The Repository

That One Time When I Moved My Blog to Wordpress

2010-07-03T14:01:00.000-07:00

I've switched over to wordpress. The new address is http://zacharylam.wordpress.com/.

That One Time in Science Class When I Had to Use the Eyewash Station

2010-06-29T15:54:00.001-07:00

I remember when I was younger, either in 6th or 7th grade, our science class had a day where we looked at different substances and tried to describe them. A girl, we’ll call her Sally, was sitting across from me at the sulfur station. Between us was the sulfur and we were both staring at it, preparing to describe it visually. I guess Sally was curious about how the powdery stuff would react to being blown on, because all of a sudden she blew on it and I ended up with sulfur in my eyes. It really burned. The teacher, Mr. Densmore (we used to call him Mr. Dense-More because we were clever like that) took me over to the eyewash station and eventually the burning stopped. Afterwards Sally said she was really sorry.

The Time When I Didn't Tip the Cabbie

2010-06-25T16:21:00.000-07:00

One night I was at a friend’s house playing poker. I was probably 16 or 17 at the time. I was planning on getting a ride back home with my mom, but suddenly I got a call from her. She told me that she was in an accident and that the car had been totaled. She was fine and it was later determined that the other car had run a red light. But more importantly, I wasn’t getting a ride home from my mom. I asked her what she thought I should do and she told me to call a cab. I remember I used the house phone because a machine answered on the other side and it already knew the address I was calling from. The taxi got there fairly quickly and I headed home. The driver and I started talking and he turned out to be a really nice guy. I told him about my mom’s car crash and we talked about our families and how important they were to us. When we arrived at the house he realized that he had forgotten to start the meter. I wasn’t really familiar with taxicab etiquette and neither of us seemed to know what to do about the fee, so I just asked him what he thought was a fair price. I think he said something like $35. Looking back, I really hope he wasn’t conning me. At the time he just seemed like such a good guy that I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and I still think he was being honest. If he was taking advantage of me then he was a jerk, but if he was honest then I was the jerk, because I remember handing him exactly what he asked for and hopping out of the cab. I thanked him as I got out but I definitely didn’t tip him a cent. It was a novel situation for me and I guess I just forgot.

That One Time I Got Shot in a Drive-By

2010-06-25T15:51:00.000-07:00

One afternoon I was waiting for the 5 on Fulton and Masonic. This was when I was in high school at Urban. Every once in a while I’d walk back home through Golden Gate Park, but usually I just took the 5. Anyway, all I was doing was sitting at the bus stop, minding my own business, next to a lady who looked to be in her mid-forties. I saw a little red car pull up to the stoplight, and as the light turned green someone leaned out of the rear right window and shot me in the stomach with a BB gun, then the car sped off. Whoever was in the car thought it was pretty funny because I could hear them laughing, but I was pretty pissed. It didn’t hurt a ton, but I felt so disrespected.

I grabbed the pellets and probably made some kind of angry noise. I remember looking over at the lady who was waiting with me and saying to her, “Can you believe that?” But for whatever reason, she didn’t even respond. Maybe she didn’t hear me, but again I felt disrespected. Like she couldn’t take time out of her day to acknowledge that I had just been shot multiple times in the gut. So we stand there, the two of us, not saying anything. And then, a few minutes later, she turns to me and asks, “Do you know which way St. Mary’s is?” I was still kind of annoyed by her lack of interest in my getting shot, but then I thought maybe she was heading to the hospital to visit someone who was actually hurt. Biting back my bitterness I said something like, “Yeah, it’s just over there.” Then she got up and left. She didn’t even thank me for the directions. Jerk.

That One Time When Someone Kept Pooping Next To The Toilet

2010-04-25T13:14:00.001-07:00

I remember my first summer as a CIT at FCBC’s day camp. Matt and Lauren were the seniors, Michelle was a junior, and Clay and I were CITs. I think we either had both the 3rd and 4th graders or just one of them. Anyway, one of the funniest memories I have from that summer was that in the last couple of weeks of camp we would constantly be finding poop right next to the toilet in one of the second floor bathrooms. Our group and the 1st and 2nd graders were on that floor, so we assumed one of them was behind the incidents. It was truly a mystery though. We had no idea who was doing it and even when we told our counselors to check the room every time they took a kid to the bathroom, the problem persisted. There were numerous theories about who was doing it and why, but I felt like it probably would take more effort to poop next to a toilet than into it, so I took the position that it was an F U to the counselors. But who knows. The problem only resolved itself when day camp ended and the culprit remains a mystery.

The Parable of the Arrow

2010-04-22T22:23:00.000-07:00

THE PARABLE OF THE ARROW

The Buddha was sitting in the park when his disciple Malunkyaputta approached him. Malunkyaputta had recently retired from the world and he was concerned that so many things remained unexplained by the Buddha. Was the world eternal or not eternal? Was the soul different from the body? Did the enlightened exist after death or not? He thought, ‘If the Buddha does not explain these things to me, I will give up this training and return to worldly life’.

