a close, we were supposed to go to meet our homeroom teachers. As the other students left, I stayed behind.

"Ms. Jackson?" I asked.

"Yes?" She replied in a monotone.

"Are you OK? You sound really down."

She glared at me for a moment. "What concern is that of yours, young lady?" She asked me, her voice dripping with contempt.

"I was simply being concerned for the welfare of a fellow human being, Ms. Jackson. Sorry to disturb you." I said coolly.

I turned and headed for my homeroom.

My homeroom teacher was boring. He didn’t say more than was necessary to instruct us on how to pick up our books. My locker was stuffed now with the texts and some supplies I had brought along.

The end of the day neared. The last step was some sort of speech from the principal. I entered the school auditorium and scanned the student body.

I spotted ArliCat waving at me from across the auditorium. I headed her way, waving back.

"Hey, I see you survived without too much psychological scarring." She gibed.

"It was tough going, but my Prozac held true to the test with a little help from Paxil and Zoloft." I joked.

ArliCat and her friends giggled.

"Dara, this is Mephisto." She gestured to her left. He was a noble looking boy with a goatee. He wore a white shirt and black jeans with a Victorian cape over his shoulders.

"Hey" I said, offering my hand. He shook it firmly.

"Hey yourself." He smiled.

"And this is Aeon."

He was a dark-skinned African-American wearing black jeans and a rich, luxurious looking dark blue poet’s shirt.

"Hey Aeon. You look good for your, um, ‘age’." I teased and offered my hand.

Thankfully, he fathomed my joke. "Funny girl." He said as he shook my hand.

"So, how did you all get the nicks?" I asked.

"Tradition here, so far, is you do something that earns you the name. I have lots of cats at home, Mephisto does prestidigitation, and Aeon is a history whiz." ArliCat answered.

"Interesting. I can’t wait to see what moniker I end up with. Probably ‘dingus’ or ‘twit with the toilet paper stuck on her boot’." I laughed.

"Hmm. Self-depreciating humor, too. Ok, you get to sit with us." Aeon said.

"Aeon! Jeez, how judgmental." ArliCat said, surprised at his discourtesy.

"Ah, heck. He’s just being honest." I said and sat down beside ArliCat.

"Damn straight, Dara." He said.

A woman stood at the podium.

"Attention, students. There’s a small problem I have to attend to. Please socialize quietly while you wait. And don’t leave your seats, please!" the woman said.

"Why is it that adults work so hard to teach their children to walk and talk so that they can spend eighteen years telling them to sit down and shut up?" I asked no one in particular.

My new friends chuckled.

I looked around for authority figures and was surprised to find none.

"You know, I smell opportunity here." I began to dig though my backpack for my CD player and a particular CD.

Finding both, I stood. "Don’t wait up." I said.

In loping strides, I rushed for the stage. I leapt upon the platform and headed for the podium, loading and cueing the CD that seemed perfect for this moment.

I put the headphones around my neck and turned up the volume to maximum. I plucked the microphone from the stand and turned it on while pressing play on my CD player. The strains of "Enter the Gladiators" filled the auditorium.

I unfolded my walking stick, as the students became silent.

I struck the stick against the stage twice, as if it were a gavel.

"Ladies and gentlemen, beings of indeterminate gender, friends, lovers, pyromaniacs! I welcome you to Burbank Unified High School!" I said with all the pomp and flourish I could muster.

"Here you will discover the wonders of modern public education!" I said, and paused, holding my hand to my ear, miming listening to the audience.

"Do I hear a smirk or two?" I said. Nervous chuckles escaped the audience. I faced them, putting on a serious air.

"Let me ask you, what is more basic to the formation of our adult selves than social interaction? What is more revealing about ourselves than the way we relate mutually with one another? What future awaits us, and how do we determine it?" I asked.

"Stand up, be counted, fellow students. For we are that future, whatever else it may be. I call on each to interact with the other. Let us fill in the broad gaps left by public schooling!" I gaveled my stick again.

"Dim that electric current of conformity. Put a rock through your television. Find your receipt and return that PowerPC driven monstrosity you play games on instead of typing that English paper due tomorrow! Instead, let us interact in that manner expected of humans of our ages. Let us improve our skills. Let us party!" I yelled.

The students rose in applause.

I replaced the microphone and strode off stage, waving to the audience.

As I sat back beside ArliCat, the students suddenly grew quiet.

At the podium stood the principal.

"Well, I’m glad you are all so happy to be here." She said, smiling.

I shook my head. "The main performer never appreciates the efforts of the opening act." I said.

As the principal launched into some drivel about school pride, ArliCat turned to me.

"Congratulations, Ringmaster." She said.

I could only smile.

The next day was the first day of actual classes. The school wasn’t run a great deal differently from the way High School had been the last time I attended.

I had lunch with ArliCat. Mephisto and Aeon were busy with some extra-credit work in the library.

At my locker I prepared for the class that followed lunch – a boy approached me.

"Greetings. How are you doing today? I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Ringmaster." He said, bowing slightly.

I closed my locker.

"Sir, you have me at a disadvantage. Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Charles: Charles Merchantman. You may have heard of me." He said, waggling his eyebrows.

"No, I haven’t."

"Well, then allow me to introduce myself…"

"You already have." I interrupted.

"Why, yes, I supposed I have."

"Is there a point to this intrusion?"

I had no idea why I was treating him so rudely.

"I was wondering if you would be interested in a night at the local opera. They’re having a showing of Der Fl…"

"No thanks. Bye." I said, and headed for class.

As the day ended, I headed out to the quad. Loitering around a small decorative boulder was most of the school’s Goth population. I spotted ArliCat and headed over.

I stood on the boulder and obviously examined the crowd. I spread my arms wide, holing my walking stick in my right hand.

"The real people!" I cheered.

This woke the crowd up, and I heard greetings and calls of "Ringmaster!" My new nickname had already spread among the talkative Goth crowd.

ArliCat and Mephisto walked up to the boulder, and I sat down on it.

"Hey. Do you have anything planned for this afternoon?" ArliCat asked me.

"Nothing much. I thought I’d read or watch the paint peel or some other laborious chore of an entertainment." I quipped.

"Well, Mephisto and Aeon are coming over for munchies and maybe a movie, want to come?"

"Love to." I said.

"Cool." Mephisto commented.

"Anyone need a ride?" I asked.

ArliCat’s eyes widened. "Yeah, all of us. You have a car?"

"Yep." I pointed with my walking stick toward the parking lot. "Red and black Nissan with a slate interior. A fine motor vehicle for delivering fine people." I said.

Mephisto strained to see.

"You can’t see it from here, Mephisto." I informed him.

"Then why’d you point?" he asked.

"Made you look!" I teased.

He guffawed.

I parked along the curb in front of ArliCat’s house.

"Please return your stewardess to her upright position." I joked as I turned off the engine.

I looked at the house. It was a big Tudor style near-mansion. The landscaping was pristine. The house oozed with wealth.

ArliCat saw me staring.

"Don’t worry, I’m not ostentatious about my mom’s money. I’ll get ostentatious when I get my own wealth." She informed me.

We shared a laugh.

We all disembarked from the car and headed for the house. I stopped to smell some flowers.

"Mm. Pretty." I complimented.

I followed behind the three as ArliCat led us to her room. The halls were decorated with sculpture and painting, all of it captivating. I stopped at one small sculpture on a pedestal. It was of a woman who was leaning on a rock, looking tired, old and weak.

"Oh, this is good. You can feel the despair, and the coming relief."

"Yeah." ArliCat said, coming up to me. "She represents what happens when life gets to be too much." She said, stroking the statuette.

She looked at me. "You’re the first to pick up on it."

"I am?" I asked, amazed.

"Yeah, even my mom didn’t get it." She said, then headed into the next room.

"That’s one of her pieces. Don’t tell her I told you, though. She’s a little shy about her art." Aeon said.

Impressed, I nodded my understanding and we followed ArliCat into her room.

On her bed slept two cats, one slept on her wardrobe and another on the carpet in the middle of the floor.

"Kitties!" Mephisto clamored. The cats looked at him sleepily. The one on the carpet got up and went to him.

I sat on the edge of her bed and surveyed the room. Her walls were painted a light purple. Her ceiling was black with white specks like stars. Cattycorner to the bed was a desk with a computer on it, covered in papers and opened books. A television and a small stereo sat in an entertainment center across from the bed. There were posters for several bands, and a poster depicting a medieval castle in a moonlight night.

Bookshelves by the entertainment center were filled with worn hardback and paperback books. Some of the titles I could read were for classic works, The Iliad, Sense and Sensibility, Infinite Jest, and The Telltale Heart - Edgar Allen Poe’s collected poems.

Other titles were science fiction titles. 2001: A space Odyssey, Ringworld, The Diamond Age, I Robot, and Stranger in a Strange Land defined the collection.

ArliCat had put away her backpack and pulled the computer desk chair over to sit by me. The boys had arranged themselves on the floor by the entertainment center.

"Anyone get Jackson?" Aeon asked.

"Not me, thank God." Mephisto said.

"I got out of that." ArliCat said.

"Uh oh." I said.

They looked at me.

"What do I have to look forward too. Be brutally honest." I said.

"Ms. Jackson is kind of scared of people who, as she puts it, ‘dress to shock’." Aeon explained.

"I get it, she’s a conformist too frightened to tolerate nonstandard clothes, much less nonstandard views." I said. "If I’m not walking on eggs around her, she’ll nail my grades for having a mind of my own."

"That about sums it up." ArliCat said.

"Joy. Why is it always the math teacher?" I mused.

I pulled out my schedule.

"Mr. Marseilles?" I asked.

"Act like you love English. I knew a guy who passed his class just because he sucked up." Mephisto answered.

"Ok, how about Ms. London?"

"Idiot." They all said.

"Woo. I’m batting a thousand today. How about Ms. Lopez?"

"Pushy bitch." Aeon said.

"She wants everyone to be an athlete." Mephisto commented.

"Deluded. Wonderful. Let’s talk Mr. Rosenthal."

"Draw a house. Anything else bugs him." ArliCat told me.

"Damn it. I wanted to learn industrial design drafting."

"Still can, just throw houses at him." Mephisto said.

"Ok, then. Drop a house on him like the wicked witch of the west."

ArliCat glared at me.

"What?" I asked, innocently.

"I’m a witch." She said.

"Oh. Sorry. The reference was to Hollywood, not to pagans." I apologized.

She lightened her look. "So you know there’s a difference, then?"

"Oh yeah. I’ve been looking into Wicca in particular myself. I’m just well programmed by the entertainment industry, as proven by my gaffe." I said, smiling.

"Cool, then." She said, returning the smile.

"So, tell me about LeBeau?"

"There’s a nice guy. He’s a great teacher. If you get into French culture, he turns into your best buddy." Aeon offered.

"Alright! One out of six – can I pick ‘em or can I?"

We all shared a giggle.

"So, what’s the principal like?"

"Can you say ‘jack-booted fascist dictator’?" ArliCat said.

I smacked my forehead with my hand in a gesture of defeat. "Tutors. Why can’t I afford tutors?"

"Hi honey." A woman said from the doorway.

"Hi mom." ArliCat said.

The woman was an older version of ArliCat, but with blond hair and a business suit. She looked at me.

"New friend?" She asked.

"Hi, Ringmaster’s the sobriquet. ‘Dara’ if you prefer real names." I said, offering my hand.

"Hey ‘Ringmaster’, Lisa’s my name." She greeted, shaking my hand.

"Good to meet you." I replied.

"So, ‘Ringmaster’ – what do you think about guns?" Lisa asked.

I blinked, then raised my eyebrows. "Gee. Well, I wish they’d all go away."

"Ok, good. Bye all, have fun." She said, and left.

"Ok, did I miss part of the conversation?"

"My mom asks all of my friends that. She’s certain Goth counterculture is in reality violent, so she tries to ‘screen’ my friends."

"Goddamn media bullshit is all she knows." Aeon cursed.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Hey, no use getting stressed over it. If you want stress, there’s always midterms." I joked.

"I’m hungry." Mephisto informed us.

"Hey, that’s right – you did lure us over with promises of delectable victuals." I said.

ArliCat smiled. "Ok, ok - You spongers. Come on to the kitchen."

We all followed her to a grand kitchen. She pulled out a prepared tray of finger foods and some soft drinks from the refrigerator.

Mephisto unabashedly took a handful of the small sandwiches and began to eat.

"Better take what you want, he’ll eat it all." Aeon suggested.

"I’m a growing boy." Mephisto offered around a mouthful of sandwich.

"Yeah, in which direction?" I asked.

Mephisto laughed, covering his mouth to prevent splashing the sandwich around the room.

I plucked off a glove and took a single sandwich, not being hungry, and took a bite from it.

"Delicious." I remarked. "Nice little paté."

"Thanks, my mom makes them, sort of a stress release."

"So, you’re telling me that someone stresses out your mom, and she makes them into paté? While I’m not sure I appreciate being an involuntary cannibal, I have to salute your mothers sense of efficiency."

We share another laugh.

"Damn, you’re cool, Ringmaster." Mephisto complimented.

I blushed. I was not accustomed to being accepted without conforming, much less lauded.

"Cool people bring out the cool in me." I said, trying to return the compliment.

These folks were going to make great friends.

"So, as the Roman Empire began to stabilize, the Gauls began to feel the pressure of a collapsing economy from the more efficient roman trade."

"Ms. London?" I said, raising my hand.

"Yes Dara?"

"I was curious, what was happening with China and Japan during this period? I was under the impression China had quite a trade empire going too."

Ms. London looked nervous.

"And I was wondering about some of the larger African nations, as well. I hear that Nairobi and Ethiopia were able to keep the Romans at bay, ultimately compelling the empire to negotiate trade agreements."

Ms. London looked on the verge of tears.

"It’s in your books. Now, the Goths… I mean Gauls had…" She hesitated, trying to pull herself back together.

