ENHANCE
1
ENHANCE January 2014
Letter From the editor Dearest readers, writers, and artists:
deadlines are just so demeaning at times. Yet
I love being a writer. I feel that in being a
these writers are in my magazine. Forget it, I’m
writer, having publishing credits, and parading
the most selfish writer of them all. I’m honored
around calling myself a writer is a bit selfish.
to have such wonderful pieces in this magazine. I
Foolish sometimes because I get to do what I
shouldn’t be so lucky, but here I am.
want every day. But, then I stop being selfish and
Welcome to Enhance Number 14. An amazing
think about what it means to be a writer. Being
sample of writer and artist warriors awaits. The
a writer is sometimes more than sitting in your
following artwork, poetry, and short stories have
creative space and writing. Not that I’m knocking
braved the most dangerous adventure to be here
the creation process. That is some serious writer
with us.
business there. But writers that take that first step into
Through the realism and mysticism of the English language, this magazine provides another
publication, say like submitting to literary
insight to what we are as humans. How we feel
magazines. These writers are going into a war
as creative people. And the power that our souls
zone in pajamas. The world of publishing is
hold.
mean, sometimes cold. The horror stories about
Sincerely,
editing nightmares, nightmare editors, and strict
Sopphey Vance
All rights reserved. No part of this magazine may be reproduced or transmitted without permission of appropriate copyright owners. Enhance, On Impression, On Impression Books, and the On Impression Network are entities owned by Sopphey Vance. Visit www.onimpression.com for more information.
T a b l e o f C o n t e n t s
4
In the Park, Two Lovers Kiss by John Grey
5
Spoiling by Anthony Ward
6
The Anachronistic Warrior by Noel Doyle
7
Place Maubert by John Ronan
8
Massassauga Lighthouse by Melanie Marttila
9
The Falls by Brian Furman
10
Sun Born by Stephen Mead
14
Pillowcase Scents by Elena Botts
15
Diane’s Tutoring Center by William Yorkshire
21
The Pious Girl by Rudy Ravindra
In the Park, Two Lovers Kiss by John Grey They’re figures in the far corner
The moon rises, one more symptom;
of a Bosch painting surely;
a bird soars, turns into a bat;
they’re not Christian lovers,
an old woman screws her head the other way;
they’re animals; hungry arms
two kids almost vomit;
and lips refuse to close the door
a teenage girl declares that such displays
on accidental spectators;
are only for the movie screen;
some renounce, others merely long
and there’s the fearful blur,
to make them disappear;
one quicksilver righteous man;
one says, if there was a God,
he’s seen all this before;
he’d break open the earth beneath them,
he holds his ground by running.
muzzle their sinful passion with hellfire.
And then there’s someone rushing from the scene who’s sure love is contagious; a plague that yearns for that face full of sores, the oozing, the eruptions; a joyful disease, not just in the saliva passed from tongue to tongue, but swept from eye to eye, preying on the weaknesses of watching.
4
John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in The Lyric, Vallum and the science fiction anthology, “The Kennedy Curse” with work upcoming in Bryant Literary Magazine, Natural Bridge, Southern California Review and the Pedestal.
Spoiling by Anthony Ward We’re the coolest generation
Instead of wanting to be somebody,
Just getting warmed up,
We will be somebody,
Living the designer life
All mutually famous,
In our homogenous homes
Smitten with self-worth.
Throughout cloned cities,
Not gifted but gifted wrapped all for show.
Plodding after those that strut,
Patented personalities in flat packed realities,
Trying to keep up with their lives
Having no stories to tell-
With superficial contentment.
Just telling stories, Gossiping about nothing
Our idolness leaving us lethargic
As if it were everything,
As we starve for attention,
Pining for those we can have.
Placing so much effort into being remembered We forget who we are, Completely full of ourselves Until we’re fed up, Stuffed to the hilt, Unable to stomach anymore. While verbally vomiting
Anthony tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of literary magazines including The Faircloth Review, The Pygmy Giant, Turbulence, The Autumn Sound Review, Torrid Literature Journal and Crack the Spine, amongst others.
As we make ourselves sick.
5
The Anachronistic Warrior by Noel Doyle With the Cold War no more
Spying’s become quite a bore.
Secret Agents, those cads,
Now research the Want Ads.
Oh, how the times have changed!
