500Words - Malik Turley

Middle Feet

Middle Feet (Week 1, Day 3)

Little feet take many steps and barely leave a mark. Big feet, no matter how few steps they take, are sure to tell you where they’ve been. My feet? They fall somewhere in the middle.

I was a precocious child, or so they tell me. I walked and talked early and often. I burned through toys and puzzles, getting bored quickly which led to mischief. By the time I was seven I understood that I was different from other kids and not necessarily in a way that enamored me to the adults. By the time I was in middle school I’d stopped caring.

Carefree twelve year olds are, in a word, dangerous. It’s only the clarity of hindsight that allows me to say that from here. At the time? Well, again, I was dangerous.

My lack of care protected me from the normal prepubescent and pubescent angst. I drifted through those years blissfully unaware of the impact I was having on those around me and oblivious to the struggles of my peers. Maybe things would be different now if I’d been more affected back then, and maybe the now was destined to be no matter what.

Feet, in particular my feet, have a tendency to follow paths. My feet walked me right into adulthood without need or want of much in the way of connection. I took care of myself and only myself. I didn’t ask anyone for anything at anytime for anyreason.

I’m sure you will understand, then, why I didn’t jump into action when I found Gransene sitting on my doorstep.

I could have invited them in, or asked if something was wrong. Hell, I could have called the police and let them deal with Gransene. If I’d cared, there were plenty of options available to me. But I didn’t care. When I opened the door and found them sitting there I did what any logical, precocious, disconnected being would do. I closed the front door and left through the back instead.

Yes, I took the briefest of moments to determine that nothing was immediately wrong. There was no blood, for example. No cries of pain or fear. I suppose if there had been I would have made a different choice. Probably. Instead, I closed the door restoring the barrier between them and me and went about my day.

Gransene wasn’t my responsibility. I wasn’t attached to them anymore than I was attached to anyone. They had appeared in my life a few months before they appeared on my doorstep and with just as much notice. I had walked into a shoe store in search of a pair of bright yellow shoes. The style didn’t matter, just the color and fit. I’m sure you have similar urges from time to time, and on that day my focus was on finding a pair of shoes in a bright enough yellow – nothing more, nothing less. I’d satisfied similar urges at this particular store and walked in reasonably certain I’d be able to complete my task quickly.

***

This is part of the 2022 500-Word Short Story project. Comment with “Tell me more” if you’d like to vote for this to move to the next round.

Grumbling and Grousing

Grumbling and Grousing (March 2022, Week 1 Day 1)

Grumbling and grousing doesn’t do anyone much good and yet…grumbling and grousing were the things filling the room. The people in the room were spread out to the corners and, if you were to have the privilege of sitting on a rafter looking down at the scene, were displaying a full array of personalities. There were the three women in the corner dressed in a way that made it clear they weren’t there to be looked at engrossed in the discussion of the Important Aspects of the question at hand. And to their right the solo man, solo in all meanings of the word, with his arms crossed and a furrowed brow. In the back corner were the older women, seven of them, leaning back in their seats, loose and calm, showing that they’d been there and seen that and weren’t expecting anything unexpected to come from the goings on but wouldn’t have missed being there for anything. Smack dab in the middle were, of course, the young men – full of themselves and sure they had all the answers while not having a lick of experience or knowledge of the issues. They were, of course, the loudest and the most domineering. The left side of the room was less fully attended but if you, from your perch, were to overlook the people on that side of the room, well, you’d be missing out. It was the people on the left side who had a chance of turning the tide and getting the grumbling and grousing to turn into something of merit, something of action. They were all individuals, though, both like and unlike the solo man, and when there are a large group of people the individuals don’t always have enough power to make change. There were a few of them starting to make eye contact, starting to think about coming together into a group of action. But only a few, and only furtively. They had all the right ideas and just needed a catalyst to turn those ideas, born of the grousing and grumbling, into something the others in the room could hear.