"Ma’am? There were Goths at the time. They were a Germanic tribe. Do you know what they were up to while the Gaul’s were loosing their lands to an aggressive, opportunistic empire?"

Several classmates let loose with giggles.

"Stop disrupting the class, Ms. Elderclan!"

"Sorry, just asking." I said.

I carried my lunch tray toward the table where ArliCat, Mephisto and Aeon sat. As I passed a table occupied by what I suspected were "jocks", I noticed the largest shove his foot into the isle in front of me as I passed. I deftly avoided his attempt to trip me by stepping on his foot, as I walked on I ignored him. I heard him curse in mild pain, and I heard the ribbing he got from his so-called friends.

I sat beside Aeon, facing ArliCat.

"Good afternoon, friends." I said.

"Hey. You got lucky. Those yupsters always try to trip us up – simple entertainment for simple minds. The big one, John, is a real fuck-head." Aeon said.

"So I gathered. He did try to trip me. I will be forever grateful to my mother for those grace lessons." I joked. My mother had sent me to ‘grace lessons’ – and some of the classes had been useful.

"And be forewarned, even as he treats you like shit, he’ll hit on you." ArliCat warned.

"He hits on anything even remotely female. He considers himself irresistible." Mephisto muttered, almost to himself.

"Oh, those jocks are full of themselves, aren’t they?" I commented.

"The worst part is, most of the girls in this school feed his ego. He’s definitely the most popular male here. He’s the quarterback of the football team, wrestler, baseball player, you know, the quintessential jock. Girls ride his dick to popularity." ArliCat spat.

I shook my head. There was always someone like that around to make life difficult.

Aeon looked at my tray. "That’s all your eating? Crackers, tuna fish and a soda?"

I looked at my small lunch, then at Aeon. "Ok, so it’s not gourmet. Sue me."

Aeon shrugged and took a bite from his hamburger.

"You shouldn’t starve yourself to stay thin, Dara." Mephisto said, sounding contemptuous by using my ‘real’ name.

"I’m just not a big eater, Mark." I admonished him. "I stay healthy with exercise, and that’s healthy, not attractive or up to societies standards, got it? I’m not a conformist and certainly not an anorexic!" I glowered at him.

Mephisto looked down at the table and fidgeted.

"That’s twice you’ve stuffed you shoe into your mouth today, Mephisto. What’s the matter?" Aeon asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. ArliCat nudged him with her elbow.

"Mephisto, apologize!" She whispered at him.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he stood and took off at a trot for the bathrooms.

"Oh, shit." Aeon said, and followed him.

I looked confused, and ArliCat looked concerned.

"Fucking parents." She spat.

"What? What’s wrong?"

"This happens a lot with Mephisto. His parents don’t like him much, they kind of compare him to his older brother, who is a fucking genius. The pressure gets to him now and again, and he gets like this, insulting everyone. Aeon can calm him down."

"So that crap was just frustration, then?" I asked.

"Yeah. I think he’s just regurgitating the crap his parents feed him. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I do."

"Ok, repeat after me: Où est la salle de bains?" Mr. LeBeau instructed the class.

I didn’t want to have to deal with another language.

"Monsieur? Est-ce que je puis me reposer pendant cette classe? Je parle Français. Je n'ai pas besoin d'instruction complémentaire." I was surprised to hear myself say.

"Pourquoi prenez-vous cette classe si vous parlez Français tellement bien?"

"J'ai besoin d'une langue étrangère pour recevoir un diplôme. C'est le seul langage offert." I explained.

"Oui. Lu ou faites quelque chose de silencieux." He said, smiling.

I wondered where I had learned to speak French so well.

I rummaged through my locker, trying to keep it organized and clean while putting away my books for physical education class.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see the stupid jock that had tried to trip me at lunch.

"Hey beautiful. I’ve come to apologize for accidentally, you know, getting in your way." He said, a self-satisfied smile on his face. His hand was still on my shoulder.

"How’s the foot?" I asked, expressionless.

"Oh, it’s fine." He said. "I don’t hurt that easily."

"I’ll try harder next time. Get your hand off of me, now."

His smile enlarged. "Come on, sweet thing, no need to be shy."

I shoved his hand away and closed my locker.

"Go take a cold shower, conformist automaton." I said with all the contempt I could muster.

He laughed, turned and walked away.

I headed the other direction.

The halls weren’t crowded at this school, the buildings were large and the student population comparatively small. I don’t think the school was being used to capacity, which is certainly unusual for public education.

I entered the gym and turned into the girl’s locker room. Sitting in front of my gym locker, I began to change into a PE uniform.

My back stung, whipped by a towel. I stood, pulling my tee shirt over my head. A girl I had seen around but had never spoken to was twisting her towel for a second strike.

She flicked the towel at me, and I grabbed it before it could hit. I yanked and came away with it. She looked surprised for a moment, then recovered.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded.

"Stay the fuck away from my boyfriend, you slut!" She snarled.

"What are you talking about?" I hadn’t so much as considered flirtations with single boys, much less horn in on someone else’s relationship.

She took a menacing step toward me. "I’m going to fucking kill you, bitch!"

"Alicia!" The PE teacher called, and Alicia jumped.

"Cut the horseplay and get your butts into the gym, now!"

Horseplay? Why are adults so oblivious to a plight they themselves experienced?

Alicia gave me a quick glare, then followed Ms. Lopez out to the gym.

As I sauntered onto the court, I noticed the climbing ropes were unfurled. I wondered if girls were required to make the climb, since such a thing was unheard of when I had originally been in high school.

"Ok, line up here girls." Ms. Lopez instructed, indicating the space in front of her. She pointed up to the ropes, answering my unspoken question.

"See that white tape? That’s your goal. Not that any of you will make it that far, much less further, please do not climb higher than the red tape, the pads will not save you from a fall higher than that, got it?"

We all murmured assent. (Pardon the pun.)

Alicia, in an aggressive mood, went first. She shimmied up the rope quickly, and passed the white tape by a couple of hand widths, then shimmied back down.

"Very good Alicia!" Ms. Lopez complimented.

Another girl tried, and failed to make it even a third of the way. An obese girl didn’t even try.

A third climbed slightly past the mark, then dropped to the floor gracefully. Ms. Lopez praised her. This girl I recognized as one of the political types on the student council, and went by the nickname "Cynder".

The next girl strained to the white tape, but having expended herself to get that far, she fell to the padding and twisted her ankle in a bad landing.

After Ms. Lopez dealt with the minor injury, it was my turn. I walked up to the rope, and pulled myself up. It was easier than I had expected, and I began to climb in earnest, enjoying the feeling. It was wonderful to be able to do this. I was reminded briefly of my old and decrepit body and I exalted in this climb.

"No! Stop!" I heard Ms. Lopez yell.

I looked down and saw I had passed the red tape. I hadn’t been paying attention. The ceiling was only three feet above my head. I immediately began my decent. When I reached the white tape, I decided to jump down, just to see if I could do it.

I landed gracefully, and walked toward Ms. Lopez.

"I’m sorry, ma’am, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was." I apologized.

Ms. Lopez looked as if she had no idea what to say, then came to a decision.

"That was an excellent climb, Miss…" She looked at her clipboard. "Elderclan? Unusual name."

I cocked an eyebrow at her.

"At any rate, please be more careful, there’s no use in being able to do that if you break your legs afterward."

"Yes, ma’am." I said, bowing slightly.

An irritated look crossed Ms. Lopez’ face.

After the rest of the students had their go – several of them making the climb – Ms. Lopez had us begin to run ‘laps’ around the gym. She informed us that we should run until we could no longer. It was an endurance test.

As we began the run, I found a comfortable pace and began to loose myself in the feeling of the run. I had neglected my old body, and I wanted this one to be healthy for as long as it lasted. The best start was to learn to like the feeling of exertion.

I heard someone puffing beside me. Alicia was there, trying to pass. I angled slightly to the outside to give her room. I looked back, and discovered we were already half a lap ahead of the class, with one of the students who had made the climb catching up to us.

"It’s not a race, girls! Find a good pace and stick to it!" Ms. Lopez said.

Alicia redoubled her efforts. Her competitiveness was working against her. I concentrated on maintaining an even pace.

As we entered the third lap, Alicia finally pulled ahead of me. I wondered why she had confronted me in the locker room. I hoped ArliCat knew who her boyfriend was, at least, so I could unravel her threat.

Alicia continued to slowly pull ahead. As we came around for the sixth lap, I noticed several students were sitting on the bleachers with Ms. Lopez.

I heard another student catch up to me. It was Cynder. She wasn’t paying any real attention to me and I guessed she was just running at her own pace, rather than trying to ‘beat’ anyone.

As she pulled ahead of me, she stumbled. I caught her before she hit the floor.

"You Ok?" I asked. She was breathless and couldn’t answer but with a nod. I helped her to the bleachers. She had almost totally expended herself.

"I’ll handle her, get back to your run." Ms. Lopez said to me.

After giving her a quick glare, I returned to the running.

Soon Alicia and I were the only ones left. I hardly felt tired, as if I could run all day. This new body was wonderful!

Alicia had come around beside me again, a full lap ahead. She was puffing from the strain, and I got the feeling she was pushing beyond her normal endurance. When she saw me looking at her, she pushed even harder, pulling far ahead of me in a near-sprint.

She stumbled as she reached the bleachers. She was too far for me to repeat the catch I had given the other student. She hit the floor, hard. I stopped beside her, and bet down to help her back up.

"You Ok?" I asked, genuinely concerned for her regardless of her odd behavior.

She growled at me and kicked. "Get the fuck away from me!"

I took a step back, turned and marched for the bleachers. Whatever Alicia’s problems were, I wasn’t going to let myself get sucked in to her nasty little world.

I exited the semi-private shower stall dry. Even though my new body was spectacular in comparison to my old, I still had a modesty issue. I held my towel around myself and headed toward my locker.

Alicia stepped out from her shower stall and grabbed away my towel, then shoved at me. I kept my balance and didn’t fall.

I held out my hand. "Just hand me back my towel, Alicia. I don’t know what your beef with me is, but I assure you I am not the one you need to be angry with."

Thankfully, she tossed the towel at me and stormed into the locker room.

I dressed quickly. I found that I felt more secure with my ‘Ringmaster’ outfit on. I had come to identify with the name and persona.

I clambered to the top of the bleachers, wanting to read while we waited for the next bell. From my coat pocket, I took my copy of Morihei Ueshiba’s The Art of Peace.

I had just begun to loose myself in the prose when Ms. Lopez sat down beside me.

"I need to talk to you." She said.

I sighed and put the little book away.

"You’ve shown great physical prowess, Miss Elderclan. Today’s run demonstrated both exceptional endurance and a real sense of team play. I want to invite you to join out track team. We need someone of your caliber."

I shook my head. "No. Thanks for offering." I said. The idea of participating on a sports team turned my stomach. Extra curricular sports are considered more important than class work all too often, and they have come to be taken far too seriously. At times they could make or break a person’s life. I would sooner participate in my own beheading.

"But, a person with your talent could do so well. Think of the possibilities, the rewards."

"I do exercise, but only for it’s own benefits. I may be a good runner, but that’s merely random genetics. Why I would want the so-called ‘rewards’ of being praised for a genetic background I had no control over?"

"You have an advantage, why not use it?"

"We have nuclear weapons, why not use them?"

She looked confused.

"I don’t follow."

I sighed. "Just because someone can do something doesn’t mean they should. Look, I plan on using my intellect to benefit those around me – which is the whole point behind educating myself. Why would I tread on that philosophy by using my physical adeptness to defeat people?"

"What about the America competitive spirit?" She asked, getting angry.

"Yes, throughout history competitive people have been the shakers and the movers. Look at Stalin, Mao, Napoleon, Mussolini, Hitler, and Genghis Khan. Sure, crushing people underfoot is a fantastic way of running a society."

Her face turned irate. "I think some half-baked ‘philosophy’ doesn’t have anything to do with it. I think you’re just a coward, to frightened to try to compete." She yelled, shaking her fist. Her yell gained the attention of the class.

"Believe whatever makes you comfortable. I don’t really much care, your opinion means nothing to me." I said, viciously.

"That’s it, I’m calling your parents!" She threatened.

"You can’t." I said, beginning to cry from frustration.

"And why not, young lady?"

"Because they’re dead, you oaf!" I yelled. I stood up and ran from the bleachers and into the halls.

I was enraged. I had to fight down all my ‘social conditioning’ to keep control. Everything I had said was what I felt, and I knew I had managed to be polite about it until the end, but I still felt as if I had broken a thousand taboos saying it. I hated the empty, frightened feeling I had. I felt defenseless.

I went to my locker and fetched the books I needed for the next class. I stood with my head in my locker for a moment with my hat in my hand, trying to stop my weeping.

"What are you doing out of class?" I heard our principal say from behind me.

I stood upright, replaced my top hat and closed my locker.

I turned to her.

"What’s wrong? Why are you crying?" She asked, no actual concern in her voice.

I took a deep breath, and regained control. "Ms. Lopez was unintentionally insensitive to the loss of my parents." I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "The emotional strain was greater than I could handle, so I left. The class was over anyway, so I gambled it would be a forgivable offence, given the circumstances."

Principal Bennett looked thoughtful for a moment. "Come with me. What is your name?"

"Dara Elderclan."

I followed her to her office, and sat in the chair she indicated. The class bell rang. She left and returned with a file folder that had my name on the tab. She sat behind her desk and began to read the contents. After a few moments, Ms. Lopez entered the office and sat in the chair beside me, avoiding eye contact with me.

"Ms. Lopez, come with me for a moment." The principal said. Both women left the room.

Principal Bennett had left my file open on the desk. I leaned forward and read what was exposed. It wasn’t anything surprising, since I had helped write what was in the folder. What was surprising was the notation ‘radical freethinker/renegade’ in red ink.

After a few minutes, Principal Bennett and Ms. Lopez returned.

"I’m sorry I touched a nerve about your parents, I didn’t know they were… well, you know." Ms. Lopez said to me.

