New Original Fic: Leaving Scars

[tcurti3]

Hello, kittens. I'm fairly new to the board. Have been lurking, reading archived fics, etc. for a few weeks. Thought you guys may enjoy reading a little something I've been working on for about a year now.
Title: Leaving Scars
Author: tcurti3
Rating: NC-17 (it will get there). R for language for now. Beware: gratuitous amusing profanity dead ahead.
Disclaimer/Rights: it's mine. All mine. Please send me an e-mail if you have any questions.
Feedback: I live for it. Seriously.
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Wrecked

Shit. Shit. Shit. Lizzie bit her lip and looked up at the neurosurgeon. “Are you sure?”

Dr. Soren squinted at the MRI results posted on the lighted board. “Yep." He pointed his pen at the elongated ‘Z’ pattern made by the fifth, sixth, and seventh cervical vertebrae. “So you have no idea how this happened?”

Lizzie sighed. A thousand images from the past months rushed through her mind: lifting 50 pounds of video equipment last week; helping Sam move his newest garbage find, a 70-pound bookshelf, up two flights of stairs to the apartment they shared; drunkenly falling down on the sidewalk in front of Sidetracks; trying to climb that damned tree in Lincoln Park. “None whatsoever." She scratched her head. “Must've been this bad car wreck I had when I was 16.”

Dr. Soren shrugged. “Unlikely, but I guess it doesn’t really matter." He scribbled on her chart. “So, how soon can you report for surgery?”

Lizzie ran her hands through her brown hair. “Hmmmm…gonna have to check on that." The pain’s not too bad, she thought. I can take it a while longer.

“Well, the longer the wait, the more potential for permanent damage." Dr. Soren placed a different MRI image on the screen. “See that?" He pointed to a cross-section of the fifth cervical vertebra. In the middle a blob encroached on the right side of what Lizzie knew to be the spinal cord. “If that gets much worse, you’ll start losing function in your right arm and hand."

“I’ve just been having some…uh…issues with my job and I’m not sure when they’ll allow me to take a leave of absence." "If" would be the more accurate word.

“We can get you in here within the week." He snapped Lizzie’s chart shut. “Why don’t you call scheduling as soon as you work that out?"

Lizzie winced as she pulled on her jacket. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her short brown hair peeked out from under her Cubs hat. Her normally bright blue eyes were dulled from a combination of pain medication and sheer exhaustion. “How long will I be out of commission?”

“That all depends on you." Dr. Soren said. “Some people heal within a few weeks, but you have three severely herniated discs. What I’m proposing is that we perform the full discectomy on all three, replace the discs with cadaver bone, and then perform fusion from C5 to C7." He tapped his pencil on the closed chart. “I’d say you’ll be able to go back to work in about three or four months.”

“Months?" Lizzie zipped up her jacket, ignoring the numbness she had been feeling in her right hand for the past week. “I don’t think I can get that kind of time off work.”

“You can go back earlier, but I really don’t think you’ll want to. This surgery is pretty taxing. We make an incision in the front of the neck here," Dr. Soren said, indicating a line just above Lizzie’s collarbone. “And then we move over the windpipe and do all the work from the front.”

Lizzie shuddered. “I’ll see what I can do about work, but I’m not 100% sure it will be anytime soon." Lizzie shook the doctor’s hand then walked to the waiting room. Her best friend, Sam, was waiting for her. She smiled at the familiar face, his dark hair contrasting with pale skin and light blue eyes. She coughed to get his attention. Sam looked up from the 2-year-old copy of “All Terrain Vehicle Quarterly" he was reading. Lizzie shook her head, sure that Sam could read the expression on her face. “So?" he said, rising to meet her.

“Surgery," she said. “Four fucking months recovery.”

“Shit," he said. “Recovery like traction?”

“Oh man, I never even thought to ask that." Lizzie cursed her inattention to detail. “I don’t think so. I mean, wouldn’t he have mentioned it if that were the case?”

Sam shrugged. They walked out the front of the building toward the parking lot, Sam scanning for the green Jeep Wrangler. Even though it was technically Lizzie’s Jeep, Sam drove it virtually every time they were forced to leave the confines of the near North side. “Wanna get some lunch, whore?" he asked, tapping the brim of her Cubbies hat so it tipped back on her head, not quite falling off.

“How about I just cut your fuckin’ head off and eat that, bitch?" Lizzie took off her hat and swiped it at Sam. This was their profane twin bit, the language they had used with each other since puberty.

Sam laughed. “I always knew you had a secret desire to give head." He slid into the driver’s seat.

