#also the way she told me she was going home (Mexico) and already sold her vehicles but then apparently teleported to work the very next day

[tellie-vision-art]

Uh post-mental-breakdown clarity has hit and I am realizing I might have doomed myself by taking this woman back when she implied she’d kill herself if I didn’t

[puttingherinhistory]

“Covid has unleashed the most severe setback to women’s liberation in my lifetime. While watching this happen, I have started to think we are witnessing an outbreak of disaster patriarchy.

Naomi Klein was the first to identify “disaster capitalism”, when capitalists use a disaster to impose measures they couldn’t possibly get away with in normal times, generating more profit for themselves. Disaster patriarchy is a parallel and complementary process, where men exploit a crisis to reassert control and dominance, and rapidly erase hard-earned women’s rights. (The term “racialized disaster patriarchy” was used by Rachel E Luft in writing about an intersectional model for understanding disaster 10 years after Hurricane Katrina.) All over the world, patriarchy has taken full advantage of the virus to reclaim power – on the one hand, escalating the danger and violence to women, and on the other, stepping in as their supposed controller and protector.

I have spent months interviewing activists and grassroots leaders around the world, from Kenya to France to India, to find out how this process is affecting them, and how they are fighting back. In very different contexts, five key factors come up again and again. In disaster patriarchy, women lose their safety, their economic power, their autonomy, their education, and they are pushed on to the frontlines, unprotected, to be sacrificed. 

Part of me hesitates to use the word “patriarchy”, because some people feel confused by it, and others feel it’s archaic. I have tried to imagine a newer, more contemporary phrase for it, but I have watched how we keep changing language, updating and modernising our descriptions in an attempt to meet the horror of the moment. I think, for example, of all the names we have given to the act of women being beaten by their partner. First, it was battery, then domestic violence, then intimate partner violence, and most recently intimate terrorism. We are forever doing the painstaking work of refining and illuminating, rather than insisting the patriarchs work harder to deepen their understanding of a system that is eviscerating the planet. So, I’m sticking with the word. 

In this devastating time of Covid we have seen an explosion of violence towards women, whether they are cisgender or gender-diverse. Intimate terrorism in lockdown has turned the home into a kind of torture chamber for millions of women. We have seen the spread of revenge porn as lockdown has pushed the world online; such digital sexual abuse is now central to domestic violence as intimate partners threaten to share sexually explicit images without victims’ consent. 

The conditions of lockdown – confinement, economic insecurity, fear of illness, excess of alcohol – were a perfect storm for abuse. It is hard to determine what is more disturbing: the fact that in 2021 thousands of men still feel willing and entitled to control, torture and beat their wives, girlfriends and children, or that no government appears to have thought about this in their planning for lockdown. 

In Peru, hundreds of women and girls have gone missing since lockdown was imposed, and are feared dead. According to official figures reported by Al Jazeera, 606 girls and 309 women went missing between 16 March and 30 June last year. Worldwide, the closure of schools has increased the likelihood of various forms of violence. The US Rape Abuse and Incest National Network says its helpline for survivors of sexual assault has never been in such demand in its 26-year history, as children are locked in with abusers with no ability to alert their teachers or friends. In Italy, calls to the national anti-violence toll-free number increased by 73% between 1 March and 16 April 2020, according to the activist Luisa Rizzitelli. In Mexico, emergency call handlers received the highest number of calls in the country’s history, and the number of women who sought domestic violence shelters quadrupled. 

To add outrage to outrage, many governments reduced funding for these shelters at the exact moment they were most needed. This seems to be true throughout Europe. In the UK, providers told Human Rights Watch that the Covid-19 crisis has exacerbated a lack of access to services for migrant and Black, Asian and minority ethnic women. The organisations working with these communities say that persistent inequality leads to additional difficulties in accessing services such as education, healthcare and disaster relief remotely. 

In the US, more than 5 million women’s jobs were lost between the start of the pandemic and November 2020. Because much of women’s work requires physical contact with the public – restaurants, stores, childcare, healthcare settings – theirs were some of the first to go. Those who were able to keep their jobs were often frontline workers whose positions have put them in great danger; some 77% of hospital workers and 74% percent of school staff are women. Even then, the lack of childcare options left many women unable to return to their jobs. Having children does not have this effect for men. The rate of unemployment for Black and Latina women was higher before the virus, and now it is even worse. 

The situation is more severe for women in other parts of the world. Shabnam Hashmi, a leading women’s activist from India, tells me that by April 2020 a staggering 39.5% of women there had lost their jobs. “Work from home is very taxing on women as their personal space has disappeared, and workload increased threefold,” Hashmi says. In Italy, existing inequalities have been amplified by the health emergency. Rizzitelli points out that women already face lower employment, poorer salaries and more precarious contracts, and are rarely employed in “safe” corporate roles; they have been the first to suffer the effects of the crisis. “Pre-existing economic, social, racial and gender inequalities have been accentuated, and all of this risks having longer-term consequences than the virus itself,” Rizzitelli says. 

When women are put under greater financial pressure, their rights rapidly erode. With the economic crisis created by Covid, sex- and labour-trafficking are again on the rise. Young women who struggle to pay their rent are being preyed on by landlords, in a process known as “sextortion”. 

I don’t think we can overstate the level of exhaustion, anxiety and fear that women are suffering from taking care of families, with no break or time for themselves. It’s a subtle form of madness. As women take care of the sick, the needy and the dying, who takes care of them? Colani Hlatjwako, an activist leader from the Kingdom of Eswatini, sums it up: “Social norms that put a heavy caregiving burden on women and girls remain likely to make their physical and mental health suffer.” These structures also impede access to education, damage livelihoods, and strip away sources of support.

Unesco estimates that upward of 11 million girls may not return to school once the Covid pandemic subsides. The Malala Fund estimates an even bigger number: 20 million. Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka, from UN Women, says her organisation has been fighting for girls’ education since the Beijing UN women’s summit in 1995. “Girls make up the majority of the schoolchildren who are not going back,” she says. “We had been making progress – not perfect, but we were keeping them at school for longer. And now, to have these girls just dropping out in one year, is quite devastating.” 

Of all these setbacks, this will be the most significant. When girls are educated, they know their rights, and what to demand. They have the possibility of getting jobs and taking care of their families. When they can’t access education, they become a financial strain to their families and are often forced into early marriages. 

This has particular implications for female genital mutilation (FGM). Often, fathers will accept not subjecting their daughters to this process because their daughters can become breadwinners through being educated. If there is no education, then the traditional practices resume, so that daughters can be sold for dowries. As Agnes Pareyio, chairwoman of the Kenyan Anti-Female Genital Mutilation Board, tells me: “Covid closed our schools and brought our girls back home. No one knew what was going on in the houses. We know that if you educate a girl, FGM will not happen. And now, sadly the reverse is true.” 

In the early months of the pandemic, I had a front-row seat to the situation of nurses in the US, most of whom are women. I worked with National Nurses United, the biggest and most radical nurses’ union, and interviewed many nurses working on the frontline. I watched as for months they worked gruelling 12-hour shifts filled with agonising choices and trauma, acting as midwives to death. On their short lunch breaks, they had to protest over their own lack of personal protective equipment, which put them in even greater danger. In the same way that no one thought what it would mean to lock women and children in houses with abusers, no one thought what it would be like to send nurses into an extremely contagious pandemic without proper PPE. In some US hospitals, nurses were wearing garbage bags instead of gowns, and reusing single-use masks many times. They were being forced to stay on the job even if they had fevers.

The treatment of nurses who were risking their lives to save ours was a shocking kind of violence and disrespect. But there are many other areas of work where women have been left unprotected, from the warehouse workers who are packing and shipping our goods, to women who work in poultry and meat plants who are crammed together in dangerous proximity and forced to stay on the job even when they are sick. One of the more stunning developments has been with “tipped” restaurant workers in the US, already allowed to be paid the shockingly low wage of $2.13 (£1.50) an hour, which has remained the same for the past 22 years. Not only has work declined, tips have also declined greatly for those women, and now a new degradation called “maskular harassment” has emerged, where male customers insist waitresses take off their masks so they can determine if and how much to tip them based on their looks. 

Women farm workers in the US have seen their protections diminished while no one was looking. Mily Treviño-Sauceda, executive director of Alianza Nacional de Campesinas, tells me how pressures have increased on campesinas, or female farm workers: “There have been more incidents of pesticides poisonings, sexual abuse and heat stress issues, and there is less monitoring from governmental agencies or law enforcement due to Covid-19.” 

Covid has revealed the fact that we live with two incompatible ideas when it comes to women. The first is that women are essential to every aspect of life and our survival as a species. The second is that women can easily be violated, sacrificed and erased. This is the duality that patriarchy has slashed into the fabric of existence, and that Covid has laid bare. If we are to continue as a species, this contradiction needs to be healed and made whole. 

To be clear, the problem is not the lockdowns, but what the lockdowns, and the pandemic that required them, have made clear. Covid has revealed that patriarchy is alive and well; that it will reassert itself in times of crisis because it has never been truly deconstructed, and like an untreated virus it will return with a vengeance when the conditions are ripe. 

The truth is that unless the culture changes, unless patriarchy is dismantled, we will forever be spinning our wheels. Coming out of Covid, we need to be bold, daring, outrageous and to imagine a more radical way of existing on the Earth. We need to continue to build and spread activist movements. We need progressive grassroots women and women of colour in positions of power. We need a global initiative on the scale of a Marshall Plan or larger, to deconstruct and exorcise patriarchy – which is the root of so many other forms of oppression, from imperialism to racism, from transphobia to the denigration of the Earth. 

There would first be a public acknowledgment, and education, about the nature of patriarchy and an understanding that it is driving us to our end. There would be ongoing education, public forums and processes studying how patriarchy leads to various forms of oppression. Art would help expunge trauma, grief, aggression, sorrow and anger in the culture and help heal and make people whole. We would understand that a culture that has diabolical amnesia and refuses to address its past can only repeat its misfortunes and abuses. Community and religious centres would help members deal with trauma. We would study the high arts of listening and empathy. Reparations and apologies would be done in public forums and in private meetings. Learning the art of apology would be as important as prayer.

The feminist author Gerda Lerner wrote in 1986: “The system of patriarchy in a historic construct has a beginning and it will have an end. Its time seems to have nearly run its course. It no longer serves the needs of men and women, and its intractable linkage to militarism, hierarchy and racism has threatened the very existence of life on Earth.”

As powerful as patriarchy is, it’s just a story. As the post-pandemic era unfolds, can we imagine another system, one that is not based on hierarchy, violence, domination, colonialisation and occupation? Do we see the connection between the devaluing, harming and oppression of all women and the destruction of the Earth itself? What if we lived as if we were kin? What if we treated each person as sacred and essential to the unfolding story of humanity? 

What if rather than exploiting, dominating and hurting women and girls during a crisis, we designed a world that valued them, educated them, paid them, listened to them, cared for them and centred them?“

[mrallnight57-blog]

The Crystal of Mordokia

Chapter 16

      Jenny had alot going through her mind. She knew she had to stop The Hero, but there was also the issue of Gothic Mirror getting his hands on a contract that allowed him to control a Demon. Gothic Mirror was already dangerous without such power. If Gothic Mirror had a Demon, he would be unstoppable.

      Jenny had to be careful how she approached this subject. She knew Litias was a very powerful creature. So that meant she was going to have to kindly convince it, that giving the contract to Gothic Mirror was a really bad idea, but to do that, she needed to know why Litias wanted to give the contract to Gothic Mirror in the first place. There had to be more to this than a trade.

      Jenny looked over at Litias and asked. "This Demon, you're trying to bring to our world, is this just away for you to take over our world? Just like you took over your world?

      Jenny's comment seemed to anger Litias. The creature moved towards Jenny as she spoke. "Are you implying that I used a Demon to take over my world? Are you implying I need a Demon to take over your world?"

      Litias was now in Jenny's face, and Jenny wasn't sure how to reply. Then Litias voice got louder. "First off, your world would be great full to have me as a ruler. Second. I did not use a Demon to conquer my world, and I damn sure don't need a Demon to take over your world!!!"

      Jenny was starting to be intimidated by Litias, but her eyes were drawn to Litias face. She could only see her eyes and mouth, but Litias long fang on the side of her mouth, once again reminded her of Dan's story. "Do any of this have to do with the Red Woman?"

      Litias jumped backwards and hissed, her reaction was similar to an alley cat getting it's tail stepped on. Litias began screaming. "Meeaaaah!!! Do not mention that fowl wench in my presence!!! She is no woman! She is a tyrant!!!"

     Jenny knew she struck a nerve, but she had to keep pushing. Litias was clearly a creature of pride, but it was obvious that the Red Woman had done something to it. Jenny needed to know what it was? "So even after two thousand years. She's alive?"

      "Meeaaaah!" Litias was showing it's disapproval of the question. "She's immortal. As far as I know, she could be over a million years old." Litias began pacing again. "That damn Ravenerress, she tricked me into taking that damn contract."

      Jenny quickly acted upon this with a follow-up question. "What do you mean?"

      Litias stopped pacing and stared at Jenny. "I didn't want the contract. I knew the contract would keep me bound to your miserable planet, and the only way I can get rid of it, is to find someone willing to take it. That is why I have chosen to work with Travis. Tonight was the night I was going to pass the contract off to him."

     Jenny listened carefully to everything Litias was saying. She figured that Ravenerress was the name of the Red Woman. She also realized that the contract must be taken willing, which meant, at some point Litias must have willing taken the contract. "You said Ravenerress tricked you into taking the contract. How did she do that?"

      Litias let out a sigh. Sadness was in her voice as she spoke. "I was a fool. I wanted the soul of Mordokia's most legendary hero. I sold my soul for The Crystal of Mordokia."

    Jenny watched as Litias leaned it's back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position. Then Litias spoke again. "Ravenerress told me that if I took the contract, and went to this planet. I could take it over, and The Crystal of Mordokia would be mine. The only problem is, by having the contract I wouldn't be able to leave this world unless I found someone to take it from me."

      Jenny watched Litias for a moment, before asking her next question. "I understand the reason why you want to give the contract to Travis, but why did you need him to steal the crystal. Why not do that yourself?"

     Litias stood up and sat next on the bed next to Jenny. "I arrived on your planet ten years ago. When I first got here, your world was in the middle of a global pandemic. I knew the whereabouts of the crystal when I first got here, but there was no reason to retrieve it until I got the contract. So I explored your world for a few years, before coming across this abandon hotel, and making it my home. Once I made this place my home. I began using a tool, you all call the internet, and discovered there were several websites dedicated to the a cult. It was there, I found Travis, and learned he had psychic abilities. So I took him on as a protégé. I showed him how to summon the demon, just so he knew, that everything I told him was true. Then I helped him master his psychic abilities. Unfortunately when I finally decided he was ready to take the contract, it became time for me to hibernate. That is why I sent him to get the crystal."

      Jenny listened carefully to everything Litias said, and two things she said really caught her attention. The first thing was Litias arriving on Earth ten years ago during the pandemic. The reason this was interesting to her was because that was when she became a police officer in Roswell New Mexico. She didn't feel that the two events were related, she just felt it was a bizarre coincidence. The second thing that caught her attention was the fact that Travis, Aka Gothic Mirror had psychic powers before he met Litias. This really confused Jenny, which is why she asked her next question. "So, you didn't give Travis his powers? He already had them?"

      Litias gave a faint laugh. "You would be surprised how many people on your world have extraordinary abilities." Litias stood up and made a waving gesture with her hand. Suddenly Jenny could see a image of Earth from outer space. As Jenny looked at the image, Litias began speaking again. "Fifty years ago, your planet was hit by a large dose of cosmic radiation. The blast mostly hit the southern part of the United States, and parts of Mexico." During Litias explanation, Jenny could see Earth being hit with cosmic rays. Litias waved her hand again, and the image disappeared. "It was never reported, because at first, nothing happened, but the people who were exposed to it, ended up passing unique abilities to their offspring."

      Jenny was dumbfounded, this was the first time she had ever heard about this. "So the videos online are true, and the only reason we are seeing stuff like this now, is because it only began happening recently."

        "Yes." Litias set back down on the bed. "Alot of them stay hidden out of fear, and most of them live in the southern states. A few of the brave ones have become vigilantes. That is why Travis and I thought it would be best to release the Demon here. There wouldn't be any super powered vigilante getting in the way of the ceremony, and once the Demon is released, none of these new age heroes of Earth would be able to stop it."

      Jenny scooted closer to Litias. "I couldn't help but notice you said no one from Earth could stop it."

     Litias turned her head towards Jenny and was a little surprised that Jenny moved closer to her. "Yes. Travis will have the Earth, and I can finally leave this horrible planet."

    Jenny got off the bed and began pacing. "You just want Travis to take the contract, so you can leave, right?"

      Litias nodded. "Yes. I really don't care what happens to your planet when I am gone. Maybe your world will get lucky, and find away to defeat the demon."

     Jenny stopped pacing, and smiled at Litias. "Maybe we will beat him tonight."

     Litias eyed Jenny, and asked. "What are you talking about?"

       Jenny smile got bigger. "Can The Hero defeat the Demon?"

      Litias broke out in nervous laughter. "Are you kidding me!?! Meaah!!!"

    Jenny signed, "I guess that means no."

    Litias began speaking nervously, but not to Jenny. It was like the creature was thinking out loud. "The Hero use to beat Demons like Widow Maker way before he was possessed by the Dark Magic. With the power he has now, it wouldn't be a fair fight. The Hero would decimate Widow Maker!"

     Jenny cocked her head to one side. "Really?"

      Litias's eyes widen as she realized that she had just said her internal monolog out loud. "Oh no!"

       Jenny began pacing around the room, as she formed her plan. "Gothic Mirror already knows how to summon the Demon. All I need to do is convince him to summon it. Then as The Hero is doggie stomping the Demon, you can put the Hero back in the crystal." Jenny turned back to Litias. "It's the perfect plan."