"I understand, Ms. Lopez." I answered.

"We cannot have students talking back to their instructors, Miss Elderclan." Principal Bennett scolded.

"I’m sorry, but to what do you refer?" I asked.

"You quarreled with Ms. Lopez."

"It was an explanation of my refusal to join a sports team. I am under the impression that they are voluntary?"

"Of course they are. You must understand, yelling at a teacher…"

"Pardon me, but I didn’t yell until I was distraught, and then only about my parents. Ms. Lopez was the one who chose to yell." I explained.

They both looked confused.

"Look, this is probably a simple matter of personality conflict. Ms. Lopez and I have diametrically opposed views on sports and competition. I have absolutely no problem with exercise, exertion nor with Ms. Lopez’ teaching style. So long as we don’t discuss philosophy, this sort of thing should never happen again."

I looked at them expectantly. The answer seemed so obvious to me.

"Miss Elderclan, you will apologize to Ms. Lopez for your rudeness, or you will face three days of detention."

I was shocked. Bennett hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

I gripped my walking stick.

"Pardon me? I have this notion the one that was treated poorly here was myself. Would someone care to inform me what I had missed?"

"Miss Elderclan, don’t make this difficult for yourself. You’ve challenged Ms. Lopez’ authority, and we cannot have such behavior." Bennett said.

"Yes, Goddess forbid we ever question so-called authority. It is for us to do, not think. I am so sorry I chose to have an opinion, Ms Lopez, much less expose you to it. I offer my humble and heartfelt apology."

"There’s no need for sarcasm, Dara." Lopez said.

"I think I could debate that." I answered.

"That’s it, four days detention, Miss Elderclan."

"And people wonder why this generation doesn’t give a flying rat’s hindquarters. Ms Lopez, I had politely refused. You pressed the matter. The more I explained my reasons, the angrier you became. You accidentally jab me in a tender emotional spot. Now I’m the one being punished for it. Does this not strike anyone as blatantly unfair?"

Bennett glared at me, but Lopez started to fidget.

"Ms. Lopez, I knew you hadn’t intended to hurt when you mentioned my parents, and I even presented it that way to Ms. Bennett immediately. I’m not trying to be an ass. You can see that, right? I just don’t want to participate in something I don’t believe in."

Lopez looked pleadingly at Bennett.

Bennett exploded in anger.

"You listen here, young lady! I will not have a damn subversive trying to undermine the faculty’s authority here! Your kind makes me sick! You prance around in your stupid little costumes pretending to be intelligent when all you are capable of doing is interfering! If it were up to me I’d have you all in shackles!" She screamed.

Lopez’ jaw hung limp. Bennett looked suddenly nervous. I cocked a nervous eyebrow at Bennett. Such an overt admission signaled a clear and present danger, one that needed to be averted immediately. I stood, and picked up the detention slips from Bennett’s desk, and walked slowly out the door.

I hung my head over the foot of ArliCat’s bed, playing idly with my hair. ArliCat sat on her chair by the computer.

"They didn’t hear a damn word you said, did they?" ArliCat asked.

"Only enough to get angrier with me. I think Lopez was starting to understand, but she was too afraid to question Bennett. ‘Jack-booted fascist dictator’ indeed! So, lucky me, three more days of extra time in the hell someone named Burbank Unified High School."

ArliCat sighed. "That crack about shackles is unnerving."

"You are one for understating issues, aren’t you?"

I sat reading Infinite Jest during the last detention period I had to serve. A spitball hit my book for the fourth time.

I sighed and brushed away the offending wad of slaver. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore John’s taunts. I looked at the clock and discovered I had to tolerate it for another twenty minutes.

Ms. Jackson had chosen to ignore John’s activities. I’m certain she had seen him actually launch a couple.

Jackson stood and left the room. John moved to the desk beside me. I was never going to get past this page with all those interruptions.

"Hey sexy. I hear you’ve been talking about me."

"Someone may have mistaken my descriptions of a rhesus for a depiction of you." I mocked, still looking at my book.

He looked confused. It never fails: use a word the bully is unlikely to know, and they back off.

"Wanna get some pizza with me after?"

Ok, sometimes it fails.

"Fantastic grammar, John. No wonder you’re doing so well in English."

"Is that a yes?" He said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Consider it an unequivocal NO. I would sooner chew glass." I glared at him.

He sat back in his seat, with a self-satisfied expression and manner. He pulled a package of gum from his shirt pocket and put a piece in his mouth.

"Want some?" He said, offering me the pack.

"Do you have trouble with rejection?"

He shoved the pack against my nose. He most definitely had a problem with rejection. I sighed, took the pack from his hand and tossed it onto Jackson’s desk.

"Fetch." I ordered, and tried to return to reading.

He laughed and went to retrieve his gum. Fortune smiled on me: Jackson reentered the room as he was out of his seat. She berated him for being away from his desk.

He returned to his seat still lacking his gum, displaying to me the raised middle finger of his right hand.

I had been able to read several more pages without interruption when Jackson announced the end of the detention period. I put my book away and unfolded my walking stick. I headed straight for the parking area. I could hear John follow.

I opened my stride and quickened my pace. I arrived at my car and got in with all the speed and efficiency I could muster. John caught my door.

"Hey, don’t you want to get that pizza?"

I rolled my eyes, and caught a glimpse of Alicia watching us with a look of utter contempt on her face. Now I knew why she disliked me, John must be her ‘boyfriend’.

"Look, go take Alicia out." I pointed to her. "Leave me the hell alone." I rapped his knuckles with my walking stick, forcing him to let go my door. I closed and locked it, and began to leave.

I could just hear Alicia yelling at John.

I wandered the isles of the grocery store trying to decide what to stock my shelves with. My basket had only a few snack foods in it. I had become a quite a light eater, some days eating only a miniscule lunch – and then only because I felt I had to, not because I was hungry. This body didn’t seem to need the fuel.

I stopped at the deli, deciding to get my usual sandwich materials.

"Ringmaster!" I heard from behind me.

I turned and saw ArliCat and her mom. I had honestly not expected them to be doing their own shopping.

"Hey, it’s the Listener clan." I said, smiling.

ArliCat pranced up to me and we embraced. I shook hands with Lisa.

"Hey, Mephisto and I ware thinking movie tonight. Want to come along?"

"I’d love to. Mephisto won’t mind?" I had assumed ArliCat and Mephisto were dating.

"Of course he won’t. We’re all friends, remember?" She said, a wry smile on her face.

Lisa looked into my basket. "Getting some treats?"

"Actually I’m trying to do some serious shopping, but so far I’ve only managed the… um… easy decisions."

"Come shop with us?" ArliCat offered.

"Sure! Let me get some cold cuts."

I ordered some of my favorite lunchmeats. We chatted idly about nothing in particular while the meats were cut and wrapped, then headed for the produce isles.

With some suggestions from Lisa, I came away with an adequate selection of ‘real’ food. We waited in line, ArliCat and I laughing at the ridiculous headlines on the tabloid papers. We paid for our purchases and headed for the cars.

"Would you like to come over to my place and do some homework or something while we wait for movie-time?" I asked.

ArliCat looked at her mom, who nodded approval.

"Yeah!"

We said good-bye to Lisa. I put the groceries into the trunk of my Nissan, and unlocked the door for ArliCat.

As I got onto the driver’s seat, I asked: "Where do you get those unusual lipstick colors?"

She looked at me for a moment, then smiled. "I forgot you just moved here. There’s this really cool shop on Denver Street that sells ‘Goth’ stuff. You can get your hands on almost anything there."

She continued to describe all the things she wanted to buy from the shop, once she had saved the money. I pulled into my garage.

"Where are your parents? I was looking forward to meeting them."

I gripped the steering wheel while I shut off the engine. This story was going to wear thin quickly.

"They were both killed in a car accident over a year ago. I was warded to the state. I live alone."

ArliCat looked shocked and embarrassed.

"I… uh… I didn’t…"

"Don’t worry. It’s OK." I said, patting her hand and smiling. "I’ll show you their photos after I put the edibles away."

ArliCat smiled diminutively at me, still embarrassed at her gaffe.

We both carried in the groceries and put them away. I offered ArliCat a soda, and we went into the living room. I pulled out the photo album my agents had compiled for me.

"This is my mom. She was an artist, a painter. And this is my dad, he was a freelance communications engineer." I pointed out the people in the photos and handed the album over to her.

"They look like they loved each other."

"I think they did. I wasn’t all that close to them, they had a sort of ‘let her grow on her own’ attitude toward raising me. They hated my Goth look. The more I refined my outfits and outlook, the more distant they became. When they died it was more of a shock from the change in my life than at their loss."

ArliCat put the album down and hugged me. "I’m sorry." She said. "I didn’t mean to bring all this up for you."

I returned the hug. "It’s Ok, ArliCat. It’s fine."

We separated and she looked lost for a moment.

"So, how about that homework?" She said.

"Um, actually I got all of mine done in detention. Want some help with yours?"

"Well, all I have to do is read a couple of chapters."

"Well, I’ve got a book I’m reading, so let’s get to it!" I smiled.

She fished her book out of her pack and I picked mine up from the coffee table. We sat back into the sofa’s cushions and began to read.

ArliCat, Mephisto and I walked out of the Movie Theater.

"That had to be the worst movie I’ve ever seen. What was the point?" Mephisto asked.

"To get our money." ArliCat answered.

I looked at my watch. "Anyone for something to eat or maybe some games?"

"I have to get home." Mephisto said, somber.

"It’s still early." ArliCat observed. "Can’t you stay for a while?"

"No, my dad’s on the warpath again. I was lucky to get to see the movie. I really got to go. See you on Monday." He turned and headed for the parking lot.

I watched him go. I was increasingly worried about his home life. The only stories he had about his family were of their berating him for his so-called imperfections. His Goth look was fading into the mundane and his grades were falling. He only occasionally went out with ArliCat, Aeon and I anymore. This had all the hallmarks of disaster.

"You like him, don’t you?" ArliCat asked me, seeing me watch him leave. She seemed to be asking about something that made her nervous.

"Well, yeah. He’s my friend." I remembered my feeling that she wanted Mephisto as a boyfriend. "I’m not interested in him… um… sexually, if that’s what you mean."

She seemed to brighten up, confirming my suspicions.

"I am concerned about him, though. I think he’s getting depressed or badly stressed. His parents have been treating him horribly – according to Aeon, more so than usual – and his grades just aren’t up to their usual if lackluster standard."

ArliCat tugged on my arm to guide me to the food court. "I’ve been worried, too. I just don’t know where to begin."

"I don’t know either."

We stood in line at a Mexi-Cali food place, silently mulling over Mephisto. ArliCat ordered herself a full dinner, and I got myself a taquito.

"Ringmaster, have you ever been attracted to a guy?" ArliCat asked me as we sat down to eat.

"Well, of course I… wait." Something had occurred to me. I had only married my husband because my parents approved of him. I had sex with him because it was my duty, not because I wanted to. I had never cheated on him. Even though the opportunities had been there, I was never interested. There was an underlying feeling. Something I was, even now, keeping repressed.

"You know what? I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to any guy."

ArliCat started to fidget. I got thoughtful. I was going to have to sort this odd feeling out, and soon. I wasn’t going to be any help to ArliCat with her love life if I wasn’t able to be honest about my own.

ArliCat had spilled a little taco sauce on her chin, and I took a napkin and cleaned it for her. She smiled thanks.

I sat at my desk that night and tried to list every man I had been attracted to in my 86 year life. Even as I lowered my standards, I couldn’t list one single man. I had been a friend to several, but I had yet to come across one who made me want him.

I started my computer and started my web browser. I located a few ‘erotic’ pictures of nude men. I studied their anatomy for a while, and tried to imagine sexual intercourse with them.

I wasn’t interested. Even the most incredible specimens of the male gender failed to evoke my libido.

I hesitated for a moment, the feeling I was suppressing trying to come to the surface. I located a few pictures of women in the nude.

I got up from my desk and paced the hallway outside my bedroom. There was a feeling I was afraid to face.

I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. As I drank it, the feeling gave itself a name.

I closed my eyes and fought with the programming – the social taboo – that was forcing me to be afraid of myself. I stood there gripping my glass in front of the sink, fighting with myself, trying to come to terms with something that had been there for eighty-six years.

My glass shattered in my hand, I had crushed it.

I opened my eyes to see what damage I had done to my hand. The glass hadn’t cut me. It should have, the shards were pressed against my skin with all the force they needed.

I cleaned up the glass debris. I took a knife out of the drawer and ran it over my palm. It didn’t cut. I tried a few more times. I could feel the blade, but even if I pressed hard no laceration would result.

This must have been some side effect of the Randomizer Field. I put the knife down, and headed to the spare room. The spell markings I had long since removed and the room stood empty. I stood by a wall, and drew my arm back. I gathered my courage and struck the wall with my fist. My hand came out in the hallway. My fingers still worked. The skin was not broken nor was it bruised.

My body was proving to be far better than I had originally hoped.

I washed off the plaster from my hand and returned to my bedroom. The images of nude women were still on my computer screen. I stared at them for a long while, returning to my original problem.

I had to admit it. They were beautiful. I enjoyed their bodies, and could imagine touching them, and being touched by them. I was forced to admit that women aroused my sexuality.

The taboo was strong, but I had resolved to live my life honestly this time. I sat on my bed and fantasized about the women on my screen.

It was a wonderful sensation.

I awoke to sunlight behind my blinds. I sat up and realized I had fallen asleep while still in my clothes. My computer was still displaying those delicious images, with a message that I had been disconnected from the Internet for inactivity.

I rose and walked over to shut the computer off. Stretching, I wandered to the bathroom to shower.

I was astonished at myself. In a matter of a few hours, I had uncovered one of the primary reasons I had hated my life. I still had a great deal of work ahead of me, but I had intellectually accepted that I was a lesbian, even if I hadn’t fully emotionally done so.

