I submitted two short stories for competition this morning and I am so excited! As long as I can remember, I’ve always been scribbling little stories, imaginings, essays, and musings, making the world around me my playground. I definitely feel a comradery with Anne of Green Gables.
I should hear on my status of the competition sometime before October and I couldn’t be more excited!!
Thank you to everyone who has provided me with incredible support!!! Micah has been an indispensable help with editing and helping me wean the stories down to 4,000 words (incredibly difficult when you’re as wordy as I am!). Many family members, many friends, and many work colleagues too numerous to name have also helped with editing, motivation, and beta reading. I seriously can’t thank you enough!!!!
Once I hear anything, I will post about it here. Thank you again for taking the time to read this and following me on my journey to be a better writer.
Songsmith College – College town famous for tutoring Songsmiths. Arts of all kinds are taught here. Locations of the Bardic Teachings are an old museum and an antique opulent hotel which houses professors and undergraduates.
Peeyaa – (Pee-yay) Major market where people come from all around to trade their wares. Fisher Folk come from out west, Mountain Grazen descend, amongst other merchants. Famous for The Log Drop.
Opuntia’s Clutch – (Oh-pun-shee-ya) Prairie clutch that trade medicinal wares, clams, crabs, and elk meat. Famous for small cacti that grow on the hills above.
Totem Beach – Landmark easy to see from the shore. First Nations Folk trade exquisitely crafted cedar wares, salmon, crab, best place to get wood carvings.
Port Tee – A place to avoid, if possible. Generations of mutations have left the inhabitants aggressive and hungry for raw meat.
K Town – Small port town, major exports logging and wood-related products. Small community of craftsmen and specialty foods.
Brainbridge – Major port city with a moderately sized market.
Nomad Subbase – Fortified base and armament for Nomads. Antique equipment is dutifully maintained.
Tillicum Island – Island community of First Nations, famous for salmon, art, and a pedagogy of place.
Southworth – Major detainee port for human chattel. Nomads herd people up and keep them at The Farm until transport from Southworth to Grit City. These captives are forced to pick through old garbage heaps for remnants of old bottles that are given to the glass blowers of Vashon to make their acclaimed decorative glass.
Vashon – Elite socialites live on this large island. Some of the wealthiest live here. They pay top seed for Songsmith entertainment. Known for their decorative glass art, clothing, and glass wares. Glass seed trinkets are all the rage here.
Grit City – Dangerous city to be at night. Major port for detainees awaiting placement. Also, a major port for trade.
Tinker Town – Mecca for the mechanically minded. Famous school for learning mech-tech.
Concretia – (Con-cree-sha) Major city for Nomads, home of Seed Barons and elite Nomads. Exceptionally large trade and salvage port.
Park City – Major trade port, good for salvage.
Mukilteo – (Muck-ill-tee-oh) Wealthy relatives of Nomads live here. Like to show off their seed wealth with lavish clothing that incorporates ornate seedwork.
Gary Oak – One of the strongholds of the Last War. One of the best places to find jadeite, which the elite use for intricately carved seed boxes and seed necklaces.
South Ferry – A one-time major transportation port, now famous for mussels, arts, and produce.
Casey – The last stop on the Songsmith’s route. Famous for Claytonia’s Clutch, a community of artists and healers. They send Learners into the mountains on a spiritual quest to bring back the light of knowledge.
Raven’s Clutch – A small clutch run by a fierce woman named Raven. She seems beautiful, but there’s something off about her.
Learner’s Aunt – Spiritual place of learning for the Healers of Clutch Folk.
The Farm – A Nomad holding area for human chattel.
The Bridge – A Nomad-controlled bridge repaired time and again with old ships lashed to it like splints.
Once upon a time in Chicago, there was a very strong metal door named Door. He started out as a young punk rocker in the 70’s, opening up for some of the more famous punk venues.
One night, he held his own against a crazed Ramones crowd trying to force their way in. He grasped his hinges tightly and refused to let go. Later that night Joey Ramone bumped into him and apologized as Door held him from collapsing. His perseverance paid off and he survived intact.
Night after night, band after band, Door held up so well, did such a good job, but felt he was missing out on other opportunities. He wanted to see more of the world, and moved to LA. When he got there, he had no idea that he would play such a pivotal role in the L.A. glam metal scene. Door arrived with no friends and no family. His mom was a furnace in Chicago, she was busy popping out his siblings, and his father had walked out before Door had his first striker. He was glad to be on his own.
One night, Door got a job at Gazzarri’s on the Sunset Strip. He was so excited that he forgot to oil his hinges, which resulted in him developing a loud squeak. He didn’t have time to fix it and just tried to ignore the drunken glares. A band played that night and he swears to this day they stole his name. Yeah, they added an “S” onto the end, but he knew deep down his dry hinges had made his name memorable.
Over the years, he witnessed so much cocaine usage, clouds of it stuck to his once-shiny trim; so much so that he developed a nasty coke habit. He resorted to tripping people to steal their baggies.
One evening in 1981 few will forget. Door caused Nikki Sixx to trip and hit his head so hard, Nikki decided to leave his band London. He then went on to form the band Mötley Crüe. Door barely remembers his historical achievement, however, as he’d been too hopped up to notice.
Door cleaned up eventually, retiring to a nice country town away from the bustle of city life. He is now the front door to a small health clinic. He still recognizes those gracing his threshold who once wore Mohawks and piercings, having traded the rocker life for the walker life. He says he doesn’t regret anything and is proud of his legacy.
Captain: Captain Cabezon (cab-uh-zawn) – or “Cabby”, 58 winters. Tan hair and tan skin. Waterborne, grew up on the coast with the Fisher Folk and his adopted brother Leo, then traveled to Tinker Town to learn Mech. A seasoned diver. Designated Producer.
First Mate: Halcurin (hal-cure-in) – or “Hal”, 36 winters, son of Captain Cabby’s best friend, Otto. Dark hair and beard. A seasoned diver.
Chief Engineer: Eccentric – or “Cen”, 64 winters, named after a part in a steam engine. Crazy grey frizzy hair, eternal 5 o’clock shadow. Grew up in Tinker Town, son of two professors. Could assemble an engine before he could talk. Always covered in grease of some kind. He’s also built wheelchairs and prosthetics for those that need them. Uses things he finds laying around. Adopted Wheels when he found the young boy floating on a driftwood log one summer, nearly hypothermic.
Deckhands: Twins Goose and Acorn – 16 winters, like a couple of barnacles, as their mom always called them. Grew up with the Fisher Folk, waterborne, both tall and lanky, brown hair. Goose is ½” taller than Acorn, but otherwise are the mirror image of each other. Orpheus uses them for certain acts, when people don’t know there are two identical boys. They are becoming extremely agile pickpockets. Shhhh! Don’t tell their mom!
Cook: Chever (shev-er) – 53 winters. Tall, handsome, olive-complected. Scab, grew up with the Grazen but was kidnapped at age 12 by the Nomads and forced into their army. He served 8 winters for the nomads before escaping. Traveled on his own for a while before he met up with and was adopted by the Songsmiths.
Performers:
Director: Orpheus (or-fee-us)–43 winters. Dark hair and dark goatee. A learned musician, he grew up in the Songsmith college (his mom is a professor of music theory), always knew he was destined to perform with them. He started out in small stage productions, singing with his guitar. He learned everything he could and trained on all classical instruments. Does not get along with his stepfather. Wears a tricorn hat.
Marcus – 33 winters. Dark blonde and lightly tanned. Drummer, guitarist, and actor. Smooth and dangerous. Can talk anyone into anything. Scab, grew up in Grit City.
David – 19 winters. Goofy, lanky, long blonde hair that’s always messy. Musician, plays in the ensemble. Super nice, always drunk on wine or mead. Scab, grew up in Concretia.
Gunther – 42 winters. Balding, beer belly. Stalky, scary guy. Loves to scare small children. Dresses up in scary costumes and plays music about angry things. Collects skulls that he decorates his bunk and performs with. Likes to break things. Good at demolitions. Scab, grew up south of Grit City.
Tish – 28 winters. Singer, dancer, and performer. Absolutely gorgeous inside and out. Dark wavy hair. Specializes in erotic dance. Known for seducing men out of money and weapons, without even touching them. Has a vast network of contacts that aren’t always reputable. Waterborne, grew up on Vashon.
Vergilius (ver-jill-e-us)– 58 winters. Somewhat quiet and quirky older gentleman. Monk’s balding pattern. Never married, but very loving of all. Studied at the Songsmith college and known for his spoken word and recited poetry, mostly serious or romantic works. He does have a few silly poems for when the crowd is too bawdy to listen to a tragedy or romance. Waterborne, grew up in South Ferry.
Reuben (roo-bin) – 46 winters. Tan hair, light skin, trimmed goatee. Knife thrower, parkour assassin. Used to serve with a small mercenary group that targeted Nomad encampments. Was almost blown up in an explosion, but somehow survived. Also security and logistics for the crew. Scab, grew up in Grit City.
Hylonome (hi-lawn-uh-mee) – 26 winters, dark hair and tan skin. Crooked nose from being broken and not set right. Ex mercenary who at one point was a prisoner of the Nomads. Expert marksman and knife thrower. Uses shuriken she makes out of scrap metal. Assassin and parkour escape artist. Scab, grew up east of Concretia.
Leo the Lion – 43 winters, Burly man, happens to have a cleft palate/lip that makes him appear to look like a lion. He further encourages this by growing out his red hair and makes it extra frizzy. Abandoned next to a river as a toddler. Captain Cabby’s mom found him and nursed him to health. She raised him as her own and he grew up with them, considered waterborne. Leo, Cabby, and Otto were inseparable as children. He found life among Fisher Folk increasingly more difficult after Cabby left for mech school. Leo left and joined a group of Songsmiths that preceded Orpheus’ troupe. Besides dressing as a lion, he’s a gifted carpenter. He can build anything with wood, from a house to a toy doll. Married to Todi.
Todi (toad-ee) – 48 winters. Wife of Leo. Dark hair and complexion, voluptuous. Mezzo-soprano with amazing range and emotion. Waterborne, grew up with the Fisher Folk, but always dreamed of singing with the Songsmiths. She left home to pursue her aspirations and met Leo. They’ve been married 16 winters.