Lizzie made a gagging sound and pulled herself slowly up into the vehicle. “I think I saw a pancake house a couple of blocks back.”

“Do you think they have warm jism syrup?"

“Seriously, man." Lizzie laughed, imagining making such a request of the invariably Greek waitress. “That is just nasty." Usually Lizzie was the one to take the dialogue to the worst possible place. The muscle relaxants and lack of sleep had dulled her senses to the point that everything seemed to happen in slow motion. By the time she thought of a response, they were already in the restaurant looking at the menu. “They could just stick a vacuum up your ass." She popped the top off of the giant bottle of Vicodin. She separated three pills with shaking fingers and swallowed each one with a gulp of coffee.

“What?" Sam asked, looking up from his menu. “How many of those did you take this morning?"

Lizzie laughed weakly. “None. These are my first of the day." She dipped her napkin in the small glass of water in front of her and wiped at her forehead. She looked up at Sam. “You know, stick the vacuum up your ass to get the jism for the syrup?"

“Do you know what you want?" The waitress shot a withering look at Lizzie. It never fails, Lizzie thought. The wait staff always hears my side of the profanity, never Sam’s.

“Number seven," said Sam, shooting Lizzie an amused look.

“Number five," said Lizzie. The waitress, not surprisingly named Athena, snatched the menu from Lizzie’s hand. “Cunt," Lizzie hissed as the waitress stormed off toward the kitchen.

Sam giggled and pointed to Lizzie’s right. She glanced over to see an impossibly old man watching “The View" on the TV suspended overhead. “Does Java man really give a shit about Britney Spears?" Sam whispered.

Lizzie snickered, then winced. The pain was back, searing through her right shoulder blade and shooting down her arm. “Son of a bitch," she muttered.

Sam poured two creamers into his coffee. “So, what are you going to do about work?"

Lizzie gripped a creamer in her left hand, trying to force her shaking right hand to remove the paper top. “I guess I’m just going to have to chance it." Sam reached across the table and dumped a creamer into Lizzie’s coffee. She gave him a slight smile of gratitude. “While I still have insurance."

“Any word on the situation?" Sam asked. Rumors had been flying since 9/11 that Concordia would be filing for bankruptcy. Now, in late September 2002, it seemed even more inevitable than it had been on that terrible day.

Lizzie shook her head. “My contacts in Legal still say that it’s coming, but they’re unsure of timing." Lizzie sighed. “When it does, IT will be the first to go." Lizzie had worked as a systems analyst at Concordia for the past eight years. She had once enjoyed the challenge of designing and implementing reservation systems modules, but the burgeoning bureaucracy and tight budget at the company made it virtually impossible to install any new development. “Mother fucking assholes." Lizzie mumbled as the waitress placed a platter of eggs and bacon on the table in front of her. Lizzie was careful not to look up, sure of the look of judgment being tossed at her by Athena.

“Making friends today," said Sam, gesturing with his fork toward the fast-retreating Athena. “I guess that means no second cup of coffee.”

Lizzie shrugged, trying not to gag at the smell of her breakfast, still waiting for the Vicodin to kick in. She picked up the fork with her left hand, pushing the eggs around. “Remember the Sizzler-san in Tokyo?" she asked Sam.

Sam laughed. “How could I forget?" He swallowed his pancake. “That stupid bitch trying to use a fork upside down to scoop up peas!"

Lizzie laughed at the memory. She and Sam had taken advantage of her flight benefits the previous March and flew to Tokyo for ten days. It had been the most fun they had in years, constantly making wisecracks about shoddy construction standards and suggestively shaped Kanji. Sam had gotten really sick of the all fish/all rice diet and had demanded that they go to Sizzler halfway through the trip. It turned out to be the most expensive meal of their vacation, but by far the most entertaining, thanks to the fork-impaired locals.

“Eat something," Sam demanded.

“Kiss my hairy ass, douchebag." Lizzie glanced around, sure that the grey-eyed goddess Athena would be at her shoulder. Lizzie abandoned the eggs, opting for a piece of overdone bacon. She had virtually no appetite during the past month thanks to the constant pain and a steady diet of Vicodin.

“So I guess I’m going to be playing the role of Nurse Ratchet?" Sam pushed his plate towards the edge of the table.

Lizzie shook her head. “I don’t know if I trust you around all that pain medication." She tossed the remnant of the bacon into her water glass. How do you like that, Athena? Lizzie stared at the bacon flitting around the bottom of the glass, a light film forming on top of the water. She sighed. “I’m not sure what the Hell I’m going to do." She tore her napkin into tiny pieces, rolling each piece into a ball then dropping the balls into the water glass. She spied Athena heading toward Java man with a fresh pot of coffee. Lizzie shoved the glass behind the ‘Specials’ listing on the table. Athena swished by, stopping to fill up Sam’s cup and drop off the bill. Lizzie normally would throw a fit at being ignored, but barely noticed the slight, thanks to the spasms wracking her back.