I dried off and dressed in black trousers and a slate long-sleeve shirt with a red vest. I admired the look in the mirror. I was an attractive girl, and my ongoing color scheme fit my personality well.

I giggled at my narcissism.

I wandered around the house, wondering what I should do with the day. Infinite Jest beckoned from the coffee table.

I had almost finished my book, having read for seven hours straight, when a knock came at my door.

I marked my place and answered. ArliCat stood there, in a very flattering black dress.

"Hey! Come on in."

"Hey Ringmaster. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by like this."

"Not in the least."

She sat on the edge of the sofa and set her backpack on the floor. I sat down beside her. She wasn’t wearing her usual heavy makeup, and her face shone with natural comeliness. I found myself admiring her beauty.

"I had to talk to you." She said nervously.

"Ok."

"Well, yesterday you said you had never been attracted to a guy."

I raised my eyebrows in mild surprise. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

"Well, I…" She hesitated and rethought her approach. She turned and faced me, putting her hand on my knee.

"We’ve been friends for a couple of months now."

"Yes, and a great couple of months it has been."

"Yeah. I was wondering if… well if you…"

I put my hand on hers.

"It’s alright, ArliCat. Go ahead and ask." I smiled at her and lightly squeezed her hand.

She hesitated, obviously not sure she should continue. I stroked her hair and smiled.

"Whatever you want to ask, please know you’re my friend and will be. I’ve really come to enjoy your company, ArliCat. I miss you when you’re not around. I doubt what you’re going to ask me would diminish that in the least. In fact, If you’re going to ask me what I think you are, our relationship would get stronger." I said, trying to encourage her without cornering her, or myself.

Her face lit up hopefully.

She still hesitated. She took my hand in hers and held tight – I could feel her trembling. I was certain what she wanted to ask me. I was certain I would answer ‘yes’. Before my resolve could fail, I reached over and kissed her. When she returned the kiss, a charge went trough me. This kiss felt right. It was something I wanted to share with her, not something I had to do.

When we parted to look at one another, a tear was running down her cheek.

"Why are you crying?" I asked, stroking the tear away.

"I was so afraid. I thought I had fallen in love with a straight."

I gathered her to me, and she rested her head on my shoulder.

"Your timing is impeccable, ArliCat. I’ve only just last night figured out that I’m gay." I said as I stroked her hair. "Thanks to you asking about guys at the mall."

Oh, how I loved to stroke her hair and feel her against me. This few moments we sat together, holding each other did much to help me fully accept my sexuality.

"Could we use our real names? I want to be with you, not a persona." She said.

"Ok, Arlene. I’d like that, too."

"Thank you, Dara." She sniffled, still crying from relief. We both leaned back into the sofa, relaxing into one another’s embrace.

She kissed me again, and rubbed my back. I stroked her leg.

She began to unbutton my vest, then my shirt.

I swallowed hard.

"What’s wrong? Am I going to fast?" She asked me.

"No. I’m just nervous. You’ve got yourself a virgin here." I said, smiling at her.

She smiled back, then kissed me again, one hand resting enticingly on my breast. "Me, too. Let’s fumble about together."

I awoke to find Arlene lying nude in my arms. She was still asleep, and I listened to the soft sound of her breathing. I looked down at her body, relishing her appearance. I felt something for her. Something I could not readily identify, but what I thought might be love.

Our night had been ecstasy. We had experimented and explored the delightful ways we could pleasure each other. I had finally experienced an orgasm I hadn’t brought about with masturbation, and I experienced several, as had she.

I brushed some hair away from her face. I wondered how my life would have gone if I had admitted my sexuality sooner.

Arlene woke from the touch, and quickly regained her bearings. She smiled at me, then kissed me again. Our tongues swirled around one another.

"Good morning, lover." I said when our kissing subsided.

"Morning, beautiful."

"Care for a shower?"

"Together?" She asked, smiling broadly and beginning to fondle my breasts.

"Definitely. Let’s conserve that water."

I don’t think we conserved any water.

After I dried her off and she dried me off, we dressed. She had brought a change of clothes, a dark purple frilly blouse and black jeans that fit her very well. I went about making her breakfast as she sat at the table. I decided to wear my full-blown Ringmaster outfit.

"Are you sure I can’t help?" She offered again.

"Relax, Arlene. Let me treat you right."

She blushed.

"So, there are a couple of little issues we need to hash out." I said, while cleaning a cantaloupe.

"Like what?"

"Well, foremost is: how comfortable are you with being gay?"

I set a plate full of cantaloupe wedges on the table.

"I don’t follow."

"Well, would you hold my hand in public or at school?"

"Oh, jeez. I hadn’t considered any of that."

"And how about Aeon and Mephisto? Do we tell them?"

"And my mom." She said, worried.

I hadn’t considered her mother. "Your mom does know you’re here, right?"

"Yeah, I told her I was going to stay overnight. Slumber party stuff."

I washed some grapes and set them with the cantaloupe.

"Want eggs or bacon or something?" I offered

"No, thanks. I’m not a big breakfast person." She sighed. "I’ll bet straights don’t need to talk about all this, do they."

"Probably not. Some might have the parent problem, though."

I sat down with her. She picked up a cantaloupe wedge.

"Well, let’s work out the easiest one first."

"Mephisto and Aeon." She said.

"I’d say: Yes. I’ll bet they’re pretty open minded."

"I’m pretty sure they are. I’ve known them for a couple of years, and they never got freaked out about the gay guys in the Goth population. Mephisto even hung around with one for a while."

"Great, nice and easy. It’s good to have intelligent friends. That leads us to school."

"Dara, to be honest I want to show you off. I’m happy about us." She said. "But I won’t if it makes you uncomfortable."

"I made a vow to myself, Arlene. A sacred vow – I will live my life honestly, and I will endure the costs of that honesty. If I were to hide my feelings for you, it would only be because you wanted me to."

She looked very contented to hear that. "Thanks, Dara."

"So, to what level of public displays of affection are you comfortable with? Handholding, Kissing, Cunnilingus?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

She giggled. "I think I’m Ok with kissing, but not… you know… deep, sustained, wet and sloppy kissing. Just the ‘I love you’ kind of pecks."

"I’d have to agree there. I’d like the occasional cuddle, too."

"Me, too. How do you think you’re going to handle the stares and teasing we’re probably going to get."

"I’ll probably just ignore it all. If anyone tries to push the point… well, I’ll just play it by ear."

"I can ignore the stupid stuff, but the ones who want to ‘push the point’…"

"…Are rare. Don’t worry about them too much. Chances are we’ll meet that sort when we’re together anyway. We’ve already proven to make a great team." I said, smiling.

"Dara, I think this is going to be the best. Do you know how happy you made me when you kissed me the first time?"

"If I managed to make you half as happy as you made me when you returned the kiss, then I did good." I smiled, taking her hand.

She leaned over and we kissed with affection.

"That leaves the tough one." She said, as we sat again.

"Yeah. I think that one’s going to require thought. We can hide from your mom for a time, while you weigh your options."

"What about you?"

"Well, I don’t care if your mom knows I’m gay. You’re the one who has to live with her, my love. I’m happy – even anxious – to help you contemplate it, but the decision has to be yours to make."

She looked down and wrung her hands. I set my hand on hers.

"Don’t sweat about it. Relax. We’ll figure it out. We can even just wait for our eighteenth birthdays, and the whole problem will become pretty much academic."

She opened her mouth to say something and I popped a grape into it. She looked startled, and then smiled.

"We’re too emotional to think about that right this moment, let’s relax for a while. Hey, how about we visit that Goth shop?"

She stuffed a cantaloupe wedge into my mouth.

"Sounds like fun." She said, with a broad smile on her face.

We spent the rest of breakfast feeding one another grapes and cantaloupe while giggling profusely.

We got lucky and found a parking space within a few blocks of the Goth store Arlene had told me about.

We walked down the street arm-in-arm, getting stares from several passers-by. I was quite happy to be set apart, the feeling of rebellion it gave me was pleasing.

"You Ok with this?" I whispered to Arlene.

"Yeah. It’s kind of fun, as a matter of fact."

We entered the store. It was a fantastic sight. All sorts of Gothic and Romantic clothing were on exhibit. Jewelry of every kind sat in displays, from the simple to the garish. There was make up in colors you would never find at K-mart.

"Oh my. Now, this is a store!" I exclaimed.

"Hey ArliCat!" The woman behind the counter said. "Who’s the new friend?"

"Hey Wendy, meet Ringmaster. She’s my girlfriend." Arlene said.

I extended my free hand, and Wendy shook it.

"Delightful to meet you, Wendy."

"Charmed, I’m sure." She said, smiling, then turned to look at ArliCat. "Well, ArliCat, I‘m glad you finally came out. And with a real pretty one on your arm, too." She said.

I blushed. Arlene blushed. "Wendy, shush!" She said.

"Ok, my curiosity’s piqued. What’s up?"

Arlene looked lost.

"Ah, go ahead and tell her, ArliCat. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"Oh, hell. Ok, Wendy was my… um… first crush." She told me, self-consciously. "She helped me come out to myself."

I smiled. "Well, then I owe you a debt of gratitude, Wendy. You see, in turn ArliCat here helped me come out to myself."

Wendy smiled, and Arlene gave my arm a happy squeeze.

"Come out? What? Come out from where?" I heard from behind me. Arlene and I turned and Aeon was behind us.

"What are you all talking about?" He said, arms akimbo beneath an especially admirable cape.

I looked at Arlene. "You want to tell him?"

"Yeah." She said, then turned to Aeon.

"Aeon, Ringmaster and I are lesbians, and we’re in love."

Aeon looked back and forth between Arlene and I for a moment.

"Cool. It’s about time, ArliCat. I was getting worried you weren’t going to find anyone for yourself."

"Like I said, ArliCat – It’s nice to have intelligent friends." I smiled.

"I have to agree with that, Ringmaster. I thank the gods I have some." Aeon said, smiling that wry smile of his. "So, what do you think of this cape, is it me?" He turned on his heel. The heavy black cape with a deep blue lining billowed around him.

"It screams nasty attitude. Thus, it’s you, Aeon." Wendy gibed.

"Lady, you have got to work on that sales technique." He said. "Ill take it."

Saying goodbye to Arlene on that Sunday night was almost traumatic. Neither of us wanted that weekend to end.

School on Monday went well. I didn’t run into Arlene in the morning as I had hoped, but we rarely did. Our homerooms were quite a distance apart.

I saw ArliCat, Aeon and Mephisto sitting at their usual lunch table. Aeon was wearing the cape he had bought on Sunday with a blue poet’s shirt that matched the cape’s lining. Mephisto wasn’t in his usual costume, instead wearing mundane clothes. Arlene had her usual black skirt and bodice on, but her shawl was bright orange. The effect, from behind at least, was striking.

Skirting the jocks, I headed their way with some trepidation. This moment would either mark my first full-blown coming out or Arlene would have ‘come to her senses’ and rebuff me.

I was shocked to discover the depth of my emotional investment in Arlene and the fear I felt that she would not feel in a like manner for me.

I paused and took a deep breath, then took the last few steps to the table and sat beside Arlene.

I was made one of the happiest girls on the planet when she put her arm around me. We gave one another a quick kiss.

"Hey there love." She said to me, further enhancing my euphoria.

"I missed you." I said.

"What the hell is this?" Mephisto said, thunderstruck.

I looked at him amazed. I had assumed Arlene or Aeon would have told him already, since they all share several classes.

"Come on, Mephisto, isn’t it obvious?" Aeon said in his usual gruff style.

The expression on Mephisto’s face changed from confounded to raw fury.

"This isn’t fucking fair!" He screamed, beating his fist on the table.

"Woah, calm down!" Aeon pleaded.

Arlene and I exchanged worried glances.

"Mephisto…" Arlene started.

"Shut up! This isn’t fair! I was supposed… It was me who…" He sputtered, his rage transforming to depression.

"Mephisto, please. Calm down and tell us what’s wrong." I said.

He looked at me. "I wanted you to be my girlfriend." He said, a sob forming in his voice and tears in his eyes. "I thought you wanted me. You were nice to me."

"I’m nice to you because you are my friend. Mephisto, I’m gay – I can’t want you as a suitor." I explained. "I still want you as a friend. We all do – Right?"

Arlene nodded enthusiastically and Aeon gave Mephisto’s shoulder a solid and friendly squeeze while we all adamantly confirmed the sentiment.

Mephisto seemed to weigh this for a moment. Then he shrugged off Aeon’s hand, stood and took his tray to an empty table across the cafeteria from us.

"Oh, shit." Arlene said.

"I didn’t see this coming." I said dejectedly.

"No one could have expected you to." Aeon said. "Mephisto’s under extraordinary strain, and you’ve been extra nice to him lately because of it. Yeah, Arlene and I knew it was because you are his friend…" He sighed. "It’s too easy to see what you want to see. He wanted it to be love, so he saw love. Let’s let him cool down. After school, let’s take him out to dinner and talk. My treat." Aeon said.

"You just sunk a gob of money into that cape. Let me treat." I offered.

"No, there’s two problems there. One, you treated ArliCat and I to dinner yesterday. Two, the last thing we want is to fuel his misconception further. I hate to say it, but you two will probably have to distance yourselves from him for a little while."

I thought about it for a moment. I wanted to fix the problem – and fix it now. But Aeon was right. Mephisto was in a delicate emotional state, and pushing would send him over the edge. Worse still, Aeon was going to have to be the one to do it. The mere presence of Arlene and myself would serve only to make it worse, for a while. Dinner that night would have to serve as our sounding board.

"Yeah, dinner’s good for me. ArliCat?"

"Works fine for me."

"Ok. Pardon me, I’m going to tell him." Aeon said, and moved his lunch over to Mephisto’s table.

Arlene and I watched. Happily, we witnessed as Mephisto nodded his assent and Aeon began to eat lunch with him.

"Thank the Goddess." Arlene exalted.

We turned back to our lunches and Arlene put her arm around me again.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" I heard John’s voice beside me.