No longer are we still estranged
From Poles and Czechs and Buda-Pests--
So hard to tell the “Easts” from “Wests”.
How’s an old Case Officer to face this dawn?
Take cloak and dagger in to pawn?
And ponder “clan ops” for a new “Control”
With budget reductions his primary goal?
Anachronistic Warrior! Come in from the cold!
There still are challenges for the globally bold.
Become a “consultant” to some corporate band…. Private espionage is still very much in demand. Noel Doyle is a retired US Army septuagenarian who has been writing poetry for more than 25 years. The pillars of his poetic style are humor and rhyme. He has composed over 125 pieces of verse many of which he self-published in three chapbooks.
6
Place Maubert by John Ronan Kronenbourgs and cigarette packs litter the grass,
John J. Ronan is a poet, playwright, movie
Clog the fountain in this sad patch of a place,
producer, and journalist. He has received
Last stop in my tourist attempt to plumb
national honors for his poetry and was
Paris: the Louvre, views, Tower, tombs,
named a National Endowment for the Arts
Finally wine ordered in awkward French,
Fellow for 1999-2000. Ronan’s latest book
Plopping opposite the café on a filthy bench –
of poems, Marrowbone Lane, appeared in
Narrowly causing my ass to be absent from smeared
2009. He is also a former poet laureate of
Continental pigeon shit and Alsatian beer.
Gloucester, MA, and remains committed to
An advertising column revolves La Boheme, Lancome.
the importance of civic poetry.
A couple ascends from the Metro, arm-in-arm. In the April evening, the chaos of rush hour Begins to look more laissez-faire, And when Kelly and Caron assume a Doisneau pose I take a quick, discrete photo, choose By accident the perfect backdrop, Rue Sauton Leading down to Notre Dame and the Seine. The fountain’s lively. Basin lights crystal The clear water as it rainbows over, falls On bobbing cans. I am captivé by the cans, the tobacco – A bent, but unbroken Gauloise. Transporté by Bordeaux. When the lovers stroll naively to the bad end Of the park’s lone bench, I’m fluent, fond: “Discovery of the butt! Lest you affix yourselves!” They smile kindly, fix themselves, and kiss.
7
Massassauga Lighthouse by Melanie Marttila
Melanie Marttila’s poetry has been published in Enhance, The Atomy, and will appear in Sulphur in 2014. Her fiction has appeared in Spooky Sudbury, Mouse Tales Press, and will appear in On Spec in 2014. This will be her first published photograph. Melanie lives, works, and writes in Sudbury, Ontario, Canada.
8
The Falls By Brian Furman The Falls melt over the edge of the cliff
the sound of a wet pancake hitting wet tile. The
seeming to solidify at the precipice, as if there
sound was transcribed and written for percussion
were massive hands manipulating an orchestra
fitting in perfectly with the symphony already
behind the ever-changing water. It’s music
in progress. As if it had been written for that
naturally ingrained in the molecular structure
moment and that moment only.
inaudible to the human ear. I looked out over the man-made railing
A crowd circles mother, father and me with their arms outstretched, invisible veins of
onto the house size boulders below, the mist
emotion try to penetrate as I leave my body.
disguising tears. It was hard to imagine music
His mother reaching out over the metal almost
splaying the boy on million-year old rocks like a
following her son as I rise up…his father a speck
dirty dish rag left to harden into a fragile, jagged
molting into her and wrestling her back from
shape on the floor.
suicide. Although suicide is the writing on his
His hands were wet bear traps and I touch them in the air, in the mist, in the wake. His eyes
face. This mouth that I have does not hold a word.
were fully open as if they were an extra arm
The music is still there, haunting the wisps of
reaching for me. I coaxed him to hold on. His shirt
water circling this community. The mother
as yellow as his eyes. I asked him to ask God if I
convulses silently into her husband’s man-made
understood this predicament correctly…
arms. I imagine her reveling in watching the boy
The boy, holding back fear, his nerves a steel
grow from baby to child to kid and watching
dam… said with as much clarity and courage as
her thoughts move ever more worrisome as the
a boy can muster: “my momma always said find
world grew bigger around him.
salvation and the world will understand.” he let
His father is a picture of stoic manhood. A
go of my hand as well as his body. He fell with
steelworker, maybe from the Buffalo area, maybe 9
just recently laid off and taking his family on a
They are carried away, trying hard to float so they
small vacation as his worries move toward how
won’t have to think.
he is going to pay for his son to go to college.
