BreitenBUSH Hot Springs

The brochure was enticing, showing pools of steaming water and clean, happy people, smiling. The brochure also stated that a stay there included three hot, buffet style, organic, vegetarian meals. This was a place run by a group of about 20-30 people, who proclaim themselves as "keepers of mother earth, there to protect and share the wonder of her fruits, without exploiting her bounty."

Didn't stop the bastards from graciously charging us $56 per person. Pretty successful keepers, I'd say.

The three "bountiful" meals consisted of the following:

Dinner:
Some cold pasta noodles, with some tomato sauce tossed on top of them, along with some peas mixed in; some dry ass lentils, a small piece of vegan, hard, dry black bread that looked like a piece of turd; some cold green tea; and a mixture of mushy broccoli and nuts. Mm.

Breakfast the next day:
Non-sweetened oatmeal, with dried cranberries (I was ravenous at this point and decided that I would raid the tea bar and heap a motherload of brown sugar and honey on top as well); a dry and brittle lemon poppyseed muffin (the size of half my palm), and some organic fruit.

Lunch: Well, we didn't bother to stay for lunch, as at this point, we were beginning to seek out berries and mushrooms around the campground and I became concerned when my lotion started to smell edible.

Not only that, but I'd like to mention that the happy, clean, smiling people on the brochure turned out to really be happy, sweaty, hairy, dirty hippies. I wonder if they hired models for the brochure shoot or if they just got lucky on the day that they shot those photos. I would venture to say that the former is more likely.

The scariest part about BB (as my husband, Damian, and I call it now because after we left, we swore to each other that we would never utter the full name) was the part of the brochure which I had rather ignorantly skimmed over...

There were two areas of hot springs...one area was behind the office and it consisted of 3 springs that were of differing temperatures. The other area was behind the mess hall..err...lodge...and was called "the medicine wheel." This was four closely set up hot tubs whose water was supplied through the springs, also starting at a warmish temp and ending at a "make your ass look like a lobster" temp.

The part on the brochure that I didn't pay much attention to was the little detail about "bathing attire being optional in bathing areas."

We ate "dinner" and set up camp. When it grew dark out, we got into our swimsuits and tried to make our way to the three natural hot springs. This journey consisted of us walking around in circles over and over again in the nearly absolute abyss of darkness (all the while Damian claiming that he knew exactly where we were and where we were going).

The camp runs on solar energy (which is truly awesome), but the lighting at night consists of some low to the ground navy blue, teeny-tiny lamps that don't allow you to see farther than where the blue halo casts its pathetic little umbrella of "light." We did have a flashlight, but the beam provided a restricted diameter of light.

Finally, we stumbled upon a guide who was heading to God only knows where and he whipped out a little hand drawn map and showed us where to go.

We followed the written directions and stumbled down some path, which was surrounded by neck-high, dry grass. The sound of the river gushing wildly by, combined with my only source of light being my rubber flashlight, made me feel confused and unsure of my footing. I held onto Damian as we rounded a corner.

Hearing loud whispers, I gasped, blindly trying to make my eyes see what they could not in the darkness. I grabbed the flashlight out of Damian's hand and let it make its way up the path. Somehow, having control of the only source of light within the vicinity made me feel a little bit better.

The light hit a pile of clothes on a rail.

Having been holding hands, I let my husband go, venturing on ahead. Not having any idea of where my beam would lead me, I pointed my beam of light into the steaming corner of a FLOATING ALABASTER BOOB!

Above the boob was an old lady with matted, wet hair. She opened her half-closed eyes.

Sucking in my breath and lowering my eyes in embarrassment, I tried to act nonchalant, as I quickly brought the obscene focus of light down onto my feet. I reached out for Damian and found him a few feet to my right. I could almost FEEL the smirk on his face. Why the hell had I grabbed the damn flashlight anyways?! I guess his Native American instincts had told him to not venture as far as my Polish ones had.

Damian slipped his fingers in between mine and gently pulled me further down the path. When I thought we were out of earshot, I let out a nervous and embarrassed shriek, followed by hysterical laughter. Damian and I both laughed uncontrollably, breathlessly trying to reign in the volume of our cracking up, as the flashlight's beam whipped up and down, across the path.

As we talked in nervous and hushed tones, giggling and trying to figure out if we wanted to try and get in with our bathing suits or if we should just go back to our tent, out of the darkness came a stark naked young woman with a shockingly full bush -- right into the path of our perverted flashlight. She wore a towel across her SHOULDERS, of all places, and was followed by a young, also VERY naked guy...who also had a bush.