Thus, he approached the Buddha with this question, who replied:

“Suppose, Malunkyaputa, a man were wounded by an arrow thickly smeared with poison, and his friends and companions brought a surgeon to treat him. The man would say: 'I will not let the surgeon pull out the arrow until I know the name and clan of the man who wounded me; whether the bow that wounded me was a long bow or a crossbow; whether the arrow that wounded me was hoof-tipped or curved or barbed.'

All this would still not be known to that man and meanwhile he would die. So too, Malunkyaputta, if anyone should say: 'I will not lead the noble life under the Buddha until the Buddha declares to me whether the world is eternal or not eternal, finite or infinite; whether the soul is the same as or different from the body; whether an awakened one ceases to exist after death or not,' that would still remain undeclared by the Buddha and meanwhile that person would die.

Whether the view is held that the world is eternal or not, Malunkyaputta, there is still birth, old age, death, grief, suffering, sorrow and despair – and these can be destroyed in this life! I have not explained these other things because they are not useful, they are not conducive to tranquility and Nirvana. What I have explained is suffering, the cause of suffering, the destruction of suffering and the path that leads to the destruction of suffering. This is useful, leading to non-attachment, the absence of passion, perfect knowledge.”

Thus spoke the Buddha, and with joy Malunkyaputta applauded his words.

- Majjhima Nikaya, Sutta 63

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

My father, at 56, recently decided to be baptized at St. Marks, the church he has been attending for the past 10 years. I asked him why and, among other things, he mentioned a friend who had recalled to him the parable of the arrow. I wasn't familiar with it so after our conversation I looked it up. Although I wouldn't call myself a Buddhist by any means, like many other religious figures there are aspects of his message that can be applied more broadly. No matter the answers to our more ethereal questions, the facts of life and the challenges they present remain as they are.

That One Time I Found $150 On The Bus

2010-04-10T16:10:00.000-07:00

I remember the time when I found $150 on the school bus when I was in 1st or 2nd grade. I remember climbing into the bus and taking my usual seat. There was a white envelope wedged in between the seat and the side of the bus. When I looked inside I felt like I had won the lottery. My eyes lit up and my heart was pounding! I don’t think I had ever been personally acquainted with Mr. Grant before, let alone Benjamin Franklin.

When I got off at my stop my mom was there to pick me up, and as soon as we got in the car I told her what I had found. She was less excited and more perplexed, and when we got home she called the school. Together they decided (without consulting me) that I should give the money to the school to hold on to while they contacted the parents of kids who rode that bus. They said that if no one claimed it then by the end of the month I could have it. I don’t know how far away the end of the month was but I remember hoping against hope that no one would claim it. As we got closer to the end of May I remember my dad joking that it was probably drug money that some kid had stolen from their parents. The days went by slowly, but June 1st came around and no one had spoken up, which meant the money was mine! Or so I thought.

When I heard the news I was pretty excited. I had spent the days dreaming of some kind of mad Toys-R-Us spending spree. Unfortunately, my parents had decided otherwise. For some reason they thought that it would be best if the money went toward my future education. I got to keep ten bucks, but the other $140 went into my college fund. Which I’m sure was wiped out in our first payment to this ridiculous school.

That One Time When I Almost Died For A Penny

2010-04-10T15:57:00.000-07:00

I remember one time when I was walking with Auntie Mary, Sarah, Daniel and Allyson. I was probably around 9 at the time, maybe even younger. We were somewhere in North Beach, heading back to the parking lot where we had left the car. As we were crossing the street I remember looking down and seeing a penny. I knelt down in the middle of the crosswalk and tried to pick the penny up, but couldn’t. I realized it must have been stuck in the asphalt, so I started to dig my nail underneath it to pry it up. Luckily Auntie Mary realized I wasn’t walking with them any more. She ran back into the street and grabbed my hand, but I still hadn’t been able to free the penny, so I resisted. Finally she told me we had to go and started to pull me up. I remember she said it with a bit of a half-laugh, but I figured she sounded serious enough so I finally relented and joined the rest of my cousins on the other side of the street.

That One Time When We Melted Stuff

2010-04-01T23:48:00.000-07:00

I remember I went over to Uncle Wilson’s house once when I was probably 13 or 14. As usual North Beach was warm and sunny. My grandmother used to watch those Chinese soap operas a lot but when her vision started to get worse she had trouble seeing the TV, so someone had bought her this gigantic magnifying glass that would attach to the front of the TV and help her to see the screen. I thought this magnifying glass could be used for more fun (i.e., fiery) purposes, so with my uncle’s permission and supervision my cousins and I started to burn things out on the sidewalk. I remember getting quite a few stares from locals and tourists alike.
There was some debate about which side of the magnifying glass should be pointed up. It took some practice but before long we were focusing the light like pros. I think we melted a Barbie doll and some other random stuff from the house. You’d be surprised how many things are meltable when you have a big enough magnifying glass. Eventually we decided to see if we could melt a penny. It took forever to produce any results and we had to take turns holding the magnifying glass. Then, all of a sudden, there was a loud *pop*. The penny’s silvery innards had shot out onto the pavement, leaving a burnt-up ring of metal that I still have in my room somewhere.