"Ah damn it." Arlene said under her voice.

"Piss off, John." I said, not looking up from my meal.

"So you two are Bi? That’s too fucking cool. Want to come over and get it on with me, Bi-girls? I always wanted two bitches at once."

"I’d rather gnaw off my own leg, ass-hole." Arlene growled.

He reached over and tried to turn my head toward him. I put my hand on his belly and shoved as hard as I was able. He was launched back a foot or two and landed on his behind.

He started to get up, catching his breath and coughing. A crowd of people began to gather around us.

"Leave us the hell alone." I yelled.

"Oh, I like it rough, bitches. You’re gonna love fucking me." He taunted.

"Leave them alone!" A girl in the crowd yelled.

"Mind your own business!" John yelled over his shoulder.

"John! Don’t do this, man! It’s not worth getting kicked off the team!" One of the football players said.

That seemed to spur him on. He rushed us and put his arms around me. Arlene squealed in fright. I turned to see John had his hand down her bodice, gripping one of her breasts. Rage thrust aside my intellect.

Standing, I grabbed John’s throat just below his jaw, lifting him up with me. I drew back and punched for his crotch, using all the force I had mustered when I put the hole in my wall at home.

My aim was off and I struck him in the left thigh. A sickening, organic pop and crunch sounded and John screamed. I let him go and he crumpled to the ground. I came around from my seat and drew my fist back again to strike him in the face. I felt hands on my arm, drawing me back.

Arlene was pulling me back, her bodice replaced. Ms. Lopez was pushing her way through the crowd.

I looked back to John. He lay on the ground, his face distorted in agony. His left leg was contorted beneath him, his hip protruded unnaturally.

I saw I had done plenty of damage to prevent his counterattack. I relaxed and turned to hug Arlene, who held me.

"I’m sorry, Arlene. I’m so sorry." I wept.

Arlene responded by holding me tighter.

"You, go to the office and have them get an ambulance." Ms. Lopez barked at someone in the crowd. "The rest of you, get out. Go to your next class. Now!"

"Damn it, John. I knew you’d bring it to this one of these days." Ms. Lopez whispered.

The students began to clear out of the cafeteria. Ms. Lopez tried to keep John still, telling him she couldn’t risk moving his leg out from under him and moving could damage his hip further. Principal Bennett came in at a trot.

"Dear God. What happened?" Bennett asked Lopez.

"I’m not sure. I think that can wait until we get John to the hospital." Lopez said.

One of the cafeteria staff rushed up with a blanket, which Lopez used to keep John warm against shock. They were effectively ignoring Arlene and I.

I guided Arlene back to our seats. She was crying and holding on to the breast John had grabbed. "What’s wrong? Did he hurt you?" I asked.

She nodded her head slightly. I kept hugging her.

"You’re going to get in trouble for this, aren’t you?" She asked.

"I don’t know, maybe. Let’s worry about that when and if it happens." I cooed.

A student led a couple of medics into the cafeteria, pointing to John. They carefully rolled john on his side to straighten his leg, then rolled him back onto a board and began to fasten him to it with tape and gauze.

Bennett came up to us. "You two were involved?"

"Yes." I answered.

"Come with me to my office."

Arlene and I sat in front of Bennett’s desk. Bennett leaned back on her desk, probably trying to look imposing.

"What happened, Ms. Elderclan?"

I drew a deep breath and exhaled, to get my wits about me. I decided to tell it as cool and straightforward as I could.

Ms. Lopez entered the office carrying a file folder stuffed thick with papers and stood by Bennett’s desk.

"John approached us and began harassing us. He was propositioning Arlene and I to have sex with him, referring to us as if we were animals. We both adamantly refused. When he leaned in toward me and grabbed at my face, I pushed him away. He stumbled and fell. I told him again to leave us alone. A crowd began to gather around us at this point. A couple of people – I don’t know their names – advised John to leave us alone. He rushed us, grabbing Arlene’s breast. It was a direct sexual assault on the both of us, since his arms were around me as well. I pushed him back again and struck his leg as hard as I could muster."

"You’ve had problems with our sports programs before, correct?"

I gave her a confused look. "Ms. Lopez and I once argued before about sports, yes."

"She’s never failed to participate in class, and she’s never acted as if she had anything against me since. I don’t think that’s a related issue." Lopez said to Bennett.

Bennett looked at me. "So you want to claim this act of violence was self-defense? Do you think I have reason to believe that one of our best football players would sexually assault you and your friend?"

Arlene stood and turned her back on Bennett and Lopez.

"What are you doing, young lady?" Bennett inquired threateningly.

"Just a second." Arlene said.

She was undoing her bodice. She folded down the cup over the breast John had grabbed. I saw bruises around it, in the shape of fingers. I was shocked and angered.

"Mother Isis! Arlene!" I cried.

Arlene covered her nipple with her shawl and turned back around.

"I have physical evidence to confirm Dara’s story. I would like the police called, please. I intend to file charges." She said, glacially.

Bennett and Lopez were aghast and speechless.

Lopez recovered first. "Look at this." She said, offering the folder to Bennett. "This is John Gable’s file. The complaints are almost entirely from girls he has as much as assaulted – look at the size of this thing! This was inevitable, Alice. Once this gets out, no one would blame Dara for this – assuming anyone would believe such a slight girl could have managed to blast a football player’s hip out of it’s socket with her fist! They’ll say John got his just deserts."

As Lopez spoke, Arlene turned again and put her bodice back into place. I stood and when she was done I hugged her, and she kissed me.

"Thanks for defending me. Let’s crush this ass-hole." She whispered into my ear.

We sat back down.

Lopez and Bennett looked embarrassed for a moment. Lopez shrugged her shoulders then looked at her shoes. Bennett looked through John’s folder and sighed.

"Angela, go call the police please."

Lopez strode quickly out of the office.

Bennett lifted the PA microphone that was sitting on the credenza behind her desk.

"Sorry for the interruption, teachers. Would any student that witnessed the events that lead up to the fight that occurred in the cafeteria during senior lunch please report immediately to the office. You will be needed for the police report."

She sat down behind her desk and moved several papers aside.

"I owe you both an apology. I should have seen this coming and averted it before it got to this point." She sighed and rubbed her temples.

"Honestly, girls, I had always expected a violent situation to arise from the activities of your so-called ‘Goth’ subculture. After our confrontation over talking back to Ms. Lopez, I had gone looking for excuses to keep you in line. I see now, Miss Elderclan, I had little to worry about. In reviewing the files of everyone that has been labeled a ‘Goth’, I have discovered that your only crimes have been to come to school oddly dressed. Several ‘Goths’ are honor students, including yourself. I apologize for my prejudice as well."

Lopez returned. "They’re on the way." She reported.

"Thank you, Angela. Go ahead and deal with your next class."

Ms. Lopez nodded and left.

"Ms. Bennett? Don’t blame yourself for John’s actions. I don’t think it’s possible to detect and deal with every psychotic that comes along. At least this time it didn’t result in something I can’t handle." Arlene consoled.

I smiled at Arlene’s big heartedness. I’m not sure I could make the same consolation after being manhandled like that. I reached over and held her hand.

"Do your parents know about… that." Bennett said, waving her hand toward our clasped hands.

"Not yet. Soon, though." Angela said.

"And yours, Miss Elderclan?"

"Only if you believe in an afterlife." I answered.

"Oh dear. That’s right, I had forgotten. My apologies again."

The investigation went mercifully smooth, thanks in no small part to the reputation of Arlene’s mother – the litigator.

John’s parents had filed assault charges against me, of course. The judge threw the charges out at the hearing. A second judge threw out the civil suit. Amazingly, I wasn’t punished for defending Arlene.

It turned out that John had several sexual assault charges filed against him previously. None of them had panned out because of a lack of physical evidence and witnesses. Rumor had it that several of the people who had filed the unsuccessful charges previously had filed civil suits against him on the strength of Arlene’s case. Arlene was more than happy to witness for them. The lawsuits were her opportunity to finally stand up to the misogyny that was, in her eyes, boy’s high school football. I agreed because I wanted the girls got get some justice.

The stress seemed to help Arlene and I bond. Our relationship strengthened and became deeper and more meaningful. Somehow, Arlene and I had managed to keep our relationship secret from her mother. Arlene wanted to wait for her eighteenth birthday. My birthday was a few weeks before hers, so the whole ‘minors’ issue would be resolved for us. It sounded like a good idea to me. Aeon told us every time how much he thought we belonged together. Well, as much as he could admit such thoughts.

Mephisto, on the other hand, was becoming more distant. The initial investigation of the assault had kept us from taking him out to dinner that evening as we had planned. That we had no real choice in the matter was a fact he chose to ignore. He could be downright hostile about it.

He had transformed in the ensuing months. He wore only mundane clothing and had shaved his beard. He was overtly hostile to the Goths, and especially unfriendly to Aeon. If he spoke to Arlene or myself, it would only be to attempt to convince us that we were not gay. After a while, Arlene wouldn’t acknowledge him. I still tried to talk to him, but his mind was set and my efforts futile.

It was during ‘Winter Vacation’ that things with Mephisto came to a head. When Mark (at that point he no longer wished to be called Mephisto) saw his grades he became unimaginably irate. He was in no danger of failing, but his ‘C’ average was apparently not going to be enough to appease his parents.

Once vacation started, we didn’t see him.

Arlene’s mom wanted to go to Switzerland for skiing, and Arlene talked her mother into allowing Arlene to stay with me.

We practically played "house" for the entire vacation.

The long time we spent together helped us know just how compatible we were. Luck gave us similar habits with cleaning, bathroom habits, and even television watching (neither of us watched any). We quickly resolved any conflicts, both of us willing to make concessions for the other. The one fight we had was resolved quickly when Arlene began laughing at our bull-headedness.

On Yule – a pagan holiday that Arlene celebrates – I wanted to deliver some gifts to our friends. Arlene thought it sounded like a great way to celebrate the rebirth of the God, so off we went.

We wore our least "Gothy" outfits since we didn’t want to have to deal with freaked-out parents. We didn’t give up the whole look, though. I wore an Ankh on my red vest and heavy eyeliner in an Egyptian style. Arlene wore a black skirt and black blouse for her Goth styling and a small pentacle around her neck with a silver sprig of holly on it for her religious holiday.

Aeon was happy to see us – he actually smiled. His parents were interesting people. They had been New Romantics in their high school days and so were thrilled when Aeon went Goth. We talked for over an hour about the differences between Goth and the New Romantic era.

We visited a few other friends’ houses, but most were out of town for the holidays.

We stopped by Ms. Lopez’ house, too. She was the one teacher I really respected since she had put aside our differences to make sure Arlene got her justice. She cried when I gave her the little trinket of a gift.

We stopped in front of Mark’s house. Arlene didn’t want to deal with him, but she also wanted to be forgiving. She walked with me to the front door.

"If he invites us in, is it OK if we decline?" She asked me.

"Of course, love. I’m not going to force you two to be friends – that’s not even possible. This is all probably just blind hope on my part anyway." I said with a sigh.

She kissed my cheek. "Thanks Dara."

I smiled at her as I rang the doorbell and waited. After a few minutes, I knocked.

I heard Mark yell, "Go away." He sounded despondent.

"Mark? It’s Ringmaster and ArliCat. We come bearing gifts!" I yelled back.

I could swear I heard him say, "Go away and let me die."

"Did you hear that?" I asked Arlene.

"No. Can you hear him?"

I tried the door and it was unlocked. I opened it.

"Mark? It’s Dara. Can I come in?" I called into the house.

"What are you doing?" Arlene asked.

"I have a bad feeling, Arlene. I want to check on him."

I entered the house. Arlene followed, but stopped just after the door.

"Mark?" I called again.

"I said go away!" He yelled back. I went up the stairs toward his voice.

"Don’t you want your present? Come on, this is a bribe, buddy!" I said.

"No." He said, weakly.

I opened the door of the hall bathroom, which had been ajar.

"Oh dear Goddess!" I yelled.

He was in the bathtub, reclining in water that was bright pink with blood. His skin was pale.

"Arlene!" I screamed. "Call 911! He’s dying!"

I dropped the present and lunged forward, grabbing him under his arms. I hauled him out of the bathtub onto the floor. His wrists were slashed. The bloodied razor sat in the soap dish.

I yanked towels from the wall and tore them in half, trying to quickly make dressings for his wounds. I bound them as tightly as I dared.

Arlene came in with a cordless phone to her ear.

"Oh Goddess, no." She whimpered. "He’s slashed his wrists." She said into the phone, her voice trembling. She repeated the address.

"I don’t know. Let me ask." She covered the phone’s mouthpiece.

"He wants to know if he’s still breathing and if he has a pulse."

He was obviously breathing. I put my hand against his neck to find a pulse.

"Yes, both." I said.

She repeated the answer into the phone.

I set Mark’s legs up on the rim of the tub, trying to keep his blood in his upper body where it would do the most good.

"Come on, Mark. Don’t do this. We still care about you." I said, tears flowing down my cheeks.

His eyes looked at me blankly.

Arlene was still answering questions on the phone, most with "I don’t know."

I could hear a siren approaching.

"Hang on, Mark. We’ll put all this back together with you. Just live, please, just stay alive." I begged.

Arlene ran down the stairs to wave in the ambulance. I kept talking to Mark, trying to convince him to fight for life rather than throw it away.

Paramedics appeared and rushed me out of the bathroom. In moments, they were carrying Mark on a gurney down the stairs, IVs in his arms. I asked them which hospital they were going to, and a medic answered quickly and curtly.

All at once, the house was quiet. Sirens faded into the distance.

I went down the stairs. Arlene was searching through the notes pinned to the refrigerator.

"I’m trying to find out where his parents are." She said. I nodded, trying to decide how I could help. I went back up the stairs and found Mark’s room. His pants were lying across his bed. I took out his wallet and looked for a phone number list. Thankfully, I found one.

"Here, we can use his dad’s cell phone number." I said as I returned to the kitchen. I handed Arlene the card since she still had the phone in her hand.