So, you, sitting up above it all, might start to think your vantage point gives you what’s really needed to solve the issue. It happens often enough, and it would be unrealistic to presume your immunity to such surges of confidence. You might, if you fought those urges just long enough, have seen that the person at the front of the room had the spark that was needed. You might even decide to join the fray and stand behind them, offering silent support instead of more Good Ideas for the rest to argue over.

If you did that, though, we wouldn’t have a story. We wouldn’t need to be here. Your silent support and their spark would calm the waters, solve the problem, and send all of the people gathered in that room back to their own lives, their own problems, their own solutions. And where would be the sport in that?

***

This is part of the 2022 500-Word Short Story project. Comment with “Tell me more” if you’d like to vote for this to move to the next round.

Breaking

Breaking (March 2022, Week 1 Day 1)

“You ok?”

“Mhm. Why do you ask?”

“The table is clean.”

“Fuck you.”

She’d left after that. Without a word. She left and didn’t look back.

He didn’t let himself break. He kept all his appointments and completed his tasks. He was just as charming at the monthly meetings for book club as always. He kept himself together by sticking to his routines and not poking at the gaping hole her departure had created. He even, every so often, sat at the empty table. Only ever for breakfast or lunch – never dinner. He knew enough not to go too far.

It was on a trip to the grocery store that he broke for the first time. The grocery store, of all places. In the aisle with cheap wines on one side and freezer cases on the other. Maybe it was the sheer audacity of the incongruity of the aisle that did it – that’s what he would blame it on later, anyway. Standing there, looking at the wine bottles working to intuit which one would be decent enough to bring to book club and not leave him with a reminiscent headache afterwards, he felt a tear sliding down his cheek. Just one tear, on one cheek. It took him a moment to identify it. He had only just pulled the desperate puzzle pieces together enough to realize he was, indeed, crying, when a raspy voice came from behind him.

“You ok?”

Instead of doing something reasonable like waving away the question or even answering with a brief, “yep” with or without “!”, he broke. He watched it happen as if he were a spectator, as if he’d been the one to ask instead of the one to be decidedly not ok. He saw his knees buckle, saw his grip on the basket in his left hand loosen, saw himself fall to the ground and crumple into a heap.

“Shit!” The gravelly voice said, closer now.

He saw himself as clear as day but the person with the voice stayed out of his vision somehow, even though he saw/felt their hand on his shoulder and saw/felt them crouch down next to him. His spectator-vision didn’t extend beyond his person. The voice-holder stayed by him as other unseen beings added their voices of concern to the scene. He stayed on the ground, forehead pressed against the cool floor. He found himself thinking that, perhaps, the floor was cooler in this spot because of the presence of the freezers on the other side of the aisle and wondering if the temperature difference was enough to impact the wines on the shelves. Thinking about wines and freezers and floors was much safer than thinking about the fact that he was crumpled on the floor of the grocery store, sobbing silently.

“Give him space,” the gravelly voice was saying now, and he saw/felt the other people backing up. He wondered if it was the gravel in the voice that caused the others to listen and obey, of if there was something more to the person talking that commanded attention.

***

This is part of the 2022 500-Word Short Story project. Comment with “Tell me more” if you’d like to vote for this to move to the next round.

Love Story, Continued

Love Story, Continued (March 2020, Week 3 Day 7)

“If you’re happy and you know it…” Trina May looked at the circle of four-year-olds with her eyebrows raised, waiting for someone to finish the line. There were five minutes left in the day and all she wanted was to see the back of the children before she broke down into tears.

“Clap!”

Masking a sigh, Trina May echoed, “Clap your hands,” and the song continued with the wobbly voices in their own interpretations of the tune. They made their way through sad, mad, and hungry before the bell rang.

“That’s our bell! Say goodbye to your friends and pick up your backpacks.” Trina May stayed in her chair at the top of the rug while the children ebbed and swirled around her and the room. She loved them all and she would miss them.

