April is National Poetry Month

Inspired by YouthSpeaks.

Writing Assignment Five: Where Were You Last Night?

It's 6AM and I'm just about ready to head out the door. I do the final pat down: keys, wallet, phone. I grab my pre-made lunch - quinoa, kale, apple. Shelley's on a health kick this month. Fingers crossed for Meat-Filled March.

As I double back for my Transit card, I pause at the creak of the screen door swinging open. Flapping shut.

Adrian's home.

And at such an unGodly hour. I check my watch and note that I have about fifteen minutes to spare before running into the Late Zone. I don't want to ask though. I don't want to know where he was.

The range of answers to this posit -- Where were you last night? -- fluctuate from the mundane to the laughable to the downright unbelievable. And I'm damn tired of wasting my time with them.

Last week, Uncle Addy (Shelley's grandfather's brother, if you wanted to get technical) had spent a wild Sunday night on Mars with a few of his Martian buddies from the War. Throwing back beers. Cracking dirty jokes. And reminiscing about the Good Ol' Days until they dropped him off on our front porch around 4:45 AM.

I hear him drop his keys on the front table and briefly contemplate bailing out the back door, when my phone tweets from my pocket. Curse you, tell-tale device! I silence it but it's already too late.

"Nessa! That you?" There's a jovial tone to his greeting. Last night was a good one it seems.

Lately, and more frequently in the past few months, he has come home grouchy and frustrated. The work he has been doing on his supposed "Doomsday Device" has been hitting a maddening number of speed bumps. He elaborates to Shelley on the specifics and - bless her heart - she takes it all in with patience and grace. She's exponentially more tolerant of his fantastical fabrications and maybe, to a degree, this empathy is one of the many reasons I love her.

"In here Addy!" I beckon, grudgingly. "But I've only got a few minutes," I warn. "Can't be late today."

One morning, I got ensnared in a forty-five minute recounting of a night with the Mole People. Introduced by a mutual friend, Uncle Addy and Grunther (of the Solum Clan, royalty among those who live below the surface) had evolved into great friends over the course of the years. Not often did Addy get to visit the Mole Underground, but this particular evening, he had been practically dragged under to help mitigate a heightening conflict. Considered an impartial judge, he was enlisted to settle what seemed to me a simple bar argument. I didn't retain the details of the whole mess but it culminated in exchanged blows, broken bones and a good deal of blood and dirt. My boss didn't care about the details either and I ended up shorted the hours and stuck with the grunt work for the day.

"Not a problem." He smiles as his form appeared in the doorway. "Nothing but good news today." He winks at me and I try my best to put on my cheeriest face.

I hope for one of the rare mornings when he tells me spent the night reading a novel and drinking coffee at the 24-Hour Diner around the corner. Maybe Poker Night with his College buddies. Or perhaps catching a double feature at the Drive In Theater. The normal evenings were less and less these days. Adrian seemed to spend more time on other planets, underwater, beneath the surface. Shying away from the rest of us. Retreating from us. Tiring of us.

"And no need to worry about time anymore." His face is serene. Almost eerily calm.

Maybe today will be another yarn about his Time Traveling buddy, Lana. My favorite will always be their trip to the witch trial era of Salem. A native island girl, Lana had mastered the art of fire spinning at a young age. With the magical flick of a lighter, Addy lit up her fire poi and Lana bewitched the whole village. Bright trails lit up the area around her. Mesmerizing intertwined circles and hoops danced in her orbit. Too stunned to even believe their eyes, the villagers stared in awe. Tales were born that day. Legends incepted. When the flames receded, Adrian clapped a long slow clap striking clear in the dead silence of Salem. Lana bowed low and long. And again, like magic, the two disappeared.

"It's finally done," he dreamily whispers.

"It?" I inquire. "The Doomsday Device?!" For once, I am struck kind of incredulous. Will this be the last we hear of this particular peculiarity?

He merely nods in response. His face still frozen moon-faced.

I'm deciding whether to delve further into this new mystery or bail as originally planned, when I feel the first tremor. It's short and sweet like an aftershock. Like someone shaking the chair you're sitting on, then letting go.

It's then when I decide to head towards the door. He's too dazed for conversation and now's my chance to escape. As I step toward the exit, a bigger quake hits. This one is longer than I've ever felt. Seeming to get worse with every passing second. I grab the counter to steady myself and as the minutes pass, start wondering, When will it ever end?