She dialed.

"Mr. Shelter? I’m Arlene Listener, one of Mark’s friends. No, sir he didn’t… No sir… Sir, please listen, this is important. Dara and I were delivering gifts today… yes, sir. He was… I don’t know how to say this…" Her tears started again and she handed me the phone.

"I can’t tell him." She said.

I put the phone to my ear.

"Mr. Shelter? This is Dara Elderclan. I’m sorry, but this isn’t easy news."

"Please get on with it, child. I’m in the middle of something extremely important and I don’t have time for your games." He said.

"Sir, we discovered Mark in the middle of a suicide attempt. He’s on his way to St. Vincent’s hospital right now."

Silence from the other end.

"Sir?"

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" He said.

"No sir. I’m sorry, but I’m quite serious."

He hung up.

"Damn it. I don’t know if he took me seriously or not." I said.

"We should go to the hospital. They’ll need these numbers." Arlene suggested.

We locked up the house as best we could and headed for St. Vincent’s.

We sat in the waiting area. Arlene was idly flipping though the ancient magazines.

The doctor had been happy to see us show with a telephone number she could use. She had staff keep us informed about Mark’s progress. So far, it seemed he was going to live.

A man and a woman approached us.

"Are you Arlene and Dara?" He said.

I recognized his voice.

"I’m Dara, this is Arlene. You must be Mister and Missus Shelter."

They sat in chairs across from us.

"I…" he started, and choked back his tears.

His wife patted him on the back and cooed.

"Thank you. The Doctor tells us you two saved his life." Mrs. Shelter said.

I shrugged my shoulders. "He’s our friend." I said.

Arlene was fuming. I put my hand on hers to help her calm down. This wasn’t the time to point fingers.

We all sat silently for a while. Arlene leaned her head on my shoulder and fell asleep.

Eventually Mr. Shelter’s control broke and he began to weep quietly, his wife following soon after. I averted my eyes. They needed to release the stress and didn’t need me watching.

The doctor returned, looking satisfied. She knelt on one knee so she could face us all. I gently shook Arlene awake.

"Hmm? What’s up?" She said sleepily.

"Doctor’s here." I said.

"Hi." The doctor started. "I’m happy to inform you that he’s fully stable now."

She looked at Arlene and I. "You found him in plenty of time to save his life, and he hadn’t lost so much blood as to create many complications, so you saved him a great deal of recovery time as well." She turned to the Shelters. "The bottom line is we expect a full recovery from his physical injuries."

The Shelters hugged each other and began to cry again, this time with relief. Arlene and I both breathed a sigh of release.

"When can his parents see him?" I asked, knowing they would want to.

"Right now. He’s settled into his room. He’s going to be very tired. Don’t try to wake him if he’s asleep." She pulled out her pager. "Damn. Would you let them know? The guys at the desk can let them know which room."

"Sure, no problem." Arlene answered.

As the Doctor left, Arlene went to inquire about the room number.

The Shelters began to settle again as Arlene returned.

"2311" She said.

I gently guided Mrs. Shelter to her feet, Mr. Shelter following.

"Come on, let’s go see him." I said.

Mrs. Shelter grasped my hand in thanks as we headed for the elevators.

As we rode to the second floor, I repeated what the doctor had told me about not waking Mark, in case the Shelter’s hadn’t heard. They both nodded their understanding.

We found the room quickly.

Mark was awake, though clearly very sleepy. He gave us a little smile.

Arlene and I hung back to let his parents talk with him.

As his mother caressed his face and his father held his hand, Mark fell asleep.

After a few minutes, the Shelters, Arlene and I left Mark to rest.

"Can we take you to dinner?" Mrs. Shelter offered. "I’d like to thank you again for saving him."

I looked at Arlene, who nodded. "Yes, please." I answered.

Arlene and I followed the Shelters to what Mrs. Shelter described as a nice little restaurant not far from the hospital. On the way, Arlene told me about a confrontation she had with them over a year ago. She had told them how unfair they were being with Mark, and they had responded by booting her off their property. She was amazed they hadn’t recognized her yet.

We walked into the restaurant beside the Shelters. The host knew them on sight and guided us to what I suspected to be their regular table. Arlene and I sat close together across from the Shelters.

The host confirmed my suspicions when he asked after Mark.

The Shelters didn’t know how to answer, looking very uncomfortable. Arlene caught the host’s eye and subtly shook her head to indicate he should quietly drop the subject and move on.

Mr. Shelter tried to be gracious. He indicated the menus and made a couple of suggestions to Arlene and I. Looking at the menu, I was shocked at the absurd prices. Arlene tapped me on the shin with her foot and made a face at the menu.

I regretted having gone to the restaurant.

As our waiter filled our water glasses and set down a basket of bread sticks, I located the least expensive item on the menu, the bouillabaisse.

"So, dears, tell me about yourselves. How long have you know Mark?" Mrs. Shelter asked.

"I’ve known him since we were sophomores." Arlene said.

"I just moved to Burbank this past summer. Arlene introduced me to Mark." I said.

"So, I’ll bet a pair of beautiful young women such as yourselves have some pretty great boyfriends." Mr. Shelter said.

Arlene and I glanced at one another and we couldn’t help but giggle.

"Mr. Shelter…" I began.

"Please, call me George."

"George, Dara and I are a couple." Arlene finished for me.

The Shelters’ faces fell.

"Your… lesbians?" Mrs. Shelter said, whispering the word ‘lesbians’. She looked scandalized.

"Yes, ma’am." Arlene confirmed.

Mr. Shelter straightened in his seat. "Well, then I guess you don’t have those boyfriends." He gave us a small apologetic smile.

"Is Mark gay?" Mrs. Shelter blurted out.

"Sheila!" George cautioned.

We couldn’t help but giggle again.

"No, ma’am. Mark is quite straight." I answered, smiling at her uneasiness.

"Then why is he… well, you know… hanging out with… you know…?" Mrs. Shelter asked.

"We’re friends. Gays aren’t aliens, Mrs. Shelter, we have friends just like everyone else." Arlene said, slightly annoyed.

We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

"So, you two are… what did he call that… ‘Goth’, right?" Mr. Shelter said.

Arlene and I agreed.

"Well, do you think that the ‘Goth’ obsession with death and the morbid had anything to do with… his trying to…" He made a vague gesture.

"Goths do not have an obsession with ‘death and morbidity’, Mr. Shelter." I explained. "We do generally accept them as part of life, and we can celebrate the beauty they can sometimes hold. At worst, death is what contrasts life, making life all the more interesting and fascinating. I consider courting death as much of a problem as you do. Why else would I have saved Mark?"

"Frankly, Mark’s depression probably comes from being constantly compared to his older brother." Arlene said.

I didn’t like the timing of Arlene’s attack, but I wasn’t about to squelch it.

"Who compares him to his brother?" Mrs. Shelter asked.

"You do." Arlene growled. "And so does he."

"How dare you!" Mr. Shelter said.

"I dare because I’ve seen you do it. You can’t stop talking about James. You talk about his perfect SAT score, and ask Mark why he did so poorly. You talk about James’ full academic scholarship to an Ivy League university, then ask Mark why he can’t do as well. You berate Mark for his ‘C’ average, telling him how James maintained a perfect ‘A’."

Arlene sighed heavily. "Of course, last time I told you two this, you kicked me off the property rather than listen. I suppose we will have to leave now."

The waiter chose that moment to take our order. Mr. Shelter quickly ordered for us all and sent the waiter away.

"What are you saying? That Mark’s suicide was all our fault?" Mr. Shelter asked with a subdued anger.

"No." I said. "Life handed Mark a few nasty knocks at random. He may have clinical depression. There’s never one single factor in a suicide, Mr. Shelter. This shouldn’t be about blame – but neither can any of us ignore our roles in his despair."

"Instead of pointing a finger, I wanted to make it clear that you need to fix a problem. I think your infatuation with James has left Mark adrift." Arlene said. "What do you know of him? You don’t know who his friends are, you had forgotten me and I’ve been his friend for years. Did you know he’s a painter? He’s a damn good painter, at that. Have you seen his portrait of me? It’s hanging in his room. Did you know he started smoking last year?"

"He smokes?" Mrs. Shelter exclaimed.

"Not anymore. Aeon – another friend of Mark’s – made a successful campaign to get him to quit before it became an addiction."

"Art isn’t much of a career. He needs to improve those grades to follow James into…" Mr. Shelter began.

"See? You can’t help but try and make him into James! I have news for you, sir. He’s not James. He’s not a physics genius on his way to lucrative government research grants! Mark is an artist. He’s a very sensitive, observant and talented painter. No, he may not die rich and famous, but maybe he’d die happy if he was allowed to follow his own heart." Arlene admonished.

"Not everyone can be the successful businessman that this society demands of us. Some of us need to be different. I’m a writer. Arlene’s a sculptor. Mark’s a painter. Aeon is a historian. None of us are what our parents were. Arlene’s mother is one of this state’s most respected and feared civil lawyers. Aeon’s parents are investment bankers. Damn near diametric, don’t you think?" I commented.

"You could be very proud of Mark if you would turn down the volume of your expectations. He has no interest in schoolwork, yet he studies his heart out to maintain that ‘C’ average." Arlene said.

"He does it because he cares what you two think of him. He has been willing to put aside everything he considers important in his endeavors to please you." I added.

"I don’t know why I should consider what a pair of children think."

"George! Damn it! You know their right. You demonstrated it for them!" Mrs. Shelter looked furious. "We have been being a pair of asses!" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I didn’t know the paintings in his room were his. I thought he had found them at some garage sale or swap meet. George, he is good at painting. He does study, we’ve see him!"

George fidgeted under our scrutiny.

"How much effort did it take to get him to stop wearing all those dark clothes? You told him once! Once! He started buying clothes like yours after that. God forgive me for being such a damn fool."

Mr. Shelter waved his hand at me in a dismissive gesture. "Oh, all that frilly rhetoric is what the lazy hide behind when they need an excuse for not excelling."

Mrs. Shelter was about to tear into him again. I held up my hand to stop her.

"Prepare yourself for a shock, Mr. Shelter." I said, acidly. "I maintain a perfect 4.0 average in all my classes. I am in the running for valedictorian, and my councilor believes I have a very good chance of achieving that award. I speak over a dozen languages fluently. I’m a regular contributor to the school newspaper, much to the chagrin of the faculty I lampoon there. I, too, had a perfect score on my SAT. I have three offers from Ivy League universities to attend on scholarship. Yet, I meant it when I say we can’t all be like I am. I can appreciate Mark and his hard-won ‘C’ average, without considering him lesser than I. I like calling him my friend."

Mr. Shelter opened and closed his mouth several times, wanting to rebut but having no ammunition. I glared at him, daring him to confront his own mistakes.

"Give it up, George. She has you there. This is our son we’re discussing, damn you. We almost lost him today, and thanks to her we can still make our peace with him."

Mr. Shelter stood and headed for the restrooms.

"Why couldn’t life be more like the movies, where someone makes a good point and everything gets better?" Arlene said, rubbing her temples.

I put my arm around her. "Because everyone would be beautiful, but shallow and uninteresting." I quipped. "Unless life was an Indie film… But then you wouldn’t have easy answers then either."

Mrs. Shelter played with a bread stick.

"What should I do about Mark, and George?" She asked.

"Well, the first, best step would be not to take advice from us. Arlene and I are trying to make you understand there is a problem, but it’s up to you to fix it." I said.

"You should convince Mr. Shelter to go with you and Mark to a councilor, maybe a psychiatrist. Suicide isn’t simple, you need the professional touch here." Arlene added.

"You’re right, of course." She said. She reached across the table and grasped our hands. "You two are much wiser than your ages would suggest. I’m already having a difficult time thinking of you as teenagers." She bubbled.

The waiter returned with our meals, setting them before us. We waited for a few minutes, hoping Mr. Shelter would return.

"No use in letting the food get cold." Mrs. Shelter said, and began to eat.

Arlene and I traded another glance. She shrugged and started to eat as well. I sighed quietly and pushed through the feeling I was being rude, and cut into my meat.

The meals were edible, but Arlene’s mother made better food, and it was just her hobby. Actually, there was no comparison. I’m being polite about describing the restaurant’s food. The food was horrid. I had no idea how the restaurant got away with charging what they did.

When our plates neared empty, I looked around for Mr. Shelter, hoping he was somewhere in sight.

"Ok, I’m officially worried." I said.

"Me, too." Arlene added.

"I’ll be right back." Mrs. Shelter informed us, and went to talk to the headwaiter.

"Do you have a bad feeling about this?" Arlene asked me.

"Not really."

"I do."

"Twice in one day? What are the odds?"

"No, no. I think he just left. You know, in a fit of pique and all that crap."

I shrugged. "I wouldn’t put it past him, he strikes me as the type." I looked at his now cold meal. "I wonder if this place does the doggie bag thing?"

"You would inflict this crap on a dog?" Arlene asked quietly.

We waited for quite a while, idly pushing the remnants of our food around on our plates. The waiter came by and offered dessert, and we declined. He cleared away the meals, including Mr. Shelter’s and left us alone again.

"I don’t have anything near enough to cover my meal, much less theirs." Arlene whispered.

"I can cover it. It’ll hurt to do it, but it beats doing dishes." I said.

A few moments later the waiter set the bill on the table.

"Well, hell. Shall we pay and go, or wait and see if our already miserable luck takes a turn?" I asked.

"Turn? Turn for the worse, probably. Screw it, let’s split."

I put my cash card on the check, and the waiter reappeared immediately and took it away.

"I guess he didn’t expect to get paid." Arlene said.

"He’s half right. I can’t tack on the tip without blowing all of this month’s budget." I said. "That was a one-hundred and sixty dollar repast."

Arlene’s eyes widened, almost comically. "You’re shitting me!" She whispered.

"Am not! This will officially be the most expensive free meal I’ve ever disliked. Probably will still be when they stick me in the ground." I sighed.

