Out for Publication... but here's the beginning of the story...

I drifted up from sleep unsure what woke me, but comfortable in that self-satisfied way when you wake up after dozing off in the shade of a big tree on a gently swaying hammock. You wake up forgetting who you were for a moment, a brief respite from your lack of money, your loss of elasticity, your age, and every other thing that worried you before you fell into the ephemeral coma.

Lifting my head enough to look over the edges that cradled me set the hammock to rocking. Cormac still lay curled into a ball beside my glass of lemonade. Beads of sweat had collected on the bottom half of the glass and a leaf clung to its lip by its stem while three of its five lobes dipped into the pale liquid. I squinted at it and noted the leaf as evidence.

I closed my eyes and listened to the wind making the leaves shiver on the branches of the trees. I waited for a clue…maybe a repeat noise, or vibration. Maybe a heavy sigh from Cormac. Further down the block I could hear the hum of a leaf blower, and even further than that, the low monotone of wheels on the train tracks that ran through town. Maybe the train had whistled further out. It was one of the sounds that became lost to daily life, filtered from consciousness like the buzz of bees and the twitter of birds until you let go of your worries and re-focus. But I didn’t hear anything unusual and the train was just reaching the main crossing beside the post office where it blasted its whistle in three long calls.

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The following is unfinished work. I got stuck and couldn't figure out where to go next or how to finish it out. Let me know if you have any thoughts. Maybe I will craft Part II on your imagination instead of mine. After all, I'm just trying to get in my 1000/day word count.

Despite the ebullient sunshine in an innocent blue sky, four foot waves hurtled themselves against the shoreline like a storm was rolling in. Even the air had taken on a cleaner, colder freshness than the usual hot tang of lakeside decay. Within the next hour dark clouds would roll up and the beachcombers would start running for their cars. Storm days were the best and I looked forward to the violent flashes of lightning and accompanying thumping and booming of thunder.

It was the perfect time for a jog and I knew if I picked it up a little from my normal pace, I could make it to my favorite beach vendor and home again before the rains pelted me. I know better than to eat hotdogs, but they really are the best on the beach and Levi is the sweetest guy I know.

I scrambled to throw on my tennis shoes and shoved a couple dollars into my zippered armband with my phone. The earbuds were getting worn and sometimes the left one shorted out while I jogged, but when I pressed them into my ears, John Mellencamp was coming through in stereo.

“Outside the club a cherry bomb. Our friends were in it for fun, say yeah yeah,” I sang softly as I locked the door behind me.

“Hey, neighbor!” I jumped. My new neighbor was standing at his porch leaning toward me and must have thought my radio was up louder than it was because he hollered it like our houses were a mile away from each other somewhere in the country.

I pulled an earbud from one ear and gave a wave. “All moved in?”

“Not quite. Beautiful day, huh?”

I was trying to figure out if he needed something or was maybe flirting with me. I got that a lot. The flirting. I was pretty but not too pretty. I had that classic California girl look with long wavy blond hair and blue eyes but my face was too round. Nothing special really, and generally overlooked living here at the beach, but every once in a while, I got more attention than I wanted.

“Gorgeous. Storm’s rolling in though.” I pointed out to the horizon where the blue sky met the darker blue water filled with white caps.

He looked at the lake. “Really? How can you tell?”

“The air’s colder. Smells cleaner.” I watched him digest that and inhale deeply.

“Must be a local thing.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I can’t tell the difference.” He tilted his head and I realized he was mimicking me. I just didn’t know if it was unintentional or just something he did. “Cooler air I guess but it smells the same.”

“I guess so.” I put my earbud back in my ear and started down my porch. He said something more and I pulled it back out.

“Going for a run?”

I looked out at the sky again. No clouds yet. I nodded at him and noticed as he came down his steps to join me that he had on running shoes. Nice ones. High end, brand name ones. But not new. The toes were scuffed.

“Mind if I join you?” He sensed my hesitation and held up his hands like he was surrendering. “It’s okay. I’ll go this way. You go that way. No worries.”

“No, it’s fine. I just wanted to make it down a couple miles and back before the storm.”

He laughed. “So you’re worried I’ll slow you down.”

He started down the sidewalk without me and as I caught up beside him he said, “Tell you what. If I fall behind, you just keep on going without me. I’ll catch you on the way back through or see you back at the porch.”

