Truth & Dare

by Liz Miles

  Dakota was standing by the fire with her arms spread wide. I noticed she had a ring on every finger. The shaman approached her, beating a drum.

  “It’s important,” said cousin Declan. “Family.”

  The shaman was wearing some sort of headdress that had once been part of a goat. He began chanting.

  It’s humiliatin’, I thought. It’s mortifyin’.

  Sad

  One day as I looked out the window at the lovely red trees of autumn I imagined that I saw someone drop an anvil out of a window, an anvil tied to a long rope whose nether end was firmly affixed to my own leg. I saw the anvil disappear. I saw the rope rapidly playing out. I felt the knot suddenly tighten around my leg. The next thing I knew my head fell down on the desk. A student came into my office but I couldn’t talk to him. After a while he went to get the department secretary and the secretary got the department chair and the chair called security and security called an ambulance. For the next few months I spent some time resting and thinking over my recent mistakes. During this period my mother wrote me lots of cheerful letters. She reminded me that, in spite of all of this, there are good things in the world and that it’s important to keep sight of these good things and not to forget them. I noticed she didn’t mention any of these good things by name. I didn’t figure I was one of them.

  The window in my room at the Maine Medical Center was open, and a hummingbird buzzed among some red flowers outside. My husband was staying at Ronald McDonald House. I smelled the smell of burning leaves, heard the sound of rakes moving across suburban lawns. Now and again I sang my aunt’s little song.

  Where am I going to live when I get home?

  One of the things that’s surprised me since I came out of the hospital is the fact that almost everyone I talk to has some sort of similar story to tell. Oh, for heaven’s sake, they tell me. I’ve had times when I thought I was never going to be able to leave the house again. A good friend of mine told me about a period she went through when she took five showers every day. Another friend told me about going to the beach in Florida one time and staying inside with the shades pulled down for six days. Someone else told me he went through a time when he slept less than an hour every night, lying there the rest of the time frozen in self-loathing, insomnia and horror.

  I think sometimes about Perry van Roden, covered with oil paint. I think about my grandfather, buried in an unmarked grave on Hart Island. I think about my aunt, so relieved to find that her own death did not hurt.

  Mostly, though, I think about how fragile we are, how full of love and imagination and hope, and how simply all our little boats can crash upon the rocks. It is a world full of easily broken people, people like my aunt and me, who worry whether or not they’re insane. Maybe like you, whoever you are.

  Strudel

  For weeks before my eighth birthday, Aunt Nora was upstairs in her attic apartment, playing with my present. Whatever it was she had bought me had batteries, that much was for sure. I could hear the thing beeping and whistling as its gears turned and its wheels moved it around the floor.

  On the big day, the doorbell rang and I went to the door and opened it. A horse was standing there. “Hi, Jenny,” the horse said. I could tell that the voice actually came from my father, who was hiding behind the horse, not very effectively as it turned out, because I could see his legs. The next thing I knew, my sister and her friends jumped out from behind some hedges and everyone shouted, “Surprise!” It was very exciting. Moments later, lots of eight- and nine-year-olds were riding a horse around our yard.

  The only problem, of course, was that I didn’t like horses. My sister rode them and my parents went off every weekend to watch her ride while I stayed home and ate pancakes. I didn’t like the way they smelled, I didn’t like the noises they made, and above all I didn’t like having to watch one walk around and around in circles with my sister on its back.

  So after a while I left my parents and my sister and all of her horsey friends and the horse itself and went back inside. For a while I thought about eating the cake by myself, but I knew this wasn’t a good idea because it would too self-evidently declare my sadness. There wasn’t any rule against being sad in my house; you just weren’t supposed to be public about it.

  From the attic came the sound of singing. I walked up the stairs and found the door to Aunt Nora’s apartment open. She wouldn’t live with us much longer. Sunlight filtered down the stairs.

  “Is that you, Jenny?” she called.

  I ran up the stairs to find her in a kind of Japanese kimono she’d made for herself. She bowed to me. “Honorable niece,” she said.

  In her arms was a doll she’d sewn herself out of a sock and some yarn. It had feline ears and long whiskers and luxurious eyelashes. “Her name is Mao-Mao,” she said. “She’s a kittygirl.”