Damian and I sucked our stomachs in and turned to the side, allowing the nudists to pass us, without having to actually make any physical contact with them.

It was at this point when I realized WHY the camp was so dark.

Once they were out of earshot, we began our nervous heina-like laughter, cracking up like little school children who had just walked in on their parents making out, laughing so hard that we had tears running down our cheeks and were gasping for air.

Eventually we regained our composure and resumed our pow wow, deciding on what we were going to do next. We agreed on walking further down the path and checking out the other hot springs. If they were vacant of naked strangers, we could get in and relax. If they were all occupied, we would turn back around and at least get another round of mad laughter out of it.

We walked along the path, our flashlight leading the way, bobbing low to the ground this time.

The air was cool and smelled of mineral and water and dried wild grasses.

After walking for quite some time, we eventually reached the next hot spring "hot tub," which happened to be empty, fairly isolated and after dipping my big toe in it, the perfect toasty temperature. Feeling naughty, we stripped off our clothing and giving each other a look, we shrugged out of our bathing suits.

I don't know what possessed us to do this, as we are both pretty private people, but we got naked and slipped into the hot, swirling water. Perhaps it was the thrill of the experience or the general naughty, happy mood we were in, but the bubbling mineral water felt delicious against my skin and I quickly relaxed, feeling the smooth warm stone cradle my butt and back.

After relaxing for a few moments, I looked over at Damian (who looked equally blissful). With a glint in his eye, he grabbed my hand and pulled me onto his lap. Giggling, I kissed him. Just as things were getting good, we heard approaching humming and I jerked off Damian's lap quickly, splashing as I took my spot next to him again.

With wide eyes and my mouth frozen in an "O," I looked over at my husband questioningly. He looked equally as panicked, but he shrugged sheepishly, understanding that there wasn't enough time for us to get out and wrap ourselves in towels before the owner of The Hum arrived.

I looked around in a rising panic, searching for something--anything--to cover myself with. I briefly considered tearing a branch off the nearby tree. Instead, I settled for sinking low into the pool, until water lapped at my chin. I also laced my fingers together and brought them close to my mouth while I pushed my floating breasts down and covered my nipples with my arms as I doubled over, scrunching my thighs to my stomach to cover my Goody.

I watched in horror as a naked middle aged man in sandals came around the last shrub on the path and seeing us, smiled openly and continued humming. His flacid penis jiggled as he kicked off his sandals and threw his towel over a tree truck.

His pasty body was covered with a thick layer of curly hair. He was balding and had a sunken chest with mandatory middle aged matching beer belly. He wore a gaudy chain link necklace and his toenails needed to be cut.

Averting my eyes from the horrific scene unfolding, I glanced at Damian whose eyes were already averted and whose skin flamed of embarrassment even in the dim moonlight.

The Naked Guy dipped his toe into the water and looking pleased, slowly lowered himself into the water. As he sat down, he first tried to make eye contact with Damian, but seeing that my husband was mentally back in our tent, rocking back and forth in a fetal position, he moved his gaze to me as he finished sinking into the spring.

"UGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," he grunted loudly, looking directly into my eyes, as he sat with a wide grin of ecstasy on his face.

A manic bubble of laughter escaped through my lips, as I looked down and I heard Damian trying to hold back his own, with a rush of air escaping through his nose and a clicking in the back of his throat.

I bit down hard on my bottom lip as I heard, "UUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH" again, tears of imprisoned laughter rolling down my face. I saw Damian's face contort with effort as he, too, tried to control his laughter.

I couldn't stand it anymore and I stood up suddenly, grabbing Damian's wrist and pulling him up and out of the hot spring with me, sending waves of water splashing loudly into The Grunting Naked Guy's face and open mouth. As I grabbed my towel and threw Damian's toward him, I heard TNG sputtering and as we ran off barefoot, wrapping the towels around us, I wished that I had taken the time to read the brochure more carefully.

A Night in the Life of an EMT

I roll out of the lumpy futon, standing up and stretching.

"Serg, get up. We have a call," I mumble. Sergio sits up as if on command and comes stumbling down from the top bunk.

Silently, methodically, like robots, we quickly throw on our scratchy uniform shirts over our comfy tees, tucking them in. We walk into our boots and grab the items we will be needing: the radio, keys to the ambulance, the clipboard. I open the door, exiting the station, and am slapped in the cheeks by the crisp air. I am instantly struck by the idea that I should have taken my jacket with me, but almost as instantaneously, I remind myself that every time that I have taken my jacket, as soon as we get to the patient and my adrenaline kicks in, I am sweating and wondering why in God's name I had taken the jacket in the first place!