“We could put you in a home." Sam suggested. “Or an asylum.”

“Yeah, you’re real fuckin’ funny, cunt." Lizzie raised her voice a little on the last word, to ensure that Athena heard. Lizzie looked at the bill. She laid out a twenty for a bill of $17.65.

“You want me to get that?" Sam asked. Lizzie shook her head. It was a little game they played. They both knew that Lizzie was the one who paid because Lizzie was the one with a job. Sam had been sharing Lizzie’s apartment, car, and food for the five years since he moved from Florida.

She steadied herself against the table while rising. She took the bacon/paper water and poured it into her plate, filling the liquid up to the point where it would be impossible to move the plate without spilling it. “No, I think our work here is done.”

[tcurti3]

And here's Chapter 2. Please let me know if you think it sucks. Or if it doesn't suck.
Same rules apply as above. All mine.
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Granny's Babies

Lizzie hit #4 on her speed dial. She flexed her right hand, hoping against logic that sensation would return to her fingers. Thank God I’m single right now. Lizzie heard the click on the line followed by dead air, then a voice way too loud screaming, “Hello? Answer me, you son of a bitch!”

“Granny!" Lizzie snapped. She knew that the vast majority of prank calls Granny claimed to get were actually long distance calls from her.

“Lizzie? Is that you?" Lizzie could hear Granny’s three dogs yipping and howling. “Shut up, you sons of bitches!" The roar quieted to a light din.

“Granny, I have something to tell you and I don’t want you to freak out." Lizzie heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. She tried to anticipate what Granny might be thinking. Granny already knew that Lizzie was a lesbian and that she lived with her best friend from high school, a gay man, so she wasn’t sure what she’d have to pull out of the hat to surprise Granny at this point. “I’m going to have an operation on my neck." Lizzie swore she could hear the tears forming in Granny’s eyes. “But it’s not that big a deal," Lizzie lied. “They just have to take out a few discs and weld the bones together.”

“Lizzie, oh my Lord, my baby Lizzie! Lizzie, Granny’s gonna buy a airplane ticket right now. Granny’ll bring her boys up with her." The dogs resumed their hysteria in the background of the call. “Shut up, God damn it, or Granny’ll cut all your gizzards out!”

Lizzie shook her head, suppressing a laugh. “Granny, take it down a notch." Lizzie contemplated the thought of Granny and her three dogs descending on Chicago. She laughed, envisioning Sam chasing the dogs around with a vacuum and a wet paper towel. “You’re not coming up here and you’re certainly not bringing those dogs." Lizzie hesitated for a moment, worried she had hurt Granny’s feelings. “Remember—I’m not allowed to have dogs in my apartment.”

“Li-i-i-zzie," Granny sobbed. Lizzie felt herself choking up a little. She was Granny’s only grandbaby.

“I’m going to be fine, Granny." Lizzie said, partly to reassure herself. “Come on now—really—I’ll be fine."

“You don’t know!" Granny wailed. “Lizzie, you don’t know nothin’!"

Well, how do you argue with that? “Granny, this really isn’t helping," Lizzie sighed.

“Granny’s gonna get in her car and drive up there!" Lizzie and Sam had made fun of Granny for a good 20 years for referring to herself in the third person.

“First of all, your 1980 AMC Concord would never make it past the Ohio border. Secondly, you wouldn’t even know what roads to take," Lizzie said. Granny’s just talking crazy now. The old woman has only been outside of northern Kentucky three times in her life. “Besides, I think I might be coming home for a few months to recover." Lizzie could sense the elation on the other end of the phone.

“Boys, Lizzie’s comin’ home!" Granny cried.


“Are you sure you want to do this?" Sam asked as they neared the I-190 exit for O’Hare International.

Lizzie shifted in the seat, her right arm completely numb and back spasms making her upper lip quiver in pain. “I don’t have much of a choice now." She slipped off her seatbelt, a death wish on the Northwest tollway, and raised her right arm over her head, the only way she could get any relief from the pain. “Besides, I have four months of short-term disability, so I may as well crash in a place where I can’t possibly spend all of my paycheck.”