  It was the most wonderful gift in the world. I hugged the kittygirl as hard as I could. I was consumed with astonishment, unable to speak.

  She put a needle on the hi-fi. She’d recently purchased a novelty record by a bandleader named Eddie Lawrence called “Old Vienna.” As his band performed Strauss waltzes, Eddie Lawrence performed a monologue about a strudel-eating contest. The climax of the story was a moment when a giant strudel went out of control and rolled down the Matterhorn, thus destroying Old Vienna once and for all. Zee giant strudel slid down ze mountain and viped out ze entire population! Und zey put up a zign, zaying, “By order of zee emperor, zere will be no strudel eating on zee mountain today.”

  Aunt Nora walked in her kimono to the window and looked out at my parents and my sister and her friends riding their horse in circles around the yard. Light slanted through the window and shone upon the floor.

  “Ah!” Aunt Nora said wistfully. “Zat was Vienna!”

  The clock in the corner softly chimed the hour. I lay on the floor for a while longer and listened to a story about an avalanche of strudel.

  Scrambled Eggs

  BY LIZ MILES

  [Signs in]

  Tweet, bloody tweet. What’s happening? Who knows?

  Imbusyshopping: Mornin my precious. How are you?

  @Imbusyshopping: I’m doing good ta … except for a bruised, breaking and bleeding heart

  Imbusyshopping: Poor darlin … wanna banana yum-yum milkshake? *pouring a delish heart-fixer just for you*

  @Imbusyshopping: That’s so sweet of you but I’m cooking eggs, burning toast and melting mounds of butter …

  @Imbusyshopping: … and I don’t even care if this pus-volcano explodes on my face. And I don’t care if I put on a hundred pounds.

  Yes, cruel world, I’m having high-chol eggs for breakfast.

  So, tweeters, how shall I cook them? Answers in 140 characters, obviously.

  Imbusyshopping: In a creme caramel of course sweetie! Eggs and cream keep anyone’s lips smilin all day:-)

  Halibut4: Oh! I’ve got an amaaazing book on eggs. I can send you 40 recipes. At least!!! I’m emailing some ideas now. I mean, Now!

  @Halibut4: Thanks Hal! And thanks for the link to A Thousand Saucy Salad Dressings *smiling*. One day … I’ll try some. Promise x

  Ramraidit: Cook them eggs on my ass, honey

  @Ramraidit: *fingers up* Creep.

  *looking in cupboard for bourbon* None left. No eggnog for breakfast then.

  So how shall I cook these eggs, breakfast tweeters? Come on. Wakey-wakey!

  Tooley14: Down. Sunny-side down.

  @Tooley14: Not up?

  Tooley14: No, down.

  @Tooley14: Who are you? Do you follow me?

  Tooley14: Or scrambled. If your day is really crap, scrambled. If your day is dead before you even get up … scrambled.

  TinyDeeDee: Yoo hoo! *waving* Bad night darling?

  @TinyDeeDee: Oh Dee! My heart’s broken … He was staring at a blonde ALL night. I went to the bar and saw him in the mirror drooling at her.

  @TinyDeeDee: … size zero, mincing toes—you know—and dancing like a you-know-what. Jes
us.

  TinyDeeDee: *hugs*

  @TinyDeeDee: And then … Casper tried to pretend he’d just “sort of thought she was familiar.” Can you believe that!

  TinyDeeDee: Do you still think Casper’s the One? *firm sisterly hug*

  @TinyDeeDee: I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, Dee. *dabs puffy, teary eyes with balmy tissue* I just want some “sincerity”.

  TinyDeeDee: It’s not like you’re looking for the ideal then? You’re not asking for the world are you?

  @TinyDeeDee: You know what. I am. I want a guy who loves me just like I love him. That’s ideal. And I want It. Casper is/was It.

  @TinyDeeDee: Oh Dee … I can’t see how I can trust him now *more tears* I’ve probably driven him away anyway.

  @TinyDeeDee: He keeps sayin I’m drinking too much. Wouldn’t buy me more than two Manhattans and a daquiri all night.

  @TinyDeeDee: Tight bastard.

  TinyDeeDee: I’m so sad for you, Amy. I’m sitting here hugging me like I’d hug you.