Serg climbs into the driver's seat and I sit in the passenger's seat. During night calls, Serg usually drives to wherever we are going and then we will take turns driving to the ER. I pull my hair back into a looped ponytail and turn on the XM radio. First I look for Frank's Place, a station that plays all old school 1930-40s music; I'd be willing to listen to anything, but Sergio hates "anything in the top 40," so Frank's seems like a good compromise. It's now time to program our desination into the GPS. Quickly moving through each screen, I find the facility and push on the "go to" button. The GPS system takes less than a second to find it; then a map of our surroundings pops up and within moments we are en route with street by street directions to light our way.

Pulling up to the facilitiy, we decide that I will run this call. We jump out of the rig and walk over to the back, popping the back doors open. I grab the jump bag and Serg grabs the gurney. I pull out four gloves out of the box and automatically hand him two. Within a minute we are headed inside.

It is the middle of the night and the hallways of the convalescent home are eerily quiet. As we pass by the rooms, soft sounds coming from mutiple television sets wander out into the hall. Pine scented cleaning agents mingle with the smell of soiled linens, a smell that I cringe at, but have grown quiet familiar with. It's strange how certain smells creep up into your nostrils and grab onto your olfaction, not letting go for hours or days...this smell definitely falls into that category.

My mind wanders as we walk toward the nurses' station. I am sure that I will never put my parents in a place like this. I am sure that I will always be able to care for my parents without putting the burden on someone else. They took care of me for the first twenty years; the least that I can do is care for them in their last twenty.

My day (or rather-night) dreaming is interrupted by our arrival at the nurses' station. Three tired looking ladies sit, chatting, and writing. "Hello ladies, we're here to pick up Ms. Soandso."

A chubby faced Filipina in a gorgeous, long braid starts walking down the hall, indicating that we should follow her. She probably just came on duty because the air the tails her smells like soapy heaven. I long for a shower and am reminded that it has been almost 18 hours since I started my shift, hence, almost 19 hours since I last showered. I wonder how I smell. The most that I can hope for is that I don't smell like anything at all. Nurse Filipina has one of our envelopes with her, filled with all of the patient's information. She briefly describes the problems that her patient has been having: shortness of breath, congestion, with a slight fever.

We round the corner and walk into the patient's room. In the second bed is a tiny, elderly black lady who is curled up into a ball. She looks so little in the middle of that bed. I immediately walk up and grab her hand gently. I gauge her pulse while I try to get a general impression of how she is doing. Her pulse is fast, too fast, fluttering irregularly beneath her skin like a baby bird caught below. Her breathing is rapid and shallow, her nightshirt soaked with perspiration. I nudge her shoulder, calling out her name. When she doesn't respond, I do a trap pinch, squeezing the area between her shoulder and neck, using my thumb and four fingers. On a person who is awake, a trap pinch is very painful and almost always invokes a response, even in people who are playing oppossum. Nothing. I call out her name and repeat the process. Again, nothing. Worry begins to creep in.

I ask Sergio to get her blood pressure while I continue talking to the nurse, trying to get a more clear history. As we talk I unzip the jump bag. I grab a non-rebreather mask and undo the curled tubing. The nurse tells me that Ms. Soandso was doing fine this afternoon, but when she came to check on her this evening to give her the scheduled meds, she was in a bad state, and it looks like she has gotten even worse since we were called. I attach the tubing to the oxygen tank and inflate the bag on the NRB.

"Resps at 36 times per minute," Serg calls out to me, brow furrowed. Normal breathing is between 12-20 breaths per minute. This patient is in obvious distress; it's time to get her going. I lift her head as I try to put the rubberband attaching the mask to her face on. Her head is dead weight and when I take my hand away, my glove is wet with sweat. I turn the NRB up to 12LPM. We position the gurney next to Ms. Soandso's bed. It's always a struggle to try and move the bed or the gurney so that they are fairly level; that way, when you're moving a patient, you're working with a more stable environment. This time, Fate works in our favor and the two line up almost perfectly in only one try. We strip the bed, pulling the bedsheets away from the corners. We gather up the slack underneath her and on-the-count-of-three, we slide her over to the gurney. We quickly buckle her. I pick up the jump bag as Serg grabs our paperwork from the nurse, who thanks us and waves.