There is an optical illusion that happens with
Maybe to let go of their son is their way to
this water. Just before it hurls itself over the cliff,
salvation. I’ve heard that God works in those
it seems to slow down, like one could jump in at
kinds of ways; however I’ve also heard that no
the right place and stand in the glowing, pulsing
parent should ever have to bury their child.
fluid and conquer it.
Who buries the children with no parents?
The water stops. Like it were glass and you
I am just a silly man who happened to be
were the hammer and you could crash into the
consuming oxygen in this place at that time
energy, collect it in a bag and sell it in a trinket
wanting nothing more than to listen to the
store at the border. You almost want to jump
natural harmonies of churning water. Now on my
in, you almost want to go over….and it’s not so
knees, leaning against a graffitied piece of rock I
much suicide as a union with the creator. You
watch lives dissolve into the spray, including my
want to conduct the symphony.
own. Police show up three minutes after the fall.
I had a conversation once with my mother about salvation, she handed me a Bible and told
They try to talk with me, but my mouth does not
me that all the answers I would ever need to
hold any words. I say to them with my eyes.
know about life were in that book.
“His hands were like jellyfish stinging me again and again and again. His eyes were holding ghost notes…virgins not yet played in the
I said I wanted an Oreo and slapped the book out of her hand. The truth is she was absolutely correct.
symphony. My hands were not strong enough to
Salvation is in that book, and also in that Oreo,
conjure him back. He was already dead when he
and in that fat ladies camera taking a panoramic
met me. “
of the scene. Salvation is a mist in the air, it’s not
The police peel the mother from the ground and I witness the aging, the heartache and
tangible, it’s not real. I look back over the railing and see that the
wonder, confusion and anger. I can see it jump
yellow shirt had turned a slight brownish color. I
between mother and father like a swarm of
wondered how they would pick his body off the
never-ending fleas biting open-ended wounds.
rocks. Am I going to come back in a year and see
10
a brightly colored set of bones on said rock? Will that boy slip back into mineral? The authorities had no use for me. The caution tape lifted, random tourists can’t hear the music, yet they marvel at what they see. I stand on unnatural legs, blowing a kiss to the Falls as I walk away to ask my mother if she still has a Bible.
Brian Furman is a native of Cleveland, Ohio where he obtained a degree in English from Cleveland State University and utilized the cities blue collar background to inspire his Fiction. He currently lives in Tampa, Florida with his wife and two children. This is his first publication.
11
Sun Born by Stephen Mead
A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer, maker of short collage-films (YouTube/VIMEO) and poetry/ music mp3s. Much can be learned of his multi-media work by placing his name in any search engine. His latest project-in-progress, a collaborative effort with composer Kevin MacLeod, is entitled “Whispers of Arias”, a two volume download of narrative poems sung to music, http://stephenmead.amazingtunes.com/ His latest Amazon release, “Weightless”, a poetry-art hybrid, is a meditation on the human struggle for perseverance.
12
A Prayer to the Earth
A PRAYER TO THE EARTH & ALPHA AND OMEGA by Stephen Mead
Alpha and Omega
According to the Order of Nature (We Too are Cosmos Made)” is a mixed media series of paintings and montages begun in late 2009. Like my Amazon release, “Our Book of Common Faith”, this project may also be a decade-in-the-making. The title refers to all of the laws which weigh against LGBT individuals globally, only this project reverses the persecution, exploring LGBT sensuality for its spiritual roots and profound bonding, more so when people risk their lives in order to have and to hold love.
13
pillowcase scents by Elena Botts vanilla minds itself in your skin, and the orange comes down, lays itself across the sheets just in time for lavender, so gently sleeping. you left something, i say, pointing to an empty bed that so easily slips itself downstream like any other craft. just think of all the cheap perfume bottles tipped like bottles with scrolled messages. did their manufacturers ever come to know what they would mean. no, bodies like vessels dipped, out-poured (you turn over in your sleep; already i can miss you) universes. Elena grew up in Maryland, and currently lives in Northern Virginia. She’s been published in over twenty literary magazines in the past few years. She is the winner of four poetry contests, including Word Works Young Poets’. Her poetry has been exhibited at the Greater Reston Art Center. Check out her poetry book, “a little luminescence” at allbook-books.com. Additionally, her visual art has won her several awards. Go to o-mourning-dove.tumblr.com to see her latest artwork.