  Ramraidit: You’re avatar is HOT! HOT! HOT!

  @TinyDeeDee: I’m going to block that creep. I’ll ram his tweets down his throat.

  TinyDeeDee: Who’s that bugging you Amy?

  @TinyDeeDee: Some idiot called Ramrod or something. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I yelled at Casper for wanting the blonde. Then he walked out.

  TinyDeeDee: Has he texted or called this morning?

  @TinyDeeDee: No. I’m worried sick, Dee. I’m shaking. I can hardly eat anything. I thought I should have protein … but I can’t face it.

  Halibut4: Just so you know: 1 boiled egg = 6g protein. Your protein RDA depends on your weight—I’ll email a protein calculator link now.

  @Halibut4: Thanks for the emails, Hal. Real sweet of you. Got any cocktail recipes?

  TinyDeeDee: What are you going to do? You should call him. Casper’s fit. Some other girl’ll have him.

  @TinyDeeDee: I know, Dee *weeping uncontrollably* I’m probably too late. The one cute guy I’ve really loved. Casper and me—oh fuck! *dropped egg on floor*

  TinyDeeDee: Call him. You’ve got to. Don’t waste a second or you’ll regret it. Ring now.

  @TinyDeeDee: I don’t know … I think it’s too late.

  TinyDeeDee: Call him! Just sign out and go and call. NOW!

  @TinyDeeDee: Okay Dee, I’ll go and ring. I promise.

  TinyDeeDee: Do it Amy! Or you’ll lose him!

  @TinyDeeDee: I will. I’m shutting my laptop now … I’m picking up my mobile.

  TinyDeeDee: Good luck Amy! Chow hun.

  TinyDeeDee: See ya DeeDee

  Tooley14: You’re lying to yourself.

  @Tooley14: err … what?

  Tooley14: You don’t care. Do you?

  @Tooley14: Who are you? Your profile says nothing. You look sort of kind though. Maybe. Is it you in the avatar?

  Tooley14: Do you really care?

  @Tooley14: About my guy? Course I do. But on days like this …Sometimes I don’t know. Do you care about stuff?

  @Tooley14: Do you? You look sort of depressed. Are you?

  @Tooley14: Looks like you’re gone. Who the fuck are you anyway?

  Better get on with this *ringing my man. Correction: ringing my Once-upon-a-time man*

  • • •

  TinyDeeDee: I’ve heard nothing all day from you Amy. Nothing here, no DM. I’m getting worried.

  @TinyDeeDee: Helo

  TinyDeeDee: Hello! At last! What happened? What did Casper say?

  @TinyDeeDee: Helo brup

  TinyDeeDee: What? Your tweet isn’t coming through right.

  Bum bum burp bum bottom botty

  TinyDeeDee: Amy? You okay? You been drinking? It’s only noon, kiddo!

  Buuuuuuurrrrp

  TinyDeeDee: Amy?

  @TinyDeeDee: Amy has a big botty

  TinyDeeDee: Who is that? Whoever is pretending to be Amy … fuck off!

  @TinyDeeDee: OMG … It’s me now. Me, Amy. It’s okay … just a sec. Oh Maddi

  @TinyDeeDee: Sorry, Maddi’s been playing with my phone again. *telling Maddi off*

  @TinyDeeDee: She’s been in my bag again. I told Mom she’s got to have a phone of her own. Mom says five is too young. Like … not.

  @TinyDeeDee: She found my mini yesterday … just stopped her tipping the whole Campari down her throat *laughing*

  TinyDeeDee: What a minx. But tell me Amy … what happened? Do you wanna DM/email?

  @TinyDeeDee: It’s okay, Casper doesn’t tweet. He’s just a Facebooker (likes to be Mr. Exclusive I suppose) *sigh*

  TinyDeeDee: What happened?

  @TinyDeeDee: He sent a mega-bunch of flowers, “Perfect Pink Radiance for your Perfect Lady,” $55. I looked them up. Card said: Trust me (ha-ha)

  TinyDeeDee: $55! That’s wonderful! Sooo happy for you. *jumping up and down, happy-happy*

  @TinyDeeDee: But Dee—who’d send something like this unless they felt guilty!

  TinyDeeDee: That’s maybe not always, always so. Is it?