Once outside of the doors of the ambulance, we get the rig open and get the gurney inside. The smell of ambulance floats out. How can I explain what that smell is like? A combination of what the hallways in hospitals smell like and the smell of an old car combined. Not pleasant, but familiar. I toss the radio to Serg, who will call the ER and give them a ringdown, a report of who we are bringing in and what state she is in. Sergio closes the back doors and as he runs over to the front, just for a brief second, I am left alone with a very sick lady in the back of a very lonely, dark ambulance.

The darkness is broken as Serg climbs in and starts the engine. Automatically, the lights and power come on in the back of the ambulance and I am in business! I switch the NRB tubing to the main tank on the rig, turning off the portable gurney tank as I go. I reevaluate the patient's breathing to see if the treatment that I have given her so far is helping. Her respirations have gone down to 32, but although the oxygen seems to be helping, she is still wheezing and breathing way too fast. I tilt her chin up and increase her oxygen up to 15LPM (the maximum allowed). I take her pulse and blood pressure again, yelling them out over the sound of driving to Serg, who is in the process of driving and giving his hospital ringdown to whichever nurse happened to be lucky enough to pick up the phone in the ER.

I continue to nudge her and do trap pinches, as I call out her name. I ask her to open her eyes for me. I readjust her airway again and am stunned when she begins to ever-so-slightly move her eyebrows up and down; she's trying to open her eyes. I'm reaching her; my heart speeds up even faster as I realize that my treatment is helping this woman. I wipe the sweat that is rolling off my brow onto my sleeve, as I encourage her to open her eyes or squeeze my hand.

"Good job, honey! Keep trying to open your eyes for me! You're doing great. We're almost at the hospital and they're going to take real good care of you there!" I continue to talk to her as the time seems to roll along lazily. I do a quick physical exam and sift through her paperwork, trying to find the list of medications that she is on and what her medical history is. I have to have all this information, including her social security number, date of birth, any known allergies, primary care physician, and any other information that the admitting nurse may want when we arrive at the hospital and I better have any and all that info written down on my glove or memorized or I know I will feel the wrath of an annoyed nurse (there is almost nothing worse, besides the wrath of an annoyed doctor).

I am just shining a penlight into her eyes to check her pupils, as Sergio pulls into the ambulance bay of the ER. I look up momentarily and immediately come back down to her face, as I continue coaching her, all the while I'm trying to gather up the necessary paperwork that I will need in a matter of moments, while I take another reading of her respirations (which are down to 28 per minute now).

Sergio's grinning face greets me as he opens the double doors to the back of the ambulance. "You alright? Lookin' a little frazzled," he says as he pulls the gurney out.

"How's she doing?" he asks, as we wheel her in and I give him a shortened rundown of her improvement. I leave him in the hallway to watch her, as I head over to yet another nurses' station.

DISCLAIMER: Although this story is based on memories and experiences, it is a work of fiction. The patients and facilities are ones of my own mind's creation, molded by a combination of calls, dates, and places.

Epiphany

Thank you, Lord Jesus. I feel like an incredibly stifling weight has been taken off of my wary shoulders, I thought. The soapy water lapped up across my soft, white stomach and I sank even further into the luke cool water. The weather had been frightening, setting records in red hot numbers for weeks, but the last few days had been like hell on earth. I slid down even further until my ember hair and ears were submerged beneath the bath water and all sound, including my breath, were gracefully muffled.

I had an epiphany. I had never believed it myself, or hadn't really believe it anyway, but it is possible for an entirely bright lightbulb to spring to life inside a person's head. I felt freedom. I felt like I was floating on clouds, looking down as all the heaviness fell further and further into the great beyond. My life was about to change; I was about to actually start to live for myself again, to experience life as I had not in years.

This semester was almost done, with finals looming on the horizon, taunting and mocking me with their scantrons. Work would be changing. My hours were about to go down to around 25 a week, instead of the standard 40-50 that I had been putting myself through for months now. I was about to start spending time with my husband, going on romantic and quirky dates, making roadtrips a regular thing again. I was about to begin making love again on a regular basis, seeing friends, taking leisurely strolls around the lake, through the mall, whatever. I was tired of coming home every night around nine, ten, or even later, quickly shoveling some tepid food into my starving mouth, taking a quick bath, during which I would find my eyelids very heavy and quickly would get out of the tub, my heart beating a bit too fast at the thought of drowning in my own soup. I pondered at the thought of people coming to my funeral, crying, and thinking how pathetic I really was for not having the good enough sense to know not to sleep and bathe at the same time.