Lottia – or “Lotti”, 44 winters Cabby’s younger sister, waterborne. Expressive actress but also talented seamstress. She grew up repairing sails and created her own costumes from random textile finds. Lost her leg in an unfortunate accident. Now she gets along with a prosthetic fashioned by Cen. Likes to play practical jokes.
Rose – 36 winters. Very pale, very blonde. Feisty. Beautiful soprano voice, avid reader, and actress. Really funny. Also learning to throw daggers. Pairs up with Wheels and Caracal for magic tricks. Waterborne, grew up in Gary Oak.
Wheels – 46 winters. Long brown hair tied in the back, goatee. Very strong upper body, but legs have never worked. Uses a wheelchair built by Cen; spinning the wheels causes a magneto to charge a small battery. Crafty, charming magician. Cen adopted him when the (then) small boy was found floating just off shore from Port Tee. Waterborne.
Caracal (care-uh-cal) – 26 winters. A fire juggler, magician, contortionist, tightrope walker, and sword swallower. Can balance on anything. Crouches like a cat and wears eye makeup like one. Scab, grew up east of Park City.
Lilly – 23 winters. Bright red hair and a fiery personality. Slender, athletic young woman, fire dancer and contortionist. She has been obsessed with fire since a young age. Her act makes one wonder if she is in fact controlling the flame with her mind. Very experienced with pyrotechnics and may have set several Nomad buildings on fire (but won’t admit to it). Scab, grew up far east of Mukilteo.
Ronquil (ron-kill)- 43 winters, thinning brown hair, clean shaven. Spotter for the fire dancers, always has a damp towel at the ready. Keen eye for danger, always seems to be at the right place at the right time.
Other characters:
Bastion (bas-tee-un) – 53 winters. stagehand, good at building scaffolding and set design. Makes sure props are where they’re supposed to be. Also plays stand up bass, but hasn’t performed in a while, used to when he was in his 20’s and 30’s. Now he prefers to help out behind the scenes. Estray’s mentor.
Estray (ess-tray) – She might be 15 winters, nobody is sure. Beautiful chestnut hair, almond eyes. Young girl adopted by the Songsmiths when she was maybe one or two. Happens to have Tris. She’s mostly mute, except will quietly whisper to Bastion, whom she attached to the first day she joined with the Songsmiths. She’s his assistant, helps with set up and tear down, painting, and building.
Lump – 10 winters old. a Tris girl who sneaks aboard. Learned self-defense from an assassin, Mack, who unfortunately was murdered by the Nomads. Tried to sneak onto the steamboat to escape her pursuers.
Otto – 58 winters, dark hair and skin, has suffered a long-term breathing problem, preventing him from getting too active. He grew up with Cabby and Leo amongst the fisher folk. The three boys were inseparable, The Triad, they called themselves. They explored tide pools, built driftwood forts, dreaming of life on the sea. Soon, Otto, being the oldest, began noticing girls and hung out with the other two boys less and less. This was also due to his breathing problems getting worse, hindering him from being as active as the other boys, which resulted in a falling out. Cabby went off to learn Mech in Tinker Town and Leo joined the Songsmiths. Otto married Gera and had Hal. Finding his son didn’t have the same breathing problem, Otto raised him to be an able seaman, and sent him to live with the Songsmiths to gain experience.
A glimpse into the world of Catchfly, my post apocalyptic novel set in the year 2250. Mutated pesticides and crops kill off most of the world’s population, and the human element nearly takes care of the rest. Those that did survive, work hard to stay alive.
This is their story.
The shouting had not immediately caught his attention, a common sound one would expect to hear on a busy dock. Rather, it was the creative use of expletives being used, specifically regarding the parentage of someone’s mother, strung together in such a delicately brash manner. Orpheus had to see what all the fuss was about.
The cussing had interrupted Orpheus’ stoic pose. All morning he had been mulling over the problems they would face on their month-long Tour across the water that stretched to the Scablands. He hoped Tish would catch him standing there. Alas, she did not.
The salty breeze blew his dark hair into his face as he climbed to the deck above for a better look. Orpheus held onto his tricorn hat for good measure and peered over the railing to the busy dock below. There, Gunther squabbled with a longshoreman about the manner in which his skulls were being loaded onto the 219 foot steamboat; nothing new.
The wind changed, bringing forth the scent of whetstone oil.
“If he could argue with himself, he would,” Hylonome said as she walked up. Her soft woolen clothes kept her movements silent.
Orpheus nearly jumped. He forced himself to be still, despite his thundering heart. He recognized her voice. Not wanting to give her the pleasure of knowing she startled him, he said instead, “That he would.”
“Word on the water is Nomads are getting extra brutal under the leadership of their new commander, Melon,” she said and leaned backwards against the railing next to him, looking out across the body of water they would cross tomorrow.
He could smell the wet wool heated by her body, mixing with the oil she used to sharpen her shuriken, giving her a heady odor. The cedar bark deodorizer rings worn around the neck could only do so much. They did, however, work well with the insects, which seemed to be plaguing the land worse this season. He couldn’t wait to be back out on the water where they weren’t.
He turned. The mountains framed the horizon, giving a view of land, sea, and sky. Somewhere out in the Scablands, bloodthirsty Nomads were murdering and pillaging with a fervor not seen since The Red Death.
“I have heard the rumors of this ‘Melon’, and I’ve arranged to bring extra bribes,” he said, nodding behind him towards the cases of liquor being carried aboard. “Tish is bringing a few extra ladies with her, all skilled in the art of persuasion,” he said, emphasizing the word.
“I’ll keep my seed purse a little closer this trip,” she said.
“No need for that,” he said, dismissing her concerns with a flourish of his wrist. “They know not to lift from us.”
She only nodded and turned back to listen to Gunther’s new usage of the word “prow”.
The commotion below grew louder.
“Uh oh,” Hylonome said, humor bringing out her thick, eastern accent. “Its gettin’ serious.”
Orpheus shook his head and rolled his eyes. “What now?” he asked. He didn’t want to look away from the gorgeous view. Instead, he took a swig from his small silver flask. It burned, tasting of liquid fire. He hoped it would scorch away the feeling of dread he felt in his chest. It wasn’t helping. He tried another swig for good measure.
“I think Gunther might have had a little too much to drink on the way here,” she said.
He screwed the top back on, placed it back in his breast pocket, next to his seed pouch, and slowly joined her, not really wanting to be a part of whatever Gunther was getting himself into.
Down below on the dock, Ronquil’s colossal arm restrained Gunther’s neck. In no time the balding blonde man pulled his head free. The dark-haired man shrugged and grinned ferociously, causing his curly mustache to tilt in a silly manner. Gunther screamed another slew of creative curses, his large belly hefted with effort. An imprint from the damp towel Ronquel always carried on a shoulder soaked into Gunther’s grey shirt. The two were the strongest men of the troupe; Orpheus didn’t know which would gain control of the other.
Orpheus scanned the scene and noticed a young longshoreman holding his bloodied nose. He already knew what happened without having to ask Hylonome. Ronquil believed in using violence as the absolute last resort, as long as no children, animals, or innocents were harmed. In that case, everything went out the window and he would do anything he could to bring an aggressor to vigilante justice.
With all the commotion going on down below, a flash of movement on the fringe caught the smuggler’s eye. His peripheral vision followed a young girl as she slipped inside a box that waited to be loaded. The glimpse of her eyes reminded him of the distinctive Estray and he wondered how long the Tris girl would be able to hide.
This sort of thing occurred frequently. The Songsmiths were known for adopting those society rejected or persecuted. Contracted by the Nomads as tax collectors, they were allowed the freedom to entertain ports and mostly lived how they wanted, as long as they collected those tithes. Which also gave them the opportunity to smuggle people and goods, for a price of course, and to bribe eyes to look away. It could be a dangerous life at times. He didn’t have much of a choice, the devil’s seed purse held him captive.
“I’ll watch for her to emerge,” she said and disappeared.
“Yeah, ok-” He looked behind him to see empty space. He hated how she did that.
Heavy steps and someone else ascended the ladder.
“You’re gonna have to talk to Gunther,” Captain Cabby said as he joined Orpheus at the railing. Thick cigar smoke wafted from the roll of tobacco in his hand. The water-born Captain didn’t smoke kinnikinnick like the Scabs. “I can’t have him punching the crew every time he gets a little upset.”
“He’ll be fine once we’re underway,” he said and shook his head sadly. “He doesn’t know how to deal with things he can’t control.” The cigar smoke invaded his face and he struggled not to cough. “No problem, no worries.”
Captain Cabby’s eyes flashed dangerously, “There better not be a problem,” he enunciated each word, “or else we’ll have a problem.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Orpheus said, knowing it was easier just to go along with the Captain, who did have ultimate say once they were underway. Gunther was Orpheous’ responsibility, as he employed him for his services. “There won’t be a problem.”
Slowly the look faded and the captain nodded.
Orpheus bowed respectfully, raising his hat towards the captain, then excused himself down the ladder to the deck below, away from the smoke. There he watched Gunther’s fight in peace under the shadow of the smoke stack.
Gunther tried grappling his opponent, but Ronquil had the upperhand. After a lengthy closing of his windpipe, Gunther stopped making noise and slackened in Ronquil’s grip. A woman splashed a bucket of cold water over his face. Gunther starfished to a stand, red-faced and hollering about Ronquil’s unfair treatment. An onlooker, which he now recognized as one of his crew, David, proposed a toast, distracting the angry man from his diatribe. The entire crowd cheered happily, raising their own flasks and cups into the air. They broke into song, laughing and jeering at one another. Once it was over, the two men made up. Orpheus watched as they wandered their separate ways. It was always over so quickly.
The commotion on the dock cleared like a change in tide. The longshoreman with a no longer bleeding nose motioned to the hoist operator aboard to lower the hook to the box the girl was hiding in. Slings secured, he motioned in the pointing up swirl that meant hoist up. The box lifted into the air slowly, but then began to rock back and forth. Orpheus wished right then he were imbued with that talent some have to communicate with the minds of others. He would tell the girl to stop moving, she could upset the delicate balance of the slings, and cause the box to plummet to their demise.
The movement ceased and the box safely lowered to the deck. The steamboat’s crew knew not to question such things and loaded the box just like any other.
Orpheus breathed in relief and slid down the two ladders to the open deck of the steamboat. Goose and Acorn, tall and lanky twins, worked to stow all the goods and supplies they would need for the voyage. One of them walked up to him. Without the two of them standing side by side, Orpheus had trouble telling them apart.