    Once Jenny finish talking. She noticed Litias sitting on the bed trembling. She looked utterly terrified. She was repeating the word. "No." Over and over again.

     Jenny gave Litias a puzzling look. "I don't understand. You said yourself, you don't care what happens to the planet, or what happens to the Demon. If we do it this way. We both get what we want, because if the Demon is dead, there is no contract, and you will be able to leave with the crystal."

     Litias completely freaked out and screamed. "No!!! You're a fool. The contract binds me to the Demon! If The Hero kills the Demon, I die!!!"

[orcinus-ocean]

All credit goes to Danelle Wolford, the source is in the link above.

------------------------------

Let me preface this post by saying this is not directed towards vegans or vegetarians or anybody who chooses not to eat meat. If you have chosen to avoid meat, more power to ya.’

It all started with undescended goat testicles (as most stories do)…

Our little Nigerian Dwarf goat, Lacey, had just given birth to triplets. Because we don’t typically keep the males, we listed him on Craigslist to be sold either as a buck (with testicles and the ability to breed) or as a wether (no testicles and no breeding abilities).

We got a call right away from a young woman (let’s call her Andrea) who had always wanted a pet goat. We thought she would be a great fit for our little male because castrated males make wonderful little loving pets.

Unfortunately, when it came time to castrate the little fella, we discovered that his testicles hadn’t descended, something we were pretty discouraged about. You see, to have him as a buck or a wether would be detrimental either way. It would cost about $300 to have them surgically removed, a big financial setback considering wethers can only be sold for about $50. Keeping the testicles wasn’t an option either because his hormones would turn him into an aggressive, smelly buck. And YET, his sperm wouldn’t be viable because they die from being stored in his abdomen, so nobody would buy him as a buck. Those scrotum sacs are there for reason: To keep the sperm alive at an optimal temperature.

So, you see our conundrum. When we called Andrea to tell her the bad news, she was undeterred. She loved his sweet face and personality she said she’d pay the cost to have him castrated surgically.

She took him home the next day.

4 months later I get a phone call…

Yep, you guessed it. It was Andrea. She was upset that he was starting to become aggressive and humping everything in sight. We told her she could castrate him, but she said instead she wanted to sell him. She asked if I knew anybody, and I told her I would ask around, even though I knew the chances of somebody taking a goat with issues like this would be slim.

Luckily, I found the perfect person to take him. His name was Mundo and he is the most adorable, knowledgeable, and helpful, 80 year old man I know. He agreed to take him and I was happy I’d found a place for the little guy.

Mundo was born in Mexico, and his culture and heritage has many traditions. One of them is raising and butchering their own meat. They use EVERY part of the animal, and to me, it’s a beautiful thing to see such appreciation for animal husbandry. Mundo has come to our home often to teach us his butchering methods. He taught my children that killing animals is never funny, and that we should thank God for every harvest.

Here’s where it gets complicated.

Now, I specifically chose to NOT tell Andrea that Mundo raises goats for meat. Some of you may think that was wrong, but I had a feeling she’d have issues with it and I thought it best if she didn’t know. Sort of an “ignorance is bliss” kind of thing.

Everything was arranged and Andrea scheduled a time to drop the 6 month old male goat off at Mundo’s place.

A few minutes later Andrea called me crying because she had driven to Mundo’s house and he was butchering a goat “RIGHT THERE IN HIS BACKYARD!” She couldn’t believe that he was so mean to goats and she said she wasn’t comfortable dropping her goat off in his care.

I tried to talk to her and tell her that Mundo would let him live a good life, that he’d be with other goats and that when Mundo butchered his animals he gently pierced their jugular veins so they’d pass out first. I told her he was a kind and gentle man. But yes, he did raise his own meat, just like we do here on our farm.

She could not be convinced. She said it was brutal, and she thought it was wrong.

I asked her if she ate meat. She said she did, but that was different, that she “bought meat from the store.”

I’m sorry, but if you can’t tolerate farm butchering, you shouldn’t eat meat.

I understand when people choose to avoid eating meat. There are plenty of vegans and vegetarian with conviction and who live what they believe.

What I don’t understand is people who ALREADY EAT MEAT that have issues with home butchering.

I don’t understand why it’s okay to buy meat from the store, from a source where the animal is raised in poor conditions, living in their own feces, eating less than optimal food, some never seeing the sun. BUT YET an animal who is raised on a farm, with rich green grass, plenty land to run and play…  somehow THAT is worse?

It reminds me of the person who commented on one of my butchering posts, “Why don’t you just get meat from the store where it’s made?”

What??? When did we get so disconnected to where our food comes from? And when did it become so wrong to teach children proper butchering techniques?

I get that everybody doesn’t want to butcher animals in their backyard, but…

People have GOT to get more comfortable with those of us that do. If you decide to purchase farm animals, whether it’s a chicken or a goat, you’ve got to understand that if you can no longer care for it, others may just raise them for meat. And that’s okay.

Once of my biggest pet peeves is seeing chickens for sale on Craigslist with the clause that they will not sell them to anybody who plans on eating them. Um, I’m sorry, but if you can no longer care for your farm animal, you’ve got to understand that 90% of people who you’re selling to may decide to harvest it.

What I wish people would understand about us farm people is…

We don’t do this because we are ravenous monsters who eat exorbitant amounts of meat. We do this because we appreciate REAL MEAT, from animals that are raised naturally.

We also tend to eat LESS MEAT because we know the work that goes into it and we want to make it last. Just the other day I was talking to my friend Shaye about how we try to avoid eating our meat chickens stored in the freezer, simply because we know all the work it took to get them there. We make it last as long as possible.

Part of the reason why we raise our own animals is to take ownership of our choice to eat meat. We feel that if we cannot do it ourselves, we shouldn’t be eating it period.

So, next time you start a hobby flock of chickens and decide they are no longer worth your time, just remember that there are people who would gladly take them off your hands. Yes, they’ll probably butcher them. And you’re just going to have to be okay with that.

[salmonthestoryteller]

This Used to Be My Playground

So this is supposed to be a Post s1 friendship focused fic that does not start out pretty, because of where we ended the season, and because post season angst is getting to me.  However, please keep all character hate off my post.  (Except Jesse Manes.  All hatred of Jesse Manes is acceptable and encouraged even when he does not appear.  Evil Noah is okay to hate as well, actually. Nobody else, though.)

This Used to Be My Playground

Roswell New Mexico Fanfic

“We’re closed!”  Maria called out when she heard the door.  Footsteps entered anyway and she turned - spotting where Alex was coming toward the bartop.   “Alex, hey. I-”

“Hey?”  Alex cut her off, stopping by table.  “That’s the greeting I get?  Hey?”

Maria frowned at his curt tone.  “What were you expecting?  You know I’ll usually make an exception for friends who want a drink after hours.”

“Friends, is that what we are?”  Alex questioned her.

“What does that mean?”

“Michael and you, huh?”  Alex stopped before he reached the bar.

“I was going to talk to you about it, Alex.”

“And say what?  That you knew you’d be betraying me, but you just didn’t care?”

“Betray?”  Maria repeated the words.  “Betray, wow. Pretty harsh.”

“Like I told Liz once.  I left nice behind in the middle east.  That was around the time I told her she was being a shitty friend to you, by the way.  You’re welcome for that.”

“As opposed to the total paradigm of friendship you’ve been?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh?  You wanna know?  Sure. Well, I’m doing fine, Alex - thanks for asking.  The date rape drug someone slipped into my drink at the UFO Emporium Gala didn’t have any side effects. Deputy Evans apologized that there was no way to pinpoint a suspect.”

Alex couldn’t meet her eyes.  “I heard something about that.”

“Yah, well, while you were hearing things, Guerin was looking out for me.  Stayed with me while I recovered, and even walked me home in case the suspect was still lurking.  He was a perfect gentleman about it.”

“Well, Michael’s a good person.  Usually a good person.”  He amended. He definitely hadn’t forgiven him for failing to meet him after he'd promised.

“Yah, he is.  You know who wasn’t there for me that night?”

“Did you call me?  Cuz you know I would have been there if you’d picked up the phone, Maria.”

“Do I?  Do we really know that anymore, Alex?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex crossed his arms, frowning at her.

“You were on your second tour the first time my mother went missing.  I drove around town for ten hours.  And when I pulled off to the side of the road, crying my eyes out, who could I call?  You were in a warzone.  And Liz?  I didn’t even have her number."

"I couldn't be there that day, but there were times-"

"There were times, what?" Maria interrupted again.  "You were here for a handful of days? A couple of weeks sporadically over ten years time? I love you, Alex, but you weren't here. You don’t know what the past ten years have really been like for me, and vice versa. We don’t talk about what happened while we were away from each other. We don’t talk about the hard stuff. Do you know how I found out about your leg?  Through a newspaper article.  You didn't even call me during your recovery."

"And if I had?”  Alex challenged,  “What?  You would have left your mom alone and flown halfway across the world to see me?  We both know that wouldn't have happened.”

“No, it wouldn’t have.”  Maria admitted.  “So where does that leave us?”

"I thought that was changing since we got back.  Liz and I spent the day with you and your mother. Liz went with you to Texas. I haven't frequented a bar this much since my first tour."

"And what have we talked about? The past. A little about my mom's illness. About the fact you were pining for someone.  Someone you didn’t even trust me enough to name.”

“It wasn’t just my secret.”

“That didn’t stop you from telling me after I hooked up with Michael.” Maria pointed out.

“I did not tell - you guessed.” Alex countered.  “And I seem to recall you saying that meant nothing to you.”

“I felt guilty.”

“So you felt guilty about being with him when you didn’t know we have a history, but you don’t feel guilty being with him now?”

“Where will you be in two years, Alex?”  Maria asked him.

Alex frowned.  “What?”

“Where will you be two years from now?”  Maria repeated.  “Are you reenlisting? Are you leaving the military? Are you planning to stay in Roswell?”

“What does that-”

“Liz always talked about leaving, and she did.  She’s back, but she’s already talking about leaving again.  You have always hated Roswell, and surprise - you left. Sure, you’re back now while you finish your time in the military, but what then?  Two years from now will either of you still be here?”

Alex stared at her in confusion. “I don’t know.” He answered honestly.

Maria nodded.  “Do you know who will be here two yeara from now, Alex?  Me.  Do you know who else will be here two years from now?  Michael Guerin.  Probably here in my bar at least three days a week.  You? Liz?  I don’t know where you’ll be.  But me and Guerin. This is it.”  She spread her arms to encompass it all - her bar, the town; their lives.  “This is our future.  So why the hell shouldn’t I try to make something of that? What right have you to tell me not to?”

"The difference is Michael isn't some fling to me." Alex reminded her. "Can you honestly say that?"

"I feel safe around him.  I feel happy.  I haven't felt that since my mom got sick."  Maria admitted.

"It's still not love. I mean, if you are going to date the guy I’ve wanted for ten years, you could at least have the decency to be in love with him."

“Michael chose me, Alex.  He came to me.”  Maria pointed out.  Stealing herself, she looked at him.  “Are you angry that I acted on my feelings?  Or are you angry you squandered countless chances to do the same?”

“Wow, not pulling punches now, are we?”  Alex stepped forward to face her across the bartop.  “Fine, then I won’t either.  He loves me, Maria, and he will always love me.  You?  You’re just another distraction.”

“Get out.”  Maria pointed to the door.

“Gladly.”

-----

“I heard it through the grapevine you might be out here day drinking.”  Liz approached where he sat at a table of the empty drive-in.

“Would this Grapevine be called Maria?”  Alex swallowed down another gulp from his bottle.  He’d brought plenty of liquor to the sight for a proper bender, seeing as the locals bar was run by the person he didn’t want to see.

“She still cares about you.”

“She has a funny way of showing it.”

“I told her the night before she agreed to be with Michael that her feelings matter, too.”

“Well, screw you both then.” Alex turned back to his liquor.

Liz reached over to grab a bottle. “If you slept with Kyle, I wouldn't care.”

“What?”  Alex looked at her in complete confusion.  “Why the hell would-”

“I wouldn’t care if Maria slept with him, either.”

“Why are we discussing Kyle Valenti’s non-existent sex life?”

“I guess I thought Michael was your Kyle.  Not your Max.”  Liz confessed.

“Now I feel like a jerk.  Here I am moping because Michael stood me up, and wants to date someone else.  Meanwhile the guy you’re in love with is currently floating in an alien pod, potentially dying.”

“Don’t do that.  Don’t shut down how you feel.  You can be mad, Alex.  Just… don’t unpack and live there. I tried that.  It’s not a happy place.”

“Oh, I am mad.  At both of them.  Which sucks, because I still love both of them, too.”

“I am so happy to have Rosa back, but I am also furious with Max for putting himself in danger like this.  I think I might slap him when we figure out how to heal him.  I just haven’t figured out if I should kiss him first.”

“Do yourself a favor and kiss him first.”  Alex suggested.

Liz laughed.  “So, why are we drinking at the drive in?”

“Michael and I had a sort-of date here.  If you count sitting on opposite sides of his tailgate to watch a movie he hated a date.  We did split beer, though.  Then my dad pretty much called me an embarrassment and insulted my taste in men, Michael illegally sold property, and I dumped him at the end of the night.”

Liz stared.  “Wow.  That’s… that’s not a great date.”

“It didn’t start out bad.”

“If it makes you feel better, I interrupted Max getting a handjob from another woman here in order to accuse him of writing love letters to my sister ten years ago and murdering her.”

“What?”  It was Alex’s turn to stare.

“I didn’t know the whole truth yet, just that an alien was responsible, and Rosa had a letter he wrote in one of her hiding spots.  I thought it was for her, but he wrote it for me and for some reason Rosa hid it so I wouldn’t see it.”

“And you interrupted him getting a handjob to yell at him about it?”

“I was angry.”

The two looked at each other another moment before breaking down into laughter.

-----

“What do you want?”  Michael didn’t bother to get up from his seat outside his airstream.  There was a collection of bottles around him, despite the fact that it was barely noon.

Liz stepped over the bottles to get in close to where he was seated.. “I wanted to take a look at your lab.  I thought maybe together we could-”

“No.” Michael interrupted her.

“No?” Liz was taken back by the rebuttal.

“Not interested in playing scientist with you.  Not this time.”

“Michael, our best shot is to work together-”

“To do what?” Michael stood up, tone angry.  “To do what?  Max is dead, Liz!  He’s not sick; he’s not suspended in time - he’s dead!”

Liz steeled herself.  “So was Rosa.”

“Yah, and look what it cost Max to bring her back.  The sooner you and Isobel get it through your head he isn’t coming back, the sooner we can get on with our lives!  I’m not going to play a part in this delusion you’re both living in!”

“You don’t know it’s a delusion!  We don’t know enough about-”

“Yah, that’s right - we don’t know.  We don’t know anything and we never have.  So much of what has gone wrong in our lives all comes down to our history and our powers.  So I’m done! I’m done.”  He stepped back.  “You want my lab?  Take it.  I’m never touching any of it ever again. Or my powers.”

“You don’t mean that.”  Liz told him.

Michael grabbed up another liquor bottle, and headed over to his truck.  “Like hell I don’t. So you want my lab?  Take it.  It’s yours.”

Liz watched him leave.

-----

The drunk tank was a familiar space.  Michael glanced around it in confusion, then gave a small groan before setting back against the bars.

“Usually you’d be Evans problem.”

Michael reopened his eyes to look at Cam, who was watching him.  “Well, there’s a problem with that.”  He told her.

“No kidding.  And this is the best use of your time?”

“Depends, what did I do?  I seem to be drawing a blank.”

“You got in a fight at the Wild Pony.”

“Darn.  Bet DeLuca is pissed.”

“To put it mildly.  Seriously, Guerin.  Was it worth it?”

Michael shrugged.  “Can’t really remember, but probably.”

Cam shook her head.  “I called Isobel Evans.  She’ll be here shortly. Attempt to sober up before that.”

-----

“I’d threaten to turn your brain into sludge, but it would feel like a moot point.” Isobel blew into the room as if she owned it.

“It was one fight, Isobel. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

“I don’t have time to deal with you falling back into these habits, Michael.”

“So next time don’t come.”

“I should let you rot in here until  you’re sober.  Unfortunately for both of us, this wasn’t as simple as a drunken fight.”

“Did I do something else?”

“Oh, just told Maria DeLuca about aliens while drunk out of your mind, complete with a demonstration of your powers.”

“...Oh.”

“Yah.  Oh.”

-----  

“How long have you known?”  Maria’s hands were gripping the cloth she used to wipe the bar with tightly in both hands.

“Max healed me the night of the shooting at the Crashdown.”

“So all this time, and you said nothing?”

“I didn’t know anything at first.  Max told me the truth of what they were a few days later, but I didn’t get the full story then.  Turned out they didn’t know the full story themselves.  We still don’t know a lot.”

“You knew Max could heal.”

“Wounds.  He couldn’t heal Isobel while she was sick, so I guess he could-- can only heal wounds.”

“Could he have helped my Mom?”

“...I don’t know.  There’s a lot we don’t know about their powers.”

“And I was… controlled by an alien serial killer.”

“Noah, yes.”

“And you still said nothing.”

“I promised Max-”

“You told Kyle.  You told Kyle, but not me.”

Liz reached out toward her.  “Maria.”

Maria withdrew her hands, standing up.  “I need time.”

Liz pulled her hand back.  “Yah, yah - I get it.”

-----

“We trying this again?”  Maria sat down across from Isobel.

“Neither of us is going to get better if we don’t challenge ourselves.”  Isobel reminded her.  When Maria went to remove her necklace, Isobel held up a hand for her to stop her.  “Leave the necklace on.”