When the last child cleared the threshold, Trina May closed her eyes and let the silence fill her up. This room had been hers for seven years and she could picture ever inch of it without opening her eyes. The pattern of the circle time rug, the placement of the alphabet letters, where the climbing stones were in Iggy the iguana’s habitat. The only things that changed were the pieces of art the children made and even that followed certain patterns. She put almost as much care into the room as she put into teaching the children themselves, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever see it again.

“Ms. Taylor?”

Trina May’s eyes fluttered open. “Yes, Ms. Abbot?” Looking over her shoulder was out of the question – she was determined to be off the school grounds before she let tears flow.

“I don’t mean to disturb you, I just thought, well, I just wondered if you might need, might need some help with…things.”

Keeping her voice low and even, Trina May got out of the chair keeping her back to the other teacher. She answered, “thank you, no. I’ll make do on my own.” If things had been different she would have welcomed the help. If things had been different, though, she wouldn’t be packing up her room and leaving the school unlikely to return.

Trina May began dismantling the board furthest from the door and was blissfully unaware of when the other woman left. It only took three boxes to collect all she’d made for the room, all her personal touches. When she finished, she stood, rocking, in the center of the room with her arms wrapped around her middle.

“Ms. Taylor.”

The brusk voice was like a slap in the face and Trina May spun around to face the principal. It was satisfying to watch him whither under her glare even though it didn’t change anything.

“You didn’t have to take everything down.”

Trina May picked up her boxes. “I didn’t touch anything that wasn’t mine to begin with. Do you need to check for yourself?”

“There is no need for hostility, Ms. Taylor. I’m sure you know we are not enemies here.”

“Mr. VonFrentle, you misunderstood. That wasn’t hostility, that was a genuine question based on self-preservation. And the question stands.” The corners of Trina May’s mouth twitched as she watched the small man flush. “Do you,” she repeated in the same even tone, “need to check for yourself?

The man’s mouth opened and closed as if he were a trout surprised to find itself on a riverbank. “No,” he finally sputtered. “I of course trust that you’ve collected your belongings as expected.”

Trina May gave a short nod and started towards the door. It wasn’t until she got within a few inches of him that she realized he wasn’t going to move on his own. She stopped, put her boxes down on the counter next to the door, and clasped her hands together at her waist. “Is there something else you need, Mr. VonFrunle?”

“Ms. Taylor,” he began, puffing his chest up and adjusting the snugness of his garish rainbow tie. “I hope you understand that it is our most sincere hope that we are able to welcome you back to the Central School family in the fall.”

Trina May watched as his mouth flapped its way through what was obviously a prepared speech. The man didn’t have a sincere bone in his body, and the only reason he was going through these motions was in hopes of avoiding a messy lawsuit. She needed to play her part and wait through his rehearsed words.

“…remembering that the good of our students is our highest priority.”

Trina May slid her boxes off the counter and took another step towards the door. This time the pompous man stepped aside and made room for her to exit. She had to listen to him, but she didn’t have to dignify his canned speech with a response. She walked past him and down the hallway, ignoring the sensation of eyes following her progress out of the building.

The parking lot was still mostly full – the other teachers would be lingering over the last day of school – and Trina May had parked in her usual spot furthest from the doors. Each step she took away from the building brought her closer to tears, and there were many steps between her and her car. She shoved the boxes into the back seat and stopped to catch her breath and fight the tears down. When she opened the driver’s side door she found a note sitting on the dashboard. She slid into the car, pulled the door closed, and put her key in the ignition before putting her hand on the note.

“Roses are red, Violets are blue, Onions stink, and so does VonFru. You know that I love you, you know you are right, head home head held high, and I’ll love you tonight. – J.A”

The tears Trina May had been fighting off erupted in a throaty blend of sobs and laughter. She let them take her over until she was spent and clutching at her sides. When she heard two teachers talking excitedly on their way to their cars, Trina May turned the key and threw her car into gear. With the exception of Mr. VonFrunle, she had managed to get this far without awkward goodbyes and she wanted to leave the parking lot before either of them could even wave at her.

