Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.6 - Fírí

“Don’t worry. I was just leaving.” I spun on my bare heel and walked out of the room.

Behind me, the old woman feebly said, “But dear. . .”

She hadn’t even asked if I was vegetarian. She just expected me to eat meat. Welcome to Hicksville, population clueless and backwards. What did I expect? You ain’t in Narakamíníkı anymore, baby.

I threw open the bedroom door. I’d left it open. On the newly-made bed sat my jeans, sweatshirt, socks, panties––folded and stacked. I picked them up. Clean. I flipped open my suitcase and tossed the clothes inside, but stopped before shutting it. The burgundy sweatshirt had a dark patch––a stain. I unfurled the shirt and held it out with both hands. Several dark blobs in a tie-dye sort of pattern. Blood? My forehead, my elbows––not even a scratch. But the stain was reddish. I held it up to the light and to my eye, scratched it with a chipped-paint nail. But that did nothing.

“I’m terribly sorry.” I turned my head. Vata stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her red skirt. “I was unable to remove the stain. Blood sets very fast, you know.”

I glanced at the sweatshirt. “But where’d the blood come from?”

The gray-haired woman smiled, accentuating her wrinkles. “We will not turn you in to the police. Please do not leave so quickly. You had a traumatic experience. You need to rest and recuperate. We only want to help you however possible.”

Good news!

Who would have guessed? Hunger isn't necessary: UN sees no need for hunger.

Which is good, because I'm hungry right now.

Happy Boss' Day...

Did you get your boss anything today? Yeah, me neither.

A little word on plurals and possessives apostrophes, then. Never use an apostrophe for a plural. Not even when discussing the 1840s or "Ps and Qs." When writing a possessive of a word ending in S, add an apostrophe and another S: bus's. But don't add an S if it's a plural ending in S: buses'. If the word ends in two Ss, the possessive is just an apostrophe: boss'. Never put three Ss in a row. That would just look silly and it's not like you pronounce three Ss. But if you have more than one boss, I suppose you should write it as Bosses' Day.

Thank you and good night.

Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.5 - Bhanar

I shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have been in that kitchen, that house, that town. I shouldn’t have been on that road. I’d been going west when I should’ve been going east. I missed the turn. Idiot. And Mé‘ısí all busted up, too. Pétíso-damned idiot. I mopped up the last bits of egg with my toast. I really should’ve stayed on the freeway.

“Why aren’t you eating, dear?”

Fírí’d only barely touched her hashbrowns––and nothing else. She looked guilty, eyes averted from Vata.

I gestured at her plate with my fork. “My stomach’s still got room.”

Fírí handed me her food. “Sure. Here.”

I didn’t know why shoe wasn’t eating and I didn’t really care. The rabbit was kind of stringy, but I didn’t cook it and I didn’t pay for it so I wasn’t complaining. Vata frowned, but went back to the dishes.

Somewhere in the house, a motor started. The garage door. Fírí watched at me as I took a mouthful of eggs covered in ketchup. She grimaced distastefully. I guess I wasn’t a proper-enough eater for her. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kılímı, for your hospitality. It’s much more than anyone could possibly expect after causing you the trouble we’ve done. But I––”

Between her and Vata, a door that I thought was the pantry opened and Pí‘oro entered, removing his cap. He set two bags of groceries on the counter and smiled at Fírí. “Could you please remove your car from my garage? Tamé will be here this morning to tow it to the station. Until then, I think it can remain safely outside.”

There's still time for hiking!

Dayhike to Snow Lake today. Chilly and cloudy and a little bit rainy. But Snow Lake is a good destination for that sort of thing. You get the clouds rolling up from the Middle Fork Snoqualmie valley and pouring out over the lake. Dozens of people on the trail. Over fifty cars at the trailhead.




Here's Catherine and Matthew, the only two people on the hike with me. Catherine organized it, but I was the one who suggested Snow Lake. She says this is the sixth time she's hiked this year and every time it's rained on her.


Viewpoint rock! We arrived right when a guy was getting out of his bivy sack. He'd slept right there at the viewpoint.


We went down to the lake, ate a snack at the lunch rock. Bluejays and camp robbers were very interested in what food we might have had.


The creek crossing. See the rain. Feel the rain. But don't mind the rain.

Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.4 - Fírí

Our plates had strips of fried rabbit, a large pile of scrambled eggs, a larger pile of hashbrowns that I hadn’t even seen Vata cook, and a slice of toast. Orange juice, milk, jam, butter, and ketchup quickly followed. “Eat up, dears!”

“Are you not joining us?” asked Bhanar.

“No, no. I ate breakfast two hours ago. Eat up.” She turned her back and started washing dishes.

I drank almost half the juice in one gulp, then clunked the glass down. Ugh. Concentrate.
Bhanar dug right into his food, shoving rabbit and egg and potato in his mouth all together. I picked up my fork and stabbed some hashbrowns from near the edge of the plate. Hot, greasy, bland. I globbed ketchup on them.

As I ate, my brain started to work. I had to get out of there. I didn’t think the cops had caught Zhíno. Bhanar had complained loudly last night about that. That meant my insane boyfriend would be back. The car was here. I’d hid it in the garage after Pí‘oro left––so the cops wouldn’t tow it and get my fingerprints off the guns––but as soon as I blew town, I didn’t care what happened to it. Zhíno, though––Zhíno would be killed if he didn’t get it back.

“Why aren’t you eating, dear?” Vata’s hands held a sudsy bowl over the sink. Her brow furrowed.

I looked at my plate, meat and eggs untouched.