I glance over at Uncle Addy and he's still smiling. He's mouthing words at me. But I can't make them out.

A bright light appears from what seems like nowhere. Yet everywhere. It flashes long and intense. Everything is white. Everything is hot. Everything is bright bright BRIGHT.

My retinas burn and I can't make out anything anymore.

Except that smile. That eerily serene smile.
And his moving lips.

"It works."

Australia: Hiking The Falls

It's still early in the park. 

We pull into Canyon Overlook and there is a fog still nestled lazily in valley. The mist tickles our faces. We are standing in the low laying clouds of Springbrook National Park.

As we begin our walk, ours are the first footfalls on the trail today. The day yet to fully awaken, the trail still damp from the night's rain. Our shoes squish over the damp leaves, mud and twigs underneath us. It's the perfect time for a hike - the weather cool, the air crisp, the valley almost completely our own.

At the top of Twin Falls, the waters of the mirror rivers slide swiftly over slick mossy rocks. Clear and cold. Bursting with great speed as it topples over the edge and falls fast over the steep cliff. We twist down the switchbacks and take in the tall tall trees. The canopy sways as a breeze steals through. The forest is alive with the symphony of various fauna. A Kookaburra trill tricks me into thinking there are monkeys in the trees. The cicadas echo each other as they communicate across the rainforest. Surroundsound nature.

At the bottom of the falls, I ask Josh, "Is that the only way to go through there?" I pronounce the last word with almost a second syllable. "They-ah." The Australian accent is rubbing off and I can't help but emulate. 

He smiles and nods as we both take in the path that winds right underneath the falls. It's not directly flowing onto the footpath, but there is a good spray veiling it. 

We're going to get wet.

"Here we goooo!" he cries as he dives under. I catch that impish twinkle in his eyes as he goes. The first few drops catch me off guard and I pause, getting a bit wetter than if I had just gone full on. Then I run, careful to not slip as I traverse under the cascade. "I don't like this!" I yell as I run under, laughing as the words flow out of my mouth.

On the other side, we are moist and the breeze brings goosebumps to my arms. We trek onward.

The sun begins to peak through the clouds and small rays poke amongst the canopy of the forest. The colors brighten. The greens intensify. 

The hike begins to head back and, ironically, this incline includes stairs rather than switchbacks. My favorite. Even though it is beginning to get muggy, the day is still young and we are thankful that this uphill is so much more pleasant than yesterday's: The never-ending stairs, the scorching sun.

"What temperature do you think it is?" I ask Josh, who has just removed his shirt.

"It's hard to tell since we've been walking," he stops. "I'm always hot so I can't estimate correctly." We pause as I catch my breath. "Maybe 70...?" 

"That sounds about right." I take into account that I am so much less hot than him right now. "It feels on the edge of humid. But still cool." We continue on and upward for a relatively easy return to the car park.

The Canyon Overlook has cleared up significantly since we had first arrived. The sun over the valley emphasizes a plethora of shades of green that I didn't even know existed. 

Our car is still sitting solo when we return to it. We hop in and prepare to start the day, satisfied with an early morning trek. 

Good morning and good bye, Springbrook Park. It's been swell.

Writing Assignment Four: I Met Him on the Stairs

My day was already a clusterfuck.

I had slept through my first class. My rushed morning shower doused me with solely ice cold water. My cereal was stale. I was on the verge of running late for my Psych Mid-Term.

And, of course, the elevator was broken.

A cool October breeze snuck into the building as some random student stole out into the streets. My notebook blew open, scattering my already dishevelled notes from my hand to the ground. I rushed to grab them, stacking them haphazardly in a pile and back into the notebook.

The stairs. I'm not sure if a thought can be muttered, but that is how this one felt. Now where the hell are the stairs? My eyes frantically scanned the room, inquiring at each doorway and what lay behind them.

An earthen red door with a well-worn silver "Emergency Door"-style pushbar beckoned.

I pushed through rapidly.

Idiotically, I paused to look up. Did I expect to see all five floors of stairs at once? Was I expecting to view and assess the situation here, from the ground floor? The bottom of the first flight of stairs taunted me with its grey grim starkness.

I plundered onward and upward.

I vaguely remembered hearing another door somewhere farther up open and shut swiftly, but it gave me no pause. I was already in a tizzy. I was already almost late.

It was then that I met him on the stairs.