  @TinyDeeDee: I’ve met cheaters before. I’ve seen the love-rat pattern. But I can’t tell Casper to go. I can’t just finish it. I love him.

  TinyDeeDee: Why don’t you pop round and see him now … have a heart-to-heart?

  @TinyDeeDee: Can’t do it, Dee. He’d see that as like social terrorism. Arriving without texting first? No way.

  @TinyDeeDee: I’ve got a plan though. I’m going to test him. I’m going to see where his heart is … behind those pecs or in his jeans.

  @TinyDeeDee: I do sort of trust him. But I’ve got to KNOW. He’s real soft and loving. Like when my dad …

  TinyDeeDee: Yes, I know sweetie. How is your mom?

  @TinyDeeDee: She’s okay ’cept when, like yesterday, Maddi said: “Daddy coming home from Afstan?” or something. It set mom off.

  TinyDeeDee: Poor little thing. Your mom too. Tragic. You too, Amy. I’m so sad for you all. *sniffing for real*

  TinyDeeDee: But Amy. What’s the plan?

  @TinyDeeDee: I’m going to set it up so we go to the same Greenwich club. The wiggle-ass is always there. I’m going to create an opportunity.

  TinyDeeDee: An opportunity for what?

  @TinyDeeDee: For Casper and Wiggle-ass to talk—to see what Casper does. I’ll dance with him and get us dancing near to her.

  @TinyDeeDee: Then I’ll say I’m going for a pee. Then I’ll wait for a while *smiling*

  TinyDeeDee: Cunning plan. You gotta tell me what happens. *sisterly kiss*. It’ll be fine. Gotta go and write up this rank college report now.

  @TinyDeeDee: OK. I’ll be back tweeting on Sunday. *hugs*

  Ramraidit: Hey, you wanna share that big botty, Babe? Come sit on my knee. Warm me up huh? Share those big soft buttocks? LMAO

  @Ramraidit: If you weren’t so sad I’d block you. Moron.

  DM from TinyDeeDee: I’m DMing cause I’m worried about that nerd @Ramraidit. Block the creep. You can’t trust people like him here.

  DM to @TinyDeeDee: It’s okay, Dee. No worries. And I sure won’t tell him where I live. *laughing*

  @Tooley14: You still gone?

  Tooley14: No. I’m here. Listening. Mainly to you.

  Tooley14: JJ—my older brother—was shot in Kabul.

  Tooley14: What happened to your father?

  @Tooley14: A bomb killed him and three of his mates. I got to go. I don’t tweet about that.

  Tooley14: Sure thing. It’s like a knife that digs deep isn’t it—talking about those things. I know. It keeps turning.

  Tooley14: Just existing is hard, isn’t it? And some days …

  Tooley14: … not existing seems right. The only way.

  Imbusyshopping: *biggest hug in the world* Amy, honeypie, I’m SO sorry to hear what you just said. So sorry.

  Halibut4: I’m very sorry to hear about your tragic loss.

  Thanks guys. It was a while ago. Okay, I’m going. I got to make a date with my boyfriend.

  Ramraidit: Do you fancy a smoochy dance
with me, Babe?

  @Ramraidit: Sure, yeh! I like to dance with weirdos

  *shaking my head*

  [Signs out]

  • • •

  TinyDeeDee: How’d it go? *waiting to hear how the plan went*

  TinyDeeDee: I’m getting worried. You alright, hun?

  Ramraidit: I’m thinking of you and listening to Fatboy Slim—“I See You Baby (Shakin That Ass).”

  TinyDeeDee: Get in touch when you can, Amy. I’m waiting, thinking of you.

  TinyDeeDee: Am seriously worried about you.

  [Signs in]

  Nothing. Damn blonde.

  Slut.

  Six vodkas n no boy no more.

  Walking home on my own:/ 2 o’clock and Mom’s gonna be climbing the walls.

  Who cares?

  I’m listening to Lady Gaga—“Bad Romance”.

  *slips on kerb* Shit.

  Gonna jump in the river.

  Ramraidit: Hey, you dweeting? I bet you’re singing to me, Babe. We’re dancing, hey!

  @Ramraidit: Yey! This song I’m listening to is so for you.