We ran in silence. It was nice to have a running partner again, one who set his pace to match mine, someone who wasn’t intent on having a conversation and just enjoyed being in the moment. And he didn’t have any problem keeping up with me the four miles it took to reach the hotdog vendor.

I slowed to a walk about twenty yards from the cart and debated whether it would be too gauche to order a hotdog after running. I was chewing the inside of my lip and worrying way too much about what my new neighbor would think when he turned to finally introduce himself.

“Jay.” He was holding his hand out.

“Tina.” I shook it and remembered to not hold it too long. I wasn’t yet past the stage of wanting to cling to every touch like it was a life preserver tossed to me where I was drowning in the middle of the ocean. Sometimes I still held on too long.

“Nice to meet you.” He tipped his head at the cart and it took me a moment to process his next question because I thought he was addressing the vendor. “Hotdog?”

I actually stumbled. And he actually laughed. “I suppose I could eat one. I don’t usually–”

Jay laughed again. “Oh, don’t you? We’ll take two, Levi.”

“Sure you will!” said Levi in his charming way. He winked at me over the glass wall where he prepared the food. “And how are you, my tantalizing Tina?”

I blushed. Bright pink. So pink I knew my tan wouldn’t even hide it because I could feel the heat of it in my ears.

Jay tilted his head at me and raised an eyebrow. He mouthed the words. “Tantalizing Tina?”

I ignored him. “I’m great, Levi. You’re killing me here.”

“Ohhh…new beau?” He was nodding conspiratorially at me and winked again.

“What?! No! New neighbor.” The blush would stain my cheeks for weeks. I was sure of it. Levi handed me a dog with a palsied hand and I gratefully took it so I could turn away to the condiments and get my color under control.

“She’s cute when she blushes, isn’t she, Levi?” I really was dying. This was never going to end.

“She sure is, Jay.”

“You two know each other?”

“Just met him last week,” said Levi. “He stopped by to ask about you.”

Jay turned pink. “Well, I–”

“You asked about me?” I was confused. He had just moved in a week ago. He asked about me?

“I…How far do you usually run?”

“What?”

“I followed you one day.”

“You followed–”

“Okay, wait. Stop.” He held up a hand. “I was going to ask to run with you last week and I couldn’t keep up. I bailed by Levi. He gave me a water and we talked awhile. Well, actually we were still talking when you ran back by. And he told me your name. Tina. Not the tantalizing part.”

I took a bite of my hotdog and looked at Levi. Mustard oozed between my teeth.

Blah blah blah… romance blah blah stuff. You know they’re going to get rained on, right? Let’s just let you imagine that scene while I skip to the murder scene. Because that’s where this story is going and clearly I write romance really really poorly.

“It’s hard,” Jay said. (Now, stop. I don’t do porn any better than I do romance. Worse, in fact. Jay is explaining to me about what it’s like to be a celebrity. Let’s try not to go off on some wild tangent.)

“What’s hard about it? The money? All the women that you get to pick from?” I was having a difficult time feeling sorry for him. And his house on the beach. And his Mercedes convertible. And before you start condemning me for the house on the beach that I’m living in, I’m just house sitting. It’s not mine.

“No, the money is nice. The women aren’t what you would think. They’re like a pestilence. You get rid of one and ten more are right there at your door, banging it down, invading your space.”

“Ouch. Did you just call me a pestilence?”

Read part 2

Out for Publication... but here's the beginning of the story...

I shivered despite the sunlight that filtered through the canopy of the trees. I was stretched out on a limb as wide as my waist, my feet crossed at the ankles as if I sat on a chaise instead of in the crook of a tree fifteen feet above a trampled path running through the wood. I had sat in this spot so many times in the last two years that the bark was smooth both under me and behind my back. A book filled with Shakespeare’s sonnets lay open on my lap but I wasn’t really reading. I had memorized most of the lyrical text some time ago and instead, I was enjoying the sound of the breeze as it shook the limbs around me and created a swishing symphony in the shadows of the leaves that shushed against each other.

Up here, I could swear the songs of the birds were crisper, their calls louder and lasting longer, perhaps amplified by the hardness of the branches instead of swallowed up by foliage, but it was probably just my imagination at work. My imagination often got me into trouble though at this height, there were few tribulations that concerned me. Falling asleep and plummeting to the ground below was about the worst that could happen and sleeping at this time was the furthest thought from my mind.

I checked my watch. Two minutes. Timeliness was next to godliness in my book. Not the book in my lap, but the book of my life, and I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. The hum of a motorcycle at least a full mile away reached my ears and I smiled. Right on time.