He was rushing too, but in the opposite direction. Our opposing forces collided with an audible thud and it reeled me backwards into the wall. My notebook dropped from my hands, once again scattering paper like the flyaway seeds of puffy white dandelion. We both reached to pick them up at once, bumping hands in the process.

I looked up to apologize but he was too engrossed in collecting all the notes. He was rushing in a way that felt as if he was trying to be helpful but, frankly, he didn't have the time for it. His frame looked frail and thin. His hair, black and slick. When he finally met my gaze, his light grey eyes were barely visible behind the thick lenses in this equally thick framed glasses.

"Here." He somewhat shoved his collected papers at me.

"Thanks," I offered, trying to convey how appreciative I was of his limited time. He straightened up to full height and I noticed how towering he was. He was like Roald Dahl's Lankiest Skinniest Giant. I paused to consider if he was tall enough to have to duck when going through doorways.

"It's nothing," he countered and briefly, almost awkwardly, touched his fingertips to the inside of the wrist that held my papers. He held my gaze in an arresting stare. The combination of this gesture and look caused all my movements and thoughts to cease for a brief moment of time. Why didn't I jerk my hand backwards? Why couldn't I respond? Wasn't I late for something?

I had no response so I merely closed my gaping mouth and nodded at him. I moved again to take the steps upward.

He nodded back and we parted ways. He disappeared like a swift wind -- the kind that precedes a warm summer storm. He was out of sight by the time I swivelled my head back to look.

As I entered the classroom, I was clearly late. The professor was already talking, the class was silent, and the slam of the door as I entered was a Scarlet Letter of tardiness. I kept my eyes down and slid into the seat closest to the exit. My heart slowed to its normal pace and I tried to transition my brain into Test Taking Mode.

I focused.

And I'm pretty sure I aced the Mid-Term.

As I gathered my things as the end of class, I spotted an out of place page in my notebook. The paper itself didn't match and, as I pulled it out, I realized the handwriting wasn't mine.

"Thanks for the time." The perfect cursive struck me as beautiful. You don't see penmanship like that anymore, I thought.

As I folded up the note, I noticed my bare wrist. The wrist his small slight hand had rested upon. The bastard has stolen my watch! The watch my grandmother gave me in her will. The one with the small simple clock face. The delicate hands. The engraving on the back to "Adela Romesca Gavin."

The bastard had stolen my watch.

Australia: Diary Entry One

We start the trip with a long flight. 14 hours in a plane to New Zealand. Movies and books. Sleep.

At 5 AM we land in Auckland. Two hour layover and noodles for breakfast.

 
Come 10 AM, we finally land in Aussie. Long lines for customs, long lines for baggage, long lines, long lines. Taxi ride through the outskirts and finally, our destination.

It is 12 PM in Melbourne. Lord knows what time at home.

---

Day One is for exploring.

We head out for lunch and it’s not as hot as we expected. We stroll through the European-style alley ways lined with tiny eateries. The cobbled-stoned alley itself full of intimate umbrella topped tables. Everyone chatting. Everyone nibbling. Everyone sipping on coffee. On water. On wine.

We gulp down cool glasses of water and dine on delightful focaccia sandwiches. The pesto chicken in mine pairs nicely with the added avocado. Green on green. Tasty.

We walk some more, wandering in and around the Central Business District. Watching the locals. Watching the tourists. We stop in a funny souvenir shop to look for a plug adapter. We find ourselves immersed in rows of Uggs, koala keychains, over-the-top Outback hats and even a boxing kangaroo novelty pen. I box at Josh’s arm as he pays for the adapter.

We grab groceries and toiletries at the local Cole’s. (Cole’s! Like us!) We traverse back to the homestead with bags of goodies.

After a shower and a refresh, we head out again. Bronnie and Neil, our kind AirBnB hosts, are relaxing in the living room as we don our shoes. We chat with them about this and that. What to do in Melbourne. What we both like in travel. What our various experiences are with AirBnB – both travel and hosting. I keep reaching for the door handle. I keep getting pulled back into conversation.

We walk the streets of the CBD again, this time veering East toward Fitzroy Gardens. Green grass. Tall ancient trees. Old buildings from the 1800’s. History mixed with greenery. Our wanderings lead us up to some strange sights – a miniature Tudor town replica, a Fairie tree, and random fountains.