“The box?” the boy asked Orpheus in his drilled-in inconspicuous manner. One did not know when spies could be around.
Orpheus nodded. “I’m aware,” he said. “Put the box in the Workshop. Thanks… Goose?” he guessed with a wince. Orpheus could never tell them apart.
The twin shrugged, gave him a goofy smile, and walked off to continue his job.
Orpheus knew Hylonome was already in place to intercept the girl and find out what she was up to. He needn’t worry about her. She would find out if the girl was a spy for the Nomads. He did, however, worry about Gunther. His anger was getting more explosive.
Chever the cook, carrying a basket of vegetables, wandered aboard from the dock. “What is this blight?” he swore in his brusque accent from the east. “Where are the blighting fresh foods I asked for? Does nobody know anything?” he wandered around, asking no one in particular.
The First Mate, Hal, stepped out from the galley door towards Chever, a bowl of something in hand. “We’re waiting for the delivery,” he said then took a bite. “It appears they are late.”
Chever stared at the First Mate, eyes narrowing as a frown shadowed his features. “I do not like it when people get into the blighting food stores!” He growled. “I need to take inventory so I can plan to make fancy dinners, but if someone eats all of my ingredients first, I cannot make fancy dinners! You always blighting mess it up!”
Hal shrugged and stirred the contents of the bowl, “Relax! I brought it from home. Oats and yogurt,” he said defensively, holding it so the grumpy cook could inspect for himself.
“Bah!” Chever gestured in exasperation and stormed past the First Mate into the galley.
“I hear they’re fighting,” Lotti said, limping her way towards Orpheus. “Chever and his wife, they had a fight last night and she kicked him out. Bastion and I heard the whole thing when trying to sleep. This must be the hundredth time he and Greenlee fought! I don’t think she likes staying home with the kids anymore. Woops!”
He reached out and steadied her as she balanced awkwardly.
“Ah, thanks,” she said, out of breath. “It’s always awkward getting used to a new leg.”
Orpheus peered at the mismatched feet that stuck out from underneath her skirts. One was clothed in the common calf-high leather of seafarers, the other a mechanical apparatus built of salvaged metal parts and springs, covered in a soft brown leather “shoe”.
She lifted her skirt to show off the mechanical ankle that rotated with movement. “Cen made me a universal joint! See how it moves? I’m so excited! I just have to get used to the darned thing,” she said in her typical chipper manner.
Orpheus wondered how Lotti and the Captain shared the same parents and upbringing. They were worlds apart.
“My mom says you used to run a lot when you were younger,” Hal said and took another bite of oats.
Lotti’s smile faltered only a moment before cementing a proud grin on her face. “And I hope to again one day!” She stood tall, balanced with effort, and walked a fast pace across the deck. She ran out of room towards the paddlewheel, turned and walked back towards them, in full confidence. She put her hands on her hips in triumph and nearly lost her balance.
“Impressive!” Hal encouraged.
Orpheus nodded his hat at her and winked.
Lotti’s face blushed. “Thanks, fellas!”
Hylonome peeked out from the workshop hatch and motioned towards Orpheus.
The girl.
He excused himself with a polite word and walked calmly towards the hatch where she’d already slipped back. The dark inside smelled of old oil and metal tools. It took his eyes a moment to adjust from the bright summer sunshine outside. He blinked enough and could finally see Hylonome’s face. Next to her cowered the girl.
Her distinctive features were even more apparent up close. Almond upslanting eyes stared up at him in defiance. She must have been 6 or 7, he guessed, but Tris could make it difficult to gauge. The bridge of her nose was somewhat flat and her pink tongue jutted out just enough to be seen. She was cute, despite her fierce expression.
He peered closer, then said, “Ah, so this is the little stowaway? You’re a Tris, aren’t you.”
“I’m not little!” In one movement, she pulled a dragger from her sleeve, lept towards him, and stabbed.
The quick movement from the girl surprised him. Winters of dance and martial arts had trained him to act on his instincts. Without a thought, he threw himself to the side, tumbled, and brought his own dagger up in time to ward off the child’s blow.
She hissed in irritation and jumped backwards.
He readied for a second attack, arms held up in defense, and squatted into a crouch. He could feel the bulkhead behind him. There wasn’t much room to fight in the workshop.
It was then that he realized she had knocked off his hat. He looked down and saw it on the floor between them. She noticed it too, and they both ran towards it.
He acted first and dove to the floor. His hand swept out to grab the hat while he flipped to a standing position. She somersaulted forwards, kicking her feet towards him, almost knocking it from his grasp. Defensively, he brought his arm up, set the hat atop his head, and caught her feet in a single fluid motion.
She snarled upsidedown as she realized she couldn’t break free. She’d made a mistake, become vulnerable as she tried attacking, leaving herself open. Raising the dagger in the air, she readied to stab it into his ankle.
Before she could act, Hylonome flicked the sharp side of a shuriken at the girl’s throat. “Don’t even think about it,” she ordered, and removed the girl’s dagger from her hand.
“You give up?” Orpheus asked. “We won’t hurt you, but if you attack, you’ll regret it.”
The girl snarled an illegible affirmative and he lowered her carefully to the ground so she could stand. Once he let go, she popped up and glared at him.
“So what was the point of all that?” he asked her, sizing her up. He was a little too winded for his liking. A good reminder of the need to exercise often. “Like I said, we won’t hurt you, we’re friends. So no need to do that again, okay?” he asked in a firm tone, making sure she understood. He admired her tenacity. “I can tell you’ve had some training. You’re very quick and have a keen balance.”
She nodded and shouted, “Yeah I have, winters and winters!” She glared back at Hylonome who didn’t trust her and still pointed both the dagger and shuriken at the girl. “She don’t need to do that, neither!” she yelled at the older woman.
Hylonome glanced at Orpheus and conceded to a relaxed pose, but didn’t put the weapons away, either. She merely lowered them to her sides. The girl faced him fiercely, showing that she wasn’t afraid of him.
“Again, child,” he said, and peered at the girl with a serious frown. “Why did you sneak aboard? Is someone chasing you?”
With that, the girl fell to her knees and clasped her hands up towards him in surrender. “Don’t let them find me!” she begged desperately in a thick lisp. “The Nomads cannot find me! They killed him, killed Mack, the man that protected me. Now I have no one,” the girl said softly. She began to weep big tears.
Orpheus nodded with understanding and kneeled with the girl. He put his arms protectively around her. Hylonome watched closely from behind, ready to move. “You’re safe, child,” he soothed. “We won’t let the Nomads find you. We’re used to that sort of thing. You’re welcome to hide below if they come aboard. You are worthy, just as the rest of us. And just as we pledge our lives to each other, we extend that to our entire crew, including you. We will gladly offer you protection, miss…” he trailed off with a smile on his face. “I would love to have the honor of knowing thy name, damsel,” he said, and bowed with a flourish.
The girl finally giggled and wiped the tears and snot on her sleeve. “Lump,” she said simply. “My name is Lump. My family don’t want me and gonna give me to the Nomads for extra rations,” she said with a broken look. She began to cry again.
Orpheus consoled the girl, lifting his gaze to Hylonome. He knew what the meant. Anyone who willingly gave up a child for the use of slavery would be given perks, like extra rations. The Nomads felt they were doing people a favor by getting rid of “undesirables”, as they did not see Tris as human. The birthrate got higher closer to old bomb sites. He tried not to think of the child’s potential future if captured. People were always afraid of what they didn’t understand. He knew that well enough.
“Lump?” he asked the girl. “Do you like that name? You’re welcome to change it, as others have done when they’ve joined us,” he suggested happily.
She shook her head defiantly. “I’m named after the Lumpsucker fish,” she explained proudly. “Cause I keep sticking around!”
He thought of juvenile lumpsucker fish adhered to rocks in the shallows. “Okay, little Lump, would you like to join our crew of ruffians and thespians?” he asked and motioned towards her in an elaborate gesture of dance.
Lump smiled, relaxing somewhat, and joined his outstretched hand. He spun her into a little twirl and danced with her towards the family room where she could be more comfortable, yet still hidden away.
“Wait,” the girl paused when Orpheus began to walk towards the girl. “You’re leaving me alone with her? She’s gonna hurt me!” she said, looking at Hylonome. He understood her fear, as the woman more resembled a stone statue than a cuddly, maternal creature.
Orpheus knelt to be face to face with the girl. “She won’t hurt you, unless you try to hurt her or any of our crew,” he said, trying to ascertain if the girl was a spy or as she had told them.
She nodded in acquiescence and walked back towards the assassin.
Once Lump was settled with Hylonome to watch over her, Orpheus returned outside to the dock traffic, assessing for threats. He wasn’t sure how badly the Nomads would pursue Lump. He knew the girl’s options, and her only chance for survival would be with the Songsmiths.
The steamboat and barge were nearly loaded, all that was left was the harvest cart. The delivery was very late. A local farm always gave the Songsmiths extra so they wouldn’t have to depend so much on generosity on Tour. Every little bit helped. In turn the farm would get first pickings on the returned spoils.
Ronquil walked towards Orpheus, concern afflicting his eyes. “Something’s wrong, the cart should have been here by now.” He smelled of sweat and earthy, smoldering kinnikinnick.
Orpheus nodded. Ronquil felt it, too. He trusted his friend’s gut more than anyone’s counsel, as his barometer for stuff going sideways was usually spot on. This was serious, then.
Ronquil spun and looked over the hill towards where the cart should be approaching from. A thin line traced through the sky.
“What is that, smoke?” Orpheus asked, peering at the horizon.
“Yes, smoke,” Ronquil agreed.
At first he thought he was imagining things. Two horses flew over the hill, pulling a flaming cargo of death behind them. As they drew closer, he realized they were not imaginary, very much real, and headed straight towards the boat. If the horses ran aboard the wooden vessel in their panic, it could set the whole thing aflame, killing people. He could lose his life savings, and the Nomads would not help him replace it. Orpheus couldn’t let that happen.
“Ronquil, we’ve got to stop them before they run aboard,” he dashed towards the edge of the deck. “Take that extra line and pull it across the road, block the path, so the horses run towards the water, instead. We might be able to put the fire out.” They didn’t have much time to act.
Orpheus had to hope.