I could picture each turn and hillock through the woods by the drop and whine of the engine and I could smell the sweet scent of gasoline as it roared to a stop below my tree. The driver, dressed in padded clothing and a shiny black helmet, switched off the motor and it immediately started to cool off and tick.

He leaned back against the tree and reached into his shirt, extracting a book. I couldn’t read what it was but I knew it wouldn’t matter. He always read aloud and he always explained why he was going to read whatever he had on his agenda. Today was no exception.

“Hi, Lee-Lee. How was your day?”

I wished for the millionth time that my name was Leah. I wished he was asking me. I would have bared my soul to him. I would have told him how I thought about him all day, how I lost patience watching the hands on the clock at school, how I ran through the woods so that I would be here in time to watch him shake his hair out when he took his helmet off as he was doing right now.

“I’m fine, Matthew.” I whispered so softly not even the wind would hear.

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Yesterday I went to a baseball game after work and so I didn't get any writing done. (Aces didn't win, but they put up a good fight!) Today I made up my word count from what I lost yesterday. So here are roughly 2000 words, rough and unedited, just as I promised all these posts would be this month.

First Kisses

The birds were mid-chorus when I opened the door unaware that this was the day I would kiss a girl. They had already caught the early worm hours ago and by the time I walked down the hill, the sun was streaming across the pond and had burned off most of the mist that clung to the long grasses. Beads of sparkling dew that cast miniature rainbows in their wake peeked out from the tips of the undersides of leaves and decorated spider webs like tiny jewels. The moisture that normally clung to the cattails coloring their soft heads a hazy brown at this hour was nearly gone.

I pulled a willow branch off the big tree by the shoreline as I walked by and skinned the bark away. I had read in a book that people made tea from willow bark and I peeled back a long piece to sniff at the pale core. It smelled a little like watermelon and I put a piece into my mouth to chew on. Wrinkling my nose at the bitter flavor, I spat it out and scraped my tongue across my teeth to get the stringy bits out.

I hummed while I walked and as I neared the swimming hole, I saw my best friend dragging her rubber raft down from her garden. Her mother had created a sanctuary on the other side of the fence filled with flowers that I found exotic having never seen their types before, and statues of women nude from the hips up. A small deck overlooked a path that ran through the middle of the shrubbery to a small bench that sat under an arbor covered with large clumps of fragrant wisteria where I loved to sit with my eyes closed daydreaming about places I had only ever read about in books.

“Hey, Dreamer.” It was the only name she ever used, a name her mother had nicknamed me and one her whole family adopted exactly one second later. Sometimes she called me Dreams for short and I called her Ally Cat or mostly just Cat.

“Takes one to know one,” I replied with my standard repartee.

I grabbed the handle on the backside of the boat and lifted it free of the ground. We never really had a lot of words between us. I guess because we never had a lot to say and we didn’t really have that much in common. Her mother was as exotic to me as her garden, someone who seemed too wealthy for our one bar town. Her father was even wealthier, but the family was broken in the same way as my own, fractured by divorce and jealousies. I’d spend time away with my father and she would spend time away with her father and we never talked about those moments when we were separated. Being a reader, I would retell the stories I devoured each evening once it was too dark to be outside, and being a pragmatist and a reflector who didn’t read, she would listen patiently as I babbled on waiting until I was done to start a discussion on the finer details about the plot or the story’s theme. She opened my eyes to a new type of reading that I never saw coming and only came to appreciate once I was much older.

“What did you read last night?”

“I finished The Outsiders.”

Together we flipped the boat upside down and onto its sides in the water so it was more of a raft than a boat and then stretched out on top to float around with our hands dragging in the water. I don’t think either of us wore shoes all summer long and most of the time we roamed around in bikinis since we never really went anywhere other than the pond and the parks around it. By mid-July we had dark even tans and white blond hair, hers a little thicker and darker than mine and mine overshadowing a zillion freckles across the bridge of my nose and down my shoulders.

“Remember Bob?” She nodded and I said, “Johnny killed him because he was trying to drown Ponyboy. Dallas gave them some money and told them to go hide in this church so they got this hair dye and dyed their hair blond.”