After the poor excuse for a bath, I would guzzle some scalding tea, numbing my poor tongue for at least a day, causing the skin on the roof of my mouth to annoyingly peel for another. I would exchange a (hopefully) meaningful few words with the love of my life before finding the menu on the Tivo and guiding the cursor to some unoriginal reality show that somehow still manages to amuse me. If I was lucky, I would watch a few moments of amusing banter before my lashes would again grow fat and start to weigh my eyelids down. Damian would periodically ask if I was awake and I, wanting so desperately to be good company and be in his good company, would push my eyebrows up to meet my hairline, making it look like I was kind of awake and still watching the program, so that he would not leave my side to attend to all the other eight million things that he, too, has to deal with on a daily basis. Eventually, I could no longer keep up the farce and would awaken some time later (anywhere between an hour to almost morning) and drag my ass to bed, no doubtedly bumping into some inanimate object, or at least, ramming one of my innocent toes on some evil corner, on the way.

By the time I would get to bed, rolling into the softness of my comforter, I would realize that I was missing a key component: my husband. So, I would drag myself out of the California King sized bed that is deliciously huge and comfortable (but THAT much harder to climb out of when one is 3/4 asleep and 1/4 coordinated). On the way out to the living room, I would undoubtedly squash the cat as he constantly like to go figureskating in between my legs, doing some fancy figure eights. Oh, his screech is always the first thing that I LOVE to hear in the fog of sleep; however, at least after that point, I'm usually more careful and manage not to stub any more painted toes.

Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I would scrunch my eyes, trying to locate my snoozing husband. Most of the time, I find him sprawled out on the couch, softly snoozing away. Other times though, he will try to thoroughly freak me out by sleeping on a body pillow out on the balcony. This has become a new phenomenon with him since the hot weather began and as much as I wonder about my dear old hubby, I can only imagine what it must look like to someone passing by on the pathway, thinking how sad it is that the nice man's wife kicked him out of the house and so now he has to sleep on the balcony floor.

I will try to wake him up and usually it will take a few times. Many times, I think he is awake and I make my way back to bed, thinking that he is right behind, only to discover a few minutes later, as I lay alone in bed, that he is still snoring out on the balcony. Thus, the whole process of me making my way through the entire house begins again. Sometimes he pulls this trick on me more than once a night, until I eventually give up, but come to find out when I awaken in the morning that my lovely nomad has ended up in bed next to me; when, though, I do not know.

As morning rolls around, I usually wake up a few minutes before the alarm clock goes off, some sort of secondary internal buzzing in charge of my responsibility.I have a small breakfast, get dressed, and head off to work. After work, I go directly to school. After school, I come home and the whole process begins again. I feel like Bill Murray in "Groundhog Day." Something has to change; no person can possibly live like this and be happy-- I believe that it is purely impossible. And so I did some heavy duty thinkin'. I spent days pondering on how I could make my life more enjoyable, better. I prayed, I thought, I cried, I wrestled with my responsibility demons, who tried to strong arm me into ignoring my needs. They tried to push me into a corner, sneering, leering, and mocking me, telling me that I was a spoiled brat, that if I veered off of my path now, I would never amount to anything, that I would never attain my goal of going to medical school and finishing. They poked me and harassed me, they prayed on my insecurities and twisted my arm behind my back, telling me that I better do the right thing or else I was really going to regret it. They were right.

However, for me, right now, the right thing is taking a step back. Life is not supposed to be a marathon sprint; instead, life should be a relatively steady walk, mixed with periods of running for your life and periods or rest. No one person can possibly survive living life like some sort of freak of nature, who never stops for a sip of water or a break. It's not human and I am just that. And so the time has come to begin a new chapter of my life. I'm going to accomplish things, not just work and school related. I want to pursue not just the things that I HAVE to do, but the things that I WANT to do. I'm sick of my demons; it's time for them to take a hike ,while I take a walk in the park.

Armagedon

We were laughing, cracking jokes, having a great time despite the tremendous heat and humidity. The room was excruciatingly hot, painfully humid. The very first meeting of debate club was looking like a real success and I couldn't help but be proud of my achievement. Looking around the classroom, I surveyed my new partners in argumentative crime. Jessie was flushed with the heat, telling a story, gesturing wildly in a animated fashion, her blonde curly hair bouncing excitedly. Timmy was deeply enthralled in her tale, periodically laughing and nodding his head enthusiastically, sweat flying as he did so. Neela, always the shy one, sat to the side, listening intently, smiling politely. She looked the least affected by the mucky weather. Perhaps her slight frame had something to do with it. My best friend and VP was munching methodically on a bag of chips, reading the school newspaper, totally oblivious to all the chaos around him. As if sensing my gaze, Craig lifted his head and gave me a Doritoed smile. I couldn't help but crack one of my own in response, as I'm sure he had no idea that his teeth were covered in cheese. The room also included about four other people who were new and, I could tell, not just slightly overwhelmed with the lot of us. Hopefully, we wouldn't scare them away before they got to understand that we really weren't that scary.