14
Diane’s Tutoring Center by William Yorkshire I walked into Diane’s Tutoring Center with my God-awful resume in hand. The center was located in a city between Seattle and Tacoma
I had two weeks to find a job or I’d be sleeping in the streets. I sat down on a small wooden chair that
called SeaTac, and it was the summer between
looked like it was made out of chopsticks. It
my junior and first of two senior years of college.
creaked every time I breathed. As my seat
“Have a seat,” said the secretary, an old bag
played Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony I watched
with a gravelly voice. I sat down on a bench
a student across the room fumbling through a
and looked at the various inspirational posters
book called John Bear Goes to the Store as part
on the wall. The one in front of me featured
of an oral exam, which he punctuated by taking
Einstein babbling about the universe, and had
sips of water from a Styrofoam cup. Diane’s now
been defaced by a student who had taken a black
ex-husband, whose grin widened with every
marker and given him fangs.
mispronounced word until it covered half his
After a couple of minutes someone called
face, administered. When he finally finished the
my name from behind me. I turned around and
45-word novel the kid began sinking his teeth
saw a large woman with barrel-sized forearms
into the cup, covering the rim in bite marks.
and gray hair cropped like a helmet. I jumped.
Mr. McDungal grabbed it from his mouth and
“Hi, I’m Diana, but you can call me Diane,” she
slammed it in the trash.
said, giving me a double handshake. Her hands
After a few more minutes, Diane, who had
were the size of oven mitts. “Hi, I’m William,” I
been in her office gathering papers, sat down
responded. Diana “Diane” McDungal released
and started the interview. As I hunched over in
her death grip and led me to a back table to
my chair she briefed me on the history of her
interview me for a math tutoring position I had
company, beginning with the ill-fated grand
applied for the day before when my dad told me
opening several years before during the WTO 15
riots, which culminated in a crazed mob popping
circumstances was I allowed to talk politics with
all of her balloons, tearing down her Grand
children. “If you do you’ll be packing your bags,”
Opening sign and then lighting it on fire while
she said, staring at my monkey face.
she hid in a closet. Expanding on the center’s
The woman then began belting out questions
rocky start, she started wigging out. As she
at the speed of light. As I bounced around in
explained how expensive it was to acquire a
my chair and bungled my answers she stared at
business license, she narrowed her eyes and
me with her mouth open. After 15 minutes of
gripped her rectangular jaw, which looked like
hearing nothing but gibberish, she ended the
two tectonic plates grinding against each other.
interview and shook my hand with a look on her
While mentioning that one year her “accountant
face like she’d just seen the devil.
with the I.Q. of a coconut” misplaced a decimal
After saying goodbye I headed out to my
point on her tax returns and almost drove her
mom’s 14-year-old Geo Metro hatchback, which
company into the ground, she clenched her fists
had a broken muffler and a driver’s side door
and jabbed the air.
covered in so many craters it looked like the
She went on to explain the details of the job,
moon. I forced open the door, crammed myself
including tutoring elementary school students
inside and sputtered home to my house, which
in math and grading their worksheets, and said
my friends called “the bunker” because it had a
that the pay started at $8.65 an hour but would
metal roof.
increase to $9.00 after two weeks if the tutor
After parking my mom’s crate on the
proved he was worth it. Scanning my resume
street I tromped to the front door through the
with reading glasses that made her look like
monstrosity my family called our lawn, which
an amphibian11, Diane began cringing. Seeing
every summer my dad spray-painted green to
that two summers before I had worked for a
save money on watering. Opening the screen
third party candidate for senator named Gary
door that hung by a single hinge, I passed by a
Gugliatta who ran on a platform that included
withering plant on our doorstep that my sister
diverting money from Medicare to fund a colony
had damaged the previous week when she
on Mars and who ended up receiving 0.3% of the
pulled a Betty Ford and came home drunk from
vote, Diane told me that if given the job under no
the bars and vomited on it. I walked to our living
1 Frog 16
room, laid down on our couch and watched TV
rolled his eyes and scoffed, she grabbed him by
and played with myself until bedtime. The next
the shoulders and started shaking him. His eyes
morning Diane called and offered me the job,
as big as golf balls, he apologized profusely and
which I accepted. (Yorkshire’s Editor’s note: Most
then cleared out of the building.
likely you were the only applicant.)