###

Watching Trina May start to dismantle her room was bad enough – coming back into her own classroom was worse. Janice lingered over closing out her room, forcing herself to stop to chat with the other teachers and staff as she worked. Keeping one eye on the clock she arranged books on shelves, reset posters on walls, and adjusted the small figurines on her desk so her room would be just so when she returned in the fall. She knew Trina May had to leave on her own, knew that getting in the way today could render the sacrifice she was making pointless. She shouldn’t even have gone over there when the final bell rang, but not seeing her didn’t seem right, either.

Janice’s classroom was on the second floor and the windows behind her desk looked out over the parking lot. She had spent months watching Trina May walk out to her car – the bright purple Mini with a huge Cthulu decal on the hood and “Choose Happiness” emblazoned across the back window. At first, it really was the car that caught her eye. It didn’t take long for her focus and attention to switch to the woman behind the wheel.

Just as she saw Trina May’s distinctive swagger left the building and started towards her car, Janice’s attention was pulled away from the window by a knock at her door.

“Mr. VonFrunle. What can I do for you?” Janice kept her voice light and forced herself to lay her hands gently on the back of her chair.

“Ms. Abbot, I’m glad I caught you.” He sauntered into her room and squeezed himself behind one of the desks in the row closest to her desk.

Janice masked a sigh as she sat down. “You almost missed me! I’m just about done packing up.”

The expression on the man’s face was too sweet to be trusted as he nodded and looked around the room. “You’ve been a valuable asset to the team for many years, Ms. Abbot. And I have some news – very good news – for you.”

Janice raised her eyebrows and said nothing. The pregnant pause that grew between them made the little man start to squirm. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

“Yes. Well.” He shimmied himself out from behind the desk.

Janice imagined a “pop” when he finally extricated himself and feigned a cough to mask the laugh.

“As you know,” he continued unchecked, “We find ourselves down one assistant principal for next year…”

And one stellar preschool teacher, Janice thought to herself, letting her mind wander to the parking lot, wondering if Trina May had found the note.

“…and I’m thrilled to offer you the job.”

Love Story

Love Story (March 2020, Week 3 Day 5)

“If you’re happy and you know it…” Trina May looked at the circle of four year olds with her eyebrows raised, waiting for someone to finish the line. There were five minutes left in the day and all she wanted was to see the back of the children before she broke down into tears.

“Clap!”

“Ms. Taylor?”

Trina May’s eyes fluttered open. “Yes, Ms. Abbot?” Looking over her shoulder was out of the question – she was determined to be off the school grounds before she let tears flow.

“I don’t mean to disturb you, I just thought, well, I just wondered if you might need, might need some help with…things.”

“Ms. Taylor.”

The brusk voice was like a slap in the face and Trina May spun around to face the principal. It was satisfying to watch him whither under her glare even though it didn’t change anything.

“You didn’t have to take everything down.”

Trina May picked up her boxes. “I didn’t touch anything that wasn’t mine to begin with. Do you need to check for yourself?”

“There is no need for hostility, Ms. Taylor. I’m sure you know we are not enemies here.”

Signs

Signs (March 2020, Week 3 Day 4)

The sky was blue, the sand was blonde, and the body at the edge of the water was red. It had been there since dawn, or at least that’s when Mitch came upon it. He didn’t know why he’d been the one to find it but he believed it was meant to be. He stopped at the edge of the beach as soon as it caught his eye. It wasn’t something he was likely to walk past, not with all the time he’d spent studying death. He didn’t know why it was there, why he found it, what had killed it, but he was sure it was a sign of something.

Mitch saw signs on the regular. He was attuned to them, or at least that’s what his guru told him every time he brought word of another sign back to the compound. He’d been out wandering for a few weeks – longer than usual – and he had just started to wonder if he’d lost his connection to God. Now, with this red body laying in front of him, he knew it was time to go back.