Mr. Johnson, sat at his desk, eating an egg sandwich, which I found to be utterly disgusting, but he found absolutely delicous. I could not, for the life of me, understand how something with that texture would possibly taste good. He, however, loved those damned sandwiches, constantly parading that yellowy mess of mayo and egg around me. Not only that, I thought, but how could he possibly keep it fresh in this insanely fiery weather? As I pondered the mystery of our advisor's choice of nourishment, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.

Walking through the door of room 1012 was my future husband. Not that he knew it, but whatever. Demetrius was quite possibly the most beautiful human being alive. The best part was that he didn't even know it, which made him that much more alluring. Dark brown curly hair and a tan complexion punctuated his hazel eyes. He had a crooked smile and his nose and cheeks were sprinkled with tiny freckles. He was incredibly tall and always smelled like suntan lotion. I couldn't help but stare as he walked in my general direction and actually made the earth move beneath my feet. Wow.

My daydream was abruptly interrupted as I realized that the movement was not confined to my imagination. A moment of silence was followed by a tremendous BOOM and screams all around. The room was shaking, windows shuddering violently, so violently that I was sure that at any moment they would come crashing in. Somehow I got my wits about me, and began screaming at everyone, "Get down under the desks now! Protect your head and neck!"

The earth was moving an such an aggressive manner, that my stomach felt as if it were in my throat. The ceiling panels began to fall down, one by one, crashing onto the floor and desks. People were trying to scramble underneath the desks, but we were all being thrown around like rag dolls, as if waves were passing beneath their very feet, making balance a moot idea.

Neela was frozen in her seat, her eyes wide and mouth frozen open in a delicate mock scream. "Neela, get down!" I screamed at her, trying to make my way across the room, but continuously being knocked around, feeling like I was on some twisted ride gone terribly wrong. I felt a pop on the top of my head and an excrutiating pain made its way down through my body, like a lightning bolt. I had been hit by a ceiling panel. I felt a hot wave coming down my forehead and I touched my fingers to it, bringing my hand back with a thick coat of black redness. From the hallway, I heard more shrieking, crying. The noise was incredible and the movement in the earth seemed to have no end. I watched as the world ended and then I was gone.

Heaven or Hell?

Mystery in the Tropics...
Current mood: creative

I lay on the beach with a cocktail in my hand. There is warm sunshine, the heavy scent of coconut suntan lotion, mixed with the saltiness of the ocean. A drop of sweat lazily slides down between my full cleavage into my bellybutton. I lift my too-warm, umbrella-ed, fruity drink to my lips. I can feel the sweet liquid as it burns through my throat, sliding down, with a warm sensation, into my stomach. A seagull squawks somewhere in the distance. The sky is an irradescent blue, the kind of blue that is so bright, that it hurts your eyes to look at it. Soft, wispy clouds roll gracefully through the blue forever and I am struck at the beauty of everything. For a moment, I get a tightness in my throat, overwhelmed at it all. Overwhelmed at how lucky I seem to be, yet how utterly alone I feel. I am not sure how I got here. Literally.

Two days ago, I awoke in a penthouse of a very expensive-looking five star hotel, alone and confused, with no memory.

I remember opening my eyes, immediately furrowing my brow in response to the enormous headache that caused my gut to lurch in a nauseating fashion. Lifting my hand to the side of my head, I became aware of the huge hill that was growing there. Tender to the touch, the area around the bump was encrusted with what appeared to be blood. Wincing in pain, I tried to sit up. Again, nausea overtook my body and I heaved violently over the side of the bed. Nothing came, as it seemed that my stomach had been empty for some time. I wondered how long I had been out and where the hell I was.

Moving cautiously from the edge of the huge four post bed, I stumbled clumsily through the room toward what appeared to be the bathroom. Making the transition from the soft, cushioned carpet to the cool, marbled floor caused me to lose my balance slightly and I held on to the wall. Seeing the light switch, I flipped it up. Nothing. I guess that the lightbulb must have been out. Since it appeared to be some time during the day, there was enough light to see fairly adequately and I made my way to the sink, sliding my hand along the wall for support. The wallpaper is a silky expensive pale green color, with thick gold stripes running vertically up and down, making me dizzy as I looked at them. The bathroom smells of exquisite soaps and shampoos, of cleanliness and luxury. As I came to the gold bowl-like sink, the mirror came into view and I realized that not only did I not remember how I got to where I was, but I also did not remember what I looked like, nevermind, what my name was.