By now, the sun is setting and our stomachs are rumbling. We jut back Westward toward the plethora of restaurants. As we find one, we also find ourselves underdressed amongst the just-out-of-work diners clad in pin-stripe button ups, slacks and fancy shoes. We eat anyway – splurging on burrata, fresh pasta and wine. Cheers to our first night in Australia.

The wine abets gravity and pulls our eyelids closed involuntarily. Between blinks and sips, we decide to meander our way back to the homestead and fall quickly and heavily into bed.

Writing Assignment Three: Anywhere, A Destination

You ever get that feeling of being alone even when you're not? Of being so far from someone even when they are only inches away? 

..

We sat on a bumpy bus. Our fingers were intertwined .. but were we even paying attention to the touching of our skin? 

I believe we had been riding for at least twenty minutes in silence before one of us spoke up.

"It's fucking beautiful here," she said, still not looking at me. Still gazing out the window. Talking at me but not to me.

"It is," I replied to the back of her head. I conversed with her short silky stark black hair. There were split ends. The cut was old and growing out funny. But, damn, she still looked gorgeous.

"Sometimes I can't understand why I ever go back," she mused. Her eyes soaked in every inch of the outside world. Absorbed each stalk of sugar cane. Drunk in each pebble of the dirt road we traversed. 

"You really wouldn't go back ever?" I asked the one strand of shocking white hair that usually nestled hidden amongst the full thick black. It was poking out at this moment and its appearance made me smile.

"There's so much to see," she sighed. Her exhale hinted at the rest of the sentence she meant to add, but never would. Her breath long and slow, she must have been dreaming of adventures she'd never have. People she'd never meet. 

"But what about family?" I adjusted my butt. Only one hour into this bus ride and it was already sore. "What about friends?" I began to think that there most likely was never going to be a spot that was comfortable. "Wouldn't you miss them?"

"Family. Yeah..." She trailed off. I watched a bead of sweat form just under the nape of her neck. It had gathered big enough that now gravity was aching to pull it closer. It started to roll. It fell, slowly and solely, down her chocolate kissed skin.

"I feel like it's been ages since I've seen Mali," I reminisced with the clean bright path the sweat bead left through the layer of dust that had formed on her neck during this long, open-aired bus ride through the dry dusty roads of Palawan. "I miss even hearing her voice. Getting to tease her face to face. Rile her up just to watch her get worked into a frenzy. Listen to that kind of awkward, braying laugh she makes when something is just ridiculously funny." Just picturing the way my sister practically hiccuped when she laughed this hard made me almost chuckle aloud.

"But think about all the things you haven't done yet," she ached. "That person you are still destined to meet that will take you somewhere you haven't yet imagined." The bus slowed sharply and we turned. The passengers abruptly gravitated left. 

"And I heard Matt and Genevieve are pregnant!" The shift left me sitting in a position where a sharp spring wanted to permanently wedge itself up into my buttbone. "Do you think she'll be showing by the time we get back? When does that even happen? How far along do you have to be for that?"

"They're building a home base." It was like we were trying to conduct two different conversations, but occasionally meet in the middle. Her head shifted but she still didn't turn to face me. "They're setting up camp and settling into the home they'll live in 'til their kids go off to college. Forming a nice beautiful family unit. Something to come back to."

"Somewhere for them to feel at home," I added. Her other hand reached back to wipe the perspiration from her neck. "Somewhere to belong."

We were silent for a while, the bumping of the bus rhythmic and enchanting.

I reached my other hand up to place it on her right shoulder. Her skin was warm to the touch. She turned to face me.

"Somewhere to belong," she echoed my words as she looked deep into my eyes. 

I nodded and squeezed her hand.

"That's not really a thing for me," she admitted, her deep brown eyes seeming almost as lost as she did. Her already young face appeared younger at this moment. I wanted to hug her. But there was a distance between us. So I didn't.

She dropped my hand from hers and looked away again.

I wanted to make her a thousand reassurances. Tell her that she always had a home with me. That she would always belong. That I would always be there for her.

The bus veered sharply again. My body slammed hard against hers but she still faced out the window, transfixed.

I opened my mouth to say all the things I wanted to say to her. 

Her form was statuesque. Posture posed in perfection. She was a fleeting angel that was mine for a second. But I knew that my time with her would never be permanent.

I closed my lips and found myself just content to again just stare. 

I had at least these next three hours to El Nido. The next month in this tropical paradise.

I at least had this.

Writing Assignment Two: Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time there was a girl. 