“You got a nosebleed last time we did this with the necklace on.”

“We have to challenge ourselves.”  Isobel repeated.  “I have to get stronger to save Max.”

Maria frowned, clearly not liking it, but left the necklace on.  She held out her hand.  “C’mon, then.”

Isobel placed her hand in hers.  "Okay.  Think of a number."

"Why can't we do colors, again?"

"Because you chose Burnt Sienna last time and that's just cheating."

"And here I thought you were a fashionista." Maria pointed out.

"Ha ha.  Concentrate."

The two's eyes met, the room growing distant and faded.

"You're being distracted by worrying about Max again." Maria told her.

"Not feeling him with me is… it's like I'm cold all the time."

"I thought that was your natural state."

"Insulting me won't distract me."

"I'm sure I can figure out something that will."

"As long as it's not a memory of my brother naked. I don't want to have to bleach my eyeballs." Isobel told her.

"How come you're so okay with Michael and I?  You don't even like me."

"Because at the end of the day I have two people that matter to me. Max and Michael. And the truth is?  Everyone else can burn so long as they are safe and happy.  They deserve it."

"What about you?"

"17.  The number is 17."

The world came into focus, and Maria saw blood drip from Isobel's nose.  "You pushed too hard again." She ran to the towel for a bar, and ran back to press it against her face gently.

Slightly disoriented, Isobel leaned her head up at her urging. "I have to push. I have to get stronger."

"You're not going to get stronger by hurting yourself."

"I let Noah in. It's all on me."

"You didn't let him do anything." Maria scolded her.

"I have to make sure it never happens again.  I have to. We have to keep practicing."

"We are done for the day. I won't let you hurt yourself."

"Why not?  You hate me."

"I don't hate you, Evans.  I don't even know you."

"I don't know me anymore.  That's the problem." Isobel's eyes slid close as she fought the light headed feeling of using her powers against the pollen.

Maria slid into the booth next to her, and propped her onto her shoulder, still keeping the towel pressed gently to catch anymore blood. "You'll get there."

-----

“Do you think it’s all connected?”  Isobel standing in the Project Shepherd Bunker was definitely new territory.

“I don’t think your brother walked out that cave.”  Alex told her.

“And Mimi DeLuca?”

Alex sighed.  “Mimi knew something. I don’t know what, but she did.  At least, at one point she did. She mentioned Jim Valenti and aliens to me during one of her lucid moments.”

“Does Maria know that?”

“No, I never told her.” Alex admitted, then paused.  “How is she holding up?”

“Like her only living family is missing.”  Isobel quipped.

Alex’s fingers hesitated over the keyboard.  “Is Liz with her?”

“She’s pushed Liz away since she found everything out.  And Michael’s mad at her for encouraging me to expand my powers.”

“She’s alone?”

“Well, I’m not there, and Rosa is with Kyle, so.”  She shrugged.

“That’s the last thing she needs right now.”

“Well, you could always go see her.”

“Things haven’t been the same between us for months.”

“Look, far be it for me to tell you what to do with your life-”

“So why do I get the feeling you’re about to do just that?”

“Michael and Max lied to me about what happened with Rosa for ten years.  Max killed himself bringing her back, and Michael has either been burying his head in the sand or trying to self-destruct his life since. But if he called, I’d be there.  You know why?”

“No.  Enlighten me, oh wise one.” Alex’s voice dripped sarcasm.

“Because apologies are nothing but hot air, and earning forgiveness is a gimmick created to sell flowers.  We toss people out of our lives for the acts less terrible than we accept from other people we keep in it.  Nobody earns forgiveness, Manes.  We give it because we love them too damn much not to.”  Alex didn’t reply, and Isobel took it as her cue to leave.  “Let me know if you find anything new.”

-----

Liz met him outside the Wild Pony.

“We’re closed!”  Maria greeted without turning around.  She was seated at the bar with a drink in front of her.  She paused when they appeared in the mirror she was facing.

“Hey.”  Liz greeted.

“Did you find-” She turned.

“No.”  Alex told her.

“Not yet.”  Liz corrected.

Maria nodded, and silence settled over them.  “Well, I’m sure you have somewhere you need to be.”

Ever fearless, Liz moved forward to sit on the stool next to her.  “Nope.”

“Liz-”

“It’s been ten years, and in all that time I’ve never had another best friend.”

Maria didn’t meet her eyes.  “Me either.”

“I don’t want a different best friend.”

Maria’s eyes shone with unshed tears as she took her hand.  “Me either.”

Alex moved to her other side.  “We used to be able to talk about anything.”

Maria reached out to take his hand.  “Maybe we still can.”

“I have the perfect idea for how to get that started.”  Liz spoke up.

Maria smiled through the tears.  “Tequila?”  She suggested.

“Tequila!”  Liz agreed. Standing up she threw open her arms.  Maria hopped off her stool and Alex joined her in a three-way embrace.

It was a start.

Fini

I started this shortly after s01e13 and then abandoned it. For the free day I finally decided to tackle it again.  This will probably be my last post s1 fic until we get new canon material

[writingsbyshay67ss]

The Unexpected (Part-Two)

Characters: Sam x Dean x Bobby x Cass x Reader

Summery: After losing you Dean went crazy on hunting down the thing that caused your death. Never finding it he turned to hunting alone for a year. Sam does his best to get his brother back and he continues to find what killed you. Cass searches high and low for you and answers from anyone to get your soul back into your body. Things get complicated but Bobby finds the truth.

Warnings: Blood, Fighting and possible resurrection.

Beta: @pocketsizedsamwinchester

----->

Throughout the year Dean had trouble coupling with your death. He turned to hunting more often than usual and it had Sam worried. Sam and Bobby had searched high and low to help Dean find a way to get you back but luck. Cass was in heaven for so long he had no idea what happened but he was about to find out. With that being said maybe Cass could do something to bring you back. Sam picked up his phone to give him a call one last time before trying giving up on that option. The phone rang several times and just as he was about to hang up Cass answers.

Sam- “Cass?”

Cass- “Sam?”

Sam- “Dude what the hell? We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a year man.”

Cass” Sorry I was in heaven and trying to find God.”

Sam- “Dean needs you, we all needed you. Y/N is dead.”

Cass- “What? How?”

Sam- “We were hunting something but it was just to good for us. Meet us at the bunker it’s best if we talk in person.”

Not long after they hung up Cass had already appeared in front of them and had confusion written all over his face.

Cass- “What happened Sam? Where’s Dean?”

Sam- “He hasn’t been here.”

Cass- “We need to find him. Where is Y/N’s body?”

Sam- “We buried her. We thought it was best if we were to bring her back. We can bring her back can’t we Cass?”

Cass- “We may be able to if Dean was here. I could go back to heaven and see if she is there. If not we may have to find another way.”

Bobby- “What the hell were you thinking Sam? Going out on a hunt you knew nothing about anyways?”

Sam- “Bobby, now is not the time.”

Bobby- ‘Well we need to find Dean.”

Cass- “I’ll find him. Just give me some time.”

Sam- “This is a lot to handle. What if Dean sold his soul to a demon and got Y/N back already and haven’t told us? What if he’s dead too?”

Cass- “We can’t think like that. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you I will do everything I can to make this up to you and Dean.”

Bobby- “You’re damn right you will. They’ve done everything they could to help you Cass now it’s your turn.”

Cass eventually finds Dean in a pool of his own blood by Lake Michigan, he looked like hell on earth. Dean gets up as he sees Cass walk up to him and as he reached to heal him of his wounds Dean pushes him away.

Dean- “Where the hell have you been? Cass Y/N is dead and you weren’t there to help her!”

Cass- “I’m sorry I was looking for God and trying to find awa—“

Dean- “I don’t give a damn what you were doing. We tried calling you on the phone and in our prayers man! Why didn’t you answer?”

Cass looked down to the ground then said,

Cass- “Dean I will find her and bring her back to you. I promise.”

Dean- “Don’t make promises you can’t keep Cass.”

Cass- “Dean. I will find her.”

Weeks go by and Cass hasn’t been heard from again. Dean had given up all hope of bringing you back and finding the thing that had killed you. Sam and Bobby had continued to look and Bobby finally found what it was. 

Bobby- “It’s a Velachif”

Sam- “A what?”

Bobby- “A Velachif, it’s a giant snake found above the Lake of Tenochtitlan. It’s like a crocodile and extremely venomous. In this case it’s like a God it can change its appearance like the other Gods we’ve faced. This thing originated from Mexico in 1575. If it’s still here we can kill it.”

Sam- “If it is still here how do we kill it?”

Bobby- “It says, to kill a Velachif you must have the sword of San Galgano and it has to be dipped in its own blood.”

Sam- “Do we know where this sword is?”

Bobby- “I was getting there. It’s in a Glass case in a chapel in Tuscany, Italy. One more thing. It’s buried in a stone.”

Sam- “Okay well then we go get it. We need to let Dean know. He will want to be there one to do it.”

Bobby- “Right now I don’t think Dean is going to be good for anyone.”

A few days go by while Sam and Bobby go get the sword and Dean is left alone fighting his own battles without you. He walks outside of a diner and looks up to the sky and begs God one more time for his help.

Dean- “God please if you can hear me im begging you. I can’t do this anymore either bring her back or take me with her. I can’t live like this anymore. I don’t ask you for much hell I’ve never asked you for anything but this, I need her.”

Silence grew all around him not even the sound of bugs came from the area.

Dean- “Okay that’s fine I never needed you anyways. You sorry piece of shit!”

Dean goes back to the bunker to find it also empty so he finds another case to work on till Sam answers his phone.

A few more days roll on by and Dean had found a case, hunting a vampire, after finally reaching Sam and Bobby they give him a hand even though he doesn't care about the hunt or about any of the monsters he tracks down all he wanted was to find you and in that moment Dean hears a commotion down an alley then hears you screaming for him in the distance and left Sam and Bobby behind to see where it was coming from. He ran in the direction your screams were and just as he turned the corner there was no one. No one was screaming for him no one was in sight at all. Was Dean going insane or was he hearing you from another world?

Sam and Bobby catch up and notice him staring into the emptiness of the dark.

Sam- "Dean?"

Dean- “Sam. She was right here. Did you hear her?”

Sam- “What? Who?”

Bobby- “Dean, no one’s here son.”

Dean- “Sammy?”

Sam- “No. I didn’t hear anything. I’m sorry.”

Dean silently walks pass both of them and heads back to the impala completely forgetting about the case all together.

Bobby- “There’s something wrong.”

Sam- “I know. We need to get help.”

The next day Cas calls with promising news about how to get you back but what Dean has to say shocks everyone. 

Dean overhears Cass on the phone and loses it.

Dean- “Cass give it up no one is going to help us and no one is going to get her back to m--us. She’s dead and there’s nothing anyone or anything can do about it. After everything we’ve done after all the awful things I’ve done this is what I truly deserve. She didn’t deserve this but I did. So just give it a rest already!”

Sam- “Dean. We can get her back just listen to him. He found a way.”

Dean- “Damnit!”

Sam- “We can get her back.”

Bobby- “Dea-”

Dean- “Enough. I’m heading out. Don’t expect me anytime night.”

Dean walks out of the bunker and goes for a ride. He needed time to get away and he needed time to think about what he was going to do next. When the day grows he pulls over to find a spot to wallow in his tears where no one could see. A lake just walking distance away he goes right into the water and falls backwards sinking into the deep canvas and rising back to the surface. Floating he looks up at the sky and as he does the flashing images of you laying helpless in his arms appear into his mind. In that moment he could hear your voice coming from below the water yelling his name. It seemed too real but then again so did the screams coming from the alley that night. So he wept every so gently as he had risen up from the waters and wiped his tears away so he could see clearer. There you were in the distance standing at the edge of the lake waving your hands high so he could see you. It was in that moment he knew this had to be real. How could you be? He thought to himself. What if you were another imaginary image in his mind? He swam closer and as he got closer he could see you really standing there. You smiled that soft smile he loved about you so much and you started walking into the water. The two of you met and he couldn’t believe his eyes. 

Dean- “Y/N, is it really you?”

Reader- “Yeah? Wait how did I get here?”

Dean- “Follow me.”

Dean grabs your arm pulling you to the Impala opens the truck and pulls out a silver knife, a bottle of holy water, cuts you and throws the water on you.

Reader- “I’m not a demon. Or a Shifter. Dean it’s really me.”

Dean pulls you into a tight hug.

Reader- “I can’t breathe. You’re hugging me too tight.”

Dean- “Oh. How are you here?”

Reader- “I don’t know. I thought about you and then I jus-I’m not sure.”

Dean- “We’ve been searching for over a year.”

Reader- “I’ve been gone for over a year? What Happened?”

Dean- “Right now all that matters is you’re home. Do you remember what happened?”

Reader- “Last thing I remember was you and I were in your bed and you were holding me then everything went black.”

Dean- “The thing that got you. We know what it is and we know how to kill it.”

Reader- “Dean?”

Dean- “Yeah?”

Reader- “Can we just go home?”

Dean smiled and pulled you into his arms again but this time it was gentle and he rested his head on yours. You listened to his heartbeat and you melted into him like warm clay.

Dean- “Let’s go home.”

[amiloudenough]

Nameless - Trigger Warning. This story contains sexual assault

Dear -----,

Even your name feels like a privilege you don’t deserve. Should you stay nameless, or should I out you to the world? Scream from the tallest building what you did to me?  What you’ve done to so many just like me?

Apart of me wants your memory to stay tucked in the dark pocket of my brain where you live now, only seeing the light when I am triggered by a hotel room or when men buttoned tightly in business suits that resemble you linger when they look at me.

Another part of me thinks my story matters, that saying the truth out loud will make it real, tangible, throwable, crushable, flammable and maybe...healable.

I was newly 20 when we met. I thought I was an adult. My freedom was still new, my hips still narrow, my childhood trauma still unrecognizable - hidden in the basement of my chest. I wouldn’t go looking for it for years.

I would spend weekends at my friends 1920’s built studio in the beating heart of Seattle. The hallways smelt like a dusty thrift store. The dark green carpet and scuffed walls held memories of tenants for 90 years.

My friend has long red colored hair to the small of her back, she taught me to buy furniture from thrift stores and how to steal accessories from Nordstrom. We share clothes and dance at underage clubs in the city. It seems I am her only friend.

We would laugh little girl giggles listening to her neighbors fight through the wall. We would share red wine from the bottle before going out in small skirts and knee high socks. We got into bars by over lining our eyes and flirting with bartenders outside while they smoked cigarettes. Most nights, we stumble back in passed two and fall into each other on her bed.

This friend told me about you one night in the winter. I remember the holiday lights lining the streets, I remember the white sweater I wore - my mother bought it for me the previous Christmas.

We sit in the back of an old Chinese restaurant. Sharing the entire place with only two other customers. The bartenders never ask us for our IDs. They know we’re underage...they also know we’ll spend money.  We drink long island ice teas, the only drink we knew how to order.

She tells me about her new gig being a stripper. I’m entertained. I’m envious. She seems sexy and mysterious in this moment. She tells me about making $700 in one night. She tells me her stripper friends told her about this new thing called “sugaring.” “He pays me just to go to a movie! he paid me $200 just for a date!” She says. My friend explains that there is a website filled with rich men who pay young girls to do various things like have sex and go on vacations with them. 

Getting attention from men had been second nature to me, I was good at it whether I wanted to be or not. I thought of my mothers friend from work being in our apartment when I walked through the door after school. I was eleven, my mother hadn't arrived home from work yet. She had asked him to look at the desktop computer. “You must have a lot of boyfriends at school…don't you?” He nods up at me from under the computer desk. I realized then that I wasn’t a child but a girl. I was something to be looked at and consumed.

“No way!” I say, shifting in the bar stool. My friends red hair matches her red lipstick. Suddenly, I felt too far from home. “I’ll show you!” She says and pulls out her phone. She texts you. She tells you she has a friend she wants you to meet.   You walk into the Chinese restaurant some time later. I’m slurring my words by the time you arrive, there are four empty long island glasses melting onto the bar counter. We’re the only two in there now. You walk confidently, relaxed…Like you’ve come to meet two girls twenty five years younger than you before.

Your hair is too straight, peekaboos of grey mixed in with jet black. You have small lips and tiny teeth. Your neck has started to sag with age but your face lacks wrinkles of a man your age. You look at me as if you are looking through me, as if you are testing my boundaries, seeing if it was safe to trust your dirty little secret with me. Unfortunately, it was.

“wow he’s so normal! He’s not a creep!” I whisper to my friend while you order us a round of drinks. You hid it so well. I flip my hair at you, apply lipgloss in the bathroom, regret not wearing something sexier. Suddenly, the white sweater doesn’t seem to fit.

I want you to like me. I’m begging for your approval. Lucky me, I get it.

We meet up just the two of us after texting for a few weeks at a Cheesecake Factory. I am embarrassed being out in public with you. Do people know what we’re doing? I see an old friend from high school serving tables near us and I almost run out. “Calm down. We’ll say I’m your uncle.” You laugh, the way a dad laughs at his toddler falling trying to walk - like it’s cute how worried I am.

I applied too much makeup, I’m trying to look older. I’m wearing a fake fur vest and heels I can’t walk in. You ask me about my parents, my friends, where I live, you ask if I’m in college. I tell you the intimate details of my life, spilling out all over the booth like you slipped truth serum in my drink. I tell you about my poetry, about my mothers alcoholism, my fathers absence, about my dreams of getting a college degree. You listen with eye contact, the way a therapist does. You nod and sit still in silence, waiting to hear more. You reach across the table and touch my arm. You tell me you want to mentor me and pay for some of my college. You say that it would bring you joy to help me reach my goals. I don't touch my food. The waiter clears our plates. You slide your American Express into the leather pocket next to the bill and tell me how much money you’d give me to have sex with you.