I don’t know if this happened on the same day or not, but I also have vague memories of cracking an egg on the sidewalk in front of Uncle Wilson’s place and watching it slowly cook. I can't remember if we ate it.

That One Time When Nolan Taught Me How To Fold a Paper Airplane

2010-03-26T16:46:00.001-07:00

I remember my first summer at daycamp, it was the summer before I would go to kindergarten. Technically I needed to be going into 1st grade to enroll, but they let me slide. If I remember correctly our group name was the Red Hot Flaming Skittles because our scarves were red. I had a counselor named Nolan who I thought was pretty cool. One morning he made a paper airplane that flew really well. I asked him if he would teach me how to make one and he said yes, but only because I wasn’t a girl. I was confused at first because I wasn’t sure if he was joking and I didn’t really know how I was supposed to react. Then another girl in the group came up to us and asked if he would teach her. He bluntly said “no.” I guess he wasn’t kidding.

How I Got That Scar On My Knee

2010-01-31T21:28:00.000-08:00

Every summer our last fieldtrip for Daycamp would be to Coyote Point for a watergun fight and BBQ. During the summer between my 7th and 8th grade year my cousin Sarah was also one of my counselors. We had an all-star cast of counselors and it was definitely one of my favorite summers. Anyway, at Coyote Point she rushed me with a bucket full of water and, of course, I tried to escape. Unfortunately I ended up slipping on the wet asphalt and ended up scraping my knee pretty bad. After Sarah and Cliff helped me get all of the gravel out of the gash they put some gauze on it to stop the bleeding and then covered the gauze with a band-aid. When I got back to Uncle Wilson’s I checked on the wound and realized that it had begun to heal with the gauze still inside it. It looked like some kind of green mucus-y thing had enveloped a good portion of the gauze, getting deep into its mesh. Auntie Jeanie was there and helped me pull the gauze out, and then we replaced it with something that wouldn’t get incorporated into the flesh. I still have the scar and a lot of times people assume it’s from the time when I dislocated my knee, but nope!

The Time When I Got Soaked With No Change of Clothes

2010-01-31T21:26:00.001-08:00

One time, when I was probably in 3rd or 4th grade, I went to Coyote Point with Daycamp for the annual watergun fight. I had a blast but when it was time to change I couldn’t find the extra clothes I had brought. One of my counselors helped me look in all the bags but we couldn’t find them. I rode the bus back in my wet clothes, and when we got back I found the clothes I had brought in a bag in the sanctuary.

That One Time At Toys R Us

2009-12-31T16:03:00.001-08:00

My mom told me that one time I saw a commercial for a doll on TV and really wanted it. So the next weekend we went to Toys-R-Us and my mom walked me to the aisle with all the dolls. As soon as I turned the corner I saw all the pink and purple and suddenly I must have realized that what I had wanted was a girl’s toy. I screamed and ran down the aisles until I reached the section with the toy trucks and other boy’s toys. I picked out the biggest truck in the store and just had to have it. When my mom offered to buy both the truck and the doll I absolutely refused the doll. We walked out of that Toys-R-Us with the big truck.

That One Night When I Stayed In Uncle Wilson's Tent

2009-12-31T16:02:00.000-08:00

On one of our annual Lam Family camping trips I spent the night in Uncle Wilson’s tent with Sarah, Daniel and Allyson. I was probably around 12 years old. When I woke up I headed for the side of the tent where I thought the door was but I couldn’t find the zipper. After looking around for a while Uncle Wilson finally looked up and pointed out where the door actually was. With genuine sincerity I said, “Oh, you moved it,” and walked out the door.

That Time When We Had To Cut Ally's Hair

2009-12-31T16:00:00.000-08:00

I remember the time I got a My Little Pony stuck in Ally’s hair. I was probably around 9 or 10. It was pink with a blue tail that spun around when you activated it. I put it in Ally’s hair and spun it and it became entangled. We were going to cut the pony’s tail but then someone, either me or Ally, suggested that we cut Ally’s hair instead, since that would grow back but the tail would not. So we cut her hair and freed the pony.