Ronquil didn’t hesitate and followed his commands as ordered.
Orpheus finally saw Tish and her finely dressed ladies approach the dock. He ran towards them, whistling to get their attention. Their bright, shiny clothes would be perfect to startle the horses away.
The green, yellow, and pink ladies stared at him in confusion, until Tish caught his eye and did that thing where she seemed to know just what someone was thinking. She pulled the ladies beside her to scream and wave at the approaching horses, hopefully scaring them away from the ramps onto the boat.
Orpheus joined them and seized a parasol from one, and began opening and closing it at the approaching panicked horses.
Lilly appeared beside him and blew a plume of flames towards the horses. That did it. The horses reared, panicked from the flames ahead and behind. The crazed creatures turned and ran towards the open water of the harbor.
He had no time to thank the flame dancer. The horses lept into the air, pulling the flaming cart with them. They arched into the sky and careened into the water. The splash hit them all and the flames sizzled audibly.
Reuben lept from his hiding spot above and landed on the back of one of the horses. The parkour assassin and periotic knifethower began to hack into the straps that tied the sinking cart to the horses. He slashed at what he could, but the metal parts refused.
“I can’t cut it all!” he cried out.
The horses’ panicked eyes held just above the water.
Orpheus thought quickly. “The boat ramp is just over there,” he shouted while pointing. “They’ll reach bottom!” He cast a line to his friend.
Reuben nodded and caught the cedar rope. He disappeared underwater for a moment, then reappeared, water dripping off his tan goatee. His hands secured a quick bowline. “Pull!” he shouted.
Orpheus darted towards the boat launch, hoping to make it in time to save the horses. The cart was heavy and they could only swim so hard. He stood at the top of the boat launch and pulled hard, sweat poured off his face. He couldn’t fail. His arms ached. His back pitched an angry complaint. The thick cedar rope pulled at his callouses as his fingers shook in effort to hold. It was too much weight and he could feel the panicked horses pushing away, pulling him backwards. He couldn’t hold them much longer.
“Gunther, come on!” called a voice Orpheus knew well. “Give me that,” Ronquil demanded and yanked the rope from his hands. He cast Orpheus aside like a lazy summer fly.
Gunther stumbled up and latched on behind the fire dance spotter. “Heave!” he bellowed.
The two stout men shouldered the load, digging their feet into the weedy gravel. The force yanked the rope taunt and seawater flung off in all directions.
These two men who had nearly killed each other not a half hour before, now worked together in well-oiled tandem. The task at hand outweighed their petty squabbles.
Each massive step pulled the horses closer and closer, slowly inching foreword to safety. The animals responded to the command and calmed down enough to assist their rescuers. Hooves touched down. They pulled the horses to dry land to a crowd of cheers.
“Whoah!” Reuben shouted, pulling back on what reins were left. The horses trotted to a stop and nervously pranced in spot. His feet carefully balanced atop their backs. In a quick flip, he jumped off the horses, showing off just a little.
Orpheus clapped Ronquil and Gunther on their muscled backs in thanks, then checked the horses for harm. Their tails were singed, but had no lasting wounds.
Seawater streamed from crevasses in the cart and trickled back down the ramp home. Orpheus examined the now extinguished burned carcass of the wagon. The seawater gave the smoldering wood that strange briny creosote smell. It reminded him of his stepfather and he scowled.
“So what do you think happened?” Tish asked as she picked debris off of Orpheus’ hat.
“I don’t know,” he replied, knowing her special attention didn’t really mean anything, but her presence gave him that tingly warm feeling. “It was on fire,” he said simply, then felt like a fool. How could she tie his tongue by just standing near him?
She gave him a raised eyebrow look and giggled. “Why do you think it was on fire, I mean?”
“I’m not sure,” he said as he continued to examine it. Scorched carrots and a few blanched beets were all that was left.
The wind changed and her lilac and honey perfume enticed his soul. Did she know how gorgeous she was? Of course she did.
“What’s that smell?” Tish asked, sniffing closer to the cart.
The ladies that had accompanied her watched from the sidelines, hiding their faces behind luxurious feather fans. They were evidently well paid, or had access to someone’s seed cash.
Lilly walked by the fancy women and gave them a vulgar smile.
The ladies made all the appropriate noises well-to-do ladies are expected to, holding their noses in the air. The one in green yelled back, “We’re not on the clock yet!” The group erupted in a chorus of laughter.
Orpheus, distracted by all the beautiful women didn’t understand what Tish meant, until the wind changed again and the tangy smell of biofuel hit him. He shook his head knowingly. “Sabotage,” he said and looked around to see if any strangers were watching. The culprits could be observing them right now.
“Sabotage?!” Tish looked at him with her big brown eyes. “You don’t think it was an accident? Who would set fire to a cart of live horses? It would take an absolute brute to think of something like that!”
He didn’t even have to pause to think. “Nomands,” he stated. “We’re in danger. We need leave sooner than we had planned. This evening we’ll set out under the cover of night to hide us and the moon to guide us. Hurry, spread the word!”
Tish rushed to her ladies and they headed aboard to alert the crew.
A man strapped into a wheeled chair (another of Cen’s inventions) rolled up to the edge of the boat ramp. His rope-wrapped wheels gained traction and he climbed up. The force nearly overturned his chair, upsetting the arrangement of his limp legs. “Hey, boss,” he said and shifted his knees back into position with his hands. “I saw the flaming cart go by! What happened?”
“This was a message,” Orpheous said, and began pulling the ruined gear off the restless horses. “I don’t intend to be here when they show up to see if it was received.”
Wheels nodded. “What can I do to help?”
“Quietly tell everyone we need to leave tonight,” he said, then crouched closer so only Wheels could hear. “We might have a spy among us, be extra careful,” he whispered.
Wheels nodded. He shifted a lever, engaging the drive. The rope-wrapped wheels spun with sudden acceleration, and he zoomed off towards the steamboat, roosting sand and debris behind him.
Orpheus had a lot of work ahead of him in the next few hours. Once they were on Tour, everything would be better. He hoped, at least.
Catch the exciting continuation of the story next week!
It had been the 28 days since I received my first Moderna Covid-19 mRNA vaccine and it was now time for the second dose, the booster shot. On January 29th (2021) at 3:16 pm (PST) I received the second in the 0.5 mL dose series in my right deltoid (the top of the arm below the shoulder).
I chose this side again, as I am a left side sleeper, and found it so helpful the first round (thank you Kelsey for the recommendation!). Some people don’t get the arm pain like I did, so it might be different for you. You can read about my experience with the first dose here. I had been hearing how the second dose was worse symptom-wise than the first, and wasn’t sure how my body would react. In anticipation of possibly feeling unwell, my hubby graciously bought me a bunch of healthy snacks and popsicles ahead of time (thanks Micah!).
I was trying to come up with an analogy to describe how the vaccine works, and my fellow nerds might understand this one, in the realm of Star Wars. The Covid vaccine is kind of like Princess Leia smuggling the blueprint plans for the Death Star back to the Rebel Base through R2D2 (I guess he would be the syringe?), so they can send the Red Squadron out to destroy the Death Star. With these plans (the spike protein, or building plans for the Covid-19 cell to replicate itself) the Red Squadron and Luke Skywalker (leukocytes? aka white blood cells) can find the weakness needed to destroy the Death Star (aka the Covid-19 virus cell) before it goes active and unleashes it’s destructive powers. So it’s not the actual virus being injected into you, it’s just the blueprints.
Again, I carefully logged my symptoms so I could share them with you.
(Note: I definitely survived both shots, as I am currently typing this days later.)
Friday 1/29/21
3:16 pm – received the vaccine in my right deltoid. Didn’t even feel it immediately, Lu Thu is a good shot ;c)P Temp prior to injection 97.4°F.
3:33 pm – Okay I think I might be feeling some arm stiffness. Maybe it’s just the bandaid pulling on my skin? Ah. Nope. Hmm… not really sure…
3:38 pm – Huh. For some reason I feel REALLY alert. Maybe I’m going into shock? Coffee will probably help, so I’ll try that. No my hand’s aren’t vvvvibrating, why do you a-a-a-ask?
4:48 pm – Okay DEFINATE arm soreness. Definitely worse than the first round already. Ow! 3/10 pain. Temp 97.9°F.
5:55 pm – Made it home. Changed into sweats. Arm is SORE. 6/10 pain. Temp 98.8°F.
6:17 pm – Chills, knee pain noticed first in previously injured right. Temp 99.1°F.
6:30 pm and on – Body aches, chills, weakness, malaise, and fatigue. All I feel like doing is perusing Netflix, not really watching anything, but adding stuff to the watch list. Glad to have nothing planned. Ate dinner, watched a movie, and went to bed. Temp 99.1°F.
Saturday 1/30/21
8:15 am – woke up after strange dreams of a vacation home on a beach and something about dislocating my hips (???). Vaccine arm is REALLY achy and swollen a bit. Body aches not bad. Temp 99.3°F.
11:33 am – Now it’s hitting me. Aches and sweats. Arm feels like someone drove a railroad spike through it. Can’t lift above waist level with arm. Temp 99.6°F.
12:30 pm – Very achy. Joints, especially wrist and ankles hurt. Knees now both angry. Getting winded when walking within the house. Temp 99.6°F.
12:35 pm – Hot/Cold. Sweaty then shivering. Headache 4/10. Arm might be feeling a little better? All I want to do is sit here and watch The Queens Gambit. Temp 99.8°F.
2:16 pm – Feel like crap. Very fatigued. Very short of breath when walking within the house. Body aching bad. Arm VERY sore, but getting better and able to lift it a little higher. Feel hungover without nausea or diarrhea like some, so that’s good. Spot doing her job of laying in my lap. Now obsessed with The Queen’s Gambit. Loving the storytelling they use. Temp 99.9°F
4:44 pm – Very tired and very lethargic. Bad headache, 6/10. Body aches and chills. Sweating. Slothing around. Finished 6/7 episodes. Brain enjoying turning off. Temp 100.4°F.
4:57 pm – Very weak. Don’t want to do anything. Body aches and chills. Headache persisting. Temp 100.8°F.
6:59 pm – 9:30 pm – Temp up to 100.9°F and considering taking Tylenol. Body still aching bad. Neck and back painful. Arm pain at times feeling worse, then a little better. Arm feels swollen and tight. Ate dinner and watched a movie.