Green Desert - Chapter 1

1.1.1 - Fírí
1.1.2 - Bhanar
1.1.3 - Fírí
1.1.4 - Bhanar
1.1.5 - Fírí
1.2.1 - Pí‘oro
1.2.2 - Bhanar
1.2.3 - Fírí
1.2.4 - Pí‘oro
1.2.5 - Bhanar
1.2.6 - Fírí
1.3.1 - Pí‘oro
1.3.2 - Zhíno
1.3.3 - Bhanar
1.3.4 - Fírí
1.3.5 - Pí‘oro
1.4.1 - Zhíno
1.4.2 - Bhanar
1.4.3 - Fírí
1.4.4 - Pí‘oro
1.4.5 - Zhíno
1.4.6 - Vata
1.5.1 - Bhanar
1.5.2 - Fírí
1.5.3 - Pí‘oro
1.5.4 - Zhíno
1.5.5 - Vata

on to Chapter 2!

Right War, Wrong Reason

So the southern states hold up the constitution and say it gives them the right to secede, and the North better get their armies out of the South. The federal government replies, "No it doesn't," and refuses to leave. So the South starts shooting.

What a stupid way to settle a constitutional disagreement.

Shouldn't they have consulted the Supreme Court? It's the court's job, after all, to settle disputes of this nature. There's no need to resort to violence. We had a political process in place and they all threw it out the window so they could go get some rebs/yanks.

Maybe it's a good thing the liberals don't have guns. If they did, a new civil war would be a fair fight. . .

Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.3 - Bhanar

“Rabbit.” The old woman chuckled, the tassels on her vest dancing. Yellow blouse, flowing red skirt. She looked like a farmhand seventy years out of date.

Rabbit? No wonder I didn’t recognize the smell. “Um. . . Is rabbit a usual breakfast in Sarıma?”

Fírí snorted a laugh. Vata shook her head while she continued to push the meat around with a spatula. “No. Nor in this house. But we will not waste Névazhíno’s gifts.” The God of Animals. With her free hand, Vata grabbed an egg, cracked it on the edge of the pan, and poured it alongside the cooking meat.

“Do you need any help?”

She added two more eggs to the pan, scooping the rabbit onto a plate. “No thanks, dear. Go ahead and sit down.”

Four chairs. I took the seat to Fírí’s left, facing Vata. Fírí looked at me––studied me. She had blue eyes, pale skin, her hair drawn back in a ponytail.

“Where are you from, kid?”

I bristled at the “kid,” but I tried to hide it. I mean, she was only four years older than me. Who was she to talk to me like that? “Zhuphío, Kètnít.”

She flashed a stunning smile. “Where are you moving to?” She’d seen my full truck.

“I will be going to college in Morízhoso‘ono.” Classes didn’t start until the middle of next month. I still needed to find an apartment.

“Then why were you headed west?”

“Here you go,” said Vata, setting a steaming full plate in front of each of us.

Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.2 - Fírí

I stared at my face in the bathroom mirror. Had I dreamed the whole thing? My forehead was smooth, cut-free. My elbows and ribs, too. I must’ve at least dreamt the tripping and hurting myself part. The shooting and the old couple and the foreign kid were all too real.

I opened the door, flipped the lights off, and headed down the ocean-blue-painted hall. Vata was cooking breakfast. The kid––Bhanar––sat rumpled on the living room couch. He didn’t make eye contact. I glared at him. “Nar.”

He looked up and mumbled a question.

“Don’t stare.” Teenagers are so immature. As I walked away, I smiled. Here on Narasha, Bhanar probably wasn’t even ten yet.

The whole house was one bold color after another and the kitchen was no exception. Ugly-ass bright green. Vata stirred something in a fryingpan. Meat. My stomach turned. “Just sit down, dear. It’s almost ready.”

The table had already been set, minus the plates and glasses. I pulled out a creaky wood chair and sat on the floral cushion.

Behind me, Bhanar shuffled across the linoleum. “What are you cooking?”

Vata smiled broadly. “Rabbit.”

Strange memories––dreams––flashed through my head. Darkness. Flickering firelight. A bloody knife. A cloaked figure in shadows. An old hand reaching at me.

I found my sock!

You know that sock that had been missing? I found it. It was wrapped up in the fitted sheet that I washed the same time. . .

Never throw the lone sock away!

Breakfast

Here was my view during breakfast:



And half a bowl of oatmeal later:

Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.1 - Bhanar

I awoke to sunlight. Yellow curtains, flower wallpaper. Where the hell was I? I sat up. The sofa springs squeaked. My trip-clothes bag lay on a magazine-covered coffee table. Someone was whistling in another room.

And then it hit me––the gunfights, the police questioning me far into the night, the kind old couple, the blonde woman. . .

I wore shorts and a tshirt––a different one than last night. The smell of bacon cooking––but no, it wasn’t bacon. My stomach growled anyway. I disentangled my feet from the sheets and blanket, but right before I stood up, a door down the hallway opened and out stepped the blonde––Fírí. She, too, wore different clothes now––gray sweatpants that hid her figure and a small white tshirt that didn’t. As she walked towards me, it was apparent she’d unfortunately put on a bra.

“Nar,” she said, stopping with contraposto and arms akimbo. Barefoot.

“Yeah, what?” Nar is my nickname.

“Don’t stare.” With a flick of her long hair, she strutted off towards the whistling and the almost-bacon.

I hopped up, accompanied by a loud squeak from the couch, and followed her. Green kitchen with white cupboards and a big wood table. Through the screen door, a backyard full of chicken coops, cages, and pens. A pig wandered into view. I turned to Vata by the stove. “What are you cooking?”