A minnow was nibbling at my fingers and the sun was so warm on my back that even though I had woken less than an hour ago I could have fallen back to sleep in a heartbeat, secure in the knowledge that everything was right in the world. She nudged me with her elbow and I told her the rest about the abandoned church catching fire and Johnny getting burned and about how Dallas was gunned down for robbing a bank and all the rest of it.

We talked a lot about the characters of the book that day. I was half in love with Dallas and half in love with Darry, each for their opposite characteristics. Dallas because he was a bad boy who did what he wanted when he wanted but who had the biggest heart in the end as far as I could tell, and Darry because he was the sensible one. He took care of Pony and Johnny and everyone else in the gang with love and affection, strength and responsibility. They both wanted to break out of their lives and find something more, but neither was equipped to do it and I thought maybe Darry might figure it out if he were given enough time.

Eventually we rolled off the boat into the water to cool off and swim around with the minnows and the sunfish. I look back on those days and think it was a wonder the police were never called because it wasn’t unusual for us to pop up under the raft on the inside where the sunlight glowed through the plastic and hang out there for long minutes at a time treading water or clinging to the handles. I bet they watched in fearful wonder waiting for the raft’s occupants to reappear. If they had known how many discussions we had about suicide packs and becoming blood brothers back in those days, they might have had a heart attack lingering with their hand on the phone poised to dial 9-1-1.

The day I told her about the Soc’s and the Greasers was the day Cat kissed me under the boat and probably why I remember the book so well all these years later. I had told her about Cherry and how much I thought Ponyboy wanted to kiss her and before I could finish talking about it, Cat rolled off the raft with a splash. I rolled off the other way and we came up under the boat at the same time.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?” she asked me.

“Two.”

“Two?”

I laughed. “On the same day even.”

“You’re lying!”

“I am not!”

I had been kissed by two boys who were cousins and I told her all about how my younger brothers had egged me on to play spin the bottle at the home of one my mother’s friends. Being the only girl in the room, and never having kissed a boy before, I didn’t put up much of a struggle in saying no. The kids who wanted to play were a teenaged boy a couple years older than me and his cousin who was a couple years younger. My brothers were automatically eliminated because we were related and they hovered behind me eagerly waiting to see what would transpire.

Before the first spin, the older of the two laid down the rules. He wasn’t going to kiss his cousin if the bottle pointed to him. And he wasn’t going to let his cousin kiss him either. I seemed pretty clear how the game was meant to play out and I was filled with such a nervous anticipation that my whole body felt like it was vibrating.

On the first spin, the younger boy drew his cousin and on his cousin’s spin, the bottle didn’t pick me either. Even on my spin, the bottle didn’t behave and ended up pointing at me as I giggled to relieve the anxiety. My face was becoming warmer with each spin and when the younger of the two took his second spin, the bottle pointed my way.

The older cousin pointed to the closet.

“In the closet?” I squeaked. “That wasn’t part of the rules!”

“Yes, it was! You just didn’t listen.”

I turned to the older of my two brothers standing behind me. “Was that in the rules?”

Both of them were shaking their heads.

“Fine. The rule starts on the next spin.” He was fidgeting with bottle, spinning it and stopping it, spinning it and stopping it. The younger one snatched the bottle and pointed it at me. “He still gets to kiss you though.”

My brothers were practically bouncing around like monkeys in a zoo. One of them was chanting, “Frenchie. Frenchie” and for some crazy reason, this was the most exciting thing they had ever experienced in their lives. Their sister was about to be kissed by a boy and before I was even ready, whatever that even means, the boy had planted one on my cheek.

I was so relieved I could have cried. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a good kisser or a cute boy, but he was younger than me and a couple of years when you’re eleven is a lot younger. Significantly younger. And I didn’t want my brothers telling anyone that a little kid kissed me and I like it. And they were bouncing around so much, one of them didn’t even see it. He was still singing, “Kiss her! Kiss her! You gotta kiss a girl!”

Gathered around the bottle, I held my breath while the older cousin spun it. It swung around three times and slowed on the fourth until it stopped and was pointed directly at me.

My ears were so warm now they felt like they had been sunburned. The younger cousin opened the closet door but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think. My mind was racing a mile a minute spinning its wheels trying to come up with some way to get out of the predicament and coming up completely empty-handed. I wanted to kiss that boy so bad, but in equal measure I didn’t want to kiss that boy at all. I was terror and delight and apprehension and guilt and exultation bottled up so tight I was going to explode.