Instead of calling for help Mitch eased his sketchbook and pencils out of his messenger bag and walked closer to the body. The breeze was strong and in his favor so whatever odor may have been present was being sent out over the sea rather than into Mitch’s nose. He dropped the bag and lowered himself down onto the sand, sitting on his knees. He was within three feet of the body which was the perfect distance to capture its essence on the page.

Mitch let himself sink into the lines and curves as he recreated the man – now that he was close enough at least that much was clear – using only a single pencil. Light and dark danced together and the resulting likeness was frighteningly accurate. When he was done, the drawing Mitch made seemed to have all the life the man on the beach was lacking. He was looking back and forth from his image to the dead man when he heard the scream.

He knew before he turned around that the scream was coming from a woman, and he’d even had a good guess of her age. She stood six feet behind him, one hand on her mouth, the other arm wrapped around her middle, screaming one long note after the other, her eyes glued to the dead man.

Mitch looked from her to him to his sketchbook. It took him longer than it should have to put away his art supplies and go to the woman. Even though she had to have seen him – he was directly between her and the dead man – she gave no indication of noticing him.

“You’re in shock.” Mitch spoke in the spaces between her screams. “There’s nothing to be done.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Please, stop?”

The screams ended as abruptly as they began. The woman’s eyes snapped away from the dead man and onto Mitch.

Have and Have Not

Have and Have Not (March 2020, Week 3 Day 3)

Sighs communicate more than one thinks, and Francis sighed a lot. He used them instead of words, without awareness, whenever possible. Words, to Francis, were dangerous. They sounded innocent enough in his head but when he let them out he seemed to find himself in trouble. Or discomfort. Or in love.

On Tuesdays, Francis volunteered at a homeless shelter in the center of town. Every week he would close out of all the programs he used to make money for people who had plenty so he could leave work early to give food to people who had none. It didn’t right the scales but it felt like the right thing to do. He’d been going from work to Waldmen House every Tuesday for three years. He was their longest standing volunteer and he had said maybe two dozen words in the space. Some words were used over and again, like “hello” and “more.” It wasn’t unusual for a shift to go by with him only having used those two words, plus “goodbye.”

Mitchell tripped as he scrambled to get his briefcase packed. The room was a tornado of clothes, books, dog toys, and toiletries. His briefcase stood out as the only thing in the room with order beyond Mitchel himself.

“Mitchie, relax!” Sandra twisted herself around in the bed to face him without emerging from under the covers. “You’re not the one who needs to do the impressing today.”

Mitchell signed as he flopped down into a chair only to pop back up again. “Shit. How do you put up with all this stuff?” He waved a one-eared mouse toy at her.

Sandra shrugged. “I look before I sit?” She ducked as the mouse toy whizzed over her head. “Ok, ok – it will be spotless in here by the time you get back.”

“Spotless? How about ‘less chaotic’ as a start?”

Sandra stuck her tongue out as she lowered the comforter down to give him a flash of her breasts.

Mitchell smiled and dove into bed with her while she giggled. The two of them lost themselves in each other until Mitchell’s watch pulled his attention away.

“Sorry. No time.”

“No fun for you, anyway – I don’t have anywhere to be today.” Sandra sat up and let the blankest pool around her waist. “Go. Be impressive. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Mitchell kissed the top of her head, reached for his briefcase, and lurched towards the door. “I thought they were the ones who have to impress me. Your tune changed quickly.”

“You’re the boss there, as of today. You’ll impress them by being impressed by them.” She smiled and left the room.

Mitchell shook his head as he pulled the door closed behind him. He used the trip into the city to rehearse what he’d say to everyone at his first staff meeting. He had it down to thirty minutes by the time he got to the train.

###

Francis fidgeted at the back of the conference room.

Neighbors

Neighbors (March 2020, Week 3 Day 2)

Sasha glared at the wall as she adjusted the pillow behind her back. The noises from the next room were somehow more incessant and annoying now that she knew who was attached to them. For the first few weeks she only had the voices and her guesses as to what was making the scraping and banging sounds. Meeting her neighbors had changed everything.