I ride in your car after we finish eating and leave my car parked in the cheesecake factory parking lot. I watch it out the window wondering if its too late to open the door and jump out.

“You know what?!” You say pulling out of the lot. We’re driving to the nearest hotel. You already have the cash in an envelope in your glove box. I would see you reach over me and grab it when we arrive to the hotel. “What?” I ask. “I think you are my muse! I write poetry too and you have inspired me to write, you’re my muse!” I’m flattered by the compliment, how did you know I always wanted to be someone’s Edie to their Andy? I shed myself at the door of the hotel. I don’t find myself until a couple hours later when I am dressed again and have $500 cash in my purse. Once I do find myself I’m surprised at how great I feel. “It was soooo easy!” I tell my friend on the phone. “I know!” She says. We giggle on the phone my entire drive home. I ignore the smell of your sweat coming through my clothes. I have just sold my body for the first time.

You text me good morning and good night. You check up on my day every other day. I send you pictures of myself and receive compliments back of how beautiful I am. We meet late night in candle lit lounges or hotel bars for drinks and every time I shed myself at the door once the hotel key clicks. I am hundreds of dollars richer the next day and all I had to do was shed my body and watch my soul crawl away.

You set up your laptop in each hotel room and I wonder if you are video taping but I never ask. You bring a backpack full of sex toys that you use on me without asking. You put your fingers and tongue and body places I don’t want you to. You pull me into to lay on your cold clammy chest, and I rest my hands on your rubber belly. You put on Japanese porn and ask me to relieve you while you watch it. You take pictures of us together and put them into a folder titled “Tori” in your phone - incase you need proof I consented. I smile in the pictures, often my bare shoulders showing, hotel sheets behind us, while I fight a war within myself. My eyes are always blood shot because I am always drunk. I ignore the countless other files titled with other names like “Heather” and “Shelby.”

You give me psychological tests, tell me my Meyers Briggs results, ask me about my classes, tell me what you think I should major in. You like to read me your awful poetry and I cringe at the warmth on my neck as you whisper your ballads too close.

You tell me you love me for the first time while you cry on the phone. You’re sad your other girlfriend broke your heart. I talk you through it. I comfort and coo to you like you are a small child. You tell me through hysterics that I am the only person that makes you feel better. This makes me feel important. You call me honey, send me poetry books in the mail, send me pictures of yourself while on vacation. I ask you for money to go to Mexico, LA, to pay my rent, my tuition and my car payment. You do. So I keep coming back. I send you sweet texts and pictures of myself. I share my poetry with you and give you insider details to my daily life. You help me make up lies to tell my friends when they wonder where I am. “Real friends don’t judge you baby.” You tell me in a hotel room chair by the window.

I’m special, because you tell me I am. I’m special because you give me money. I am special because you need me.

You ask me to go to Vegas with you twice and I say yes and then no. Both times. I can’t imagine anything worse than being stuck so far away from home with you. When I am with you I feel like I am walking slowly on pins and needles. Your gaze feels violating. You don’t care that waiters stare, that women your age in the bar ask “how do you two know each other?!” through giggles.

I hate holding your hand in public. I drink swigs from a vodka bottle in my glove box before I go to meet you, to ease the nerves, to forget what I’m there for.

You take me to Victoria Secret and make me try on lingerie sets. You tell me to come out into the hallway so you can see. I’m mortified as I spin in front of you. I see the sale associate make circles on the floor with her foot. You buy me the lingerie set and I walk away while you pay at the counter. I am looking over my shoulder for any familiar faces. I am thinking of lies I can tell if I run into a family member, an old teacher, anyone who knows my other personality.

Each time I pull open my drawer and see the jeweled pink panties and matching bra, my chest tightens. I eventually throw it away because it feels as if you are touching me all over again with every time they are on my body.

When I ask you if we can use a condom after I start seeing someone regularly, you ask me why I don’t trust you. You do a puppy dog face that makes my gut drop, you say “you know I love you bareback. You know I get tested, I just wish you just trusted me...” I decide I’m wrong for not trusting you. I don't bring it up again.

You ask if you can take me on a ferry to Bainbridge island. I agree, I needed the money.

I have told you that I don’t do drugs. I have told you I don’t like being out of control, that it scares me. You nod understanding, tell me “I know, I know.” You repeat stories of you getting high on MDMA on business trips and how the sex high is “so good!” I still refuse to do them with you.

At dinner on Bainbridge island you pull out two small red colored pills with cartoon characters stamped into them. You take one while I look. “Guess I’ll be alone getting high then!” You say, swallowing the pill and grinning at me.

I think I am a consenting adult on a vacation with my much older, married, kind-of boyfriend who pays me each time I sleep with him. I think that I am in charge on all of our encounters. I’m convinced that society has this whole sex worker thing wrong - that this is a two way street, that I want you to offer me drugs ten more times after I say no the first ten times.

I think that you taking the drugs in front of me was about what you wanted, not about what you wanted me to do.

My heart races after you swallow the pill, I text my friend - ask her what the red pills do. She tells me it’s just ecstasy and it’ll be ok. I copy you, take mine with a swig of wine.

The car ride home from dinner I’m already buzzing. I turn the radio up loud and play a song by the spinners that I no longer listen to. I stick my head out of the window and sing “I’ll be arouuuuund.” When we get back to the house you rented for us you parade your bag of pills around me. I feel so good, I beg you for another. You give me one. I catch myself in a mirror and don't recognize the reflection. I can only see a fully black eye, the brown of my eye has disappeared behind my pupil.

I lose myself soon after that in a cyclone of hallucinations and electronic music you play on the stereo. I see cartoon colored objects floating around the room while you sweat on top of me. I don’t remember how we got to the bed upstairs or how my clothes came off.

I am too high to make a sound. I am too high to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head. I am too high to focus on what is happening to my body. I slip in and out of reality for hours, I’m not sure when the sex stops and when the light begins to peak through the blinds. I’m not sure I slept.

We gather our things around the house silently. I feel dirty. My limbs are still vibrating. The drugs are still pulsing through my veins, and I wish I never took any.  My hair is curled in various places and my swim suit is in a wet heap near the bathroom. I vaguely remember being in the hot tub.

Finally I say, “That was crazy.”  I’m hoping to get some clues about the night before. “Well, you barley talked…you were silent most of the night.” you say.

I was voiceless.

You offer me a breakfast sandwich on the ferry home and I refuse. A breakfast sandwich and the hundreds of dollars you will wire me later that day doesn't seem like payment enough for what I gave away in that twenty four hours.

It takes me longer to find myself this time. I search for days and it seems I lost apart of myself on Bainbridge island. Maybe you accidentally packed the part of me I’m missing in your suitcase, maybe you took it when you were on top of me all night, maybe I gave it to you. Maybe I won’t ever see it again.

I hide the memory of our night together to the darkest part of me that I can find. I zip it up tightly hoping it never finds it way out. It will find its way to the surface of course, as all of our time together will.

I color that night in humor, laughing with my friends about how high I was. I color it in guilt, saying I consented, I asked for it. After all, I went with you willingly. After all, we had a “relationship.” I color it in silence, I don’t talk about it, don’t think about it - hold it down in the dark space for as long as it will stay.

Do you justify what you did? Have you found a way to sleep at night? Have you found someone with a small voice and a shaky foundation who will easily let you in and stay a while? Do you ignore the way she can’t keep eye contact? The way she shakes slightly at dinner?

Have you practiced and perfected your act? You’ve got that caring way you look at someone when they share their trauma down. You’ve found a way to pull out women’s stories from their body the way Ursula pulls out Ariels voice box. Once you have them, you use them to your advantage - pushing every boundary and seeing what you could safely cross.

It’s easier to cross young girls with alcoholic mothers and absent fathers, turns out you get away with it.

Your daughter is only three years younger than I was when you met me. Does she wonder why you come home in the quietest part of the night smelling of hotel liquor and perfume? Do you wipe your hands clean of the shame on your way home? I wonder if you look at her and see the 17 year old baby sitter you raped. The one you bragged about to me. You told me you were in love with her, that society was wrong for keeping you two apart.

You must take showers and scrub off your night telling yourself it was consensual, that the twenty year old girl you left in the hotel sheets wanted it. You must tell yourself that she was closing her eyes the whole time because she liked it.

I have decided that you will stay nameless.

Your name will eventually die out and my memories will fade but my story will not. My shame will see light so that it can breathe, so that I can breathe.

I’ll bathe my story in so much sunlight that it’ll grow into something beautiful, the way ‘Lily of the Valley’ flowers grow despite losing their color for some time in the Winter. They come back even more vibrant and beautiful come Spring. They return happier and stronger.

Although, they look delicate, this tough but beautiful flower fights off predators with a poisonous sweet smell and her strong base can make it through even the harshest climates.

[orangepunkwitch-blog]

Tsk, so...  A friend of mine and I plan to do a temporary banishing spell on someone.  I have a “keep reading” link posted in case you don’t wanna scroll through the story just to get past it on your dash.

Ever since September, my husband and I started hanging out with two of our friends we’ve known since high school.  We missed them dearly, and because of a lack of activity on FB, we didn’t even know we all still lived in this shithole of an area, and started hanging out.  It’s helped me get back into socializing, so I don’t feel anxiety anymore speaking to anyone outside of the immediate household here thanks to a few years of damn near social isolation (largely because I haven’t been feeling well physically or mentally and whatnot).  One of these friends grows and sells weed, and it was actually in September that I tried smoking it for the very first time.  Ever since then, I’ve been using weed for my period cramps---I don’t require very much.  Just enough to make it so my husband doesn’t have to stay home and help me go to the bathroom because I’m in too much pain to walk.  Seriously, having a buddy who sells weed has amazing benefits.  He gives me what he can for free because he’s just a damn good friend and wants to help me.  So we usually just went over and smoked weed, got me used to what it’s like (though it’ll be a while before I can finally build some tolerance for it because I’m a light-weight with like... everything), and we’d hang out and whatnot.

So now I have something to look forward to every week.  Several months later and we’ve become a little D&D group who has a blast with some other games like Cards Against Humanity, Liar’s Dice, and we watch some movies and anime if we got nowhere else to go.  My parents are fully aware of this and, despite their political views and whatnot, they don’t see marijuana as this evil thing (largely because back in the 70s, my dad grew it, smoked it, sold it, etc. but that was of course a long-ass time ago).  They knew the facts about it and told me to just be careful.  My mental health has improved greatly as has my husband’s, and we regret not finding out about them still living in the area sooner.

Welp, this doesn’t come without its downs.  You see, the good friend of ours who sells the weed?  He lives with his mom.  He did live on his own, got screwed out of some money, lived with the other friend mentioned in this story for a bit, and then his mom apparently made some sort of personal info legality threat against him (the dealer-buddy’s mom, not the other friend’s mom) and he ended up having to move in with her until he can figure something out.

This woman.... Holy shit...

She commands our friend around (from this point on, for privacy reasons, I’m going to refer to him as Buu and the other friend as Whis), making messes and commanding he clean it up.  It’s summer already, and this past Thursday, she turns off the air conditioner and opens the windows when it’s 80 degrees outside.  She claims it’s too hot, open the windows for some air circulation, etc.  Buu usually turns on the air with windows closed when she’s not in the house, but she’ll throw a fit because she wants to save on the electricity bill (she’s made it to where she only pays $90 a month or some shit like that because she’s cheap as fuck, meanwhile the company for my parents’ electricity overcharges us and we can’t do shit about it).

Now, while the area knows Buu grows and sells weed and doesn’t care or mind (and this, surprisingly, includes his mom), he would still like some form of privacy.  No, his mom wants the air conditioning off, all windows and doors open, etc.  She’ll barge in without knocking, too.  She’ll get nosy about what we’re doing or playing, and we’ll start throwing terms that confuse her just to get her to go away.  She will walk around the house bitching to herself about something, and she’ll talk on the phone with whoever while on speakerphone and talk loudly.  This woman will even walk in on you in the bathroom if the door isn’t closed and locked.  She did that to me once just so she could do laundry (the washer and dryer are installed in the bathroom---the house has a nice set-up but my only complaint is there’s one bathroom and I always lived in a house with at least two).  She’s walked in on her own son before, too, so it’s not just a personal thing against one of us or anything.

And if we confront her about anything, we have to walk on eggshells because Whis’ home (he also lives with his mother due to financial reasons but he’s saving up to move) is ridiculously small with missing or busted doors, and while we have a considerable amount of room here at my parents’, my parents go to bed at a certain time and we don’t want to wake them (ground-floor, not a two-story place).  At least, we can’t hang out here until the garages are cleaned out, and I’m working on that, but I need my mom’s help going through some stuff and she works 6 days a week, so...

Last month or the month before, Buu’s mom went to Mexico for a week for a vacation.  Buu had the whole house to himself for that week, and when we met up for that one day (my husband and Whis only had one day of the same day off that week), we played D&D in the dining room instead of his semi-cramped bedroom.  All of our health problems were pretty much gone because we weren’t under some sort of stress, and actually had the most fun we’d had in years.  Since then, we hadn’t had a day like that within Buu’s home.  Closest we’d have is when we’re out and about, but we’re not guaranteed to run into any assholes, and we have.

For some reason, since she’d returned from Mexico, she’d been yelling or screaming at Buu through walls and such to make him do things far more often than before she went to Mexico.  She doesn’t care he has guests over.  And she’s yelled at my husband and Whis before, too.  She’ll flip at the drop of a hat.  However, she won’t yell at me because I’m a woman, which is odd.  She actually calmed down when I first started hanging out, but that has since dissolved away.  Now she’s in full-on bitch-mode, and won’t flip out directly at me.

It’s to a point where we can’t exactly say we’ve hung out much because she keeps making Buu do things even though he has guests and even though most or half the things she makes him do is all because of her fucking shit up or making the mess or whatever in the first place.  But there was a straw that broke the camel’s back Thursday night that made me and Whis talk about in the car along with my husband on our way home.

Buu’s mom had a handgun on the island counter in the kitchen with the clip laying next to it.  We don’t know if she legally opens the gun or not (I can’t remember if Buu clarified this with us yesterday or not, my flare-up was distracting me heavily yesterday), but my husband asked her right before we left what the gun was for.  And she says that the neighbor’s dog likes to chase her on the ride-mower when she mows the lawn and she just fires into the air randomly to get the dog to go away.  And she laughed about it.  My husband, who is a gun-nerd knowledge-wise, said that you don’t just randomly fire a bullet into the air because that eventually comes down at high velocity (because bullets, believe it or not, tend to be heavy), and they could hurt or even kill someone or something.  She didn’t believe him and told him to leave.  He didn’t think to bring up the fact that people can trace the bullet’s serial-number to the purchaser and dust for her fingerprints until after we talked about it in the car on the way back.  The three of us on the way home all agreed that we may not be as safe around this woman as we thought we were, that she could one day snap.  But we need to buy some sort of time until I can get these damn garages cleaned out.

So Whis and I have decided we are going to have a ritual where we can have a temporary banishing spell.  Temporary because she brings in more money than Buu, and he wouldn’t be able to pay all the bills and whatnot by himself.  This will give us some time to have at least one day a week where we’re not going to be so damned stressed while the rest of my free week can be spent cleaning out the garages where I can by myself (there’s some heavy-lifted in the outer garage needed but the inner garage needs cleaned out, first).  Perhaps her visiting with a distant relative or something for a month or so would help.  Regardless, we have no other choice.

I’ve even done some divination and all signs point to the fact that Whis and I need to perform a banishing spell.  Buu’s been catching those shield stinkbugs (they’re annoying and he just catches them in a D&D dice container that he has so he doesn’t have to deal with their stench) and we’re gonna use them as part of the ritual.  This will have to take place after our trip to Pittsburgh, because there’s a metaphysical shop called Hocus Pocus that sells lots of ritualistic supplies, especially herbs, and Whis and I are gonna need as much stuff as we can get for this to work.  It’ll probably be a bit of a lengthy ritual, too.

Whis has more experience in witchcraft than I do, but I’ve been pretty damn successful in my craft so far, especially when it comes to protection as well as banishing my nasty maternal grandmother’s spirit from my parents’ home and sending her to my aunt.  So I’d imagine we should be good doing our own part in this.  I share this because I’m letting you know this will be my first ritual performed with another witch, and I will let you know how things went after the ritual and a while after that if it worked in case you are curious as to whether or not shield stinkbugs make for a good use in a banishing ritual.

Wish us luck that this might work, because we don’t know what else to do until we get these two garages cleaned out.

[fucking-hell-marvel]

Lacuna - Chapter Two

Dr Ada Ross Set Tuesday, February 1st, 1870 ~~~~~~~~~~

After sixteen days of long travel, the train pulled into the station of my new home. Ganado Springs, New Mexico.

The lovely station master was shocked to see me unloaded my trunks and promised to have them brought over the boarding house where I was temporarily staying. Uncle Bruce had sent instructions on how to find the doctor’s office in his last letter.  

The town had every kind of store you might need. I could see why it was a famous town on the railroad and cattle drives. It also seemed like the place that you’d never leave. I knew enough of the ‘wild west’ to know that things were more relaxed than they were in the city. From what uncle Bruce had told me; the pastor was a man of colour, compared to the rest of the world women were treated equally, and there was some openly queer folk too, yet everybody got along. The most crucial thing Bruce had told me to remember was that the community stuck together no matter what.  

As I walked down the main street of town, I was glad to see that I wouldn't stick out. All the women I could see wore simple and practical clothes. No unnecessary bows or frills in horrid colours, just sturdy dresses or a skirt and blouse.

I saw the church up ahead and followed the road to the right, just as Bruce instructed. Around the corner of the boarding house was the new doctor's office. It was an older building, but you could see that it had refurbished recently. The windows were scrubbed clean, and I could see a new sign hanging off the porch. Dr Banner was seeing a patient out of his practice when I approached the office bags in hand. When Bruce finally spotted me his face split into a wide grin.