The following day the chief blew another
Right away what Diane made as clear as
fuse when, after failing a science test, a disturbed
the vodka my aunt pours in her coffee every
student jumped on my flabby coworker Malcolm.
morning was her intolerance for misbehavior. A
Jolted out of his usual obliviousness, Malcolm
couple of hours into my first day, as I attempted
began pawing at the attacker to get him off, but
in vain to teach Ben and Pablo Clarke how to
failed like everything else he attempted in life.
count by twos, the two brothers began slapping
When the kid started choking him, Malcolm let
each other. The louder I counted the harder the
out an unearthly howl, more like a wolf than a
Brothers Clarke slapped. Seeing chaos brewing
human.
from across the room, the chief slammed her
Hearing his wolf call, Diane launched herself
hand down on her desk and shouted, “ENOUGH!”
like a missile into the fight from her swivel chair
I leapt out of my chair.
with broken wheels. Her massive Frankenface
A couple days later Diane’s 17-year-old son
crimson red, she turned to the kid and began
Derek shuffled into the office asking his mom
carrying out her own version of the karate chop
for money so he could go to the movies. He had
as one student laughed so hard he shed tears.
come straight from the barber, and looked like
After three or four blows she managed to loosen
he had just inserted a wet finger in a light socket.
his grip and peel him off like a banana. She then
Diane, touching his quills, replied, “Yeah sure, do
lugged him to the back room, planted him on
you accept credit card?” and then exploded in
a beanbag and called home and told his mom
laughter, slapping her knees. When her hooting
to pick up her demon spawn ASAP. Mom sent
died down the sea urchin asked again. She
Grandma, who showed up 20 minutes later
ignored him and went back to emailing a parent.
with curlers in her hair. Malcolm pulled himself
When he said rudely, “So can I have some or
together and went back to work, but with crazy
not?” she got up, beckoned him to the back room
eyes.
and yelled at him for his “insolence.” When he
Diane realized my first and only opening shift 17
that getting me to the office by the ungodly
threw on a collared shirt, stuffed my feet into
hour of 7:30 AM was like teaching my dog Henry
my 500-year-old grandpa’s leather shoes that
who had red fur and a head the size and shape
he wore in the 1950s while he campaigned for
of a bowling ball how to sit: hopeless. At 7:35
Dwight Eisenhower, got into my mom’s beater
on the Friday of my first week, Diane called and
car that sounded like machine gun fire when it
asked my mom where I was. I was passed out in
started and bombed it to work.
my bed, an old mattress on the floor with plastic
While hydroplaning on the freeway I honked
springs shooting up through the fabric. Coming
at other drivers with a horn that sounded like a
into my room and seeing me hibernating like Rip
wet trumpet. A guy driving a rice rocket flipped
Van Winkle while my alarm buzzed at full blast
me the bird. To make it to the roof level of the
eight inches from my ears, my mom jumped on
parking garage where the center’s parking spaces
my back and cried, “COCK A DOODLE DOO!” Half
were located I floored the accelerator and grated
asleep and discombobulated, I unplugged my
up the ramp. 30 minutes late and afraid for my
alarm clock and asked what we were having for
life, I ran inside sweating like Mark Zuckerberg at
dinner. She shouted, “Get up you idiot!” I placed
a social event. Diane went ape.
a sheet over my head. She left, but came back
I spent my six-hour shifts grading
a minute later and dumped a bottle of beer on
assignments and answering math questions from
me. As I called her every name in the book she
seven-year-old cretins as they slogged away at
grabbed my elephant legs and dragged me out
worksheets handwritten by the chief five minutes
of bed, spilling ash from her cigarette all over my
before they arrived. During the one legally
shoulders.