11:16 pm – Feeling a little better. Temp down to 99.8°F on it’s own. I had decided not to take the Tylenol after all. Went to bed.
Sunday 1/31/21
8:46 am – Woke up after a night of drippy basement dreams (it was very rainy all night). Some body aches. Headache 2/10. Feeling a lot better. Temp 99.2°F.
11:19 am – Vaccine arm now feels only a little sore and achy, like a nice bruise. Headache 1/10. Thoughts sluggish. Temp 99.4°F.
11:45 am – 2:50 pm – Virtually attended my beautiful friend Jaimi’s baby shower. Pretty awesome to attend in my sloth snuggie within the comfort of my own home. Doing basically nothing but sitting and watching a laptop, but by the end my temp went back up to 100.3°F.
3:00 pm – 4:48 pm – Concentrated on writing and finishing up blogs. Brain a little clearer. Body aches and chills returned. Malaise and fatigue back. Sweating. Old wounds are talking. Temp down to 99.9°F.
5:52 pm – Body aches and chills persisting. Sweaty. Temp back up to 100.5°F. Fatigued, weak, short of breath when walking within the house. Staying hydrated all this time with tea, water, and Gatorade btw (I know, I know Gatorade has so much sugar). Foggy mind. Feel like I could nap at any second. Decided to take Tylenol after all. We’ll see what happens.
7:03 pm – Temp down to 100.3°F with Tylenol and popsicles. Body aches a little better. Still weak/fatigued. Headache 3-4/10.
I’ll update my blog tomorrow. Although I may be calling out from work tomorrow, it’s still worth it to be protected and to protect vulnerable family members from the Covid virus. I’m lucky to be working for an employer that provides such a generous amount of paid time off for such needs.
May you and your family be well.
Take Care.
❤ K
Update:
The next morning I awoke with a fever of 101.7°F and ended up calling out that day, Monday. Gradually my symptoms improved and I was able to return to work the following day, Tuesday. Overall it was about 3 days of feeling sort of like I was fighting a bug/hungover. Not too bad, considering the alternative.
Today I had the honor and privilege of serving my community by administering the Moderna Covid-19 vaccine.
I volunteered to work today (Saturday) to join a group of 10 medical personnel (Dr. Molly Martin, nurses: Kelly, Kelsey, and Megan; MAs: Shawna, Liz, Heather, Natalie, and me; Diana [our Assistant Clinic Operations Manager], and Lauren), and plus so many others, to administer the Moderna Covid-19 vaccine to the 70+ age group 1b. We work for an amazing Tribe, the Jamestown S’Klallam, that had procured the vaccine ahead of the timeline for Washington State and graciously shared it with local communities. We gave some of our supply to NOHN (North Olympic Healthcare Network) so they could administer to the neighboring town.
Today’s event was the second in a series of planned mass vaccinations taking place in a local park. We set up six nursing stations under a large tent where two rows of three cars could pull up. The cars were instructed to stop, put the vehicle in park, turn the engine off, and wait for the nurse (or medical assistant) to come to their window to grab their consents. The first event had an unexpected mass turnout, we vaccinated 500 people, but the line was so long, it unfortunately resulted in 1,500 people being turned away. A lot of people voiced anger and frustration. King 5 covered the story here.
The volunteers playing traffic control were CERTs, Community Emergency Response Team, members from our community donating their time. I had an awesome woman volunteer on my side, she made sure to watch for potential hazards at all times, and even saved us a few times from being hit by cars! They did a wonderful job at helping us out, and we could not have done this without them. The whole community together, including the city workers (thanks, Rick!), police, EMTs, firefighters, radio dispatchers, Kelly, Brent Simcosky, Diana and Dianna, Molly Martin, DNP,ARNP, FNP-C, Dr. Paul Cunningham, Marcia, Shelly, (I’m sure I’m forgetting some key person, there were so many people involved!) and everyone was crucial to the smooth functioning of this event.
On Thursday for the first vaccine event, this is what it looked like (normal traffic would be like maybe 3 cars and a tractor):
As I drove past the line on Thursday, I recorded this video.
The beginning of Saturday morning was hectic, I was running late as usual (I’m so sorry Diana!). I had forgotten how long it took to put on makeup, so I was about 10 minutes behind. The whole way my anxiety was maxed out, thinking of all the angry people complaining about missing out on the first round after being turned away. I wasn’t sure what we would face today. As I zoomed down the highway, I could see the flashing of the police lights at the first offramp from the highway bypass, the sort of checkpoint for directing people waiting for the vaccine. A little further down I could see flashing of the lights at the entrance to the park where the people waited in line.
Finally, I made it to work, and parked. I ran into the meeting and caught up quick as we all headed out to load up supplies into the vans. Together we carried boxes of supplies, sharps containers, gloves, vials of the vaccine and the equipment to keep them at temperature, and all the other necessities for a mass vaccination.
We climbed into the company vans and drove the short distance to the park. The volunteers directed us towards the coned route to the vaccine tent. The logo on the side of the car got us through the manned barriers, fortunately, as the volunteers were so eager to do a good job of protecting the area. And they really did.
Ready to rock!
Unloading went quickly with so many helpful hands. Kelly, an amazing nurse with incredible training and skills (she had worked with public health before coming to us), directed the entirety of the tent’s goings on. Being the leader of the vaccination tent, she had our station assignments all planned and oversaw the vital details of vaccine viability standards. The vaccine has to stay within a certain temperature range to be viable to administer to people. In the ambient Pacific Northwest winter air, temperatures can fluctuate so quickly, and the vaccine can’t be too cold, either. Molly Martin, DNP, ARNP, FNP-C devised an ingenious plan using heat lamps (she raises chickens!) and coolers with open tops. Keeping the lights at a certain distance, we could control the temperature to keep it within range. Digital and mercurial thermometers rested in the bottom to monitor. It worked perfectly.
I set up my station with a box of needles and syringes, alcohol wipes, and cotton balls on top of a clean sheet of scale paper for a workspace. A box of medium gloves (we ran out of medium at one point but I made due with smalls) and a sharps container sat behind everything. A cooler containing a box of multi-dose vials sat between each station. Before the cars started pulling up, I quickly went through the motions of the procedure I would follow to draw up the vaccine, just to get my muscle memory on board and to work out any kinks or problems in my process. It’s always good to figure things out or steps you may be missing BEFORE fumbling a vaccine administration into a human being. I figured out a basic workflow I would follow. Okay, I was as ready as I could be.
The volunteers motioned to the first cars to pull into the tent. As they pulled forward, we all began cheering and clapping at the commencement of such an awesome event. The people in the cars were just as excited as we were, joining in our jubilance. Some of them had spent the night in their cars in line, to make sure they could get a vaccine. I hadn’t felt this level of community excitement and happiness since pre-Covid. It really was a sight and a feeling to behold.
I was in charge of the third car on the left side. The cars could contain a couple, just one person, or four people; I wouldn’t know until they pulled up. In order to save time in the process, I sanitized my hands, and began assembling my needles and syringes as soon as I saw the next group of cars pull up. Each time, I walked up, accepted their signed consent forms, making sure appropriate boxes were checked, confirmed their names and arms they would prefer the injection in (which we would then note on the form so we could document it later), then returned to my work station to draw up 0.5 mL of the vaccine from the multi-dose vial. Each time, I again sanitized my hands, wiped the rubber top with an alcohol pad, carefully drew up the amount, and returned the vial to the controlled storage. After sanitizing my hands again, I donned gloves, half-stripped the Band-Aids and stuck them to the back of my gloved left hand for quick retrieval, grabbed the vaccine tray, and walked to the vehicle. A lot of hand sanitizing today.
The first few times I hadn’t quite perfected the part of my procedure of when to bring the vaccine with me and ended up making several trips back and forth, until my volunteer helpfully suggested I bring the vaccine tray with me and place it on the hood of the vehicle. Duh, it was so simple, why hadn’t I thought of it? I thanked her for her most helpful suggestion, as it saved me a significant amount of time.
Once back at the car, I wiped the patient’s upper arm with an alcohol pad, and said basically the same thing, “Okay, now I’m going to pinch your skin to distract the nerves,” grabbed their arm in my left hand, and squeezed a few times before poking. Nerves are funny that way. They can only talk about one thing at a time, so while they’re complaining about being squeezed, I stab, and the person won’t feel much, if anything. As I told them I was about to place their bandaid, they would reply in a happily shocked tone, “What?! You already did it?? I didn’t feel anything!” It was so satisfying and nice to surprise people with a pleasant experience when they were anticipating something horrific. I returned to my work station to doff the gloves, sanitize my hands, sanitize the vaccine tray, and begin the process again. Like I said, a lot of sanitizing.
This happened over and over and over, until I lost count. Car after car, I stabbed and I stabbed. I got my muscle memory in action and the day flowed smoothly.
Through this entire event, there were no mean people, no jerks, everyone was so appreciative and so grateful to be there to receive the vaccine. This was the complete opposite of what I had been expecting. Each person was so gracious and nice, I was so overwhelmed by the outpouring of gratitude. I made sure to thank them for being there, too, as we definitely could not have done it without the people showing up! I was surprised by how many asked if they could take my picture. Spouses handed each other their phones while I got ready to administer the vaccine, then they would trade as I walked to the other window to vaccinate the passenger. People drove through excitedly cheering in celebration. The energy of this whole event was so joyful and positive. I am absolutely humbled by this experience.
Jesse Major caught a bunch of awesome pictures of the event that you can check out here.
Fogless selfie
Because I wear glasses, wearing a mask can really make them fog up, especially when standing outside. Some genius figured out if you tape the top, it helps seal to prevent your own steamy breath from making your glasses look like that car’s windows in Titanic. I had to change my mask out a couple times because of all the moisture that collected. I felt like I had a terrarium attached to my face experiencing tropical storm inside.
One of the nurses, Lisa, was our designated “breaker” and would fill our spots so we could take breaks. A building a short walk away held a bathroom and a table covered with coffee, water, snacks, and cookies. It was nicely heated. Also being the radio command room, it was imperative to keep quiet so the emergency radio channel could be monitored. I got a little animated with my appreciation for their assistance, and had to be reminded to keep the level low. What can I say, I get excited. :cD
Lauren ran around collecting spent vials, filling up our dwindling supplies, she really helped out a lot. It allowed us to just focus on the task ahead instead of having to track things down ourselves.