My brothers were pulling me into the closet where the older cousin waited and when the younger cousin shut the door, the darkness closed in with such finality that the breath I had been holding came out in a hiccup. Clothes I hadn’t seen because I was so focused on the boy reached out and enveloped me, the feathers from a boa hanging on the back of the door stuck to the sweat on my forehead. It seemed to have a mind of its own, entangling me as I tried to brush it away.

“Stop moving.” I jumped. The voice was in my ear and I realized the shirt I felt beside me had a living body inside that was reaching for me and seeking out my arm and then my hand and then it was moving up my arm again, to my shoulder, then my neck and to my cheek.

I closed my eyes blotting out even the last bit of light showing under the door and then jumped again when the younger cousin knocked loudly on the door and demanded, “Are you done in there or what?”

I froze and waited. And waited. What was he wait for?

“Are you ready?” His voice was deeper than the boys my age at school but I heard a waver in it and wondered if I was going to be the first girl he kissed.

I nodded and the boy’s other hand joined the first to cup my face. Ever so gently, his lips met mine and paused for a fraction of a second. I flew out the door, ran past my brothers and sailed down the steps with a full heart, albeit a guilty one, to the kitchen where my mother and her friend were sitting over cups of coffee.

“And what did you tell them?” asked Cat under the boat.

“Nothing. I asked for a drink of water. My mom’s friend asked what we were doing up there because I was all sweaty and I told her we were dancing. It was the first thing that came to my mind.”

“And they bought it?” She looked at me like I was crazy and I shrugged and nodded. “What did it feel like?”

“A kiss.”

“A kiss on the lips, you mean.”

“Yeah, a kiss on the lips. I don’t know. Soft. Like fingers?”

“Like fingers!”

“Yeah, kiss your fingers.” I put two fingers together and kissed them lightly to show her. I had done it a million times trying to recapture the feeling of that boy’s lips on mine.

“Fingers are nothing like lips,” she scoffed.

I frowned and thought about it. “I guess not.”

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Kiss me. Show me what it felt like.”

I stared at her treading water and clinging with one hand to the handle on the boat.

“Show me,” she repeated and she closed her eyes and waited. She peeked open an eye and said it again. “Show me.”

I still stared. This was what the boy was feeling, I thought. Wanting to but not wanting to. Wondering what it would mean to kiss someone.

Cat moved closer to me and I put my hands on her shoulders. I was suddenly aware of the stuffiness under the plastic boat, the colder water down by my feet, the muddy smell of the water, the muffled buzzing of a cicada. And I kissed her. As gently as the boy kissed me, lingering a fraction longer, and watching her face.

With a splash, she was gone. Like a mermaid, she disappeared. In wonder, I brushed my lips with my fingers. I had felt that feeling again. That delicious thrill of doing something that felt just a little bit wrong and I wondered, now that I had kissed a boy, and a girl, if I would ever feel it again.

Out for Publication... but here's the beginning of the story...

“Hand me that hammer.”

My father’s outstretched hand waited patiently for me to hunt around under scraps of wood and bits of paper. I liked the weight of the hammer. Solid. Heavy. A force to be reckoned with. Just like my father.

I turned it around and held it by the claw. In one smooth motion, my father grabbed the handle, tapped the nail once to set it, then drove it home with a single swing. I watched with awe as he repeated the process over and over again until the subfloor was laid. Sweat flew from his brow the last couple of swings and when the last nail went in, he paused long enough for a long drink of his beer.

“Get me another one.” I jumped, surprised by the growl in his voice, and ran to the kitchen.

“Whatcha doing, Bug?” Ma turned from the counter when I opened the fridge and stared at me. Her face was flushed and flour covered her apron. She had been making pies all day for the festival the next day and the kitchen was stifling because we didn’t have air conditioning.

“Getting a beer.”

She frowned. “Take him a glass of water.”

“You sure?” I asked. She looked in the fridge. There was one beer left in the case.

“Tell him it’s all gone.”

I didn’t want to tell him the beer was all gone and I stood there staring at the beer so long it started to bead up with condensation. She reached around me and took it.

“Shut that door. Everything’s going to spoil.”

I shut the door and almost cried when she twisted the cap off.

“Ma,” I whispered, “Just let me take it to him. Don’t dump it out.”

A bitter smile found the corner of her lips. There was no more arguing with Ma than there was arguing with Pa. Where he was swift in doling out justice, she was resolute in taking punishment. She didn’t have any fear of him. The beads of sweat ran together as she upended it, a sour yeasty odor filling the air already heavy with the sticky sweet smell of berries.