“Ada! Look at you.”

I dropped my bags and launched myself at my uncle. “Bruce! I have missed you.”

“Three years is far too long.” He offered me his arm and led me upstairs to his private apartment.

“Oh uncle, it is. I have missed you terribly.  You're getting more grey each time I see you."

It was true; noticeable silver streaks were running through his dark waves.

“It’s dealing with you all these years.” He picked up my bags and led me into the clinic. I noticed the metal plaque engraved with both our names and space for more to be added. “Everything is brand new. You’ll have to help me set everything up.”

Inside the clinic, you could smell the freshly cut wood. As soon as you walked in the door, there was a single waiting area with a nurses desk. On the left of the waiting area were two small rooms for examining a patient or treating minor illnesses. On the right were three much larger patient rooms with beds, if a patient were brought to the clinic and needed to stay they would be placed there. Outback was two medium-sized operating theatres; essential for minor or significant surgical and the more complicated childbirths.

Opposite the theatres and behind the office was a moderately sized clinical room full of shelves to house medicines, cupboards to accommodate equipment and a decent sized sink with an indoor pump to clean ourselves and anything else.

The office was spacious but bare, and Bruce had done the minimal amount of work to set it up. One table with the chair tucked under was pushed against the back wall and used for storing the more delicate items.  Bruce had set up a beautiful partners desk up for me, along with a revolving chair, the worn leather was a deep rich brown.

The last desk other Bruce was using himself and was slightly cluttered. He had never been an overly organised person. There were lots of boxes and crates stacked against the walls no doubt full of all the equipment he had ordered.

Bruce left me to grab the other desk chair while he used a small wood burning stove in the corner of the room to make tea. The wood stove would also be used for heating and to boil water for medical use, cleaning wounds and the clinic. There was a large copper pot on the floor beside the stove. I recognised it as one from my father’s clinic, the dent was in the same place, and one handle was slightly out of shape. I knew that Bruce had gotten on with his brother in law extraordinarily well.

I managed to find a sealed crate that wasn’t too dusty, on which to place my bags. I took off my bonnet perching it on Bruce’s lamp and stuffing my gloves into my carpet bag. I happily sat in the comfy desk chair, compared to the hard and cramped quarters of a train the chair felt like a cloud in heaven.

As I looked around the baren office, I noticed the large packing crate in the corner, already opened. “Did the shipment come already?”

“Yes thank you. I was running short of some supplies.” He placed the tea tray on the table and took a seat.

I poured tea for the two of us while he got comfortable in his armchair. “Before I left Boston I made sure that we’d get a regular shipment every month, so we never run out of anything.”

“You are an angel. So how was your trip?”

I almost snorted into my cup. “Almost three weeks moving from train to train, I’m surprised I didn’t resort to murder.”

“Did you have second thoughts?”

I placed my hand over his. “I would travel the world to be with you. You are my only family left Bruce. It was a long, trying journey but I knew that at the end we’d be together again.”

He smiled back at me. “I can’t wait till you get settled. This kinda place won’t care that you’re a woman doctor and they won’t care that you’d be my practise partner.”

“I'm glad. I was getting fed up at the hospital.”

“Well, this will be a welcome change. There are some things in the diary, people who need to be seen daily, scheduled health checks. Helen is in charge of that.”

“Helen?”

“She’s a nurse. Wanted a change in life and replied to my nurse wanted ad.”

“Well, it’s good that she can deal with the smaller issues on her own and help out with surgery.”

Bruce nodded. “She’s an impeccable surgical nurse. She’s a Godsend; I don’t even know if we would have been able to open the clinic if it wasn’t for her.”

I smiled at him. “Someone would think you’re sweet on Helen.”

Bruce spluttered. “No! Of course not. She’s far too young for me. I think young Mr Pietro Maximoff is sweet on her.”

“Mr Maximoff?”

“The undertaker's son,” he explained.

“Ahh and I suppose he visits often.”

“He does.” Bruce laughs. “I think that he still believes he’s somewhere that follows the proper ways.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand why two people of different cultures can’t marry.”

“Pietro’s family come from Sokovia and Helen is of Chinese heritage.”

“Ah, I understand. But I suppose it doesn't matter in this town. Love is love.” I noticed a familiar dent on the edge of Bruce's desk. "That belonged to Betty."

Bruce noticed the damage I was pointing too.  "Ah yes, it is. I had it shipped out here when I settled. I bought the things I couldn't part with the rest I sold.  I'm afraid it's too small for me, my knees hit the top. When I knew you were coming, I set it up for you."

I felt this warmth yet sadness in my chest. I knew that Bruce still kept a few things belonging to his late wife. I felt blessed and honoured to now be responsible for it.

"Thank you, Bruce. I've arrived in a new place to find a piece of home waiting for me. I remember when it sat in the corner of her room."

"We both miss her." He gave me a sad smile.  

I watched as a note pinned to the board catch his interest.

“Ah, before I forget. I don't know what we're going to do about a more permanent home for you. The repair work in the apartment upstairs is complete, all it needs is cleaning, painting and furniture.”

“I have enough savings to stay in the boarding house for a while and order the things I'll need to fix it up.”

“I'll help with anything you need.”

“Oh Bruce, you can sew up a wound perfectly, but cleaning and fixing stuff was never your good side.”

He chuckled. “That's true.”

“So where are you living?”

He shifted in his chair and rubbed his earlobe. A tell that he's hiding something. “Still living with Selvig. It's easier two bachelors together.”

“Well as long as he’s tidier than you.”

He snorted then looked at his messy desk. “We survive.”

There was a knock at the door, and we both looked up to see a teenage girl quite flustered.

“Dr Banner. Helen is having trouble with mama, she asked for your help.”

Bruce jumped up and gathered the things he would need. I swore I heard him mutter something about Thor, poor Jane and his baby having its father’s broad shoulders. With a kiss on the top of my head, he was out the door. I followed and stopped in the doorway, watching as he followed the girl on a dirt path beyond the schoolhouse. I racked my brain to remember who this Thor was.

To pass the time I decided to begin to unpack the newly delivered create that I had ordered. I knew that the supplies would have no order to them if Bruce had anything to do with it, I’m sure Helen would thank me if she could find things with ease. It was a productive way to spend most of the day. Bruce hadn’t come back, so I guessed the delivery was taking longer than he thought but I didn’t mind. Being a doctor, you got used to being late for things.

It was growing later in the afternoon when there was a commotion out front followed by the sound of boots on the wooden floor. I turned to see a young man in the doorway looking flustered.

“Hey Doc, Dernier had an accident…” he froze slightly upon seeing me not the person who he was expecting. “You’re not Doctor Banner.”

“No I'm Dr Ross, Dr Banner just left to see a patient. Is there anything I can help with?”

“I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself, miss. Everyone calls me Junior.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Uhh, Dernier had an accident at the ranch needs a Doc.”

“Very well let me grab my bag, and you can tell me about it on the way.”

He tipped his hat and went back outside. I left Bruce a note where he would easily see it. I grabbed my carpet bag and doctor’s bag, if the injury were critical, I would have to stay overnight to keep watch on the patient. Outside the clinic, the wagon was ready and waiting. I placed my bags in the back before hoisting myself into the seat beside Junior.

I waited for him to manoeuvre the wagon onto the south road out of town before I spoke. “So what happened?”

“Well Dernier, he’s the farm hand and cook, was up in the orchard and fell off the ladder, caught his boot on it. He was still out when the boss sent me off. ”

“Just his war wound playing up? A bit of whiskey and sleep then he’d be fine?”

Junior looked at me surprised. “Yeah… how did you know?”

“I know men. Was it a normal 6-foot ladder?”

“MmHm. It shouldn’t take long to get there, roughly an hour.”

“That’s okay. Did you move Mr Dernier at all?”

“Nah, we ‘membered from the last fall. He’s in the shade, and everyone was with him when I left.”

“Good.”

Junior and I made small talk on the straight ride to the ranch. There were only two ranches out this way. Clint Barton and his family who bred horses and the boy’s cattle ranch. We passed by a lovely looking house down a long drive on the right, this belonged to the Barton’s and was the marker for half way.

We turned off the road, passing under a sign that read Black Oak Ranch. The long rolling drive was shaded by an occasional oak tree, most likely where the ranch got its name. I could see more trees further back. It was strange seeing oak trees growing in New Mexico; it was like an oasis in the desert. A the end of the drive was a large ranch house with a wrap around porch. Just like the town and the other buildings the had only been built a few years ago, but due to the harsh conditions, they were slightly worn in.

The cart pulled to a stop in front of what looked like the stables. A tall man with a thin, tidy moustache came out to meet us. I knew from Juniors rambling that it would be Falsworth who looked after the horses.

“Miss.” He tipped his hat to me. “Doctor Banner not working?”

“He was busy. " He gestured to me, "This is Miss Ross. She’s a lady doctor.”

He offered a hand to me to help me down. “Dr Ross. I’m to be Dr Banner’s business partner.”

He took the rains from Junior. I grabbed my bags from the back then followed Junior round behind the beautiful grey ranch house with a wrap around porch. There was a large produce garden behind the house, but I was lead away from it before I could get a better look.

Past the large produce garden, the orchard came into view, just as Junior had said everyone surrounded the patient. They all turned in our direction at the sound of our footsteps.

“Where’s Dr Banner?” a tall blonde asked.

“Dr Banner was called out to another patient. I’m Dr Ross.”

The blonde held out his hand towards me. “Steve Rogers. A pleasure to meet you. I guess Junior told you everything.”

I nodded. “Junior did. Would it be possible to have some water put on the boil? I’ll need it once we get him inside.”

Junior turned back to the house while Mr Rogers guided me over to an older gentleman laying in the shade of the tree. He had his eyes closed, but you could see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“Dernier. Docs here.”

He opened his eyes as I knelt beside him. “Bonjour mademoiselle.”

To my surprise his French was perfect. “Bonjour. Je m'appelle Docteur Ross.”

He laughed and clutched his ribs. “Hello, doctor. I did tell them I’m fine, but they won’t let me move.”

“Dr Banner told us not to move anyone that fell. You know that.” A tall man with long brunet hair tied back was leaning against the tree.

“And he is right.” I turned back to the patient, “So what’s the worst.”

“My leg, it hurts too much to move.”

I nodded and began to roll up both his pant legs. After removing his left boot, you could see the swelling. Luckily it didn’t look disfigured.

“I do not think it is completely broken. You may have a small break or fracture or even just a bad sprain, but I won’t know until the swelling goes down. Anything else?”

“I landed on my hip and shoulder, and I hit my head on the floor.”

I checked his head. Someone had used his handkerchief to steam the small bleed. There was a little bump, and the skin had split. It had already begun to clot, so it was not a worry. Thankfully he had landed on the side opposite to his sore leg. Both his shoulder and hip moved freely in the joint, with only pain from the bruising

“We can move him. I can give you something for the pain, but I'll need to get you inside the house first. If two of you support him, he can walk on his good leg.”

Mr Rogers nodded to the tall brunet. “We’ll put him in the house. Easier than the bunks.”

They two of them helped him up. A bulky man with ginger moustache offered his hand to me. I took it with a smile.

“Dugan. At your service.”

We made slow progress to the house. I noticed that he wobbled a fraction when he was walking, but I wasn’t sure if it was walking on one leg or the head injury. I followed the two men as they helped Dernier hopped on his uninjured leg. We entered the back of the house into the kitchen. Junior was there hovering over a large pot full of water. The men disappeared into a small bedroom.

I stopped in the kitchen. “Is it alright if I wash my hands?”

Dugan pointed me in the direction of the sink. I untied my bonnet and left it on the table, unbuttoning my jacket I placed it on the back of a chair. I grabbed the apron from my carpet bag tying it over my skirt and blouse. Using my small box of soap, I scrubbed my hands. Junior offered my a clean linen square to dry my hands. Dugan carried my doctor's bag, and I followed him to the bedroom.

The small bedroom was almost bare just a single bed, chair and a small dresser. The two men had propped him upright so I could tend to his head wound.

“We use this a sick room. We live in the bunkhouse.” Dugan informed me putting my bags on the dresser

“It's a good idea. Stops the spread of sickness.”

He nodded his head. Everyone moved out of my way yet hovered in the doorway. Junior had placed a bowl of warm on top of the dresser. They all watched as I meticulously cleaned his head wound and further examined him just in case I missed anything.

“I know you’re head will hurt but do you feel sick at all? Any double vision?”

“Just sick but my eyes are beautiful.

“Mr Dernier this might be uncomfortable, but I need to see if you can still move your foot. After I'll give you something for the pain.”

He nodded.

“Mr Rogers could I trouble you for a small glass of water.”

He nodded and left the room. Dernier was a good patient. He just gritted his teeth while I made him move his foot and toes. Happy that it was a sprain or a tiny fracture I gave him a dose of laudanum in the water to help with the pain. Once settled down on the bed with a pillow under his bad leg, he was soon sound asleep. We all crept out of the room; I collected my bags along the way. Junior very generously tidied up the dirty rags and water. We gathered in the kitchen.

Mr Rogers turned to me, “Will he be alright?”

“Yes. I want to keep an eye on him tonight. You should always keep an eye on someone with a head injury. He needs to stay off the leg for a few weeks at least. If it is a fracture, then weight bearing can do more damage.”

“Not to sound funny doc but what's a fracture?” The tall brunet asked.

“A fracture is still a break, but the bone hasn't broken all the way through. Similar to try to snap a green twig.”

He nodded. “Still a break just doesn't need resetting.”

“Yes. As the patient needs monitoring will it be alright with you gentlemen if I stayed?”

They all looked at each other, and I swear Mr Rogers had a faint blush on his face.

The brunet broke the silence. “It won't be a problem. We can make up the spare bed.”

“Oh, there's no need Mr..?”

“Barnes. James Barnes but everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Mr Barnes. I don't need a bed, a chair in the parlour is fine. I won’t be sleeping much, Mr Dernier will need to be checked a few times during the night.”

Mr Rogers turned to me, “Well we need to finish up the days work. Will you be alright here?”

“I can stay. If Dernier is off his feet, I'll need to make something for supper.” A stocky man with dark skin fiddled with his hat.

I smiled to ease his worry. “I don't see the problem. I'm sure we can both make something edible.”

He smiled at me. “You don't mind miss? Even with a man such as me?”

“I don't have a problem with what colour God made us. I trust you all can behave like gentlemen and I'm tougher than I look.”

“Won't doctor Banner mind? He knows us, but you're not a married lady.” Junior enquired.

“I left Bruce a note. He knows I can take care of myself and to expect me back tomorrow before midday.”

The men slowly trickled out of the house. Gabe Jones introduced himself before we headed into the kitchen to start on supper. I swapped my medical apron for one that was hanging from a nail in the pantry door.

“Dernier had been soaking salt pork since this morning.” he lifted a cover off a large bowl.

I opened the pantry door. “That will work nicely. We’ll manage to feed the army yet.”

[duallygirl178]

Dearest O'Malley Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When Gladys got too old to drive, I began to get antsy for a workout. Gladys retired in 1980 and by 1992; Nathan was born in Farmington New Mexico. I was handed over to Joe Popplewell to be driven and just to be a back up guy. Joe sure couldn’t drive me because he had to look so far up and out passed the hood to see the road, which frustrated him to the max. When I got a good look at Nathan as a baby. I was filled with joy. I’ve never been a father but at least I got to see what a baby is and what it looked like. Jan and Randy sure went through some trouble and back just to save him. I had heard something was going on with his heart or something that he had to be rushed to the Albuquerque hospital. I distinctively remember that I sure was worried-to-parts about this baby needing to be put in the ER. I smoked so many Pyramid full flavor 100 cigarettes that it took at least 8 butts just to calm me down. I had my suspicions that if Nathan never made it alive, I would be beaten down by Erik who was soon to be a careless pain in my prat and I would never see my life happy again. I was nervous that I wanted to know how the baby was doing. I had became so determined to hear the news on Nathan that I made a nasty habit of smoking cigarettes every day. When the day that Nathan came home, I was so relieved to know he was okay. After Nathan’s recovery, I knew I could quit smoking but I craved a butt and the taste drew me into an unhealthy lifestyle. I tried leaning towards working out and other distractions that was healthy but I wanted a cigarette. Finally, Joe got me on a quitter’s cycle; gum, patches, and hemp seed oil. It worked! I didn’t crave nicotine. When Jan would drive and smoke butts inside me, I didn’t even want a cig. At this time, Jan was working and living at Acacia Street, I was the only transportation Jan and Randy borrowed just until Jan had the resources to get another car. One morning, on my good mood, I was cruising down the road whistling “King of the whole wide world” by Elvis Presley, when people started to stare at me. I would just smile and wink just because I was in a good mood. While Jan was cleaning a house for a couple just down the road, I was waiting on the curb minding my own business. I seemed to be interesting to the sight of a glossy blue 1968 blue Chevrolet Impala. She seemed to be really interested. I was somewhat interested in her because I could tell when a female is interested in me because when she’s looking my way, she finds faults and quirks endearing and she realized my attraction was something she could learn. She had that sweet smell of heated oil and exhaust fumes radiating off her tailpipe. She had serious eyes for me that summer of 1993. The fumes caressed around my tailpipe and it made me feel crazy. Her name was Emma-Sue as she was leaning into me while she came closer into my personal space. She put on quite a revving roaring mating call with her huge V8 motor rumbled as she circled me. I held still as she was looking me over while I was getting a drippy stiffy. I was enjoying this interesting female’s attention and when Jan was all done cleaning house, the moment disappeared. Emma-Sue stopped and went back to the driveway. Jan got in and started me up steadily. Emma-Sue watched me leave until I was far away. I knew she was going to sneak over to my driveway to make heat and romance raise up tonight. Still in joy, I listened to many songs about love on tapes that included Elvis.