"The food was awful. How can they charge forty bucks a plate for that slop?"

"You’re still one to understate things, aren’t you?" I said, spying the waiter coming within earshot. "The food here was so bad, a dog would lick his ass to get the taste out of his mouth."

Arlene laughed aloud. The waiter grimaced at my description and set the receipt and my card on the table. He returned to the kitchen. I crossed out the tip box and wrote the meal amount in the total, then signed. I took my copy and pocketed it and my card.

"Let’s scram before we get browbeaten for being vulgar cheapskates." I said.

Our waiter and the headwaiter glared at us as we left. Knowing I would never return voluntarily, I displayed my middle finger to them on our way by. Arlene stopped and made a grander, if more vulgar, gesture of her lack of appreciation.

When we got to the parking area, we found Mrs. Shelter crying by herself while trying to hide behind a tree. We hesitated for a moment.

"Oh, I can’t leave her stranded." I said.

Arlene sighed. "Neither can I."

We went around to face her.

"Mrs. Shelter? Can we offer you a ride home?" I said.

"God bless you." She answered.

"I’ll take that as a ‘yes’." I said.

We guided her to my car, and helped her into the back seat.

As Arlene and I settled into the front seats, Arlene leaned over to me. She put her mouth to my ear and shielded the whisper with her hand.

"I hope you’re not going goody two-shoes on me, Dara." She said.

I turned and put my mouth by her ear, also shielding the whisper with my hand. I paused for a moment, then stuck my tongue in her ear. She yelped and pulled away.

"Ok, good answer." She smiled, rubbing her ear dry.

As I started the engine, I looked at Mrs. Shelter in the rearview mirror. She wasn’t paying us any attention; her eyes were staring a thousand miles away.

As I pulled up to the curb in front of the Shelter’s home, I was shocked to see their car smashed into the garage door. Even in the dimming evening light, it was easy to see the black marks on the road and driveway that suggested the car had been driven into the entrance at very high speeds. The front door stood open, and the living room window was shattered, a lamp rested on the lawn – its chord still trailing back into the house.

"Damn it." I whispered.

As we gout out of the car, we could hear Mr. Shelter screaming and throwing things about the house. A book crashed through an upper story window.

"Mother Isis, help us. He’s going to hurt himself." I said.

"Mrs. Shelter? Do you have a cellular phone?" Arlene asked.

When no answer came, I turned to look. She was leaning on my car looking down the road away from the house, her face a mask of complete and irreversible despair.

"More than she can take all at once." I said to Arlene.

"What do you mean?" Arlene couldn’t take her eyes off the house.

"I mean, Sheila’s gone bye-bye. She’s shell-shocked. Tremendously introverted." I explained.

A painting came tumbling out of the window the book had broken earlier.

"Is that Mark’s portrait of you?" I asked.

"Yeah." Arlene answered.

"He is good." I said.

I heard some heavy plate glass shatter and his yelling turned into screams of pain.

"Ah, shit. He hurt himself." I said. "I’m going to see if I can help. You want to stay with Sheila?" I asked.

"I sure as hell ain’t going in there." She answered. "You shouldn’t, either."

"Probably so." I sighed and marched for the door.

Their glass coffee table was in shards on the floor, and a thick trail of blood lead away from it. Following the trail, I found Mr. Shelter sitting against a closet door.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He yelled at me, his voice full of loathing.

His arms were bleeding badly, his jacket sleeves torn to ribbons.

"Hey! Calm down. I’m not your enemy. You’ve hurt yourself badly. Let me dress your wounds, or let me call an ambulance." I said.

"Eat shit, bitch. God damned, hell-bound lesbian whore." He said, his anger turning slowly into hopelessness. "I deserve to die. I should take his place…" He mumbled.

I stepped toward him, reaching down to look at his wounds. He took a swipe at me, which I avoided but he spattered me with his blood.

"Damn it!" I exclaimed. "Fine, bleed." I went to get the cordless phone from his kitchen.

The 911 operator answered. I asked for an ambulance, described Mr. Shelter’s injuries and gave the operator the address.

"Ma’am? Didn’t you call about this earlier today?" The operator asked.

"Not exactly. There was a suicide attempt this afternoon. Now we have an accident. At least, I think it’s an accident. For all I know this house was cursed yesterday."

"Ok, the ambulance is on its way. Let’s start some first aid."

"Oh, heck. I should have said right off, but the injured man is combative. He tried to strike me just before I called. You’d best have the police arrive first."

"They’re already on their way. It’s policy on a multiple incidents at the same address."

"Oh, good." I said, and turned to walk back to Mr. Shelter.

"OH SHIT!" I screamed into the phone. Mr. Shelter slashed at me with a large knife, the force of his stroke spraying me with more of his blood. I felt the blade cut across my chest, tearing my vest and shirt, and I screamed again as I stumbled back in surprise. I put my hands up to try and protect myself from another attack. I could hear the 911 operator asking what was wrong. I backpedaled, turned and ran into the living room.

"He’s attacking me! He has a knife!" I yelled into the phone. I dove out the window he had broken, silently thanking Ms. Lopez for the agility training. I felt the knife graze my leg.

"Arlene! Run! He’s gone postal!" I screamed after I hit the ground. I stood and bolted for my car. I suddenly realized someone had me in a bear hug and was dragging me to the street. I had started to fight when I realized there were police cars around the house, lights flashing.

When I relaxed, the officer let me down, but kept me rushing for the relative safety of the squad cars. He sat me down on the street and began inspecting me for wounds. I looked terrible, my vest and shirt were ruined, my pants had a tear in the right leg from the knee to the hem, and I was covered in Mr. Shelter’s blood.

"I can’t find any wounds." The officer said.

Arlene knelt beside me, crying. "Dara! Are you Ok? You’re covered in blood!"

"It’s not my blood. He’s bleeding from some deep glass cuts on his arms." I said.

She leaned forward and hugged and kissed me. The officer backed off, taking into his radio.

"I was so scared. I heard you scream. The cops showed up and stuffed Sheila and me behind their cars." She sobbed, then we kissed again.

"I’m Ok. He tried, but didn’t get me." I said, indicating my ruined clothes.

I knew if my skin wasn’t unnaturally tough, he would have probably killed me with his first stroke. I praised my luck and good fortune, thanking whatever gods there be while I hung on to Arlene.

I heard a policeman order Mr. Shelter to put his knife down.

"Officer! His son tried to kill himself this afternoon. He’s distraught, please be careful!" Arlene said to the officer who was still with us. He had his gun drawn and pointed over the hood of his car. It did not bode well. I turned, kneeling to peer through the windows of the police car.

Mr. Shelter shambled randomly on his lawn. He still wielded the knife he had attacked me with. He was rambling on about his worthlessness. He would occasionally lunge toward the officer who was trying to talk him down, but didn’t try to carry through.

"He’s trying to goad the cops into shooting him!" I exclaimed.

"It’ll work, too, if he keeps this crap up." The officer beside us said under his breath.

Images of an already despondent Mark having to bury his father flashed through my head. My stomach began to ache and my frustration mounted.

All at once, I found myself leaping over the trunk of the cop car. I dashed across the lawn and tackled Mr. Shelter. I managed to yank the knife out of his hand. I tossed it back though the broken living room window.

I was yanked off of Mr. Shelter by a cop, two others re-tackled him, rolling him over and putting restraints on his wrists.

They dragged him off toward the waiting ambulances. There were three ambulances in all. Neighbors were beginning to mill around the street, trying to guess at what they were seeing.

The cop who had grabbed me set me down and swung me around.

"That was stupid, girl. You could have gotten yourself killed." He scowled.

"Look, I had to take the risk. This family is falling apart. His son – my friend – tried to kill himself this afternoon. If Mr. Shelter had managed to force one of you to kill him, it would have been the end for my friend as well. As it is, I’m not sure the damage can be undone." I growled back at him.

"Even if you had to trade your life for his?"

"Yes, damn it. Self-sacrifice is the cornerstone of civilization. I could let things go, meaning certain death for Mr. Shelter – meaning a whole family would be destroyed. Or I could risk my own death – success meaning hope."

The officer crossed his arms and stared at me for a moment. "And what does your girl think about this?"

"She’ll probably beat me senseless later for taking the risk." I admitted with a slight giggle.

"I may not wait ‘till later." I heard Arlene say. She hugged me from behind. "Don’t you ever pull some stupid, brave, gallant and incredibly selfless shit like that again." She said into my ear. "I want you around for a while longer."

I turned and hugged her back. After she kissed me, I said, "I’m sorry, love. I just reacted. I wasn’t thinking."

"Era." The cop said.

We looked at him blankly.

"Era. It’s a laundry detergent. It’s really good at getting blood out of clothes. And soak them the moment you get home." He said. "Well, yours anyway." He indicated Arlene. "I think yours are about shot." She said to me.

He listened to his radio for a moment.

"Either of you relatives?" He asked.

"No" We answered.

"Ok. Well, the woman and her husband are off to the hospital. Let me get your names and some other information for the investigators, then I’ll turn you loose."

When we got to my house, we shed the bloodstained clothes immediately. I threw mine in the garbage, and we took the officer’s advice and soaked Arlene’s in the kitchen sink.

We stood in the shower together, holding each other for a while, trying to come down from the adrenaline high, and trying to comfort one another. It was a delicious feeling, holding her again with our bodies touching bare skin. I lost myself in her smooth skin and warm touch, kissing her gently on her cheeks and lips.

She used her finger to trace the scratch that was on my chest.

"He came so close… " She said.

"Yes, but he missed. That’s what’s important now."

She kissed me fiercely, holding me to her firmly, and her body shuddered with her weeping.

We drifted to my bedroom wearing bathrobes, and reclined on the bed while holding one another. We didn’t speak; we just cuddled until we fell asleep.

On February 26^th, I held a small celebration with my friends. It was my eighteenth birthday.

Arlene was the first I invited, of course, then Aeon and a couple of his new friends and their girlfriends. I thank all that is that Mephisto – returned to his Gothic style and having recovered most of his quick smile – was also in attendance.

The guest of honor aside from myself was Joe Packard, my ward officer. We started the party by signing the state’s rights to my life away.

He stayed for the cake and ice cream, of course, and annoyed Aeon with countless stories about how he used to be so ‘hip’. Joe did startle when we served him black cake icing and black, blueberry flavored ice cream, though.

Several people, including Arlene, gave me some small gifts even after I had asked them not to. There was one gift I did fully appreciate was seeing Mephisto kiss new girlfriend. He had met her in his group therapy sessions. She was a Goth, a poet and a strikingly beautiful girl. She had been the model for several of his latest paintings, both clothed and in the nude. It was hinted by several that she had quietly taken his virginity whilst giving him her own. What was obvious and certain was the way they would fall into one another’s eyes, each with a content, happy smile.

George Shelter was institutionalized. He had pleaded guilty to three counts of assaulting a police officer and one count of assault with intent to kill – his intended victim would be me. The judge took pity on the poor thing and lightened his sentence. Instead of prison, he agreed to seven years in the state run psychiatric hospital. He had written a letter to me apologizing to me for trying to do me in, and thanking me for preventing his death. He also thanked me for saving his son. He had sent along a check for $320, to repay me for the dinner. Finally, he told me that the hospital was doing him some real good. I hoped very much that it was helping.

Mark’s brother James had put his university days on hiatus to care for his mother and his brother. Sheila and Mark were recovering from their traumas well, thanks in part to James’ attentions. I got the chance to meet James, and it turns out he was not only a physics genius, he had a real human heart. I had watched Mark’s face light up when he saw James come into his hospital room, and they embraced with tears. James had taken Arlene and I aside and asked after the truth of what had happened on Yule. Arlene let him have it with both barrels. James had taken the news poorly, crying and ranting. It was obvious he had no idea that his parents had put him on a pedestal, crushing Mark with it.

James encouraged Mark to bring his painting out into the open and go for it. Mark’s mother happily paid for the supplies. James had tried to paint with Mark one day, and Mark secretly delighted in James’ complete lack of artistic talent. That revelation probably did more for Mark than all the psychiatrists and Zoloft combined.

Mark’s portraits were stunning and reminiscent of De Vinci in their color and technique. He did some surrealistic landscapes that would have freaked Salvador Dali. I proudly had one of those surreal landscapes hanging in my living room.

Arlene and I had helped him keep up with school during those weeks he was unable to attend, defending his ‘C’ average at first, and increasing it to a ‘B Minus’ once he returned to classes.

As for Arlene and I… She had chosen the middle of January to bestow upon me what I considered the greatest honor. She invited me into her workshop – the only other human on the planet to have seen its interior, according to Arlene’s mother (who had seemed jealous to see me come out of the shop). Arlene showed me works in progress and invited me to model for her. I agreed of course – I doubt there was much I could refuse Arlene.

Arlene told me that she intended to show her mother the statuette long after her eighteenth birthday, seeing as the depiction of myself intertwined with Arlene was a bit… erotic.

She had been exploring her mother’s feelings about homosexuality. She wanted to know what we were up against. So far, it looked like she was open to the idea. She had not so much as batted an eye when Arlene asked how she would feel if Arlene were gay – ‘hypothetically’.

Save for the weekends we didn’t have much time left for each other. We were both chasing tests, funding and all the other details of going off to college. I was also doing some extra curricular activities after school to build my case for valedictorian. We promised we would save most of the summer for one another.

We had both settled on a local college for our continued education. It offered all the courses in fine arts that she wanted for her four-year degree, and it offered the philosophy, logic, theology, and English classes I needed for mine. We would save a bundle of money on housing. She had asked me if she could move in with me. As I’ve mentioned, I doubt I am capable of turning her down, not that I wanted to try.

Her mother actually encouraged her to pursue a fine arts degree. She explained that no daughter of hers (an odd statement since Arlene was an ‘only child’) would be forced into a career she wasn’t interested in. I wondered if that was a reaction to the stories we had told her about the Shelter family, but I didn’t care to ask, the end result was good enough for me.