“Take him a glass of water.”

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Despite the exorbitant price of going to the movies and having a big family, we still all go once in a great while. Even the 16-year old, which means we really should be celebrating since those days are numbered. I know this because I already lost one to his need to stretch his wings.
 
I once jokingly said to a man (while I was a bit drunk) who told me his children had all moved to different parts of the country, that his children must not love him very much to move so far away. Really, it's pretty amazing that children can be raised so well that they have no fear in spreading their wings to fly off and start their own families. Biting comments are a big reason why I've limited my intake. I become a toxic stranger with no filter. And now, my comeuppance... Karma at its finest.
 
The commercials come on and I put my phone in my pocket, then get it back out and set it to Silent. I'd like to say I hate hearing phones during the movie, but in reality, I never hear anyone else's. I tend to get laser-like focus during a movie (and my husband is fond of saying it is a million times worse when I'm reading a book). Only a completely obnoxious ring tone during a sensitive scene is obvious to me. Or my own tones screaming out. I cringe if I forget to turn my phone off and it makes any noise.
 
The movie comes on ten minutes later and we’ve already demolished our popcorn. Someone needs to go get refills on our two buckets being shared between the whole family. Give me a break. We get small drinks for everyone and a couple of buckets of popcorn and drop fifty bucks. I’m not going to feel back about sharing. My husband volunteers after everyone else whispers, “Not it.” Including the guy sitting behind us. He must be a comic.
 
The opening scene is exactly what you’d expect from a super hero exploding carnage loud action-packed fast-paced typical same as every other one comic book trans theatre experience. From its characters with perfect bodies and even more perfect timing of slap-dashery antics to its out of this world never before seen super technology, there is nothing in this movie that I can relate to. Nothing that resembles my life of 8 – 5 desk job, practice-shuffling taxi service, and evening head chef/waitress/bottle washer position.
 
But I guess that's why we're here.
 
I take my husband’s hand and sit back. Holding hands is one of the many "little" things we still do as a couple to make that connection. You know, the one that says, "I still like you and I still want to be with you after all these years. I still want to touch you and be in love like a teenager." We also cook together on the weekends, snuggle during the holidays on the couch in front of our families despite their delicious discomfort, and kiss on the lips every chance we get while our children pretend to vomit.
 
It doesn’t take me long to tune out all the action noise chaos action shooting explosion action explosion chaos action explosion and get lost in my own thoughts.
 
I had spent the previous day at my cousin’s for her wedding shower. She’s one of those wholesome earthy people full of love and compassion. All the time. Literally. I’ve never seen her unhappy. Somehow she has transcended this life of must do’s and must have’s and must be’s and just is. She has a beautiful dog, is about to marry an amazing man who cherishes the ground she walks on, and is completely satisfied. She should write a book. And tell the rest of us how to accomplish it. I hope her secret, when she finally shares it, isn’t, “Don’t have children.” That would be a tragedy. I’ve become quite attached to mine. They’d be hard to give up at this point.
 
I’ve found that people such as my cousin collect like-minded people around them in the same way heavier pebbles rise to the top in a bucket of sand when you softly shake it, and my cousin is no exception. Her shower was filled with lovely women with extraordinarily kind hearts. They talked about the good energy in the room and I swear, I know what they were talking about. It was a beautiful sunny day outside and we were in a gorgeous home with floor to ceiling windows and pieces of art that accentuated the sun and made everything feel cozy and warm. It was…lovely.
 
When my cousin introduced everyone, she not only provided names, she provided key pieces of information. I was her cousin on her mom’s side, we grew up together and spent hours and hours playing together at our grandparents’ home. Another woman was her best friend. Another the woman who’s beautiful home we were in. Two others were palm readers.
 
That’s right, I said palm readers. And the first chance I got, I asked one of them if she would be willing to look at mine and tell me what she saw. I had never had my palm read, or been to a fortuneteller, or even played with a Ouija board. Well, I take that back. I did play with a Ouija board once with another cousin. It seemed like a bunch of hooey and that was that. Great concept, failure to produce. Not unlike this movie.
 
The palm reader immediately complied with a sparkle in her eye, delighted that I had asked. I can tell you, I was relieved because I don’t really have any idea what the protocol is for having a palm read. She didn’t ask for money afterwards and she seemed genuinely pleased to accept the challenge so I held out my hand.

Read Part 2.