A Dream I Had

2009-12-31T15:58:00.000-08:00

I remember having a dream the night after Grandma died. I dreamt that ngn ngn and I were sitting in a bar/restaurant. It looked and felt like the 1930’s. We were sitting peacefully, having drinks and chatting. Suddenly, several of the patrons turned into Japanese zombies (perhaps inspired by ngn ngn’s tales of the Japanese strafing her village when she was a child during the Sino-Japanese War). The Japanese quickly began attacking those of us who had not turned, including ngn ngn and I. A car that would now be considered a classic drove up just outside the restaurant and we saw through the window that the passenger was motioning for us to get in the car. Ngn ngn grabbed my hand and we both climbed on top of our table. We leapt from tabletop to tabletop, she leading the way and I following, with my hand still in hers. Though they clawed at us somehow the zombies weren’t fast enough to catch us. We eventually made it out the door and into the waiting car. I think it’s important to note that this dream was not a nightmare (despite the presence of zombies). I remember that it left me with a feeling of comfort and a confidence in my grandmother’s ability to always protect me.

That One Time When Some Hick From Oregon Attacked Javier

2009-12-31T15:57:00.001-08:00

One day Javier was taking over for the regular crossing guard. I first heard the honking through a window as I was leaving a class on the second floor. A gold-colored Mercedes SUV pulled up to the cross walk and Javier put out his sign, telling the guy to stop. He must have stopped a bit into the crosswalk because Javier told him to back up. The guy got pissed and was accusing Javier of hitting his car with the metal stop-sign he was wielding. I remember the guy’s plates were from Oregon, and later I asked my dad if there were hicks in Oregon. Apparently there are. I had no idea.
Anyway, this guy was pissed and got out of his car. He got in Javier’s face and starting yelling about how Javier and his people should learn English and whatnot. And this guy was big, probably around 6’2” or so, and really muscular. Javier was kind of a short guy and not particularly well built. Now this was right around when classes were ending so tons of Urban kids were exiting the building, only to find this confrontation immediately outside. Pretty soon we were all riled up and people were yelling things at the guy (we liked Javier, he was a nice guy). Some faculty were outside too, some were trying to calm the guy down while others were trying to keep us students from rushing the guy. I distinctly remember being quite angry and yelling some things at him, which probably didn’t help the situation. At some point the guy actually punched Javier and Javier retaliated by slicing the guy on his face with the stop-sign. Eventually I guess the guy decided this was going nowhere and got in his Mercedes and drove off. About a minute after he left the cops showed up, but I don’t think anyone pursued it.

That One Time When I Got Called The N-Word

2009-12-31T15:54:00.000-08:00

I remember the first (and thus far only) time I was ever called a n*gger. One morning I got on the 5 heading downtown from my house in the Richmond and a white guy got on after me. He wasn’t dressed very well and looked kind of dirty. As I walked to the back I heard him yelled out, “Yo, ma nigga!”. I kept walking, assuming that he couldn’t have been talking to me since I don’t normally associate myself with that word. But then he kept going, saying, “Ey, ey, ma nigga!” and since there was no one else on the bus I realized that he must have been talking to me. I turned around and asked what he needed, and he asked me if he could use my phone. He looked a bit sketchy so I asked him why he needed it. He said that he would have used his own phone, but apparently it wasn’t working after he had left it in his pocket while having sex with his girlfriend’s best friend in the waters off of Ocean Beach. Now he needed my phone to call his girlfriend and work things out. At this point I decided that I didn’t really want to give this guy my phone, so I lied and told him that I didn’t have my phone on me. This really upset him and he looked genuinely worried about his relationship with this girl. He took out his own phone and asked if I knew how to fix it, and I told him I didn’t. He then tried taking it apart and putting it back together, but I guess the saltwater had already done its damage.
He ended up sitting in the very last row and I was in the row in front of him, both of us facing forward. As we continued toward downtown other people began getting on, and each time someone got on he would ask them if he could use their phone, but no one would let him. We were probably half-way there when suddenly I heard my phone start ringing. I quickly stuffed my hand down my pants pocket and shut it off, but it was too late. The guy started yelling angrily, “Whose phone is that?! Whose fucking phone is that?!” I stood stark still, hoping he hadn’t figured out I was a liar. He kept yelling for a bit but I guess he couldn’t figure out whose phone it was because he eventually quieted down.
Finally we got downtown, which is apparently where this guy was going too. I guess this 5 was taking a slightly different route, and when the bus driver unexpectedly called “last stop” the guy went up to the front of the bus and started yelling at the bus driver. The driver and the man exchanged words and all of a sudden this guy grabbed onto one of the railings running along the ceiling of the bus and, holding himself up by his arms, began using his legs to kick the Plexiglas half-door that separates the driver from the rest of the bus, all the while cursing the driver. The driver was trying to keep his calm and was saying, over and over again, “Sir, you need to stop, sir, you need to stop”. Eventually the driver began raising his voice as well, and the man stopped and just got off the bus, muttering. And as he got off a total stranger yelled at the bus driver, “Yeah, fuck you!”