I stared at my reflection, looking utterly confused, at the complete stranger looking back at me. Dark hair, almost black in color, frames my oval face. Pale green eyes stared hauntingly back, framed by short, but very thick lashes. Smeared mascara makes it look like I have dark circles under my eyes, darker than they already are. My nose is long and elegant looking, like that of a Native princess. My lips appear to be cute and pouty, but the swollen, bruised, and broken skin at the corner distorts how they must naturally look. I have what appears to be a perfectly circular beauty mark above my upper lip, so perfect looking that it looks as if it had been carefully drawn on. Just to make sure that it is real, I gently touched my fingers to it and made a single downward wiping motion with my index finger, almost surprised to find it still there as my finger came away.

I looked in the mirror at the reflection of my finger, my hands. Looking down at them, palms down, I observed them inquisitively. Small hands with chipped red nail polish on short, groomed nails. One single gold ring, what looks like a wedding band, on my left ring finger.

Am I married? I thought, alarmed. If so, where is my mate? Alarm, panic, crept in as my heart sped up; did I have children? The thought of a small child roaming around helplessly, somewhere, looking for me, his mother, shook me painfully to the core.

As if something took over me, I pushed aside the nausea and dizziness and sped out of the bathroom toward the balcony. Pulling desperately at the gold handles, I yanked the double glass doors open and reached the edge of the balcony, almost going over. Scrunching my eyelids down, I tried to will my pale eyes to adjust to the bright light more quickly and as if listening, my pupils constricted quickly. What I saw took my breath away...

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Power of a Stranger

I sit at the edge of the hard, wooden seat, inhaling the faint, yet somehow overpowering scent of incense. I am alone. I had been walking down the street, during the somehow always busy weekday; cars, vendors overwhelming the senses with bright lights, sounds, and smells. So full of hurried businessmen and women, speeding by, always looking like they are late to some utterly important meeting.

In shock from the news, I have wandered aimlessly through the streets. For how long I do not know, but when I look up, I am lost in every sense of the word.

The sound of sirens in the distance shriek through even the thick church walls and I suddenly wonder who is in the back of that ambulance. Is it a man or a woman? Young or old? Perhaps it is a child--bleeding, crying, anxious from all the commotion. I feel sad for that person, whoever he or she may be, but I feel even sadder for me and I don't even feel bad about it. What kind of a person am I? I wonder as I stare down at my knotted hands. A tear hits my arm and slides down lazily through a sea of fuzzy blonde hair.

I hear the soft movement of fabric and I look up to see who has joined me in my sanctuary. An older woman, dressed in jeans and a soft yellow cardigan sweater (that somehow manages to look depressing, even with the usually bright lemony shade) sits down next to me. Maybe if I ignore her, she will go away; I am in no mood for pep talks or socializing. I hope that she'll pull the padded knee bench down, pull out her rosary and silenty pray for a few moments, before hurriedly crossing herself and sliding out of the pew and out of my life.

I look down, pretending that she is not there. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her shoes. Soft, worn leather mocassins. No joke, looking like she bought them straight off of an Indian reservation, actual mocassins adorn her freaking feet! Simple, well worn, without any beads or other ornamentally annoying shit. These shoes strike an unnaturally powerful curiosity in me and I am all of a sudden desperate to get a full-on solid look at her, head to toe; however, I don't. Not yet.

She smells nice. Like skin freshly washed with ivory soap. Not too fresh though, not overpowering like she has just stepped out of the shower. Her smell reminds me of my grandmother's kitchen and days spent out in the autumn afternoon, on a worn park bench. She's probably been out all day. Curiosity gets the best of me and I try to use my peripheral vision to get a peek of her face.

Wrinkled, she is actually much older than I first guessed; she is hard and soft at the same time. I know she knows that I am carefully assessing her, deciding if I want any part of her and she is ok with that, giving me my time, not uncomfortable in any way, not fidgeting impatiently. She sits patiently, with her mocassined feet crossed lazily, one over the other, straight ahead of her. A pair of holiday snowman socks stick out between her shoes and jeans. It's September, nowhere near Christmas. I wonder if she is wearing Halloween underwear.