She could see the smug look on the man’s face as he thrust his meaty hand at her in greeting. “Harris. Dr. Michael Harris.”

He’d put an extra emphasis on the “Dr.” as if he were mugging for a camera. Sasha’s nose crinkled as she replayed the encounter. He’d been so full of himself that it hadn’t felt like there was room left for her in the vestibule. Not shaking his hand hadn’t seemed like an option and she regretted it as soon as their hands connected. He’d wrapped his free hand around hers and got all together too close – close enough that she was pretty sure she knew what kind of soap he used – to ask her name, especially since it was clear he hadn’t listened. Sasha had lied about having left something in her car so she could escape back out into the courtyard while he headed up the stairs, only to run into his wife. They were proving to be inescapable.

With her hands balled into fists she pounded noiselessly on the bed and bared her teeth in a growl that only she could hear. It wasn’t fair. Moving into this apartment was supposed to have been the beginning of her dreams come true. Sasha shoved her laptop out of the way and, with one more glare at the wall, pushed herself off of the bed and left the room. They could have it for now, she’d get things done after they’d tired themselves out.

Sasha lived alone on purpose. She’d learned a lot from her first and second attempts at cohabitating and, as a result, had found an apartment she could afford on her own. The space was small – a galley kitchen that only just fit the necessary appliances, one two few closets, a bathroom small enough that you didn’t have to get up from the toilet to wash your hands, and a space that was doing double duty as both living and dining rooms. Her bedroom was the best – and biggest – room and, thanks to the neighbors, wasn’t as welcoming as it had been in the beginning.

It didn’t take her long to fill the tiny kitchen with deliciousness. She hummed as she babysat the eggs snapping away the cast iron pan and felt her shoulders sink away from her ears. Eggs had been her comfort food since she could remember. It didn’t matter what time of day or how recently she’d eaten – if she could find her way to a plate of eggs everything just seemed better. Sasha plated up her perfectly scrambled eggs, added a slice of toast, and prepared to wait out the neighbors.

Transaction

Transaction (March 2020, Week 3 Day 1)

It was a quiet town, and not in a good way. It had the quiet of sadness and loss, of empty houses and storefronts. The quiet screamed that things used to be different. As Tia drove down what had to be the main road she saw more street signs than people. It wasn’t completely abandoned – there were open shops between the boarded up windows, and a few people meandered their way on the overgrown sidewalks. All of them turned to watch her drive past them and none of them smiled.

She remembered when it was vibrant, and she had been there for the beginning of the decline. Back then she’d known most of the shopkeeps and couldn’t walk or drive down this strip without pausing for hellos or at least returning waves. It was home and it was wonderful until it wasn’t. Leaving had been her response to the town’s shifting status, and yet here she was, rolling into town a decade later.

Under the baleful eye of an old lady with an ornate cane, Tia slid into the spot directly in front of a real estate agency – the real estate agency as all the rest had closed. Staying open in a business based on houses changing hands wasn’t easy when no one wanted to move into town. Tia dug around in her purse for a full minute before she wrapped her hands around a tube of lipstick. She ignored the scandalized look from the old lady and carefully reapplied the bright red paint onto her full lips, giving herself and the old lady a wink before tossing the lipstick back into her purse and zipping it shut. Tia waited to leave the car until the old lady rounded the corner – she didn’t want to be responsible for shocking the woman into a heart attack.

Inside the office, standing in the window, Will watched the car, the old lady, and who could only be his eleven o’clock appointment. The woman behind the wheel didn’t exactly match what he’d pictured based on their phone call, but he’d been right that she would stand out in the town. When the car door opened and a garish high heel that matched the newly painted lips emerged he let a smile play beneath his mustache. Leave it to Wiggins to have a tart like this inherit his house. What someone who would choose those shoes would do in this small town was beyond him. Will wanted nothing more than to get out, to start over somewhere that was still alive. He was trapped here until he sold his way out and, given how flat and forgotten it was here every day felt like he’d be stuck there forever.