That One Time When That Guy Hit That Girl

2009-12-31T15:50:00.000-08:00

One afternoon my friends and I were walking back from lunch on Haight Street. We passed a man asleep in his 80’s blue Toyota but didn’t think much of it. We were probably just 15 feet away when suddenly we heard a woman yelling. She was yelling at the man in the car, trying to get him to come out and confront her. I don’t recall exactly what they were arguing about but it had something to do with sex or love, and I think she felt betrayed by him. She was clearly very angry with him, but he wouldn’t get out of the car like she wanted. So she climbed onto the hood of his car and began kicking out his windshield with his high heels.
Well, this got his attention. He got out of the car and they continued to argue. She had gotten off of the car but they were still arguing, with her accusing him of various things and he not denying them. Suddenly he punched her right in the stomach, doubling her over. There was a dark green Mercedes that had stopped at the intersection, and when they saw the man hit the lady the two guys got out of their car and started telling the man to stop. Both were well dressed and spoke with Italian accents. By this time a large crowd of Urban students had gathered to watch all the commotion. Pretty soon the cops showed up. One was talking to the two Italian gentlemen and the man, while the other was with the woman. She was incredibly distraught and was lying in the middle of the intersection screaming, “Kill me! I want to die! Kill me!” The officer was trying to talk her down while at the same time directing traffic around her so her wish wouldn’t come true. At this point lunch was almost over so we all went back inside the school and went to class.

That One Time When The Pregnant Lady Couldn't Get Off The Bus

2009-12-31T15:48:00.000-08:00

I remember one day when I was riding the bus through Chinatown when I got to witness a microcosm of race relations in San Francisco. It was a hot summer day and the bus was packed, as usual. The driver was an Asian man and there was a large African American woman standing close to me in the rear of the bus. She pulled the cord and began trying to push her way to the exit. The driver pulled in to the stop, allowed some people to get on and off, and then took off. Unfortunately, he hadn’t given the African American lady enough time to force her way to the door so she ended up missing her stop.
When the driver started to leave the stop she wanted the lady began yelling furiously at the driver, who had no qualms about yelling right back. They continued to argue as he drove, both of them yelling obscenities at each other. All the while other people where pulling the cord, looking to get off the bus. But the driver was so upset with how this African American lady was behaving he told her he’d just keep skipping stops, not letting her off the bus, until she stopped yelling, which only made her yell more. Everyone else on the bus was getting annoyed with this game, especially since some of them were missing their stops. Then all of a sudden the African American lady yells that she’s pregnant and needed to get to the hospital that was by now several stops back. The bus driver yelled that he didn’t care. Eventually he did stop though, and the lady got off the bus and started the long walk back to her original stop, muttering and shouting curses as she went.

That One Time On The Way To School...

2009-12-31T15:46:00.000-08:00

One morning my dad dropped me off for school on the corner of Masonic and Oak. I walked up the short hill and turned the corner, still groggy and not very aware of my surroundings. Suddenly a man walking at a brisk pace cut in front of me, and as my eyes followed him I realized something was wrong. I looked in the direction that he had come from and there was an ambulance. Then I looked back at him and saw him leaning over a girl who was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. I looked at her and she looked right back at me, just staring, and it was one of the most unsettling stares I had ever been met with. She was pale and there were dark purple circles around her eyes. She looked about 15 years old. I heard later that St. Agnes Church across the street ran a halfway house where she had been a resident. She had tried to commit suicide by jumping out of their second story window, but was unsuccessful.

Short Story #2: The Desert

2008-12-13T14:12:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: I've been asked questions about this story and I want to make it clear that it is only meant to examine one person's strange encounter with something foreign. It is not a comment on missionary work.

The Desert

Elaine sat in the shotgun seat, bracing herself for the coming trial. She watched as Tom Holt, a strongly built man of 31 who spoke Setswana with a strong English accent, strode out of the driver’s seat and began chatting with the children who had rushed to greet them. Climbing out of the back of the Landcruiser, Angelica, a 250 lb, 5’6” Texan, started handing out little candies the team had brought with them from their Mission in Selebi-Phikwe. Now a three-hour drive outside of the city, this was Village Ministries, Elaine’s first chance to interact directly with rural villagers. This place was unfamiliar to her and she was nervous, yes, but hopeful too. There was so much she could do for these people.

Elaine snapped out of her reverie to hear Tom instructing the team to disperse throughout the village. He spoke with authority gained from experience, and Elaine felt herself comforted by his confidence. She opened her door excitedly and was surprised by the stiff heat that greeted her. She stepped out quickly and, looking around, chose a direction where no other team members were headed. She was determined to strike up a conversation with the first person she saw. As she walked, the laughter of the children grew fainter and fainter. Elaine began humming to herself an old hymn her mother had taught her, trying to fill the silence of her walk. She reached a cluster of huts and peered inside the first. “Dumelang,” she called into the home, but she saw that it was empty. There was food cooking but the inhabitants must have recently left. A sweet aroma wafted from the open pot left above the fire. Elaine closed the door, slightly bewildered.

A bird called in the distance and behind her Elaine thought she heard footsteps. She turned but saw only the Landcruiser in the distance, sitting alone before an endless expanse of brown desert that seemed to slam violently into the cloudless blue sky. As Elaine turned back to face the huts she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Quickly she turned back in the direction of the Landcruiser and indeed, there was a man rising from the shade of a dead Baobab tree that she had passed several yards back. Somehow she must have missed him as she had walked by.