mandated 15-minute break I got per shift I would
Hungover from drinking too much Miller Lite
go to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet next door
at my friend Gordon’s party the night before in
owned by a guy named Peter Chan and wolf
celebration of his parents going out of town for a
down as many plates of slimy noodles and agent
week to visit his dad’s brother who was dying of
orange chicken as possible. I would then hobble
lung cancer, I staggered to the bathroom, placed
back to the center in pain and spend the next
my enormous cranium in the sink to rinse my
three hours holding my stomach and moaning. I
hair and face, staggered back to my moldy room,
sat in an old aluminum chair tilted at an angle so
put on black pants with an elastic waistband,
that when I left work at the end of the day I had
18
a bent spine and a lower body so numb it felt
evening Boyne, clocking in at a grotesque five
like I had spent the previous six hours sitting
foot six, decided to go for a swim. After reaching
on a concrete block while a doctor injected
the edge and ensuring there were no employees
novocaine into my arse.
in sight, she leapt in the air, turned herself into a
The center’s reading tutor, Laurie Boyne, labored full time earning $9.25 an hour with no paid sick days or vacation (see: Slave). She
sphere and exploded into the pool with a sonic boom, almost breaking a child’s neck. Another time at Chuck E. Child Molester she
played Jesus music on the side to supplement
twisted her knee slipping on a slice of pizza.
her fourth-rate income, and the previous
Bellowing at the top of her lungs, she gimped
winter had released an album with a cover
to her car and then careened to the hospital,
photo of her bowing to her then-fiancé, who
where the first thing the nurses did was give her
dumped her three months later. The album
a drug test. She was then thrown in a wheelchair,
sold zero copies. She stood out among her
rolled into a back room and X-rayed without a
younger coworkers not for her physical age
lead shield. After absorbing more radiation than
(34) but her mental age (9). Even though I
Nagasaki she piloted her chair down a ramp to
was only 21, we dated. (Yorkshire’s Editor’s
another room, where Dr. Quack wrapped her
note: Please mention your mental age as
knee in the most expensive brace he had. The
well.)
irradiated woman had to pay in installments
After work we usually ate dinner at
because of a lack of health insurance, and
a nearby Chuck E. Cheese, Subway or
when she went back to Chuck E. Cheese a week
Grandma’s Pizza, three of her favorite zero-
later with her hospital receipt to explain what
star “restaurants.” Meals were often followed
happened and get reimbursed, the manager
by a stroll in a neighboring park, with people
laughed in her face.
walking in the opposite direction looking
In late August I had to head back to college a
startled as they saw me (pasty white, plump)
thousand miles away on a Greyhound bus for my
holding hands with her (older, a bit loopy).
first crack at senior year. A week before I left, my
Even though the height limit for the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese was four feet, one
parents finally found out I was dating a woman with two decades on me due to my friend22 2 Steve 19
telling them. Furious, my mom threatened to make me pay for my ticket if I didn’t break up with her immediately. There being no love between us anyways, the following day Boyne and I went the way of my cousin John and his wife after he caught her in bed with the milkman. On my last day of work at Diane’s Tutoring Sweatshop Boyne gave me an autographed picture of John Lennon, which I later found out she forged; I gave her a $10 iTunes gift card. Diane gave me a book on how to become a better teacher, which I later sold on eBay; I gave her nothing. When it was time to go I shook my coworkers’ clammy hands and walked out the door. The chief never gave me the 35¢ raise. William Yorkshire is a 34-year-old unemployed barbecue mechanic who spends his days reading comic books, eating Hot Pockets, listening to Michael Bolton and writing essays about his misspent, rapidly fading youth. He lives on a couch in Brooklyn for $175 a month.
20
The Pious Girl by Rudy Ravindra To be quite honest I do think about Geeta
each other, enjoying conjugal bliss, we did
from time to time. There was really no love or
take some time to explore the misty hills and
anything like that. It was pure, unadulterated lust.
mountains, the lush scenery, and the verdant
Geeta was great. Simply superb, that girl knew
valleys. We enjoyed our walks around the tea and
how to please a man. Even now, after all these
coffee plantations and conversations with local
years, when I think of her tender ministrations,
people.