Doing transactions like what he expected this woman – Tia was all she’d given him over the phone – to want was what he was used to. The only exciting thing about it was likely to be her shoes. He took one last sip of his coffee, winced at its burnt taste, and moved to open the door.

The Storyteller, Continued

The Storyteller (March 2020, Week 2 Day 7)

“Mama?”

“What baby?”

“Tell my a story?”

“Me, baby. Tell me a story.”

“Tell ME a story?”

Crystal closed her eyes. “Baby, I’m all out of stories.”

“No, mama.” Krissy pulled herself up onto the tall chair across from Crystal, her short limbs dangling for a moment before finding purchase on the railing. “You has one more story.”

“Have, baby.”

“You HAVE one more story. You always has – have one more story.”

Crystal looked at her daughter sitting on her own chair across from her, with tousled hair and smudges on her cheeks. She thought about all the stories she’d had to slog through at work, each one worse than the one before it. She thought about the mamas she’d left who wouldn’t be telling any stories to their babies anytime soon. “Once upon a time,”

Krissy’s face exploded into a smile that crinkled the smudges on her cheeks. “Yay! I like once upon the time stories!”

“A time, baby. Once upon A time. Let me clean you up and get you ready for bed, then I’ll tell you your story.”

Krissy scrambled down the chair and padded off to the bathroom. Crystal cracked her neck, first right, then left, and got up to oversee the clean up. Their apartment was small enough that nothing was ever too far away and large enough for Crystal to be able to have privacy after bedtime. They had moved in earlier that year and she was still working on making it feel like home.

“I brushed my teeth, mama.” Krissy waved her wet and foamy toothbrush around as proof of her words.

“And I’ma brush them once more. You know I need to do my part.”

“Yes, Mama. Aaaaaah.” Krissy opened her mouth and thrust the toothbrush into Crystal’s hand.

Bedtime was their time. No matter how crazy things got at work Crystal made sure she was always home for bedtime. Brushing those little teeth and scrubbing Krissy’s chubby cheeks before helping her into pajamas and tucking her in were the highlights of Crystal’s day.

It took some back and forth to get Krissy into the right pajamas for the evening and to have all the right stuffed animals surrounding her pillow and to have the right nightlights on. As Crystal eased herself down onto Krissy’s bed it was all she could do to keep from climbing in alongside her daughter and falling asleep.

“Mama!”

“What baby?”

“I’m ready for my story.”

“Of course you are.” Crystal leaned back on the wall and let her eyes close.

“Mama, don’t fall asleep!”

Crystal opened her eyes and smiled. “I’m not sleeping, baby. I need to close my eyes to see the pictures.”

“Can I see the pictures?”

“If you close your eyes you just might.”

Krissy snuggled herself down deeper under the covers until only her chin peeked out. “Ok mama, I’m ready. You close your eyes and I’ll close mine.”

Crystal let her eyes flutter shut and started the story again. “Once upon a time,”

“Mama?”

Crystal looked at her daughter and smiled. Krissy’s eyes were squeezed so tight her cheeks almost met her forehead. “What baby?”

“Will the story have a princess or a knight?”

“Are those my only choices?”

Krissy’s eyes popped open. “Mama, Once upon a time stories always have a princess or a knight.”

“How about a knight who is a princess?”

“Oh!” Krissy’s nodding shook the bed. “A Knight Princess?”

“Yeah, baby. Now close those eyes so I can get to telling.”

While Krissy snuggled herself back into place and closed her eyes, Crystal sifted through the faces from work, choosing which one would fuel tonight’s story.

“Once upon a time, there was a princess named Krishanda. She was tall, strong, and smart as all get out. She and her seven sisters worked to keep their kingdom and subjects safe and prosperous. Their mother, Queen Crystalta, ruled all the land that could be seen from the topmost turret of the castle.”