The man’s back was bent horribly, so that although he might have once stood tall and proud, time had forced him into a submissive bow. With the help of a gnarled walking stick he began to limp toward Elaine, dragging his left foot across the hard, dry earth as best he could. Elaine stood frozen, unable to tear her gaze from this strange creature. The man returned her stare. Slowly Elaine recovered herself and hurriedly walked to meet him halfway. As she got closer she could see that his left leg was horribly warped and his rib cage pierced through his rough, hardened skin. A deep scar ran from just below his left ear all the way down to his open mouth, giving him a permanent smile. Lesions covered his body and open sores glistened red in the sunlight.

As Elaine came within a few feet of the man she nervously smiled and greeted him. He looked as if he were lost, and as his eyes met hers she peered into their depths, but she could see no sign of the soul that she had come to save. Suddenly he spoke to her.

“You are Christian, from America?” His English was slow and unsure, but his voice was ancient and had retained the earthy, almost unnatural cadence of his native Setswana.

“Yes, I am,” she replied in as even a tone as she could muster. She smiled again and calmed herself. “My name is Elaine. What is your name?”

Ignoring her he asked, “Americans are very smart, yes?” a slight tone of hope entering his voice. “You have many things.”

“Well yes, I suppose we’re a smart lot all together, although – ” she was rambling and stopped herself. All the training had taught her never to ramble, to stay on topic.

Watching her keenly, the man asked, “Do you believe in spirits? When a man dies, does he meet his family in the afterlife?”

Elaine was taken aback. She looked back at the empty huts, and then back at the man. “Well, yes. In Heaven you can meet all your family again. But first you – ”

“God wants this!” the man bellowed. Birds rose from the rotting Baobab tree behind him.

Elaine stared blankly at him, trying to find the right words. The man smiled horribly. Pleasure racked his face and Elaine tried to smile back, but the man was already walking away. He headed not in the direction of the village but out into the quiet desert expanse. Elaine watched him as he hobbled away. She wanted to call out to him but found her throat dry and her mind blank. In the distance she could hear him, muttering in the same rhythm he had used with her, though his words were incomprehensible. He walked slowly but in a dignified manner, with purpose. Gradually his babbling faded into the desert and Elaine was alone again.

Short Story #1: A Trial

2008-12-13T14:03:00.000-08:00

A Trial

Ben returned home quickly, anxious to know what “surprise” his wife had planned for him. She had been vague over the phone, and knowing her it could have been anything from Italian takeout to another new and ridiculously expensive pair of Italian shoes. A persistent rain began to fall as he approached their modest house. Both Ben and Jessica had agreed that the Audi, which Ben had given her for their 5^th anniversary, deserved the privilege of the garage. Dripping from the brief walk to the front door, Ben entered with a half-smile. Part of him was secretly hoping to be surprised by his friends and family, a slightly late but still acceptable celebration of his birthday the previous month. Instead he found his one and only in the kitchen perched on a stool, dressed in what she often claimed was her favorite black dress. He shut the door, placed his damp coat on the hanger, greeted his wife, and removed the shoes from his small feet. Then he turned to her and asked expectantly, “So what’s this surprise you couldn’t wait to tell me about?”

She slowly put on the same embarrassed smile she had whenever she burnt dinner, which was similar to the smile Ben put on when he ate it anyway. She opened her mouth, then paused. “Have you ever wanted to try swinging?”

“What do you mean, swinging?”

“You know,” she replied, “swinging. As in we go to someone’s house, meet some nice people, and then pair off…”

He looked at her. “What the hell? What are you talking about?” he asked hurriedly. He shoved his briefcase on the kitchen counter and began to rifle through his papers, desperate to find something, anything. From behind the briefcase he asked, “You mean us? You and me? And another couple?”

“Yeah. I was thinking we might try it. You know, just to try something different. I’m kind of curious about it,” she said. “I mean if you don’t want to we don’t have to, but I think we should try it. I’ve heard it’s a lot of fun. And it might be good for us.”

“Good for us? How—how—what the hell are you talking about?”

“Well, me and Melinda were talking last weekend and—”

“For Christ’s sake, Melinda? As in Hank and Melinda? Those two? You’re kidding right? Tell me you’re kidding, Jessica! Please.” He could feel his cheeks getting hotter and hotter.

“Ben…”

Ben stared at her. “I still love you, Jessica. I do,” he managed to squeak out.

“Oh stop being so sensitive, Ben. I love you too! But you’re being ridiculous,” she said, her voice rising swiftly. “I was just trying to make things interesting around here. But if that’s how you feel then just forget it. You’re never around, and when you are you never want to do anything fun. You’re so boring!”