She had two eyes, two ears, two feet, two knees, two elbows... but only one hand. Her right hand was slight, beautiful and delicate. But her left she had lost in an accident as a child. She barely remembered it - only flashes of light, tinges of pain.

To this day, she still sometimes woke up forgetting it was gone. She could feel it as a phantom limb. Could swear her right pinkie was itchy. Thought maybe she felt a fly land in her palm. 

One evening, as she slept, she had a particularly peculiar dream. She was hovering, omnipresent, aware of everything and anything that was happening below her. Her attention, however, was drawn to a boy about her age talking intently to no one. He sat, legs folded beneath him, on a bench in front of the town library. His eyes were animated, his head nodding every once in a while. His expression was that of concern. He took turns pausing, as if listening, and responding in the like. He spoke to the air in front of him. As if a ghost, she swooped down to take a closer look. As she settled, still hovering, to the left of the boy on the bench, he turned in her direction. His gaze met hers and she was stunned by the fact that it seemed he was looking right at her. She was also struck by the stark blueness of his irises.

She awoke. 

---

Hours earlier, a boy with piercing blue eyes sat on a bench in front of the town library talking to a friend. 

"He's in pain," the ghost of an apparition explained to Gary. "And I think maybe you can help him."

The boy looked at but also through him. He could see the street and the passing cars through the willowy wisp that made up his companion. He nodded in compassion.

The spirit continued. "He and his wife are both here in the afterlife, but are separated by the walls of the house that used to keep them together." As the boy listened, he felt a strange other presence, watching but not present. "She died in the house as it burnt to the ground. He tried to go in and save her, but their home collapsed before he could make it in to rescue. He died a mere week later of heart failure."

"To be with her," Gary mused, muttering a half sentence that he had no intention of completing. 

"Most likely," the apparition agreed. "But now, he just mopes and paces outside the ghost of the house that remains. They can see each other through the panes of glass, but are unable to open the door. Unable to get to each other. Unable to be together."

The boy paused to reflect. It was then that he felt the eerie presence swoop down close. It neared him, almost sitting there on the bench next to him, when it finally started to take shape. Shimmering but barely visible, the outline of a girl formed before him. His breathing slowed as he was struck by her beauty. He noted the outline of her flowing hair, her pretty face, her slight frame, and, as he glanced out of the corner of his eye, her sole hand. As he brought his gaze up to meet her, their eyes locked for a second and then, as quickly as she appeared, she vanished.

The boy and his original phantom friend were left alone.

---

The day the boy and the girl met in person was not barely 24 hours later.

Mana and Gary crossed paths when both were boarding the Number 1 bus home from downtown. Mana had just seated herself in the second to last seat in the rear of the vehicle. Gary was running frantically after the bus as it started to depart. He rapped wildly at the back and it slowed to pick him up. He paid two fares then shuffled in her direction. Out of breath, he grabbed the sole seat left. The seat next to Mana.

As first, neither looked in the other's direction. But, noting the new arrival's heavy breathing, the girl turned her head to see who had occupied her neighboring seat. Gary cast a smirking look at the air next to him and his breathing started to level off. His head turned to face his seatmate and their eyes met. Instant recognition registered in both their brains, but as ethereal as their first meeting had been, both were unable to vocalize their greetings.

He was the first to attempt. "You're the girl from the library."

Struck by his bluntness, she responded in kind. "I am. And you're the boy that was talking to no one."

"It's not no one," he smiled. "I have friends that you just can't see right now."

Thinking that the conversation had taken an even stranger turn than she had imagined it would, Mana started to turn her body away. "Well that seems.. interesting."

"No no," he said slightly louder than he had intended. He didn't want to lose her so quickly. "It's not what you think." And, on instinct, he put a hand over hers.

For the slight second it remained there, she felt the bus around her change. She could swear she saw a man standing next to Gary, staring at her intently. And further, up close to the front of the bus, a woman holding a rail, gazing out the window. It all seemed brighter too, but in a way that was hard to identify. It all faded as she defensively drew her sole hand back to the safety of her personal space. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his head down defeated. "I didn't mean to." He stammered. "I didn't.. " He trailed off. His eyes looked to the floor.

"What was that?" she almost whispered.  

"I can show you again if you want," he offered. "But only if you don't mind taking my hand." The invitation hung in the air like a bad odor. She seemed to ignore it at first but, ultimately, she shifted her body back to face him. 