I pulled my car up to the curb in front of the Listener’s home. I was wearing a dress that Arlene had bought for me – a black floor-length number with puffy sleeves and a high collar. Arlene thought it looked great on me. I had on a red shawl, just because I couldn’t go out without my red.

I picked up the gift I had purchased for her: Some pricey, fine, high quality sculpting tools. Locking my car door, I breathed deeply to relax. Not only was today Arlene’s birthday, today we would come out to her mother. I was scared for Arlene, she loved her mother very much, and any rift between them would be unbearably painful.

Being just after nine, it was relatively early for a Sunday morning visit in April. I hoped that Lisa would be up and around. Arlene had said she would be, but trepidation was my watchword for that day.

I rang the doorbell and waited. Lisa answered.

"Hi! Come in!" She said enthusiastically.

"Arlene’s up in her room, why don’t you go on up and wish her a happy birthday." She said.

I smiled and headed to Arlene’s room.

When I poked my head through her door, I saw the room was mostly packed in boxes. Arlene was sitting at her desk writing furiously, then scratching out what she had written.

"Hey love." I said.

Arlene jumped in surprise, then bounded up to me, dragging me into the room.

"You scared the crap out of me!" She exclaimed playfully.

"Happy birthday." I said, handing her the present.

She took it, then tugged on my dress slightly.

"Which one should I unwrap first?" She said, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

"Wow, I should come visit every Sunday morning. You’re a frisky little vixen today."

She giggled and planted a kiss on my lips. She sat down and obliterated the wrapping on the present, then sat staring at the tools. The transformation from bubbly to serenity unnerved me.

"Um… don’t you like ‘em? Did I get the wrong sort?" I said, afraid I had managed to mar her birthday with an offensive gift.

She turned to me, tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips.

"No one’s ever given me art tools before. Hell, not even Play-Dough" She said. She stood and embraced me. "It’s just that… Well, it made me feel… loved."

She stood back and wiped away a few tears.

"I’m really emotional today." She informed me.

Lisa appeared in the doorway.

"Hey girls… honey? Why are you crying?"

Arlene picked up the box and showed Lisa my present. "Aren’t they wonderful? It’s the set I’ve been lusting after for years now." She said.

Lisa beamed at me. "I’m so glad Arlene has you as a friend. You’ve really brightened her life!"

"Mom, I have something I need to tell you about that."

I gathered my courage. This was the big moment.

"What’s that dear?" Lisa looked concerned.

"Well, mom, Ringmaster and I… We’re not just… Oh, how do I say this?"

Arlene, in her usual cut-to-the-chase style, reached over and pulled my face to hers and gave me a solid, passionate kiss.

When she finished, we looked at Lisa.

Lisa was still standing in the same spot, smiling broadly.

"It’s about time you came out to me." She said.

"It’s… Ok with you? Wait… you knew?" Arlene asked, surprised.

"Arlene, silly, I’m your mother. Yes I knew! I not only approve; I’m tickled pink. Dara’s made you very happy, dear. I’d approve if she were an axe murderer."

Arlene and Lisa embraced, then Lisa hugged me.

"Come on, let’s go have some breakfast." Lisa said.

Lisa had encouraged us to move in together early. She explained that she wasn’t shoving her only daughter out the door, but giving in to her daughter’s unspoken wishes.

Arlene asked me if I was interested in having her move in ahead of the original plan. I answered by tossing her and a change of clothes into my car and bringing her home.

Lisa hired a top-rated moving company to get Arlene’s studio moved into the spare room. They did a spectacular job – damn near moving every last speck of dust along with the equipment, as if it had been teleported rather than moved by hand.

Lisa had fallen in love with the statuette Arlene had made of the two of us. I was just a little embarrassed about it, but some good-natured ribbing from Arlene got me over it. Arlene let her mother keep the figures, which sat prominently on a pedestal in Lisa’s living room.

The only thing I had trouble with was getting used to having four cats around. I had gotten used to not having cats, and these particular felines were spoiled little brats. Arlene loved the little fur-balls, though, and being a cat lover anyway I adapted to them in a short time.

We had spent that weekend assembling bookshelf kits and a wardrobe kit, rearranging the closets to make room for her stuff, and cat-proofing the bathroom and kitchen.

As Sunday evening started becoming Sunday night, we sat on the sofa sipping cold lemonade.

I put my arm around Arlene.

"You know what’s best about finishing all that work?"

"Hmm?"

"It’s time for you to go home, and you’re already there."

Arlene sat up and looked at me. A wry smile crept onto her face. She gently pulled my lemonade out of my hand and set the glasses on the coffee table.

Then she tackled me.

Principal Bennett paced before Cynthia Baldwin and I.

"You two have been neck and neck in the race for valedictorian. You both have perfect GPAs, and you both have similar extra-curricular merits. Your councilors, teachers and I have debated furiously over how we should settle such a tie. We wanted to be fair and objective. The tests you see in front of you are the result of our debates. It has the most difficult questions my faculty could come up with in science, math, English and history."

She stopped and faced us.

"Do not expect to get a passing grade on this test. Some of the questions befuddled people who are teaching these fields. If this were a final examination, we would be open to a nasty lawsuit for cruel and unusual punishment." She joked.

"We’re certain one of you will do better than the other, depending on your outside studies. The tests pay particular attention to English – your strongest field, Ringmaster – and science – your strongest subject, Cynder."

Cynder and I exchanged glances, surprised to hear Bennett use our nicknames.

"The test will start in five minutes and end in an hour, timing conveniently with the class bells. I’ll give you two the remaining time to mentally prepare yourselves."

I took off my top hat and gloves, setting them on the desk beside me. Cynder stretched and took a deep breath.

"Hey, Cynder. I just want you to know that I’m pretty certain you’re going to come out ahead here. I’d just forfeit this to you if I didn’t think you’d hate me for it. Look, the point is I’m happy to be the salutatorian so long as someone of your quality is the valedictorian"

"First, thanks for not bugging out on me. If – and I mean if – I get to be valedictorian I want to have earned it. Second, there’s no way of knowing which of us will do well on this test until after we take it. Finally, I hope I do kick your ass on this test, Ringmaster. I’ve been jealous of you since I met you. I have to study my ass off to keep my GPA, and I see you reading for fun, chatting with your friends, playing at the mall... You’re some sort of genius. I demand you do your best on this test, there’s nothing I like more than a big, juicy challenge." She said, smiling hugely.

We both produced a set of sharpened number two pencils and prepared to get to work. Before the bell rang, we exchanged another set of smiles.

If all the world’s competitive people were like Cynder, this would be a much more interesting and enjoyable place to live.

The bell rang, and we opened the test.

Cynder and I tossed a basketball back and forth between us, blowing off steam after the big test. Bennett hadn’t exaggerated the test’s difficulty. The stress of it had taken a toll on Cynder and I. Bennett had suggested we burn off a little energy in the gym.

Cynder caught the ball and began to dribble it.

"I am about to explode from anticipation!" She yelled, throwing her head back.

"No kidding." I said. "What’s taking so long? I only got through about a dozen questions. How long can it take to let me know you’re the winner?" I said, meaning every word.

"You got through twelve?"

I gave her a worried look. "Yeah. I did." I said uneasily.

"Damn it. I only got through seven." She said.

"Well, no telling how many I blew, so that’s no evidence either, right?"

Cynder considered this a moment, and tossed the ball back to me.

"You’re right. No use in trying to deduce the winner from meager evidence. That way lies insanity." She said with a wry smile.

I dribbled the ball a few times and tossed it back to her.

She dribbled it again, then slammed it into the court with all her might, sending the ball high into the air.

"Damn it! I can’t take this anymore." She yelled as the ball landed behind her.

"Woah, easy there! Let’s save the aneurysms for old age, Ok?"

She giggled. "Sorry, I’m just stressing. My mother really wants to be able to tell her friends that I’m some sort of prodigy. The pressure is unbearable." She explained. "How are your parents… shit. Sorry, I forgot."

I waved it off. "Don’t worry about it."

We wandered over to the bleachers and sat down.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" She said.

"Sure."

"What’s it like to kiss another girl?"

"Pardon?"

She sighed. "All this studying and EC work has kept my mind off of everything not academic including my sexuality. It’s just occurred to me that all the study time is over. For seniors, the next week is pure playtime. So, my mind has started asking some more base questions. And, frankly, I’ve kind of been thinking I might be a lesbian. Maybe I’m just confused, you know?" She explained.

"I see. Well, the problem I have is I’ve never kissed a guy." I sort of lied, but I never had – in this body anyway. "I’ve no basis for comparison. Can I suggest something?"

"Sure."

"Once all this stress is done with and you can really relax, buy yourself a set of pornographic magazines – some for lesbians, some for straights. See which excite you the most. And don’t forget you might be bisexual. Most important, take your time. Very few people really know their sexual selves in a matter of few days, for some it can be an exploration that lasts a lifetime."

"Good advice." She said.

We sat in silence for a moment.

"Ringmaster?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

I was startled.

"Um, not that you’re unattractive or anything like that, Cynder, but I’m taken. I don’t want to betray her, even a little."

"Yeah. Sorry, stupid question."

She leaned back and stared at the skylights.

"You get the feeling Bennett is laughing at us while we stew in here?" She asked.

I laughed. "I would not put it past her. Ha! The real test has begun. Give them the hardest test they’ll ever see in their lives, lock them in a room for a few hours. Whoever suicides first, looses."

We guffawed.

The gym door opened and Bennett walked in. We stood and started toward her.

"Congratulations, girls, both scores exceeded our expectations." She said, with cheer.

I looked at Cynder. "She loves to draw out our suffering, doesn’t she?"

Bennett and Cynder laughed.

"I’m sorry, girls, no more waiting. Dara Elderclan, you are our valedictorian, you won my one question."

I was stunned. I must have nearly fainted, looking like a rabbit in the headlights, because Cynder and Bennett were suddenly shaking me, asking if I was Ok.

I came into the house and hung my jacket and riding coat.

"Arlene?" I called.

She pranced out of the kitchen, drying off her hands, and gave me a big hug.

"Hi love!" She greeted.

"Well, It’s over." I said.

"And?" She asked, expectantly.

I looked at her beautiful face and stayed silent, trying to keep my face deadpan.

She whapped me with her towel.

"Don’t you leave me hanging, you booger! Did you get the top slot or not?"

"I’m valedictorian!" I squealed.

We hugged and danced around the living room.

My name is Dara Listener-Elderclan, and after living a wonderful and well-spent 93 years, I wait contentedly to finally die. It amazes me that my mind is 162 years old, my previous unhappy life is such a distant and faded memory.

I have every reason to have enjoyed my second life. My body has aged very well, still being quite useful and spry for such an old woman.

Allow me to tie up the loose ends in my memoir of a changed existence.

Aeon, whose real name was Aaron Gupty, graduated from the same university Arlene and I attended. He found a most wonderful oriental woman there named Susan, who stayed by his side for the rest of his life. They raised three beautiful and intelligent children. She was an electrical engineer as well as a mother. He taught history at the University of California, Los Angeles.

Aeon died seven years ago, cancer killing him slowly. Susan died the next year, probably of a broken heart.

Mephisto, whose real name was Mark Shelter, was a widely respected painter. He had fully recovered from his bout with depression, but had nearly backslid all the way to suicide when his father died of an accidental overdose while still institutionalized – with only a month left in his sentence. And again when his mother finally succumbed to pneumonia. Both times, all his friends rallied around him, supporting him and carrying him though his pain. He eked out a modest living from his work. His brother James was his strongest supporter when he wasn’t setting the physics world on its ear with his new and amazing theories. Mephisto didn’t marry that nice girl he met in therapy – those relationships rarely last. He had found love in the form of a young, blonde art lover, who did little more than giggle, screw his brains out, and sleep. (As Mephisto himself described her to me in a letter.) He was deliriously happy when she became pregnant. They made superb, patient, and loving parents.

Mephisto killed himself ten years ago the day after his wife and child died in a car accident. I cried nearly continuously for two days after we buried them.

Cynder, whose real name was Cynthia Baldwin, also stayed in contact with me. She rocked the financial world with her aggressive trading and hostile takeovers.

She died six years ago the richest woman in the United States, alone.

I happened across news of the football player who had assaulted Arlene and I in the cafeteria so long ago. John Gable was executed in Texas over twenty years ago for the brutal rape and murder of his high school girlfriend, Alicia Barker, who he claimed as the cause of his ‘downfall’.

I had become excited when I was watching the summer Olympics so many years ago and I recognized Ms. Angela Lopez in the background, assistant coach to our gold-medal wining track team. I sent her a letter congratulating her on the team’s victory and I was made proud when she knew who I was, writing back to tank me for opening her eyes with my self-help books.

I attended her funeral the following year.

Arlene had fallen in love with gargoyles. She had statues and sculpture all over the United States, but most of her work is in the form of gargoyles on the nation’s newest and grandest buildings.

Arlene and I had broken up after college, but we reunited a year later fully aware of how much we really loved each other. Neither of us had tried dating anyone else. She became wealthy from her artwork, but even as she had promised when I first met her, she never became ostentatious. Once California made homosexual marriage legal, we ‘tied the knot’ – Arlene and Dara Listener-Elderclan. We were inseparable after that, I dare say each had found in the other true love. We did everything together. We learned to para-sail in Cancun together, we ate French pastries in the shadow of the Eiffel tower together, we buried her mother together.

I buried her, my beloved life partner and spouse, after she fell to her death while supervising the installation of her last gargoyle in New York City, some twelve years ago. She was ready to retire; we had planned on another European tour after that gargoyle was set. A large part of me died with her.

You may know my name. I wrote some twenty-three self-help books. Six of which were on the New York Times best seller list, and one held the top position for over a month.

All of my books call for people to live their lives honestly, inspecting their psyche for their true selves and pushing out of the rigid mold our culture wants to stuff us into. I can only hope I helped a few people, and I hope I lived by my own words.