And with that she left the room and headed up the stairs, rattling off a long list of complaints that Ben felt very inclined to believe were justified. As her voice faded away Ben realized how much this had meant to Jessica. He realized how wrong he was, how any normal man would jump at the chance to try something like this. He hurried after her, taking the stairs two or three at a time and frantically begging her to come back. When he finally reached their bedroom door he realized how foolish he must have looked and calmed himself, opening the double doors almost reverently. There he found Jessica on the bed, red-faced and holding back tears. She smiled at him as best she could from behind her disheveled hair but Ben could tell it was taking her an immense amount of concentration to keep from crying again.

“Jessica? Jess, honey? Come on, don’t be upset. If you really want to do this, we’ll do it. We will.”

“Really? Really, Ben? We don’t have to. It’s really not that big a deal,” she said, refusing to make eye contact. Ben bent down on one knee and took her hands in his.

“No, Jess. I’ll…I’ll do it. You know I love you, right?”

“Okay,” she murmured. “I love you too, Benny,” she said, finally looking up. Slowly the two recovered themselves and began to get ready. Jessica fished out her makeup kit and sat herself down in front of the vanity while Ben looked around, unsure of what to do.

“So…what should I wear? Should I dress up or…”

“Well I don’t know, silly. It’s not like I’ve done this before. Just put on a nice collared shirt, that should do. And don’t wear jeans,” she warned him, “Wear those black pants that I bought you. They make you look quite dashing,” she said, using the same horrible English accent she had used on their first date. Her words created a warmth in Ben that caused him to smile as he thought back to that night. In his mind he replayed those memories over and over again while he changed out of his suit and into his new “Swinger’s Outfit”.

“Well don’t you look handsome,” Jessica offered, giving him the once-over and nodding approvingly. “Just one final touch…” she said, taking her father’s old watch and placing it on his wrist. The watch was an old antique that rarely kept accurate time, but Ben valued it for other reasons. Just before Jessica’s father had died he had instructed her to give it to a man she felt she could truly trust as much as she had trusted him, and on their wedding night she had given it to Ben.

“Thanks honey,” he said with a smile. “You look wonderful too. So do we need to bring anything with us?”

“Nope,” Jessica replied cheerily. “Oh, just our car keys. Apparently that’s how we choose our partners.” Almost as an afterthought she added, “We better take my car. I don’t want them thinking all we can afford is that crappy little Honda you insist on driving around in.”

For the first 20 minutes of the trip each remained silent, their eyes locked on the road ahead and their minds focused on calming thoughts. When they reached the railroad crossing a train was passing through and the alarm bells rang urgently, almost without order. As they waited Ben couldn’t help staring at Jessica. When she finally noticed the strange look on his face she just laughed, and a second later Ben was laughing too. It began as an uneasy chuckle, but as her laughter grew more recognizable to him an old and familiar certainty quickly announced itself. The train passed, the arms raised, and they drove on.

As they approached 1151 McGovern Ben thought he could feel Jessica getting more and more anxious. As soon as they arrived Ben hurried out of the car, hoping to open the door for his wife just as he had done on that first date that he remembered so fondly. But this time she was already slamming the door shut by the time he was halfway around. “See, I knew you’d be just as excited as I was,” Jessica said, laughing nervously. He smiled.

“So how many other couples are going to be here? Anyone we know?” he asked with all the calm he could muster.

“No one else we know, but Mel told me there’d be at least four other couples. Exciting, right?”

“Yeah,” Ben responded.

As the two walked toward the front door along a winding brick path through a meticulously groomed garden, Ben slowly felt himself overwhelmed by the need to remind Jessica of just how much he loved her. He grabbed both her hands tightly, looked up at her and said in a soft voice, “I love you Jess.” She kissed him then, but after a few seconds her lips slipped away, pulling Ben along with them. As the couple approached the house the door opened and a large figure stood silhouetted in the archway. From where he stood the man appeared to be a giant in Ben’s eyes, and he gripped Jessica’s hand even tighter. Hank, whom Ben had met only twice previously, silently ushered them into the house, showing them to a sitting room with comfortable leather chairs and a warm, crackling fire. The other couples had already arrived and were seated around the fire, quietly chatting amongst themselves.

Ben and Jessica entered the room and immediately the eyes of the other couples were on them. Ben was afraid he and Jessica would be appraised like cattle, but to his surprise the others were quite friendly. Hank introduced them to everyone and pretty soon they were ready to begin. They all stood in a circle while Melinda passed out condoms from a hand-woven basket Ben swore he remembered from Martha Stewart Living. Hank collected their car keys in a reusable GladWareÒ container. Jessica proudly placed the keys to her Audi in with the rest, though the keys were hardly the focus of anyone’s attention.