In the background while I worked, I could hear my coworkers and friends saying the same cheerfully scripted schpeels we all were repeating. Music played in the tent. The song Don’t You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds played and we all began singing together, especially during the “la la la”s. The happy energy lifted us up and it felt like such a healing event. All the ugliness, all the fear, everything dissolved and a sense of symbiosis filled everyone under the tent; it felt like we were healing the community as the community healed us in return with their love and support. We all needed it so desperately.
As the stabbings progressed, the “good morning”s turned into “good afternoon”s. My back began to ache from leaning over the work station to draw up so I tried stretching between groups of cars. I didn’t mind it, it was worth the privilege to serve my community. Luckily I had the forethought to wear my compression stockings and leggings under my scrubs. I think I would have been quite miserable if I hadn’t.
After a while, I began hearing from the people coming through “not much longer!” and the end of the line was in sight. There were a few times where we had to pause the line to count the vaccine doses to make sure we had enough. Finally, it was nearly done.
The last few cars lined up. Our side had a short line and the other side’s pulled away from the tent as they cheered, “We finished first!” There has always been a friendly competition between all of us at the Jamestown Clinic, it’s something that kind of keeps us going and keeps our motivation up. We cheered back as the end of the line was directed to pull up to the empty side’s work station to get the final immunizations. We finished first! ;cP hehehe!
The last two cars pulled away and we cheered in celebration of our accomplishment. We had been there since about 8:30 am and finished up at nearly 1 pm. 600 doses in about 4 hours.
It was time to disassemble the work stations and pack up. So many hands made light work and it was all picked up. A lot of food was waiting for us, and we finally got the chance to eat. Boxed sandwiches filled the void.
Possibly the absolute coolest part of the whole event occurred as we concluded cleaning up. Two bald eagles soared overhead, flying west (I think? directionally-challenged over here, hehe). It seemed to be a good sign. Before I knew it, they were calling my name to climb into the van so we could head back to the clinic.
All the supplies were put away and all the consents were collected to now be entered into the state database, as is standard for any immunization from the flu shot to the tetanus vaccine. Those of us who could stay split the stack and began the tedious yet vitally important task of data entry. It was a nice transition from standing outside all day. In no time, we as a team got all the vaccine administrations logged and it was officially quitting time.
I drove home and parked. All the overwhelming beauty of the event, the appreciativeness from the patients, the members of our community, it all finally had time to catch up with me. I sat in my truck, and cried, at long last releasing the buildup of emotion.
As I sit here and type this, I feel the ache in my back and am glad for it. These tears that now fall are from the generous, overwhelming gratitude we were given by our city’s residents. This was a labor of love, love for my community and love for what I do. I am so proud of my coworkers and so honored to be part of such a generous organization. Through Jamestown, I got to help and give back my town, the place I was born and raised. I feel like I got to see the true side of my community, as well; this loving, heartfelt, cohesive network of people: Sequim. It was an incredible experience and I am changed by it.
The girl sat reading her book, completely oblivious to the outside world. The soft breeze fluttered the edges of the story she had yet to read. Absentmindedly, she slid her hand to the edge, finger preparing to turn the next page. The bright green tips of the fir tree she sat under waved slowly, lamenting like a sailor’s wife seeing her husband off to uncharted waters.
A fir needle fell from above, landing on her open book. She didn’t notice and turned the page over it. Wisps of auburn hair tickled the sides of her face, refusing to stay in their tight braids. The blanket she rested upon bore multicolored hearts and balloons, dissonant from the lush nature that surrounded her.
My right foot began to fall asleep. I slowly shifted my weight to the left leg, wriggling my toes in my fancy leather boots. They looked great on me, but were terribly uncomfortable. I was beginning to regret my choice in footwear, reminiscing about the Converse One Stars my younger feet once had worn. Or even summers when I wore no shoes at all, preferring a callous over constricting shoes. What had happened to those feet? These aching feet were so tender now.
*SNAP!*
Instinctively, I drew myself closer to the ground. I hadn’t realized I’d been standing on a fallen branch. I peered through the bushes. She hadn’t even noticed.
With a silent sigh of relief, I checked for other twigs underfoot. Slowly and quietly I cleared my area of anything else potentially loud. My leather jacket creaked quietly as I moved. How long was she gonna sit here? Didn’t she have anything better to do? She was between me and my car and any attempt to sneak around had no cover. I resorted to wait her out.
I looked around, taking in my surroundings. It had been nearly 40 years since I had been here, and the passing time was noticeable. The tree that held my rope swing had swollen around what was left of the fraying rope, choking the limb like a too-tight tourniquet. My childhood fort was in a sad state of disrepair. The roof had caved in some years back, exposing my hand-made furniture to the elements. All my imaginary adventures played like a best-of compilations reel in my mind. The creek I played in wasn’t too far from here, I could hear it faintly when the wind shifted my way. My old house sat sadly behind her in the distance was boarded up, moss growing across the shady side. I let myself glance briefly one time at the balcony before looking away.
I wanted to know why she was here at my childhood home. No one had lived here for years. After the accident, we had been forced to grow up and forget childish things. Mom, Dad, Simon, Sonora, and I had all left, moving all the way across the country to New York. I had been pen pals with my last remaining neighborhood friend, Danni, for a few years after we moved. She told me all about the mythology that had been spun after we left. Everyone claimed our house was haunted; it became that house on the block, the house all the kids were afraid of. Don’t be mean to your sister, or your parents will make you live in the Stevens’ house. Kids dared each other to get close enough to touch the outside. People said they heard noises, saw glowing eyes, and Danni’s letters stopped after someone found out she wrote to me. Her last letter apologized that should couldn’t be friends with me anymore, because they said I was dead and she was using “evil ways” to commune with me. On top of losing Sasha, I had now lost my last childhood friend.
This whole property was heavy with loss. So what was she doing here? This girl was about the same age as when I had moved away, early teens. She had no idea what all had gone on here. It troubled me.
Unexpectedly she looked up, straight in my direction. I held my breath and crouched against the grass behind my sallal cover. She stared intently, like she could see me. Good job, Sorcha. I scolded myself. What do I do if she confronts me? What am I going to say? I lived here first, no I’m not a ghost, go away? And then the awkward, no I wasn’t watching you, but I was watching you. But not watching you, watching you.
I waited, still as a statue. She sat up straighter, frowned, and closed her book. She stood up. Oh crap. Still looking in my direction. She finally turned, collected her things, brushed the dirt off her loud blanket, and walked off away from me towards the house. I watched her walk a few yards, then slowly followed behind. I paused behind each tree or bush like a cartoon secret agent. This was a lot of work for a middle-aged woman who always forgot to do yoga.
When I approached the edge of the clearing I lost sight of her. Which way had she gone? The windows and door were still boarded up after everyone left. She couldn’t go inside. Could she? I scanned the area, not wanting to step into the open and expose my position. After a few minutes, I gave up. At least she wasn’t in my spot anymore.
I pulled the letter from my leather coat pocket and reread it again.
Sorcha,
I found a way to fix it. You'll never
believe it.
You just need to come and see for
yourself.
Take some time off work, you owe it
to yourself,
and to Sasha.
No excuses.
You'll find a way to make it work.
Danni
Call me 555-555-5556.
I still live at home.
I hadn’t heard from her in almost 30 years, and now my pen pal suddenly reaches out? I had to find out why. She didn’t have a social media account, so I couldn’t scout her out. I had briefly considered the idea that it might be a joke, but something else drew me back to my childhood home, and I needed to go.
As I reread it, I recalled first receiving it and the conversation we’d had over the phone.
Finally, a few days after receiving her letter, I called her on a Friday. It had been a particularly exasperating day dealing with the shipping department at work.
Danni picked up the phone, “Hello?” her voice basically the same chipper birdlike chatter I had remembered.
“Danni? So you send me a letter after this long? What is it?” I knew I did that irritating thing where I use my anger to weaponize my voice, making others feel uncomfortable. Something I’d unfortunately inherited from my mother. Another thing in the long list of ways I was becomingher.
Danni hadn’t been deterred. “Rough day at work? Oh, I know how you get,” she had said and pushed past my icy demeanor with her chipper tone, expertly melting my frigid demeanor. Something she’d been able to do when we were kids, but I hadn’t realized it for what it was back then.
“So listen,” she said. “I was going through my mother’s things after she passed and I found something… about your sister,” her voice had broken for a moment. Old wounds had a way of staying fresh, despite time. “I think you should come home and see for yourself.”
I tried giving her all the reasons why it was inconvenient right now. Work was dealing with this giant shipment, the departments weren’t communicating, and there was just no way I could step away. She didn’t care.
“Sorcha,” she said softly. “You need to see this. It’s worth missing time at work.”
I sighed. “Well, can’t you at least tell me what you found?” I asked, irritation sharply tinging my voice.
“I…” she hesitated. “Really, you just need to see for yourself. I know there’s nothing I can do to make you do anything, you’ll either come or you won’t. Seeing is believing. Like, remember when you saw ‘Sasquatch’ picking apples?”
“There were footprints and everything,” I said, feeling as if I was 11 years old again, terrified yet curiously fascinated, watching a 7 foot tall humanoid picking my parents’ apples. I told everyone at school about it. Danni, Heather, Holly, and Sarah had come to see for themselves. Fresh footprints showed where it had stood. It was proof. I never questioned why Sasquatch wore Vans.
“But then we found out it was your brother in that crazy camo suit, playing an elaborate trick on you!” Danni said, and burst into laughter.
We spoke for 2 hours, catching each other up on our lives. She’d married, moved across town, had kids, then her mother had fallen ill and they had moved in with her. No, I didn’t have kids. No, I hadn’t married, I was in between serious relationships at the moment. Work was good and pretty much what my life revolved around. We talked about our siblings and what they had done with their lives. It was so good reconnecting with her.
When I had pulled into town, I decided to stop home first, rather than finding a place to stay. It had been a long drive from the hotel last night in Portland, OR, and I had needed to get rid of all those cheap gas station coffees. I had wandered down around to the overgrown backyard to find a nice private spot. When I finished and turned around, the girl had been sitting there reading. Somehow she hadn’t seen me.