Many years into the future, it was the 15th year of that summer, I still hadn’t heard from Gonzo nor have I seen him. I missed him. I remembered when was Nathan was 2 years old, I had began to read him children’s stories using my talented voice to role in the characters even though I knew well that they had their dark origins when they were told. Boy, I really could entertain him when I did the right voices, and I loved it when Nathan laughed. It brought the flow of delight in my weekend days. While the parents were at work and Nathan was a curious little creature. He and I were spending time together and like every other two year old, Nathan pulled off one of my do-haws on the dashboard. It hurt but innocence comes in small packages. It was aright, I had pulled a few whiskers from my old man’s face and that’s just because I was a baby and wondered if the hairs would come off. When I would spend time with Nathan and when, I felt like I was already a dad. Nathan had started talking and he had called me “Papa” once a few times. Those were the days that were good to me.

Randy would drive me with Nathan along and the three of us would scoot ourselves into town when the parents had an off day. It was rare that Randy would take me out to town but we always had fun. I’d get comments of “I like your car” and “Nice car” which was aright. Every other day, I would get a car wash on my birthday and get detailed in August. I got wool seat covers one year on my birthday. After those days, I didn’t really care about presents on my birthdays. While Nathan was first home schooled, I’d sit in the carport to protect me from the weather’s rain and storms. I would always be up here once or twice a month to keep Ozzy company. Back in 2000, Joe bought him from PESCO, a place where he used to work at. Ozzy was a 1991 Ford explorer just sitting in the parking lot. He basically was used for lifting Carol in and out because Carol couldn’t stand on her feet any longer. Ozzy was there for the job. I had no envy towards Ozzy and since he was a sweet little bugger, I got along better after a break from the hectic storm with the morons living outside. Before, I knew it Ozzy was my little roommate. When I asked Ozzy how much he was sold for, the results shocked me. He was 4 grand and like many old things, there has to be a second wheel to accompany the leader. Ozzy’s lift was very useful because every time, Carol had a doctor’s appointment, Ozzy just picked her up with his ramp and he was ready to scoot. I basically came up there to get away while Ol’ Reliable was giving me attitude. I’d be invited in and I’d park next to the fireplace. I watched a little bit of the news with Joe and Jimmy Swaggart with Carol for 30 minutes tops until I fall asleep. Every hour or so, I’d make myself at home on the couch. Sometimes Nathan would come up to visit and sit with me to check on things.

Some time that Fall, Randy couldn’t get me to start up because now that Jan had the resources to afford a secondary car. It was a Jeep Liberty that I didn’t like. Jan had a loan on it and that could lead to rough road later in the future. Randy had bought a Plymouth voyager van and that was all I could accept. But whenever Randy would visit Joe if I was giving him issues, Joe would come to the rescue. I liked Joe because he could fix anything. Often Joe would fuss at Randy because he smoked and asked him to quit. I knew Randy wanted to quit tobacco butts but he couldn’t give it up on how much he had to follow. Jan tried to get her husband to stop, but Randy was antsy to have a butt to smoke. At night, when I was ready to get back to Jan’s house, Nathan and Randy would watch TV together because he couldn’t sleep. I sure didn’t mind staying up late because I could sleep with noise. Even when Nathan had a school night. The couch I was just as comfy as a bed was.

I remember when Nathan was a kid and every Easter, I dressed my best, in that horrid bowtie. I had thought I would never wear it again as long as I lived. But it wasn’t the last time I wore it. I had to wear it again for occasions later. I also remember when Nathan got candy but tucked it away never to be seen again. He didn’t used to eat a lot of candy. I had been in my wild 30s and I had a tradition of burning a little rubber off for the spring seasons to hype up my jive. Each Monday was fill the fridge and cupboard day and which I had to carry 23 bags of groceries from the store and it was my work out for the week. I could always tell when it was time to go shopping. So one Monday night, I had just zoomed in loaded with groceries, I noticed my shocks were getting sore and bad as much as my wheel bearings were creaky but at least it was nice to see Miss Gizmo who was always there to greet everyone. Now for Tuesdays, which were my resting days to take it easy and do what I want. A day to recover. I got to relax at Randy’s work and take the weight off my sores and pains. Even though he worked at a quality building between Aztec and Bloomfield, Randy had gotten on SSI to help pay for his health and that took more of the pain off my joints. It was a matter of time before he could stop working and rest.

[dgarski]

​​​This Journey (Part XCIX)

Why Florida?

In 1984, I was 21 years old. I was working full time, 6 days a week, 10+ hour days at a local bakery in Racine, Wisconsin. I had one day off each week to catch up on domestics like, laundry, groceries, cleaning and relaxing. Saturday night was the only night out of the week that I could go out with my friends and have fun. Yes, I made very good money, but I had no life whatsoever. A young kid at 21 years old, really only has one thing on his mind..and that was to party, socialize and meet girls. I'm also a musician, so I desperately wanted to play in a band, playing gigs and doing what I loved to do. None of this could happen, working the kinds of hours I was working back then. I was not happy with my life. All of this compounded with the absolutely miserable weather in Wisconsin most of the year, made for a very depressing existence. I needed a change.

In July of that year, my friends and I were on our second annual camping trip to Door County, Wisconsin. We had a larger group that year. Seven of us total. One night, it was raining, so sitting around the campfire was out of the question. Instead, we all crowded inside the camper and drank like fish. Somehow, we got to talking about our futures, what we wanted, where we wanted to be, etc. Mind you, at 21 years old, I was the eldest of the group, so we were fairly naive kids just out of our teens, trying to figure out what we were going to do with our lives. As we talked, a common consensus began to grow apparent. Everyone wanted to get good paying jobs, get married, have kids, live in a nice home and become domesticated...and do so in Wisconsin. The sound of all of that, really shocked me. The very idea of staying in a place I was already hating, to my core, was unimaginable. I spoke up and said, "I want to move somewhere, where it's warm..like California or maybe Florida." This statement was immediately met with judgment and condemnation. I got hit with questions like, "Why would you want to leave a good paying job?", What's wrong with where you live?", Your family is here. Why would you want to leave them?" I immediately felt a sense of defending myself for saying what I said. I couldn't understand why my wanting to move to a warmer place was somehow unthinkable. I was born in California. Perhaps that part of me was aching to get back to that climate. Florida was really the only other place that came to mind. The only places I'd ever been to outside of Wisconsin, were family trips to New Mexico and to Washington. Any other vacations were done in northern Wisconsin. I was tired of never going anywhere outside the comfort zone of the Dairy State. I wanted to explore new places, be around new people and new cultures. I wanted a change from the old and begin something new. Living in Wisconsin for the rest of my life, seemed like a horrific way of simply giving up all any notions of adventure. We were young kids. Why would anyone want to settle down and turn into their parents?

September 1st, I moved out of my parents house and into my very first apartment. I was making good enough money to afford a place of my own, and it was time for me to get out from under the roof of my parents house. I loved my new apartment. I had never lived on my own before. This was a new experience that I embraced almost immediately. My new found independence became one of the most valuable identities for me. I loved being on my own, doing what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. I ate what I wanted, when I wanted. If the dishes sat in the sink for a day, so be it. I had my own place, and nobody could tell me how to live. I absolutely loved it.

The next couple of years, our little group of friends was beginning to grow apart. We were all grouping into adults with adult lives and responsibilities. I was the first to move out and get my own place, which meant everyone came over to my apartment. I didn't mind, as long as they didn't wake me up. I had many parties. Instead of us all going out somewhere, the guys would come over and we would drink and watch movies. This usually happened during the bitter cold, freezing winter months. Instead of dealing with the weather, it was easier to just go over to Dave's place and hang out there. In 1987, I was really not liking my life at all. I was bored. I was working insane hours. During the Holidays, I didn't have any days off. It was really starting to turn me into an asshole. I didn't want to be an asshole, but I was unhappy with the way things were going in my life. I wanted out. At that point, it wasn't going to take much for me to figure out some kind of an exodus plan. I was sick of the cold. I was sick of the same thing, every day, every week. I needed to start a new life. I just needed a catalyst and a really good reason to leave it all behind.

This reason came in the form of my grandmother passing away in early October of 1987. Her dying didn't really hit me right away. I knew that she was sick, and her passing meant that she was no longer suffering. I remember being at work, not happy at all. I was still dealing with my first grandparent dying, still trying to figure out what to do with my life and why I hated being there. Then one morning, I got into it with the eldest son of the bakery owner. This guy was twice my size and could have probably pounded me into the ground like a nail. I didn't care. Something inside me snapped. I'd reached my limit. I needed to get out.

I went home that morning and wrote a letter to a friend, Mike who was living in Clearwater, Florida at the time. I asked him if he knew anything about the amount of work or the kind of jobs that might be available in Florida. He was working as a chef at his parents restaurant. Within a few days, I received a letter back from him, stating that there were plenty of jobs in Florida, I would be able to find work easily. He even offered a job for me to work at his restaurant. That was all I needed to read to make my decision. I now had a catalyst, a reason to get out of Wisconsin and move to Florida.

Because I made such good money, my car, my motorcycles, everything I owned was paid for and was mine. I owed no debt on credit cards and had about a $25K credit line at my disposal. I had also saved about $9k. Financially, I was completely prepared. My entire attitude changed over night. I rehearsed a conversation I needed to have with my boss, to tell him that I was leaving the bakery to move to Florida. I had to give him notice that I was quitting. Four weeks should be enough. All I talked about was my moving to Florida. Was I going to do all of this alone?

I hadn't seen my buddy Mark since the summer before, when all of us went camping. He had been involved with his girlfriend, Sue and was working full time for ComAir airlines at the airport in Milwaukee. He and I hadn't talked in a long time. One day in December, he showed up at my apartment and told me what he had learned about his job. I didn't really know what it was he did at the airport, so he enlightened me by telling me that his job was opening up a new station at the airport in Orlando, Florida, and that he was thinking about moving to Florida. He had gotten wind of my plans and wanted to tell me his. He and Sue had just broken up and it quickly became apparent that neither one of us had any reason to remain in Wisconsin.

Plans changed. Instead of going to work at a restaurant in Clearwater, working in the airline industry in Orlando seemed much more appealing, especially to two adventuring young punk kids. I wasn't in this alone. I actually had a partner to go to Florida with me. After the Holidays, I began to sell a lot of my stuff. I sold my furniture and gave a bunch of stuff to my old man. He was living in an apartment at the time. Mark and I still needed to fly down to Florida to check things out to make sure that this was what we were going to do. Once we were committed, we couldn't back out. Mark was able to get two buddy passes on Delta airlines. We flew to Orlando, rented a Chrysler LaBaron convertible and drove from Orlando International all the way to Cleawater to meet with our buddy Mike. We met up with him and we followed him to his apartment near the beach. This was at night so we couldn't see the beach from his apartment, but we could definitely hear it. I was so blown away just by that. Mark and I had been awake for nearly a day, but our excitement kept us moving. We all stayed up until late, drinking and having a good time. The very next day, Mark and I had to drive all the way back to Orlando to meet with the station manager at the airport. Mark also knew the supervisor, Bob, who was instrumental in encouraging Mark into thinking about moving to Orlando to help him open the new station for the airline. I knew absolutely nothing about working at an airport. It would turn out that, my not knowing the airline industry, really didn't matter. Mark and I met with Bob and he introduced us to the station manager, Kathy. She took Mark into her office and had an interview with him and hired him right away. She told him that I needed a job. She brought me into her office and hired me on the spot, no experience needed. It was clear that two hard-working men from Wisconsin stood a better chance at getting a job than not. At the time, neither one of us knew that the people in the deep south moved a whole lot slower than where we were from. Mark and I looked at each other after the interviews and said "We're moving to fucking Florida!" It was an incredibly exciting prospect for the two of us.

Everything was falling into place. Now, all we had to do was fly back to Wisconsin and tell everyone our plans to move to the Sunshine State. Once we got back to Racine, our plans were met with less than an enthusiastic reception from friends and family. It didn't matter to either one of us. The decisions had already been made. We were moving to Florida whether or not anyone else approved of it. I remember thinking at that time that if we didn't do it then, we would never do it. Mark and I really had nothing to lose. Things could only get better...and they did.

We packed up all we could fit into the back of a U-Haul trailer behind my car. At midnight on February 22nd, 1988, Mark and I left Racine. We hit the road and never looked back. We got into Orlando late on the 23rd. We stayed at the hotel near the airport, because it was where we stayed when we were there the month before. Everything we owned, sat in the trailer in the parking lot. The very next morning we took a drive up a nearby main road called Semoran blvd. We had been advised by people from the airport that if we were looking for an apartment near the airport, we should try somewhere up that road. We stopped at two or three different apartment complexes until we came to Lake Frederica. We did the tour of a large two bedroom/two bathroom apartment and agreed that we would take that place. We spent the remainder of that afternoon, unpacking all of our stuff. That night, we both walked over to the phone booth near the laundry room, and placed calls back to Wisconsin to tell our families that we had made it and that we had found a place.

We both went to work for Comair airlines. I took to it almost immediately. It wasn't really work to me, compared to working at that bakery for so many years. This wasn't difficult at all. I chose to work part time hours and Mark wanted to work full time. At first, living together and working together, wasn't too difficult. That began to change slowly over the next couple of months. We were always together. We were beginning to get sick of each other. Mark found out about a job doing skycapping for another airline. I didn't know what that was so, I didn't follow him. I didn't understand why anyone would want to leave an airline to go work for tips throwing luggage around. Then one night after work, he came home with pockets filled with cash. I couldn't believe how much money he had made. I made it abundantly clear to Mark that he was to get me on as a skycap too.

I quit Comair and started skycapping on February 19, 1989. All of the sudden, I'm making the same kind of money Mark was making. I was making more money than I had ever made at the bakery, in about half the time. I learned quite a bit about myself as I learned the tricks of the trade. I learned how to hustle to get better tips. I learned the game and got very good at it. July 25th, 1989, I purchased a brand new Pontiac Firebird. I had never owned a brand new car before. I was making the money and could certainly afford it. By November of that year, I decided to move out and get my own apartment.

Mark and I took trips back and forth to Wisconsin, for the Holidays and other occasions. We even drove up in my new car in 1991 to meet with the guys in Door County. Mark and I were seeing less and less of each other, except when we passed each other at work, He worked mornings and I worked afternoons. He was making new friends and so was I. Our lives had once again changed. Over the years, Mark and I began to lose track of each other. He got married and had moved around central Florida several times. They had two kids and eventually ended up in a nasty, bitter divorce. I eventually left the airport in 1996 and went on to teach guitar lessons for the next 20+ years. I finally became that legitimate musician I had always wanted to be. Mark stayed at the airport and never really moved on from there. Mark and I lost touch with each other for a few years. It had been over 25 years that we had been living in Orlando, and we had both moved on with our lives.

Times got really difficult for me. I lost a lot of my students, for reasons I may never fully understand.I had to go back to the airport, back to a job again. Mark and I had gotten together a few times over the years but ultimately, we lost communications with each other. I haven't seen or spoken with him since 2014. Again, the reasons behind this, are not fully clear to me. Going back to the airport was a very harsh change for me. I had been used to being my own boss for so many years, that working for some company was something I was not looking forward to doing again. I had no choice. I either work a job or live in my car. Things finally started to get better in 2018. I had been promoted to full time and had been given an exclusive post to work. The company was showing me their confidence in my abilities as an employee. All was finally going well for me again, when the unthinkable happened. I collapsed at work from a stroke and a heart attack, and ended up in the hospital for two weeks.

I found myself back in my parents house, recovering and healing from my brush with death. I lost everything. I had to once again figure out a way to get out of Racine and go back home to Florida. Nothing and no one got in my way the first time 31 year earlier, and I wasn't about to let anyone get in my way, the second time, Florida is my home and has been my home for most of my life. I am a legitimate Floridian.

So why Florida? I love it here. I honestly do. This place has changed my life for countless goods and a handful of bads. I have had so many adventures, met so many people, done so many things, been to so many places...none of which would have ever happened in Wisconsin. The life I chose to leave when I was 24 years old, was because I wanted to start a new life, far away, in a much warmer climate. I wanted to be able to wear shorts and t-shirts for most of the year. I never wanted to shovel snow from another sidewalk. I never wanted to deal with freezing cold and blizzards. I didn't want to turn into my parents. I didn't want to simply give up and never find out my true potential. I needed desperately to find out what I was made of. I needed to find myself and see the world. I have done so many things in my life because I moved to Florida when I was a kid. Things I more than likely, never would have had the opportunity to do, had I stay in Racine. I am a Floridian and always will be. Orlando is my home. I am so grateful to be back where I belong.

[solarbird]

Old Soldiers, Chapter 20: you really, really should

I didn't realise I hadn't posted a new chapter since mid-December! Sorry for the late.

This chapter is worksafe. [AO3 link]

«Look, friend, all I'm trying to tell you is that big trouble is coming, and it's aimed straight at your guy. Cut him loose.»

Sombra made a little frustrated noise as Flores didn't answer immediately. He'd been fighting her on Morrison since she first contacted him about it. «Look, Olivia, this isn't...»

«Don't call me that.»

«Sombra, this isn't - you aren't with us anymore. We all know it.»

«But I'm still your friend, friend. Or aren't I?»

He sighed. «No, no, you are... I just... he really, really knows what he's doing. Militarily. We're so much more effective now, we've thrown the Maras completely out of the whole state. The police are starting to think of us as maybe not even so bad.»

«And when he turns on you, like he turned on Laticia and Araceli?»

A moment, and then another moment, silence, over comms. «He didn't... look, we don't know what happened to Araceli...»

«I do. I told you. I've seen it.»

«That - it makes no sense. It's impossible.»

«You want the video? I can see about that.»