Krissy, her eyes open again, said, “like you and me, Mama”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Am I going to be tall and strong and smart as all get out?”

“Only if you close those eyes and let me finish this story.”

Krissy smiled and pulled one arm out from beneath the covers, reaching for Crystal’s hand. “Ok, mama.”

Crystal continued where she’d left off. “Princess Krishanda was riding her horse through the eastern part of the kingdom when she heard a woman crying. Following the sound, Princess Krishanda led guided her horse down a lane and found a woman not much older than herself sitting on the ground in front of a small house. She held her head in her hands and her tears dripped onto her skirts.”

Crystal had almost been moved to tears by her final interview of the evening. It was always hardest when the woman sitting across from her, shackled to the chair, was someone who reminded herself of herself. Thinking ‘there but by the grace of God go I’ was never a good feeling, not in her line of work.

“What’s the matter, kind woman?” Princess Krishanda asked as she climbed off her horse.

The woman, not used to having a princess address her directly, stopped crying and swiped at the tears on her cheeks as she scrambled up to standing. “Your highness, forgive me.”

“My name is Krishanda, Princess Krishanda if you must be formal. Please, tell me why you are crying.”

They never expected compassion, and it was often all Crystal had that she could give them. Compassion and dignity were in short supply out in the world and especially in the criminal justice system.

The woman gave a small bow before answering. “Princess Krishanda, I’ve lost my son to the dragon’s den.”

“Mama! Dragons!”

“Hush, baby.”

“Dragons are scary!”

“Should we stop the story and finish tomorrow?”

“No, mama. Princess Krishanda will take care of the dragon and the lady and the son. Right? But maybe she won’t hurt the dragon, either?”

Crystal chuckled, warmed by her daughter’s concern, “Baby, do you want to tell this story instead of me?”

Krissy squeezed her eyes shut again.

“Princess Krishanda secured her horse and followed the woman into her home to hear the rest of her story. She sat the woman down, took leaves from her pouch and made her some tea, and then sat across from her to listen. “Tell me what happened, everything that happened, and only speak the truth.”

Crystal thought about how she had taken notes while the woman shared her story, using her laptop as a shield. The clink the chains made as the woman attempted to use her hands underscored her captivity. She had cried the whole time, begging Crystal for the chance to see her son, promising that she had never done this before and wouldn’t do it ever again. Explaining that she’d had to leave to provide for her son since his deadbeat dad had skipped out on them the month before leaving her without resources or a way to get them. Assuring Crystal that she’d left the house locked and the child in the playpen so he wouldn’t get into trouble while she was gone. Swearing that she’d only planned on being gone for an hour round-trip. Justifying her aggression with the officers that blocked her from seeing her son when she returned home.

“Princess Krishanda, my family is in trouble and I had to do something. You saw my land and how barren it is? Our once-fertile crops have stopped growing. Our cows and chickens are hungry and have stopped sharing their milk and eggs. My husband left us in search of work or food or both and hasn’t been seen in twenty-eight days. I am here, alone, with my baby boy and not enough food in the cupboards for either of us. As you can see, we are down to our last turnip. I had to do something to keep us alive.”

“Mama?”

“What baby?”

Krissy sat up and rubbed her eyes. “This is a scary story.”

Crystal put her hand on Krissy’s cheek. “Are you doubting Princess Krishanda, baby?”

“Oh!” Krissy’s eyes brightened. “The Knight Princess! She will save the day!” Krissy shot one arm up into the sky as if she were pointing a sword.

“I sure hope so, but only a certain little girl stops interrupting and we can find out what that dang dragon has done and fix it.”

Krissy giggled and put her arm down. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I need to go potty before we find the dragon.”

Crystal pulled the covers back and moved some of the stuffed animals out of the way. “Go on and take care of your business.”

As Krissy padded off to the bathroom Crystal rested her head in her hands and looked around the room. This was the most finished room in the apartment. She had filled the walls with art and words to surround her daughter with images and messages of strength.