Back in the present, I shook my head from my daydreams and gently folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. Danni’s return address was clearly written, but I didn’t need to read it to know where her house was. She still lived in her childhood house, having moved back in to take care of her ailing mother, then inherited it after her passing. I shoved the letter back into my leather jacket and walked back to my rental car.
I had paid extra for luxury, I hadn’t wanted to put extra miles on my own vehicle, and splurged on a convertible Porsche. The guy at the rental place had commented on the irony that if we were in Europe, my name rhymed with the car’s. I was used to people’s comments about my name and had simply rolled my eyes. This had been one of those beautiful Pacific Northwest rare hot summers, making for a gorgeous drive with the top down. I reached over the door into the open car and grabbed my bottle of water. My mouth had suddenly grown dry as I stared at Danni’s house across the street. On the phone there had been that safe disconnection from being in person. Now about to see her in the flesh, especially after all these years. What if she was expecting someone else? I’d been another person entirely when we were kids, what if as adults we no longer had anything in common? What would we talk about? Anxiety seized my heart and squeezed my gut. My hands shook as I set the bottle back inside.
Remembering my counsellor’s instructions, I took in deep, even breaths, counting and holding until the feeling passed. I took one last deep breath, stretched my hands, and steeled my reserve. You’re the boss, I told myself. You manage an entire district, have the money to buy anything you want, and have a staff of people to care for your home. She should be scared of you, not the other way around!
The pep talk worked and I marched towards her house as if I had a business meeting and someone had messed up. I used this technique anytime I needed to walk somewhere and didn’t want to talk to anyone. It usually worked.
Danni’s house was just as I had remembered, although the outside could use a paint job. The flowers out front, once a lush English garden, now were mostly weeds and overgrown. Toys lay strewn about, forgotten by the kids I could hear screaming in the back of the house. The edge of sprinkler spray fanned into view, then disappeared again, hinting at the source of noise. I remembered hot summer days and the metallic tang of hose water.
Retrospection distracted my feet and I tripped over a plastic Winnie The Poo, horridly twisting my left ankle in my sexy, impractical boot. I cried out in pain as I fell, knees hitting the cracked sidewalk. If only my New York friends could see me now. They’d be gossiping to all the tabloids. I could see the headlines now. “Woman Fails At Life, Can’t Even Walk“; “District Manager Causes Shipping Delay, Falls Victim To Childhood Icon“; “Once Brave Woman Cries Over Twisted Ankle, Sues Sidewalk“, last one from the National Enquirer.
I looked up to see Danni standing in the doorway. “Oh no!” she cried out and hurried down her porch steps towards me, expertly evading all toy obstacles as if she were a returning contestant on American Gladiators. “Are you okay? These kids, I keep telling them to pick up their toys,” she chattered on as I tried to stand.
My ankle hurt.
“That’s going to need some attention,” Danni said in her mom voice.
It was a different voice than I remembered. She sounded like her mom. I almost laughed in irony, but winced instead when trying to walk.
“Why don’t you come up into the house and I can take a look at your ankle and get some ice on it,” she said more as a command than as a suggestion.
I tried brushing her off. “Nah, I’m fine, I’ll just-ow!” and almost fell over.
Luckilly, Danni caught me. She lifted my arm over her shoulder and supported my left side like a crutch. “No excuses, up we go, come on.” she ordered.
Unable to decline, I sighed and let her help me up the stairs. I could feel my heartbeat in my ankle and knew if I took my boot off, I likely wouldn’t be getting it back on. And I hadn’t thought to bring another pair of shoes. Danni had mentioned going through her mothers stuff, so I had pictured scenes of us sitting around a table inside, laughing over pictures, not adventuring outside.
Danni’s house smelled just like it had when we were kids. The memories flooded back, tied strongly to this scent. So many summers spent imagining different adventures, living the lives of careless children that don’t know how lucky they were to have summers off, and the injuries those adventures caused. I remembered so many times Danni’s mother had helped me into her house to treat various bruises and scrapes just this same way.
The furniture was different, updated to mid 2000’s. Newer but certainly not as new as my living room. An unexpected pang of jealousy stabbed at how comfortable her house felt. Sure, my house was new and expensive, but it lacked this feeling of hominess. Something I hadn’t felt since I was a child. My therapist’s voice echoed something about my feelings of abandonment and as to why I live the way I do. I shooed her away with an inconspicuous wipe of a hand across my face.
Danni helped me to her leather sofa and I appreciated it’s soft comfort.
“Let’s get your boot off,” she said, reaching for the hidden zipper on the inside.
“No, it’s fine,” I said, trying to brush her hand away. “I won’t be able to get it back on, so it’s fine. The boot actually provides a lot of compression, so that’s helping.”
She gave me a dubious look but said nothing.
“Really, it is,” I said, trying to talk her into leaving me alone. “I’m fine.” I tried pushing myself into a sitting position, causing my ankle to hit against the arm rest. Searing pain exploded against my eyes and I nearly passed out. A cold sweat broke out across my face.
“Okay, you are not fine,” Danni said and went for my boot zipper again. “We need to get this off to see how bad it is.”
“No, no, no,” I whined, not even caring how I appeared at this point. I could feel the sweat making my mascara run. “Owwwwwww!”
She ignored my protests and she gently unzipped my boot. The swelling had already filled all available space the boot had, making the zipper difficult to pull. It wasn’t going to be good. With a painful tug that almost caused me to pass out again the boot finally came off. I could feel my ankle throb as the swelling tightened the skin. My owl pattern sock stretched at the ankle making that row of owls appear shocked and concerned. Danni carefully removed my sock revealing an already faintly purple and very fat ankle.
“Augh,” I cried in lament. “I’ve got a cankle!” I was horrified.
Danni gave me a withering look. “It does look painful, I’ll go get some ice.”
“What if it’s broken?” I whined, thinking of all the duties at work that required me to run to different departments and yell at people. I squeezed my eyes shut. How could I yell at people if I had to slowly hobble on crutches? Or be in a wheelchair? The bleak future pushed another sad sound out of my mouth. I opened my eyes to see Danni gone from the room and instead stood the girl I had seen earlier reading under the tree. I cried out in surprise.
“Are you okay?” the girl asked in that teenagery sort of sneer. She was still holding the blanket and book.
Oh, sweetheart, the cold, judgy lady in me wanted to say back to her, but the pain distracted me and only a groan came out.
Danni came back in holding a ziplock bag of ice and a thin dishtowel. “Sasha, this is Sorcha,” she said.
My heart seized. She was Danni’s daughter, and she’d named her after my sister. A flood of conflicting emotion crashed over me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Sasha eyed me, probably seeing my ruined makeup and clothes and wondering what was wrong with this crazy lady. “You were friends with my mom when she was a kid?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I struggled to come up with something profound to say. Danni set the ice pack on my ankle. The shock of temperature difference took my breath away. “I saw you reading at my old house.”
She gave me a surprised look, then glared at me. “I like reading where it’s quiet. Is there something wrong with that??” she demanded, glaring at both her mother and me.
I was certainly surprised by her reaction and backtracked. “No, no, I just…noticed.”
“Okay then,” Sasha said with sarcasm, and stalked out of the room.
“You remember being that way, don’t you?” Danni asked, rolling her eyes at where her daughter had just been standing.
“I remember thinking I was so smart, that I knew everything,” I said and chuckled. “Yet knew nothing.”
“Oh yeah, that’s where she’s at all right,” she said and joined my dry laughter. “It’s so hard just getting her to help out with chores without that attitude. It irritates me so much, but I remember doing that to my mom. No wonder she used to threaten us with the wooden spoon!”
We laughed thinking of her mom’s empty threats. They had been enough to drive us out of the house and leave her alone.
“Are you thirsty?” she asked. “Coffee? Tea? Soda? Water?”
“Any whiskey?” I asked, gritting my teeth against the pain.
“I don’t have any of that on hand, but I do have some Tylenol and ibuprofen, though,” she said.
“Coffee and Tylenol, then, please,” I said and settled back into the cool leather of the couch. The ice was helping, but it made my skin so cold. I repositioned it, feeling the heat of my ankle. I really did a number on it.
“How do you like your coffee?!” Danni hollered from the kitchen.
“Like I like my men,” I yelled back. “Strong, sweet, and blonde!”
She laughed at what my mom had always said about she took her own coffee.
Danni returned with a mug and a pill bottle. The coffee smelled enticing and I gladly sipped it’s soothing hotness, despite the temperature of the day. I took the max dose of Tylenol and handed the bottle back and relaxed as I continued to savor the coffee.
She returned with a glass of water and set it on the coffee table next to me. “You might want water, too.”
I nodded and thanked her.
Danni took a steadying breath and held out a box. I set the mug aside and accepted it, peeking inside. It was a framed photo of my sister, the pane was broken and glass shards tinkled as the box shifted. I remembered the picture but hadn’t seen it for years. Sasha was about 15, it was the last photo taken before her passing. She smiled brightly at the camera, a world of possibilities ahead of her. She’d wanted to be either an archaeologist (inspired by Indiana Jones), or a history professor (also influenced by the movie franchise). She absorbed all historical facts she could get her hands on and would annoyingly recite them as often as she could, to our (her siblings’) dismay. This photo was the one the news used to spread the unfortunate passing of such a vibrant young woman.
“Where did you find this?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat.
“My mom had it after the memorial,” Danni said, voice uneven with emotion. She sat in the chair across from me. “After…after everything happened, it got put away in a box. A couple months ago, I was going through my mom’s closet and it fell off the top. I heard the crunch and knew something broke. I wasn’t expecting to find…that.”
I nodded sadly and looked at the picture of my sister again.
“I don’t mean just the picture,” she said like I should know what she was talking about.
I looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”
She motioned towards the box. “Look under the photo.”
Looking more closely, a sharp, folded corner of paper peeked out from under the photo. “What’s this?”
“It’s in her handwriting,” she said softly. “I didn’t read it, I didn’t think I should,” her voice grew quiet. “I just put it back where I found it and wrote you that letter.”
Setting the box on my lap, I carefully pulled the paper from behind the photo. My name was written on the outside in my sister’s scribbled handwriting. She was right.
We’d written so many notes to each other, sliding them under each other’s bedroom doors at night when we were supposed to be asleep. It was the one way we could communicate without waking our parents or siblings up. We’d share our dreams and wishes, heartbreak and embarrassment, everything.