I get goose bumps. Those were the glorious
Although Sunita got a visa to America, she
days. Talk about youthful indiscretions. When I
couldn’t travel with me as she had one more year
look back at that fateful period of my life, I am
to complete her degree. It seemed a shame to
somewhat amazed as well ashamed. Amazed at
let the three years she spent at college go waste,
my audacity, and ashamed at my infidelity.
to sacrifice all her hard work. We made the right
I was a graduate student at Michigan State,
decision, she remained in Bangalore to complete
getting used to the campus life and adjusting
her degree, and I came to Michigan. We both
to a new culture. I got married as soon as I
were quite sad to be apart for so many months,
completed my undergraduate course at that
particularly after we had tasted the fruits of love.
elite engineering school—Indian Institute of
It was a gut-wrenching separation and I was very
Technology (generally referred to as IIT), and was
sad, very lonely and very grumpy all the way to
ready to fly to U.S.A.. Sunita and I were married
Detroit. But once I was in the university campus, I
in a traditional Hindu ceremony and we went
had no choice but to get into the swing of things
on our honeymoon to Coorg, that beautiful part
and get to work on my courses.
of my great state of Karnataka. We had a great
*
time for about a week and returned home. Even
After my morning classes I went to the
though we spent most of the time discovering
cafeteria for lunch, and got two hot dogs and 21
a soda and looked for a table. I was about to sit
student in Psychology.” She had a well-
at a table where it was a little quiet so that I can
modulated voice, like one of those newscasters,
read Sunita’s letter in peace. But when I saw that
very clear and crisp.
the table wasn’t all that clean, I tried to sit at an
I knew vaguely that such subjects existed,
adjacent table and just then a dark-haired girl
and we engineers looked down on those ‘soft’
also tried to sit at the same table. I immediately
faculties. It was my impression that only those
looked around to see if I can get another table.
with less IQ went into those subjects. But, of
She looked at me, “You can sit with me. I don’t mind.” I really didn’t want to bother interacting with a stranger, and also I was quite eager to read my dear wife’s love letter. Those days we had to wait almost two weeks for our letters to reach one another. No e-mail of course. And the telephone
course, I didn’t let my disdain show, and feigned interest. “Oh. Really? What do you plan to do after you get your degree? Teach?” “I think I will get my masters and work as a student counselor.” I ate my hotdogs and pushed my plate away
was prohibitively expensive. I really couldn’t shell
and took a big gulp of my milkshake. Then, after
out two dollars per minute on a call to India, and
I was satiated, I took a good look at her. She was
the connection was almost always erratic, thanks
a dark, petite girl with long black hair reaching
to Ma Bell. But I was tired and hungry after the
down to her shoulders. She wasn’t by any means
morning classes, and didn’t want to wait any
a beauty. But to my lonely eyes, she was striking
longer to sink my teeth into my food.
and attractive.
I looked at her, “Thanks. I am Dinesh Singh.” “Glad to meet you. You must be at the engineering school.”
I had some free time in the afternoon and as she appeared to be in no hurry, we talked. Actually she did most of the talking. I learned
I was surprised. “How do you know?”
that her father was a professor of Physiology at
She smiled, showing her sparkling white
the medical school at Ann Arbor and her mother
teeth. “Oh. Most Indian guys who come here are
was a realtor. That she had an older sister who
enrolled at the engineering school.”
was married. That she had an older brother who
22
“And you are studying?”
was studying law at Yale. That her parents were
“I am Geeta Matthews. I am a graduate
originally from Kerala and her father moved to
the States in the fifties. That they were Catholics,
*
took their piety seriously, went to church
I met Geeta after a week or so and we again
regularly, volunteered their time to church-
had lunch together. I liked being with her as she
related activities. In between she asked me about
was witty, well-informed and quite sophisticated.
myself, and I told her about my bride in India.
From time to time I did commit some gaffes, like
I looked at my wrist watch, “How time flies when we are having fun. I better get back to my lab. I am supposed to meet my advisor at three. See you next time then.” She got up too, “It’s so nice to run into you.
saying that I passed out of IIT with honors. Geeta laughed. “Oh. My God. You are hilarious. Passing out, ha..ha..ha.” I didn’t know what was so funny. “What’s the matter?”
Let me give you my phone number. If there’s
She controlled herself and wiped her eyes,
anything that I can do, anything at all, please
“You know, Dinesh, passing out means becoming
don’t hesitate to call me. Like a ride to the
unconscious. I know you meant that you
grocery store, you know, stuff like that. You
graduated. But here in America, we don’t say
probably don’t have your wheels yet.”
passing out. It’s probably a common usage in
“Okay, Geeta, Thanks. Gotta run.” When I went back to my apartment late in
India. Don’t worry, it’s no big deal.” That incident brought us closer, and instead
the evening, I thought about the day and sat
of feeling insulted, I began to respect her for her
down to write to Sunita. I wrote her almost three
frankness. Someone else might have ignored my
times a week and I also received her letters
quaint vocabulary, and I would have never known
quite frequently. But something kept me from
my mistake.