"Yes," she affirmed and held out her arm. He took her hand in hers and they clasped in confidence.

Together they saw what Gary saw on a daily basis. The shimmering shine of the world. The ghostly presences that inhabit it. That weave in and out of our lives. That live on but breathe not our air. That are not seen by the common eye.

She was silent. And the rest of the ride, she didn't speak. Merely took in the new world that she never knew about. Looking out windows at the souls walking down sidewalks. Sitting on bus benches. Conversing with passers-by.

When her destination approached, she broke the magic by letting go of Gary's hand.

"This is my stop," she finally spoke. "My name is Mana. And I'd like to see you again."

"I'm Gary," he introduced himself. "And I would too."

"Meet me here at the bus stop," she said as she got up to leave. "Tomorrow at the same time."

"Sure," he replied as he glanced as his watch. "Tomorrow at 5."

"See you then," she called as she disembarked. 

"See you."

--- 

When they met again, Gary's face was flush and he looked panicked.

"Are you okay?" Mana asked, worried.

"Do you trust me?" he implored. But she didn't. Yet at the same time she did. 

She shook off the doubt, took his hand and they were off. 

They walked at a brisk pace. Rows of suburban homes passed in a flurry until they finally found themselves in front of an empty lot.

Only to them, it wasn't empty. That same shimmer Mana was beginning to see everywhere now enveloped the frame of a two story Colonial. Outside, a man paced.

When he saw them, his face livened and he approached.

"She's fading." His voice echoed the look in his eyes. The defeat. "And the house with her. I'm afraid of losing them forever."

"Let's think this through." Gary was already looking for solutions. "What is currently keeping you apart?" As the men spoke, Mana took time to glance around. The house had doors but no doorknobs, windows that seemed sewn shut. In the closest window, she saw the head of a woman looking out. Her eyes, too, pleaded.

"I can't get in," the specter spoke. "The doors won't open for me. The windows stay sealed."

"What about any secret entrances?" Mana mused. "Any special spots you two shared? Some way of getting in and out that was unique to the both of you?"

The thin veil of a man turned to face her. He stopped, thinking. Then, suddenly, he turned and ran toward the back of the home.

They followed behind, trying to keep pace. When they reached him, he was already halfway up the tall aged hickory tree scaling the house. As he arrived at the window where the thick branches met the second floor, he frantically pawed at the pane of glass. The woman was there too. Inside looking out. Reaching for him. 

"I still can't get in!" he shouted down at them. "The handle is too small. This was Sheila's way of sneaking in to see me when we were teenagers. The grip on the window is only small enough for her hands." He looked down at them, forlorn. 

Gary turned to face Mana. "Maybe you can reach it." 

"But I won't be able to see it without you."

"Then let's go together." They released hands and Mana was left staring at an empty lot and a tall tree. They spryly climbed the old hickory and were up at the windowsill in no time.

"Now stay balanced," Gary implored when they were safely situated. He placed his hand on her shoulder and the glimmering world appeared again. Mana found herself face to face with the woman within.

She grasped for the windowsill and was disappointed to find her hand sliced swiftly through the mirage. She couldn't touch anything in the ghost world. It was there but it wasn't.

"Use your other hand," Gary nodded toward her left. He smiled.

Confused, she looked down. Where her hand normally eluded her, was the shimmery outline of her phantom limb. She felt the tears start to form before they fell. She just stared at it for what seemed like hours. She turned it over back and forth. Waved it. Wiggled her little fingers one at a time. Her eyes coated in tears that hadn't yet burst forth and she smiled back at Gary.

"Go ahead," he nudged.

Hesitantly at first, she moved toward the window and the little groove that was made just for Shelia's slight hand. Reunited with her ghost hand, Mana slid it into the small handle. It fit perfectly and the window slipped open effortlessly. 

The man climbed passed them and through the window. The house pulsed with a new invigorated glow. The lovers united in a warm embrace. A kiss. And it felt like all was right.

Gary took his hand off Mana's shoulder and it all disappeared.

Again, it was just the two of them and the hickory tree. She looked down at the spot where her ghost hand had just existed. Her smile flickered.

Gary moved to lift her chin to align their eyes. He reached for her missing hand and surprisingly, she felt his in the one she couldn't see. He moved her arm up toward him and softly kissed the area in front of his mouth.

She could feel the tingle of his kiss on the top of her phantom hand. 

And her smiled shimmered.