Her hair is a blondish white-ish color. From far away, she could pass for a stunning platinum blonde, the kind of color that upper east side women pay hundreds and hundreds of preshly pressed green papers for. Up close, it is a soft greyish white, with fading blonde on the ends, the young being pushed right out of the roots of her head. She has barely any lashes, but there are some there--hard, pale brown, short and angled straight down. She wears no makeup, except for the standard overdone blush that seems to be a uniform for most older women who are still trying to make some effort at their appearance.

She has a small red stain on the faded pink shirt that she has on underneath her sad sunny sweater. Two thoughts enter my mind simultaneously: where did the stain come from and did that pink shirt have some cheesy logo on it, like "Grandmas do it better" or "What I say goes and I say GO!"?

The stain is a dark red, almost rusty maroon in color. Did she get it while eating a jelly filled donut? Or did she have a bloody nose that morning? Does she even eat or like jelly donuts? She doesn't appear to be overweight, but she is soft and slightly plump the way that most grandmothers should be. Is she on a strict senior's diet where she can't eat things as sinfully dangerous as donuts? Or is she on that diet, but is one of those ball-busting grannies who doesn't give a damn and has herself something naughty at least once a week? Hell, she figures that she earned it by now. And while she's at it, she probably also has a big mug of super caffeinated coffee, with loads of cream and sugar. Yeah, definitely extra cream and sugar. Maybe even a dollop of whipped cream.

Or does she have debilitatingly high blood pressure, which causes her to have occasional nose bleeds? Especially when she is stressed. Oh no, then the donut/sinful coffee diet would definitely be out, no matter how much she wanted them. I wonder if she sits alone at a table in a diner, eating her oatmeal (please hold the brown sugar; I'll take a packet of Equal instead, please) and drinking her herbal tea, watching hungrily as fat truck drivers sit by the bar with their buttcracks hanging out of their stained jeans, stuffing their gobs with those very donuts. Fruity jelly dripping down their chins, swigging the hot, decadent cups of coffees without even realizing how damned lucky they are to have the freedom to enjoy those dilectable treats.

No worry, she probably figures that it's only a matter of time before they retire, obese and unhealthy from their sedentary careers and gluttonous appetites, forced by their doctors and very own fat children to eat the same funless oatmeal and herbal teas that she was now suffering through.

"Honey, con I heelp zou veet samting? Arrrre zou okeee?" she asks in a high-pitched nasally voice, studded awkwardly with a Nordic accent. She has coffee-tainted breath, covered unsuccessfully by a mild mint. I was wrong about the coffee. Maybe she drinks decaf?

I stare at her, embarassed that she has caught me fantasizing about her and her life. I notice she has dark brown eyes that are striking against the lack of eyebrows and lashes and toe-headed hair. She has lots of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, like she has spent most of her life laughing and talking.

"Um, oh, uh. No, ma'am, I'm ok. I've had a bit of a rough day..." I trail off as the reality of my own life sets back in and my voice wavers at the end of the sentence. She stares at me, directly in the eyes and I think that she must have been pretty intimidating in her day.

"Eez zere anysing I con dooo?" she asks, a worried look creating even more wrinkles across her furrowed brow. I believe her. I think she really wants to help. So I let her.

"My grandma died today," I softly say as tears begin to roll down my cheeks again. I can't help it and I am angry at myself for unloading my grief on this stranger, this elderly lady who probably has see enough sadness. I can't help it as I unload my sorrow and so I let my head drop and close my eyes.

I almost immediately feel a soft touch on my wringed hands. She has put her hand on mine. That hand that has been wrinkled with time, contradictedly made rough with decades of hard work and at the same time somehow soft, papery and thin, like an angel's wings. Her fingers envelope mine and a sob escapes me. She brings her other arm around me and silently brings me into her chest.

I am broken, wretching, smooshed against her bosom, against that yellow knitted sweater, against that pink cheesy shirt, my cheek directly on that small red stain. If I close my eyes and just inhale her, she is my granny and I am given an extra moment that should have never come, but somehow has.

HOMOgenous Thinking

Dr. Laura Schlessinger is a US radio personality who dispenses advice to people who call in to her radio show. Recently, she said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22, and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following is an open letter to Dr. Laura penned by a US resident, which was posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative:

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. ..... End of debate.

I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to follow them.

1. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual cleanliness - Lev.15:19-24. The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

4. Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?

6. Eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10. Is it a lesser abomination than homosexuality? I don't agree. Can you settle this?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? - Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help.

Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Your devoted disciple and adoring fan.