mentioning Geeta in my letter to Sunita. I wrote about my advisor, my courses, the type of food I ate for my lunch and dinner, but I omitted my
The next time we met, I asked her, “There’s a movie that I would like to see. Can you take me?” She looked at me mischievously, “You mean
meeting with Geeta. Maybe I didn’t want to upset
drop you at the theater and pick you up after the
my new bride. Those days, people in India had
movie is over?”
a very low opinion of American women, and thought they were brazen. I didn’t want to add
I was embarrassed. “No, it’s not like that. I didn’t mean it like that. Okay, let me rephrase.
unnecessary fuel to a non-existent fire. 23
Would you like to accompany me for a movie and
into her inviting hot embrace. When Geeta and I
dinner afterwards?”
were together, we were like two animals fulfilling
“Sure. Why not? You must be feeling lonely being all by yourself, poor baby.” I ignored the baby part, as by this time I was used to her way of speaking, using terms like honey, sugar, and baby quite excessively. That’s the way she spoke. She picked me up promptly and we went off to the theater. I don’t remember the movie. Actually we didn’t see much of it. Because as soon as the lights were dimmed we held hands
our primal urges. But we were also friends, understood each other well. In another time and another place, if I weren’t already married, I might have proposed to her. One day, after our rendezvous, Geeta told me, “Dinesh, I am afraid that I can’t see you anymore. I am going to get married soon.” “Wow. This is a big surprise. I didn’t know you were dating.” “No, I am not. My parents have arranged my
and I started to kiss her and she reciprocated.
marriage. My fiancé is a scientist working at a
After a few minutes, we walked out and went to
pharmaceutical company in Philadelphia.”
her apartment. Once inside we ripped off our clothes and made love on her living room carpet.
“Congratulations. So, are you going to continue your studies in the East Coast?”
I took her with all the urgency of a starving man, and she was equally passionate. Thus began our affair which lasted for quite
“Yeah. First I want to be a bride for a few months, cook for him, do things that a wife
a while. After Sunita joined me, I didn’t meet
should do. Then after we settle down, I will
Geeta that frequently as Sunita began to cook
continue my studies at U. Penn.”
and gave me my lunch box everyday. So there
“When is the wedding?”
was no reason for me to go to the cafeteria. But
“I am not sure. Some time, in a month or
every once in a while, Geeta and I arranged to
two. The last time I went home, I met George.
meet at her apartment for an hour or so. The
He seems like a nice guy, soft-spoken and easy
moment we were together we lost ourselves in
going. He is a little bit short. But then I am not all
passionate embraces. I did feel a little guilty that
that tall either. His parents live in Poughipsee in
I was cheating on my bride. But those feelings
New York state.”
evaporated rather quickly when Geeta took me 24
“How did your parents find this guy?”
“Oh, the usual way. Through family contacts. In our community, everybody keeps track of single boys and girls and try to match them up. Just like it happens in other Indian communities. We have these annual jamborees where all the Kerala people meet at one of the big cities and talk and exchange information about each other. I went to one of those with my parents when I
committing adultery, I don’t want to go to confession, Father Saldana is a bad man.” Rudy Ravindra attended the Iowa Writers’ Workshop (Summer 2012). His prose has been published in Yellow Mama, Story Shack, Southern Cross Review, Bewildering Stories, Gravel, Blazevox, Nazar-Look. He lives with his wife in Wilmington, North Carolina.
was in high school.” I was jealous. “How did your parents find this George? Did you kiss him and all?” She said. “Oh, no, no, no. Not before marriage.” I was sorry when our affair had to end. But at the same time I was relieved that I didn’t have to cheat on Sunita any longer. I remembered a strange thing that Geeta used to do after our date. After she got dressed, she used to kneel on the floor and mumble something for a few minutes. I ignored it for quite some time, but one day my curiosity got better of me. After she was done, I asked her. “What did you just do?” She looked at me very innocently, and said, “I was saying my Hail Marys, to absolve me from the sin that I just committed.” “But why do you think it is a sin? We are not hurting anybody.” “That’s true. But in God’s eyes we are 25
Get Publishe www.onimpressi
26
ished. ession.com
27
28