«And Laticia, she's turned state's evidence, sold us out to Overwatch! Why shouldn't he...»

«Is that what he says? He's a liar. Well, he was a liar before. Look, have I ever lied to you?»

«Yes!»

«About anything important.»

«...no.»

«And I'm not lying to you now. You heard what Talon did to that Mara cell in El Salvador, right? Do you want that? Because that's what you're going to get.»

She could almost hear him thinking.

«...can you get me that video?»

«I think so. Want to clear it with my source, first. Very delicate, you know? Don't want to alienate them.»

«Sure, sure. Let me know.»

«I will. Sombra out.»

The hacker leaned back in her chair. "Well, how 'bout it? I figure we let him sweat for a day or two, then hand it over."

Lena smiled. "Sounds good. I don't want t' have to tear through Los Muertos to get to that bastard. They're just kids, mostly, and none of this is their fault." She fuzzled Sombra's hair.

"Quit it, rapido! This hair takes time!"

"Make me!" Lena giggled, and, of course, made it worse, as she and the hacker got into a hair-messing competition that the teleporter could only win.

Angela looked on, mildly astonished, from the couch across the room where she sat, surrounded by notebooks. Yesterday's meeting of the minds had run late into the night, followed by a massive exchange of documents in the morning, after breakfast and some more personal catching up with Amélie.

She looked around, again, a little overwhelmed. She'd handed over a data chip, and had not imagined getting stacks of paper to read, in exchange. Dr. Marani wasn't so much old-fashioned in her record-keeping, as prehistoric. It looks like so much more, when it's all physically in front of you, she thought. But it painted a crystalline picture, nonetheless.

A burst of laughter caught her attention, and she looked up. Lena's so relaxed, here, she thought, contemplating what she was seeing. And arguing against killing, rather than reminding us she's an assassin over and over. She gazed intently at the roughhousing Talon agents. It's because... she's just Lena here, isn't she? Not Tracer. Just ... herself, and she doesn't have to insist on anything to remember that. She shook her head, and went back to reading lab reports.

"Agh, you win, stop it!"

"Yeah!" The assassin punched the air. "Venom wins again!"

Sombra got out a hairbrush and began working her hair back into place. "You know, it'd go a long way if he heard it from Laticia himself."

"What, get her sprung, you mean?"

"Something like that. It'd carry a lot of weight."

"Hmf," said the assassin. "Somethin' to consider." She glanced over at the Overwatch doctor. "If we have to. Don't quite want t'be asking favours at the moment. Not 'till we've got everything else sorted out."

"What's Overwatch gonna do with her? They aren't police or courts or anything. They have to hand her over to somebody, eventually - why not us?"

"What would happen to her afterwards?" Angela asked, suddenly.

Lena shrugged. "...let her go, I guess? Back to Los Muertos?"

"With what she'd know, by then? How could that work?" She leaned forward, intently. "You could never let her go. Not with her knowing what she would about Talon, combined with what she does about Overwatch. She'd be a threat." She leaned back, and shook her head. "I cannot risk that."

The assassin frowned. "We wouldn't, but... I get your point, I guess."

"What if we kept her at arm's reach?" suggested the hacker. "Your friend, Gabriel."

Venom grimaced. "He's not really..."

"Fiiiiine, your colleague, whatever. When we decamp to Mexico, he goes too, brings her. We co-ordinate at a distance, he lets her go back to the gang when the job's done."

"That's not bad, luv. Whatcha think, doc?"

Doc, she thought. Well. That's an improvement. "I think... Overwatch could go along with that. Obviously, it is not my final decision, but... I think so."

"It'd help. But... y'seem to have got used to the idea we're gonna finish off Morrison awfully quick."

The doctor leaned forward, face in her hands, elbows on the glass table in front of the couch. "He's my fault," she said, resigned. "At least... partly. And I saw - well, I did not quite see it, but I saw the results when you were tried to bring him in alive." Her hands closed to loosely-held fists, forehead pressed against them, carrying the weight of her head, of her thoughts. "If he is willing to do that to you, or worse, to Mei-Ling... then he is no longer the man I once admired."

"Makes it easier, then?"

"I have always been a field medic, and then a doctor, first. But I have also always been a soldier. Just like him. Just like Fareeha. Just like you. But even with that, I am not on a mission to kill him." She lifted her head, and looked Venom in the eyes. "I am here to do my best to save my mother-in-law. If helping you kill him does that... so be it."

"Wow, this got somber," interjected the hacker. "Where's the fun in that?"

The assassin snickered as Angela frowned, and she swatted at her friend's head. "Right, then! It's late. Go flirt with your girlfriend - didn't you say you'd call her tonight?"

"Ah, she's used to it," Sombra said, nonchalantly - but also packed up her physical kit in one quick swipe.

"You complete reprobate - go call her. Now. She hates it when you're late."

"Don't have to tell me twice. And don't disturb me, we'll probably be verrrry naughty."

"Out!" Lena picked a cushion off one of the chairs and threw it at the Mexican woman as she fled, missing, Angela suspected intentionally.

"So... Lena - may I still call you that? Or is it Venom all the time, here?"

"This is my home, doc. You're at my house. If it's not Lena here, where is it?"

"I think you know what I mean."

Tracer managed a half of a smile. "Yeh. I guess I do." She sighed, retrieved the cushion she'd thrown, put it back on the chair where it belonged, and flumped down on it. "Honestly, I wish you wanted to be here. I'm not in love with you, but... bloody hell, doc. Of all the old crew, you were the one I wanted back. You were... you were the one I trusted. Maybe it was London, maybe it was... I dunno why. I just did."

"I have already made my apologies..."

"I know. I'm not lookin' for another one. I'm just..." She waved her hands around. "I want that trust back."

"But that's not why I'm here."

"No," she admitted, "I guess not."

"So then, Lena - why am I here?"

Lena smirked at the Overwatch doctor. "Helpin' us kill Morrison's not enough?"

"All you need is my field suppression device. I could've handed that to you in Geneva." She didn't pretend it would be any less involvement that way, not to herself - but it didn't require a trip to any secret bases. Or, apparently, homes.

"Fair enough. But with us, you've handy, if things go wrong. And, like you said, maybe y'can help us not have to kill someone else."

"Ana, again."

"Yeh. We take down Morrison, we get any video she might have of that little mistake of yours... she gets to live."

"How would I do that?"

"No idea. That's somethin' for you to figure out with Sombra."

"Lena," she said, leaning forward. "I appreciate that you're trying. But..."

"Again," the assassin stressed. "Trying, again. I hope you get that, luv, 'cause like you just said, last time tryin' it this way got me a hole in my back big enough for Zarya to put her fists through."

"But you would not be trying if you did not have some other reason to bring me here. She'd just be on your kill list. We both know it." She scowled. "Why am I really here? Not my reasons. Yours. You want trust back, between us? Tell me this."

Lena looked around, tapped the surface of the table with one finger, got up, and closed the door.

"All right, then," she said. "Didn't want t'get to this 'till later, but fine." She sat back down. "Remember how you said I didn't look any different, first time y'saw me, back in London?"

The doctor nodded. "You still don't, not really. It's only been a few years, after all - for you."

"Yeh - it's still explainable that way, for me. So far, anyway."

"What is?"

Lena gave Angela a long, thoughtful look. She's not this good a liar, she decided. Not with stuff like this. "Y'really don't know."

"Lena..." the doctor said, confusedly. "Would you please just tell me?"

The Talon assassin bit her lower lip, nodded, and took a deep breath, before continuing. "You're not the only one not gettin' any older, luv."

Dr. Ziegler started, leaning forward. "You're not... Dr. Mariani hasn't talked about work anything like this. If not her, then how...?"

"That's the trick, innit?" She sighed. "We don't know. Somethin' to do with the slipstream, we're pretty sure, but ... no idea what."

"...and Amélie is, isn't she."

"Yep. Nothin' you'd notice yet, particularly not on her - we're both hard to kill, and awfully durable. But... she is."

"I see."

"That time I asked you about Fareeha? Hoped you'd win that argument?"

"You knew, already? About yourself?"

"Sure did."

"That's what you want out of me, really, then, isn't it."

"Yeh," she nodded. "I..." Fear - real fear - flashed across her face. "I... sometimes, when I rewind, I..." She swallowed, hard. "I see things. Other places. Other us. Dunno if it's real, not for sure, but sometimes, sometimes... I see myself... at her grave. It's a hundred years from now, and she's long gone, and I'm still... me. As I am now."

She shuddered, and sniffed a little. Lena reached over, pulling a tissue from her pocket, offering it to her.

"I couldn't take that, doc," she said, taking the tissue. "I won't lose her. I won't. Not to that. Not to anything."

Dr. Ziegler nodded, eyes soft. "That... is something I understand. Fully."

"I still hope y'get it sorted with Fareeha. I like her."

For the second time since arriving at the small Talon base, Angela Ziegler smiled a genuine, broad, reflexive smile. "Then... I have some good news for you."

Lena blinked, and sat up straighter, eyes wide. "She..."

"Yes. Finally."

"And it's worked?"

"As far as I can tell, everything is perfect. Her scars started fading within hours. Not so much that she can see it, yet, but..."

Lena Oxton breathed heavily and deeply. "So ... there's hope. It's not just you anymore."

"No."

"If you can do this for us... t'hell with all of it, luv. I'd forgive you anything. Forever."

"Possibly, literally."

Lena laughed, her old laugh, the kind of laugh that cut straight through to Angela's heart, and the doctor, too, laughed, in kind, so relieved. "I am sorry for what I did, but really, I am not sorry at all," she said, huffing halfway to giggles. "I know what you must have been going through, now, and honesty, it all makes so much more sense..."

"It's been workin' on me, luv, not gonna lie," Lena said, shaking her head, eyes wet, but with a smile. "Maybe... maybe it's made me a little too extra, can't say..."

"Does Amélie know?"

"'Course she does. We don't keep secrets."

"Well. That explains all this," she said, pointing to the stacks of lab notebooks and research notes. "You were so angry that you thought I'd figured you out, then I get here only to have all this thrown at me..."

"In trade. The doc - our doc - has been wanting a colleague for a while."

"Certainly, but still - the dichotomy... well. It is now explained." She shook her head. "My approach will not even have to change. Just the specifics."

"Still killin' Morrison, you know that."

"Don't spoil the moment."

"We don't lie, luv. Not internally. It's somethin' Talon's got over Overwatch."

"...really?"

"Really. It's not just me an Amélie. We are what we are, we don't pretend we're anything else. Secrets, sometimes, sure, y'gotta keep 'em. But not lies."

The doctor let out a little bit of a laugh, a heh sound, almost appreciative. "No wonder you're so... thin, at the upper levels. Well. I suppose there is something to be said for Talon, after all."

"Big step up from the old Overwatch."

"All too true."

"I'll take that as a compliment!" Lena snarked, cheekily.

"You should," the doctor agreed. "You really, really should."

"Oh god, Ange..." She leaned forward, like the doctor had, head in her hands, eyes and smile visible through it. "You'll really do this. You really will."

"If I can."

"Thank you. Oh... I..." She leaned forward, and took Angela's hands, tightly, in her own. "Thank you."

[fuccilloautomotive-blog]

Billy Fuccillo, Kia Soul transform driving in Southwest Florida

The man who transformed the cars people buy, drive or see on the roads of an entire region wore dark slacks and a red Tommy Bahama shirt.

Billy Fuccillo beckoned.

“Come and check out mine,” Fuccillo said of his white Kia Soul, similar to the 96 new ones available on his lot. His car featured an upgraded, 201 horsepower engine, leather seats, a navigation system and a panoramic sunroof.

“Of all the manufacturers I’ve represented in more than 30 years, the Soul is the only car that appeals to 18- and 19-year-olds and 78- and 80-year olds,” Fuccillo said. “People who are 52 like the Soul. People who are 32. People who are 18. People who are 80.”

Prior to Fuccillo Kia opening in December, 2010 at 404 NE Pine Island Road, in Cape Coral, no Kia-branded cars made the top 10 list of new, registered cars in the combined areas of Charlotte, Collier, DeSoto, Glades, Hendry and Lee counties.

 Every year since 2011, at least three and sometimes four – the Soul, Optima, Forte and sometimes the Sorento – have made the top 10 for new cars registered in those six counties, according to data gathered by IHS Markit, a Michigan-based marketing firm.

Between opening more than six years ago and mid-July, Fuccillo Kia has sold 36,850 new cars. Of those, 24 percent, or 8,965, have been Souls. Kia corporate verified Fuccillo’s claim that the Cape Coral dealership is in fact the world’s largest Kia dealer in terms of volume.

Consider: Kia Soul ranked 29th of the nation’s top 398 new cars sold in 2016. The Kia Optima ranked 36th. But in Southwest Florida, those cars ranked sixth and fifth, respectively, according to IHS Markit.

 Gender-wise, 53 percent of the region's Soul drivers are female, and 47 percent are male, according to IHS Markit.

“Younger people like the car because it’s cute,” said Greg Hood, general manager of Galeana Kia, which also sells the Soul. “Older people like the car because it’s practical.”

Greg McCarter, 52 and from Cape Coral, stands 6 feet and weighs 450 pounds. He and his wife, Calondra, rented a Soul for a 2015 cross-country trip to California instead of their Toyota Sequoia, which gets 17 miles per gallon on the highway to the Soul’s 30-31.

“I didn’t think I was going to fit in it, because I’m a really big guy,” McCarter said of the Soul. “But once I got in it … I’ve got all kinds of pictures of every state that I was in with that Kia.”

This year, McCarter bought a 2017 Soul from Fuccillo for $20,000.

The Kia Soul demographics also include the 6-foot-3 Fuccillo, 61, who declares ad nauseam in numerous television and radio commercials and flyers that his cars are: “HUUUUU-JA!”

The marketing major, psychology minor and former tight end for the Syracuse University football team, drives his Soul when visiting Cape Coral from his Tampa home. He owns five Florida dealerships with a sixth in the planning stages for Clermont. He also owns 24 dealerships in upstate New York, where he sells more than a dozen brands of cars, including the Kia.

“You have an exceptional dealer in one area who does an exceptional job with one brand,” said Tom Libby, an automobile analyst for IHS Market. “That can raise the volume for a model or brand. It might be a part of the country that gravitates to a certain concept. Four-wheel drive vehicles traditionally do very well in mountain areas, for example.

“In the case of the Kia Soul, it’s most likely related to an exceptional dealer performance. Now I will say that the Kia Soul does well across the country, but it’s not in the top 10.”

 The beginning

In the fall of 2010, Fuccillo and Percy Vaughn, now the executive director of the southern region for Kia corporate, had dinner in Orlando. They discussed Fuccillo entering the sales market for the Korean brand in Southwest Florida, having had success in upstate New York.

At the time, Cape Coral was at the epicenter of the nation’s housing crisis. The economy was in shambles. Kia and Fuccillo took a gamble during a critical time at a location that had been an out-of-business Saturn dealership.

“He’s one of the most unique guys in the entire automotive industry,” Vaughn said. “He said, ‘I think I can make a big splash in this market.’ He came in and never looked back.

“With Billy, when he does these promotions, people come from as far away as Miami or Tampa. They would drive down to buy a car from him, even though we had other dealerships in those areas.”

In May of 2012, less than two years after opening, Fuccillo had a concert on the Cape Coral lot. He hired the classic rock band, Styx, which had top 40 hits such as "Come Sail Away."  The event drew thousands of fans. Fuccillo said he sold dozens of cars.

Billy Fuccillo said at the start of each year, he sets a marketing budget, usually about $350,000 to $850,000 a month.

“He’s very aggressive,” Libby said. “He’s motivated. He’s very shrewd. That concert you mentioned probably drew an audience that was a good fit for the Soul.”

In 1996, Fuccillo had Robbie Knievel, son of daredevil Evil Knievel, jump his motorcycle over 19 cars outside his Adams, New York, dealership. Fuccillo said he sold a record 523 cars in one day.

“When I got out of college, I went to a Chevy dealer in Buffalo, looking for a job in sales,” Fuccillo said of 1978. He was turned down three times.

“The fourth time I went back, they finally hired me.”

 Big man, big personality

Fuccillo worked his way into buying dealerships. He once bought a Hyundai store in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where he went by the handle “Billy Fernandez” and did his “H-U-G-E!” catchphrase. He said he bought the bankrupt store for $25,000 and sold it two years later to Utah Jazz owner Larry Miller for $7 million.

Xavier Villarreal, a Fort Myers High School graduate and Hall of Fame football player there, worked in sales and then as a manager at Sam Galloway Ford in Fort Myers. In late 2010, he applied to be the general manager of Fuccillo Kia.

Fuccillo told Villarreal he wanted him to train in Rochester, New York, and to pack his bags.

Villarreal said he hadn’t had time to book a flight yet.

“Who do you think I am?” Fuccillo told Villarreal. “I’ve got my Lear jet waiting for you at the airport.”

“Thirty minutes later, I’m 10,000 feet in the air, taking off and heading to New York,” Villarreal said. “I spent four weeks there. I never saw all of this coming. I know a lot of people in the community. I know what this community is about. But I never foresaw it being on the scale that it became on a day-to-day basis.

“He has a heart of gold. I know sometimes people wish he could do more. There’s always somebody in need. But with what he does for our customers – 70 to 80 percent of our customers come back and buy another car from us.”

The competition

The Kia brand already existed in the region prior to Fuccillo’s arrival. Galeana Kia, at 14483 S. Tamiami Trail in Fort Myers and Airport Kia at 3325 Westview Drive, Naples, each opened in 1996.

Both dealerships compete for sales against Billy Fuccillo but appreciate him as well.

“I love him,” said Greg Hood, general manager of Galeana Kia for the past two years. “When I was offered this job, my boss said, ‘The No. 1 Kia dealer in the world is about 8.5 miles from you.’ When I came to the store, I knew that Kia products were so well-branded in our market that I couldn’t fail. Billy Fuccillo came to town and raised awareness. He spent an enormous amount of money. We’ve also been a beneficiary of that.