It was folded up into a flat little triangle, one edge carefully tucked into a flap, securing it with an old, hardened piece of bubble gum.
“…And I couldn’t open it,” she admitted with a nervous laugh.
I grimaced at our gross sealing technique and broke the age-brittled seal, carefully unfolding the old notebook paper. The white had faded to a light tan, the blue and red lines only a faint trace under the purple, girlie loops and little hearts dotting the ‘i’s and ‘j’s. The series of folds left a texture of diamonds across the paper. The little ripped edges of the spiral edge were still attached, like hanging chad. We had devised a perfect fold that sealed the letters, but left them thin enough to slip under the crack of the door. I couldn’t recall ever having read this letter.
Sorcha,
I'm so scared. There's so much I want
to say to you...
But I don't know how...If mom and dad
only knew,
I'd be in sooo much trouble! I've
been sneaking out
with some girlfriends. We ride
our bikes around the
neighborhood. I can't tell you their
names, should this
letter fall into enemy hands
(i.e. mom and dad!)!!!!!!!!!
We don't do anything BAD, we just
like the quiet when
everyone's asleep. We talk about
boys and makeup and
clothes and celebrities. Did you
know that the girl in
Ever After was in ET??
Crazy, huh?? That's what Cynthia
says.
Anyways, like I said we ride on
our bikes and one night
some guy started following us.
Tonight I'm going to
confront him. Cynthia says
there's nothing to worry
about and that it's best to
confront situations like
this head on. So that's what
we're gonna do. I'm still
scared, though. (Don't tell
Cynthia!! She'll make fun
of me!!!!) So if anything happens
to me, you'll know why.
He seems nice though! He smiled!
Love,
Your Sissy
Sasha XOXO
My heart thudded against my chest as I read the note. She must have written it before we found her the next morning, below the balcony. The medical examiner had declared she had fallen from above. The same balcony she expertly scaled nearly every night. I had argued with my parents that it hadn’t made sense. She’d climbed that a million times, and she had fallen a few times, too. She never once hurt herself. I knew her bruised face looked more like fists than the ground. The body does strange things after the heart stops pumping, was the blasé official response. My grieving parents wanted to be as far away as possible, so we moved from Washington State to New York. About as far away as one can get.
“What does it say?” Danni asked quietly, interrupting my thoughts.
“I-I…” I tried to answer, then simply offered it to her to read for herself. My heart rate increased the throbbing in my foot and I squeezed my eyes shut against the mental images.
Danni’s troubled exhale let me know she had finished reading. I opened my eyes. Our gazes locked. I knew I was mirroring the same look her face held.
“You know what they’re gonna say,” I began. “It’s not enough evidence to prove anything.”
“Yeah, but shouldn’t you at least try?” she asked quietly.
“Try? With what? There’s no name, no description. Some guy that smiled 40 years ago. What would the police have to go on?” I asked in exasperation.
She shrugged. “Maybe Cynthia remembers?” she asked.
A lightbulb went off in my head. “Do you know where she is these days?” I sat up straight, not caring about my ankle. Adrenaline, Tylenol, and caffeine were working just fine. “Wait, why have I never heard anything about this from Cynthia?” I asked, suddenly chilled.
Danni gave me a stricken look. “That’s right, you’d think… She still lives here, in town,” she said. “She moved away for a while, went through rehab a few times, came back home and lives with her sister, Nancy in the apartments over by Safeway.”
I knew the apartments she was referring to and the people who frequented them. A lot of bad stuff went on there. I wondered what had caused Cynthia to fall down that path. So many questions took over my mind and a stabbing headache set in. I realized the inevitable.
“I’m going to have to move home,” I said, face in my hands. “I can’t let this go. Sasha wanted this to be found. I have to do this for her.”
Danni smiled solomnly at me. “You’re so brave.”
I shrugged. “I don’t really have a choice.”
Danni got up and embraced me. “If you need a place to stay while you figure your stuff out, we have a little mother-in-law shack out back I was staying in to help my mom,” she said into my hair. “It’s all furnished and everything, you’ll have privacy. And it’s only one floor so if this becomes a problem,” she said and sat back to motion at my ankle, “you can hobble around more easily.”
I nodded, awestruck at her offer. “We haven’t spoken in years, Danni, I’m honored you would offer your home up like this,” I said, choking back tears.
“That’s what friends are for,” she said. “Pinkie swear we’ll always be friends.”
I smiled and offered her my right pinkie. “I pinkie swear,” I said and locked pinkies with her.
A proper blood pressure reading can be tricky at times. Below, I’ll go into detail about the things that can contribute to an inaccurate reading and what you can do to prevent it.
Step 1
Sit Quietly
Sit quietly for 5 minutes even before starting to take your blood pressure.
Your mind is a powerful thing and your thoughts can directly influence you.
Ever thought about that time you were running late and that bad thing happened? Or maybe when that jerk cut you off in traffic? Or what she said about you last week?
Okay, no, don’t do that.
See how your breathing already sped up? Got a little anxious feeling in your chest? Your brain senses the threat you feel and our old brains meant for survival against all odds kick into fight or flight. This prepares your body to run like hell or turn and pop one in the kisser. A shift in brain chemistry here and little increase in heart rate there, and your system prepares for what you do next. So being all amped up does not give a proper blood pressure reading, and basically is a useless number. It may, however, tell you what it increases to when you’re under stress, if that’s something you want to take away from it.
Otherwise…
Take a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Again, in the nose, out the mouth.
Again.
Ah, don’t you feel more relaxed? If not, try another couple breaths. It may take a little while to relax, especially if you’re worried about something or upset. That’s okay. Take as much time as you need. We all need to take the time to breathe a little more deeply, anyway.
Find your Zen
Step 2
Feet Flat on the Floor
Make sure your legs are uncrossed.
Major veins and arteries run throughout your body, especially in your legs, carrying blood away from the heart and down to your feet, then return back up to your heart. If your legs are crossed, you disrupt this blood flow.
Think of air vents in your car: if you have your heat on full blast and close one vent, all the other vents blow stronger. You’re reducing the area. Also like putting your thumb over the end of a hose, restricting the opening, forcing the water to squirt out farther and spray your brother in the face. Same principal.
Step 3
Donning the Cuff
Okay now, if you are taking someone else’s blood pressure, the next following steps will also be important to know. First, I’ll go into detail on taking your own blood pressure.
There are several choices for blood pressure cuffs. Most popular of the automated type are the upper arm cuff and the wrist cuff. Make sure whichever you choose is the proper fit, not too tight and not too loose. Ideally you should be able to stick two fingers between the cuff and you arm. There is also a size line where the cuff wraps together. You want to make sure it’s within the size range, otherwise you need to find one that fits better.
In my experience, the wrist cuffs tend to be about 20 points higher than actual, so just keep that in mind.
Each blood pressure cuff will have it’s own particular instructions on use. Some prefer your arm to be raised and supported at heart level, others want your elbow bent and resting on the arm of a chair or on a table. Most commonly with the wrist cuff, some prefer the arm crossed over the chest. Each one will have it’s preferred method displayed either on the cuff or device itself, or in the instructions that come with it. Using the incorrect position can vastly alter the results. Think of that circulatory system.
There will be a marker on the cuff for lining up with your brachial artery. With your palm up and your arm extended, it will be the big major artery that runs up and down your arm. If you’re pale like me, you’ll be able to see it.
For the most accurate results, use a bare arm. Not only does clothing mask faint heart beats, it also changes the diameter of the arm. It all interferes.
If you’re taking someone else’s blood pressure and using an upper arm cuff, make sure to support their arm as you do this; having to hold up one’s arm can pump extra blood into the muscle, making their blood pressure appear more elevated than it actually is. Plus, it’s uncomfortable. You can hold the end of the your stethoscope in the same hand as you use to hold the arm: use your thumb on the bell end while supporting the back of their elbow with the rest of your hand and your forearm can gently hug their arm.
Inflate the blood pressure cuff. If you’re using a manual upper arm cuff, close the relief valve and begin pumping the bulb. Pump this up to 180 mmHg and then slowly release the valve. However, you may need to pump it up more if their blood pressure is elevated. Watch the gauge as you release the pressure, the first heart beat you hear is the top number (or systolic) and the last is the bottom number (or diastolic).
If this is an automated monitor, press the button. Most say ‘Start’.
This is important:
Do not move.
Regardless of type of monitor you are using, it will mess up the reading.
And no talking, either. Again, think of how powerful your mind is. Just sit quietly.
For the automated monitors, it is listening/feeling for your heartbeats. When you move, these could falsely be interpreted as your pulse, causing it to record the wrong number.
For the manual types, this also affects it. The person taking your blood pressure is trying to listen for the first audible heart beat as they slowly let the pressure off. If you move or squirm, every little vibration is loud in their ears and some people’s hearts are so very quiet, it can be hard to hear on a good day. Extra noise does not help.
The automated types will perform their duty then either beep or simply fully deflate. Wait until it has fully completed its cycle until moving to check the reading.
Ideal healthy readings should be around 120/60 mmHg.
A little too low would be somewhere around 80/40 mmHg. That’s when you start feeling dizzy, especially when standing up too fast.
A little too high would be 140/90 mmHg. If it’s 200/100 mmHg or more, that’s getting into stroke risk category and you might think about being checked out at the ER. Especially if you have sudden shortness of breath, chest pressure, headache, pain in arms, jaw, or stomach, nausea, or vomiting. Then, you want to call 911 sooner rather than later to get the help you need fast.
You can always recheck your blood pressure. Start the process over again, relax for 5 minutes, then recheck it. If you recheck it too soon or repeatedly, you’re pushing all the pressure out of your arm and your readings will be inaccurate.
I hope this helps you to either take blood pressure accurately, or at least helps you understand the process behind how it works.
My name is dysphoria
I am the keening of grief
The deep pit of sorrow
When everything seems most bleak
That stab of heartache
And suffering collapse
Brings long sleepless nights
And tortured days of woe
So alone in the dark
Covered with my heavy blanket
Of despondent dwelling
You know I love company
My confidant is anxiety
Beckoning you in self-torment
Makes help seem so impossible
The voice that asks,
"What's the point?"
What I don't want you to know:
You are worthy
You are worth it
You do deserve to be happy
Reach for the light
Friends are waiting
You can be free
Help is available anytime
800-273-8255
Suicide Prevention Hotline
The Kara C Chronicles 