Ben was informed that it was ladies’ night, so they would be picking the keys this time. The first two to pair off were Sheryl and Hank. Hank gave Melinda a quick kiss while Sheryl got a playful, encouraging slap on the butt from her husband Daniel. Hand in hand the two headed up the stairs to one of the many bedrooms. Then it was Jessica’s turn to draw. Ben watched her intently. Slowly her hand moved toward the keys and Ben thought he saw a flash of fear in her eyes. Daintily she drew the keys belonging to Michael and Carolyn. Michael took Jessica’s hand in his, not hurriedly but with an eagerness that Ben found revolting. Together they climbed the stairs, whispering what could only be dark secrets to each other. Ben watched her ascend until she was out of sight and then quickly turned his attention back to the keys.

It was Carolyn’s turn to draw and, secretly, a part of Ben hoped she would choose him. Of all the wives present she was the only one he had found the least bit respectable. Though beyond the standard “hello” and “nice to meet you” they had spoken little, from her conversations with others and her calm demeanor, Ben had gathered that she was both a warm mother and a devoted partner. He came back to reality just in time to see her hold up the keys to Geoff’s Jaguar. He realized what he had been thinking and scolded himself for his unfaithful hopes. Jessica deserves better, Ben thought to himself. But as Geoff and Melinda exited into the hallway, Jessica was nowhere to be found. Instead he was left with Max’s wife Arielle, smiling seductively and holding the keys to Jessica’s Audi. He turned to face her and knew immediately he couldn’t go through with it.

He followed her up the stairs without a word, all the while his mind racing with possible excuses. In the bedroom he sat down and immediately began to apologize, as though he had broken an expensive vase. His apologies continued until he realized Arielle was not going to stop him. When he finally looked up at her, her gaze was cold and her smile mocked him, as though she both hated and loved the scene before her. “Pathetic,” she said, staring right at him. But Ben did not look away from her. Instead he smiled as best he could and returned her gaze with his warm, weak eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m just sorry.”

She took his apology, and with an exaggerated sigh she headed for the door. Only slightly relieved, Ben decided to go back downstairs and wait around until Jessica was ready to go home. He hoped he hadn’t just jeopardized Jessica’s friendship with Melinda over a silly little thing like sex.

At first Ben tried to sleep but he found the leather couches hot and uncomfortable. By the time he gave up on sleep it was already 2:00am, and he was sure Jessica would be done any minute. As he sat staring at the immaculate white walls, Ben began to doubt himself. Arielle had been right: he was pathetic. His wife had given him permission to spend the night with a beautiful stranger and he had refused. Why? he asked himself angrily, Why? He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, but almost as if by magic the answer began to swell within him, and he knew exactly why. He slowly relaxed his muscles and his breathing slowed.

In this brief calm Ben managed to fall into a restless sleep. He dreamt of his mother, who held his tiny 8-year-old body in her weakened arms. The room appeared to be his Aunt Janine’s lavish guest room, where his mother had spent her final months. Having resigned herself to her sister’s eventual passing, Janine had worked tirelessly to make Ben’s mother as comfortable as possible, and Ben had done what he could. The dream was nothing significant, he merely lay there with his mother, listening to the irregular rhythm of his mother’s breathing. The door must have been locked, because in his dream he heard someone on the other side struggling with the doorknob, jostling it in an attempt to intrude on the moment.

Finally Ben realized it was not the door handle, but rather the harsh jingling of keys directly above his face. He opened his eyes to find Jessica standing over him, half-heartedly motioning for him to get up. Obediently he arose, checking his watch for the time. It had stopped working at 2:21, but the grandfather clock in the hall claimed it was 5:39am. Ben looked outside and found that the sun had not yet begun to rise. He took the keys from Jessica and quietly they left the house, walked back along the pathway, and got into their car. The rain began to fall again just as they closed the doors to the Audi. “Did you have fun Benny?” Jessica asked softly, half asleep and eyes closed.

“Not really, Jess,” Ben whispered back. “Not really.”

“That’s too bad, baby. I think we should do it again,” she murmured. “You’ll have more fun next time. I know you, Benny, you were just too nervous this time.”

“Yeah, that was it,” Ben agreed, letting only the slightest hint of sarcasm enter his voice. They drove in silence, and against his will Ben felt himself start to lose control of his temper. He was about to ask Jessica what exactly he was supposed to have found “fun” about the experience when he realized she had fallen asleep. He stared at her as he drove, and as her breathing became steadier Ben found himself becoming more and more relaxed. He admired her soft features, her quiet exhalations, the steady rise and fall of her chest. All of this calmed him like nothing else could and he began to remember that this was not just anyone, this was his wife and the love of his life. Through the rain he thought he could see the railroad crossing in the distance. He could just make out the shape of the two raised arms against the hazy darkness.

He gazed at Jessica for a long time, barely paying attention to the empty road ahead of them. Staring at her as he drove, a sense of confidence came over him. As he approached the railroad crossing he slowed the car. He carefully brought the car across the tracks, careful not to wake his sleeping wife. The rain was coming down fiercely now, and outside the car Ben could hear it pounding the earth with a methodical and purposeful rhythm. As she slept Jessica murmured something unintelligible, but Ben ignored it and drove on.