“He has a tried-and-proven formula. He floods the market, and they respond to it. The difference between him and me is, first of all, it’s not my money.”

Hood said at first, Fuccillo outsold Galeana Kia at a 10-to-1 clip. That has been narrowed, he said, to about 2.5-to-1.

But Galeana Kia doesn’t have to beat Fuccillo Kia to be successful, Hood said.

“His method was to focus on new car sales,” Hood said. “He didn’t care as much about used cars. We don’t do it that way. Our desire is to sell both, because they’re both good markets.”

Lots of Soul

The Soul base model starts at $16,100 with a manual transmission and $18,795 with an automatic, although the dealership has various incentive programs that could drop those prices. The new, fully loaded, “Exclaim” model Fuccillo drives goes for about $26,500, minus incentives.

“I love the car,” said Francesca Simonelli, 46, a Cape Coral yoga instructor. She has bought two Souls from Fuccillo, a green one in 2012 and then a gray one last summer. “I love the look of it. It’s all very practical for me.

“My credit was shot. I had filed for bankruptcy. I knew if anybody was going to get me a car, it was going to be that guy. He’s in it for the money, obviously. He was going to make it work. It was like a dream come true.”

Lisa Terrill, 44, and the manager of the Bayfront Bistro restaurant on Fort Myers Beach, bought her green Soul from Fuccillo four years ago. Her Volkswagen Passat had been totaled in an accident, hence the need for a new car. Her Soul from Fuccillo included a trip to Miami Beach with a one-night stay in a resort and a party, another of the dealership’s many promotions.

“At first, I was kind of annoyed by all the commercials,” Terrill said. “But when it came down to it, they had a good reputation or so many wouldn’t be purchasing it from them.

“I will tell you this, I would take that car a million times on a road trip. It’s a smooth ride. It’s very roomy on the inside. It’s like a SUV, really, but with great gas mileage.”

McCarter, Simonelli and Terrill all said they had poor credit at the time of their purchases. Billy Fuccillo Kia found them loans ranging from 72 to 75 months at interest rates between 4.9 and 6 percent.

The business of buying and selling cars worked out for all parties.

Working the room

When Billy Fuccillo visits his Cape Coral dealership, he does not keep a low profile. He works the showroom, posing for pictures with potential buyers. He hams it up with the sales staff.

In his office, Fuccillo, a New York Yankees fan, has some sports memorabilia and posters and a framed photograph of Robbie Knievel’s motorcycle jump.

Fuccillo defended his dealership’s practice of selling cars to customers with low credit scores. He’s aware of a negative article about that practice that has been floating around on Facebook.

“How are you going to get people financed?” Fuccillo said. “I think we did a lot of things to get the community turned around, and they in turn, helped us. Sell cars, that’s what we’re here to do.

“We don’t know what transpires in their life. We work real hard to get them financed. So many people are living week-to-week. We find them the best rates we can.”

Fuccillo finished a photo shoot and then an on-camera interview. At the end, he was asked to do his famous catchphrase.

“Catchphrase? What catchphrase?” Fuccillo said, before looking into the camera and getting back into character. “Southwest Florida, it’s gonna be HUUUUU-JA!”

 Source: http://www.fdlreporter.com/story/news/2017/07/26/billy-fuccillo-kia-soul-transform-driving-southwest-florida/472714001/

[eduardovymv160-blog]

Car Dealers: This Is What Professionals Do

I had to sell my Jaguar, and I wasn’t happy. Well, would you be, after you’d spent so much commitment into choosing Jaguar which was best for your needs? It’s sod law really, I was given a fantastic bonus from work because I’d met and exceeded our annual sales quota. I had always hankered after a Jaguar and after much deliberation, I chose an XK Coupe ? featuring its 300 horsepower, 4.2-liter engine, chrome Sabre wheels, body spoiler, and dual tailpipes. What a car! And when I bought my Jaguar home, she was everything I expected plus more. I felt just like a King, a VIP when I drove around in her own. But one day, when I came home, my wife dropped a bombshell. She said her work was transferring her never to a workplace just down the road, or even around the world but throughout the other part in the world to Mexico. If I was told these details before I had the automobile, I would are already quite enthusiastic about this news? although not now, for the reason that move meant I had to sell my Jaguar. I couldn’t really go on it with me overseas. I could have kept it in storage but that's a costly option and I don’t know how long we are keeping Mexico.

When I realized I had to market my Jaguar, I must admit to some wave of depression sweeping over me, and I buried my head in the sand, so to speak, and pretended none of it was happening. Therefore I did nothing about selling my car? until we simply had 30 days left inside country. When my lady found that I still hadn’t taken care of my car, she threatens to put a commercial correctly in the local newspaper. No way was I gonna have my lovely car being advertised for sale in a local rag? it just didn’t seem a fitting way to trade such a magnificent car. So, taking matters into my own hands I researched the most effective way to market such a car, and I found the solution?to offer my Jaguar through a company that is experts in buying prestige and specialist cars. And it all happened so quickly and smoothly once I contacted them. All I had to complete was add an internet form with my contact information plus some basic information regarding the vehicle: make, model, age, and condition. I sent the proper execution to them inside the evening, and also by the next day, that they had contacted me. I spoke to somebody who knew all about Jaguars and although I was doing something I didn’t want to perform, i.e. sell my Jaguar, a minimum of we were holding making the whole transition as pleasant as you can.

Within several days, I had sold my Jaguar to the price I had expected. We had agreed to a price on the phone and as long as the automobile was in the perfect condition that I stated it was, they might keep the price mainly because it was. When they arrived to determine me, they agreed the auto was at perfect condition, and they also didn’t return back on his or her word. They paid me the entire amount via an electronic bank transfer from other account to mine. Was job done? I was happy, these were happy, and intensely importantly my partner was happy!

When we move returning to England, first thing I will do is obtain a brand-new Jaguar, and whenever enough time comes for me to offer my Jaguar, I will use a similar company again because as far as I am concerned, it's the best way to offer a prestige car.

[theajijicadventure]

Day 13 Pt 2 - April 24, 2019

Day 13 - Doing much better this evening.  Met a new friend for dinner, had a delicious dinner and have been able to finally do laundry.  My landlord has been working hard to get the new washer installed but was stalled by the holiday and slow delivery.  She offered to reimburse me for going to a laundry service, to take there herself or, even, to do my laundry herself.  But, it’s in and seems to be working fine and I now have clean clothes.

I went to the Wednesday Market today.  I learned a new word...this is a tanguis  which is not a farmer’s market but a street market or open air market.  I’m told that the produce may be the same as that sold in a grocery store but it’s so much more fun to buy it at an open air market.  I finally got my mango on a stick ($1.50) and ya know what..I think I’ve had my share of them for a while.  It was delicious but they’re also messy and I keep getting the paprika/pepper on my nose!  Not to mention the strands of mango in the teeth.  So, I’ll save those for a special Rocky Point treat on the beach and my mangoes here on a plate!

I also got some limes and lemons, asparagus, oranges, popcorn kernels (palomitas), and mozzarella cheese.  I went u to the small store at the top of the road...I can’t find half and half or heavy cream anywhere so far.  I settled for milk but my quest for crema will continue.  I did find Charmin toilet paper and Bounty paper towels, full sheets.  I like the latter for drying my hands before putting my contact on...they are absorbent and don’t get real linty.  I was so excited...I didn’t even find these brands at Walmart or Costco!

I already talked today about the Customs and medical insurance challenges...enough said.  I’ll get it done.

A new friend of mine here has been posting on her FB feed about her experience transitioning here.  She’s about 4 months ahead of me but we’ve been supporting and commiserating with each other as needed.  She was saying that her friends were asking her if she missed anything from home.  I was thinking about it today.  This afternoon after I came home from the market and was doing some  stuff around the house,  I realized I missed (this is my confession) being able to just turn on the TV easily and without thought.  My house feels real quiet to me at times which I am having to get used to. Background sound was the norm for me and quiet was more the anomaly, though cherished when  allowed.  I brought down my bluetooth Bose speaker and I’ve put music on or KJZZ in some mornings (and to listen to Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me on Saturday) or put the sound on for some show I might watch on my iPad or phone...but I am definitely experiencing more quiet and opportunities to direct my attention elsewhere.  I think we might call this withdrawal...from the endorphin stimulation (about like heroin) that electronic stimulation can provide.  It’s not creating loneliness, I don’t think...but there can be a discomfort.  I’ll be paying attention to the discomfort because I know there a message in it for me.

This all being said...I do watch some stuff on my devices.  It’s nice to sit outside at night, in the dark, with my headset on, and watch something on Amazon, Netflix or some other provider.  I’m reluctant to put it out there publicly, but I have found a way to watch a lot of (about 80%) of American programs here in Mexico.  Most are not available due to licensing agreements, including most of Amazon Prime, Hulu and most broadcast networks.  I’m going to give up Hulu but I’ve been able to get most of Amazon and Netflix and even All-Access CBS.  Can’t watch them live but there’s a lot to watch on all of these.  

I miss my library books....having the book in my hand to read.  I’ve finally figured out how to read the e-books but it’s not the same. Plus, I don’t like being on the device right up to the time  go to bed.  But I want to read my books without buying them so I’m adjusting.

I just got distracted with library matters so I’ll go attend to that and be back with more of this journey.

[prosperopedia]

Why Honesty and Integrity Are Critical for Prosperity

What if all people were honest?

What if we could all trust that when a person gives his or her word to us, we didn’t have to worry about whether that person truly meant what was said? What if when we hired someone to do a job, when we conducted a transaction, when we loan someone money, or when we enter into could always expect the person we’re interacting with to do what they’ve promised to do? What if we could be always sure that others aren’t misrepresenting themselves or what they’re selling us for their own benefit?

These questions are obviously rhetorical. It’s impossible to imagine a world in which everyone demonstrated utmost integrity and where nobody lies. Humankind has for all of recorded history had a propensity toward dishonesty.

A study summarized in a June 2017 National Geographic article entitled, Why We Lie: The Science Behind Our Deceptive Ways, categorized the reasons people are dishonest. The study grouped the ten reasons people lie into two main categories: to protect oneself and to promote oneself. The top reasons for lying according to the study (originally published by the Journal of Intercultural Communication Research) included covering up mistakes, gaining economic benefits, securing (non-financial) personal advantage, evading people, and to shape a positive image of oneself.

Although the publishers of this study and many others that take on the reasons why people are dishonest note that dishonesty can often be healthy and is at least natural, the cost to society and to any particular individual from intentionally lacking the discipline required to tell the truth is difficult to measure.

Is Your Integrity Not Worth $1,000?

Several years ago I had an experience that became an epiphany for me with regard to my own commitment to being honest, even in a situation where choosing honesty over dishonesty didn’t seem like such a big deal.

I was operating an online store that sold medical equipment that we drop-shipped (meaning we didn’t keep it in stock at our location) from one of our suppliers. One day we received a phone call from someone who placed an order on behalf of her company for a dozen or so of one of the physical therapy evaluation devices we advertised on our website. My wife and I were excited about the order. We calculated our profit on the order: just over $1,000. It made our day!

Shortly after the order was placed, we left the office (which was in our home) to help my sister-in-law with some car problems she was having. While we were unavailable to answer the phone, this customer called back and left a message saying that she needed to cancel the order.

Man, what a bummer! Just as quickly as we’d made the $1,000, it was gone.

My wife (my business partner and one of the best customer service reps we’ve ever had) called back the customer to confirm that she wanted to cancel the order. She told this customer that it’s possible that the order had already been shipped out by our supplier, in which case she would simply need to reject the package once it arrived.

The customer’s response became an unexpected test of my integrity.

She told my wife that if the order had already been shipped, her company would find some purpose to use the products. But if the order had not been shipped, she wanted the order canceled.

When I arrived back in the office, I immediately called our supplier and asked about the order, which we’d placed with them hours before, soon after it had been placed by the customer. The rep I talked to checked with the company’s warehouse crew and called me back nearly 15 minutes later. The order had in fact not been shipped out yet. There was still time to stop it.

Through my mind went these thoughts…

“Well, it would be just as easy to tell the customer that I wasn’t able to stop the order, and it has already been shipped. It’s a big company. They have a budget for this type of thing. What difference would it make if I just call back and tell her we were not able to stop the shipment?”

Then I was received this distinct impression from my conscience (or from what most Christians would call the Holy Spirit, which tends to prick one’s conscience once in awhile): “Is your integrity not worth $1,000?”

The resolution for the situation became clear to me. I felt like my integrity was worth at least $1,000. In fact, I wouldn’t even want to attempt to put a dollar value on what’s it’s worth to me to be honest. I’d like to hope that under any situation like this, no matter what amount of money was at stake, I’d make the same decision.

I asked my supplier to cancel the shipment, then called the customer back to let her know we were able to cancel the order before it was shipped. Although some might argue (and it makes perfect sense taken from a purely secular vantage point) that I lost $1,000 for making that decision, I’d argue that I gained a lot more than that, including a reinforcement that I was

The Law of the Harvest

One of the guiding principles I’ve always try to use in my dealings with people, whether in business or personal matters, is the law of the harvest, a scriptural principle found many times in the Bible, but most commonly referenced from Galations 6:7, which reads: “whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.“

The law of the harvest is a universally applicable idea that there is always a connection between what a person does, how a person chooses to think and act, and what that person ultimately experiences in terms of blessing or cursing in his life. The law of the harvest doesn’t require earthly policing or monitoring. Understanding and applying the law motivates one to transcend the need for constant external correction and instead rely instead upon an internal conscience to choose to do what’s right, regardless of the short-term consequences. Those who understand and live by the law of the harvest wisely comprehend that ultimately justice and equity will be dealt out fairly to everyone.

In my situation with the customer who I could have easily lied to and told her that the order had already shipped, the law of the harvest says that regardless of whether she knew or cared much about the outcome, the most important aspect of the interaction for me was being honest. The law of the harvest says that any other course of action on my part would have eventually been returned back to me negatively in one way or another.

What’s a Lost and Found?

While I was living in China with my wife early in our marriage, I got a taste of a cultural difference in perspective that has left an impression on me ever since this experience happened.

I was on the corner of a busy street in Shanghai helping my wife hail a taxi when my cell phone fell out of my sweatshirt pocket as I jogged to catch up to an available taxi. I immediately (in about 10-20 steps) recognized that my cell phone had just fallen out of my pocket when I reached inside to make sure it was still secure.

As I retraced my steps, expecting to see my phone lying on the ground, I quickly became disappointed that I couldn’t find it. As I watched the streams of people biking and walking past me, I thought, “Surely one of these people would have seen my phone and noticed that I dropped it.” I half expected that someone was going to walk up to me and hand me the phone I had just dropped.

That never happened. I was blown away.

I quickly asked my wife to call my phone. She did. It didn’t even ring, and it was obvious that whoever picked up the phone turned it off immediately to avoid being confronted or having us track down where it was.

Later that day, as I was talking to my Chinese business partner, I explained to him how disappointing that situation was, and I lamented that someone (not even a professional thief, but a regular commuting worker) would be so dishonest as to see my cell phone fall from my pocket and not return it to me. His response was surprising, “Of course, the person who saw you drop your phone was lucky. He got a free phone.” He then explained that almost anyone who would have seen me lose my phone would have been inclined to keep it, even to hide it from me to avoid being caught.

In all my time growing up in the United States, I had almost never experienced that general mentality. Sure, there are dishonest people who steal things all the time in the US, but by and large people are more likely to return something that they find, especially in situations where the owner can easily be identified, rather than to keep it.

A friend of mine from Mexico recently told me that she was surprised to learn of something called the “lost and found” when she came to the United States. It was shocking to her to learn that when people lose items of value at a rec center and other public places, other people will often turn those things in so that they can be returned to their rightful owners.

Despite the steady decline in honesty among our politicians, business leaders, and the general public, it still feels like the majority of Americans are honest, as evidenced by stories in the news like one that I read recently about two women finding almost $18,000 in cash and making the effort to get it back to the rightful owner.

A Large Credit Risk Industry

Perhaps one of the major indicators of a society hedging against dishonesty is the size of the credit risk industry. Companies like Equifax, Experian, and TransUnion make most of their income helping companies determine how much integrity can be expected of potential borrowers of money and other capital. Equifax has almost $3.5 in annual revenue. Experian takes in almost $5 billion each year. TransUnion’s yearly revenue is about $2 billion. The majority of the income from these companies, which represent the most prominent in the credit risk industry, comes from various products that protect lenders against loaning out money to people who will default or renege on their commitments.

A boost in general commitments to honesty would likely lead to a reduction in the need by banks and other creditors to evaluate to such an extent the risk potential of people who apply for credit.

Economies Are Founded Upon Trust

When I talk to my kids about the implications of dishonesty, I often show them a dollar bill and ask them why it is that stores and others from who something can be purchased are willing to accept a dollar bill and other forms of payment in exchange for something they give of value.

Ultimately it comes down to trust. Our economy, our financial transactions, our ability to buy and sell using any kind of currency is based upon the integrity of those who are associated with the markets that comprise our entire financial and social system.

If our cumulative level of integrity continues to decline as it gradually has since the founding of the United States of America by a group of people who had impeccable integrity, more waste, more fraud, more overhead will continue to be introduced into our system, and it will affect the entire population significantly.

For my part, I will continue to work to be more honest in my dealings, regardless of the financial cost to me personally. And I will teach my children have integrity.

I hope you’ll do the same.

The post Why Honesty and Integrity Are Critical for Prosperity appeared first on The Handbook for Happiness, and Success, and Prosperity Prosperopedia.

from WordPress https://ift.tt/2YdNhNs via IFTTT