“I still can’t believe they just gave you the four months off without even bitching." Sam whipped the Jeep into the exit lane, missing the barrier by about three feet. Lizzie winced, unsure whether she would survive another 15 minutes of Chicago traffic and Sam’s driving. Normally, Lizzie would take the EL to O’Hare, but she just couldn’t face the thought of the Blue Line jarring the remnants of her spine, much less carrying 50 pounds of luggage from the EL stop up two flights of stairs to the check-in.

“Per my contacts in Legal, there wasn’t a whole lot they could do about it. I had my surgeon’s orders." Lizzie checked her watch. “Now, if they file for bankruptcy, then all bets are off.”

“Are you sure you don’t at least want to have the surgery up here?" Sam slammed the horn as an airport taxi cut him off.

Lizzie clutched her right deltoid with her left hand. Jesus! “Soren thought it would be okay. Deaconess is one of the leading centers for this type of surgery." Lizzie closed her eyes, trying to forget the pain. “Besides, I’ll have Granny to heed my every beck and call.”

“That’s what I’m worried about." Sam veered right towards the Departures lane. Lizzie focused on all she would miss about Chicago for the next five months: hanging out at the bars with Sam, rating potential dates for each other; shopping at the farmer’s market in Lincoln Park; walking along the shore of Lake Michigan. Okay, she thought, so I haven’t really walked along the shore in a while. Or been to the farmer’s market in months. It’s the fact that I can do it if I wanted to that I’ll miss.

“Here ya go," the Jeep rolled to a stop behind a Lexus. Sam and Lizzie scowled at the luxury sedan then said in unison, “Asshole." Sam unloaded Lizzie’s bags, hailing a red cap. Sam gave Lizzie an uncomfortable hug as she continued to hold her right arm aloft. “Take care of yourself and call me," he said.

Lizzie walked toward the automatic door. “Don’t turn my apartment into a fucking bathhouse while I’m gone," she yelled. Satisfied with the head turns she got with that remark, as well as the blush coloring Sam’s cheeks, she headed for the counter.

The line for Concordia was outrageously long. Luckily, the red cap had taken all of the bags to be checked except her carry-on. You’d think it was fucking December, not September. Lizzie propped her carry-on against her leg, raised her right arm to cradle the back of her head, and closed her eyes. There’s no weird smell, she lied to herself. And there’s no way that guy could be a terrorist. She shuddered, visualizing the Towers. The world had stopped that morning at Concordia headquarters. Everyone was gathered in the breakroom, glued to the TV. Lizzie wandered in uncharacteristically early at precisely eight in the morning, unaware of what was happening. She saw the smoldering tower on the screen and went numb. She wandered over to squat by her friend Janet. “What the Hell is going on?"

“A plane just crashed into the North Tower." Janet gestured at the screen, unable to peel her eyes away from the image. “It was an American.”

“Do they know what’s going on?" Lizzie asked.

“Nope. There’s all kinds of speculation, but no one knows anything yet." Janet finally pulled her eyes away from the horrific image. “You don’t think…”

“No fucking way," Lizzie said. “No, we work for an airline. You know that equipment fuck-ups happen all the time." They both moved their eyes to the screen just in time to see a United jet hurtling toward the South Tower. “No," Lizzie whispered, feeling the tightness in her chest.

Lizzie started to tear up, recalling the horrific images of that day. Even though she had been on at least 30 flights since that day, including one on October 11, 2001, she couldn’t help but remember that day every time she flew. She glanced around, wondering how many other people were thinking of the same thing.

“I can help whoever’s next," the ticket agent called, indicating Lizzie. Lizzie lugged her carry-on up to the desk. “Have your bags been with you at all times?" Lizzie couldn’t help the faint smile that played at the corner of her mouth. That’s only going to stop a terrorist who’s been dosed with sodium pentathol. But she knew the drill. She shook her head in the affirmative and handed over her picture ID and itinerary. “Destination is Cincinnati?" the agent asked. Lizzie nodded. She pondered the irony that the destination is actually just outside Florence, Kentucky, the location of the Greater Cincinnati Airport. She thought about how annoyed an uninformed traveler would be to discover that fact. The agent waved her through and she joined the enormous line waiting to have their luggage fed through the x-ray machine. She sat the bag at her feet and laced her fingers behind her head. I hope I remembered to put on deodorant, then she did remember, but followed up with a quick whiff of her right armpit.

Lizzie shifted on her feet. What the Hell is the hold up? She strained to see the front of the line. She saw three figures to the right of the x-ray machines, sprawled against a wall and being vigorously violated with security wands. Been a while since I had a date that good. Lizzie sighed and played ‘spot the lesbians’ in the crowd. Pretty sparse, she thought.

Lizzie lowered her arms as the line started to move. About fucking time. She placed her carry-on and her watch in the plastic receptacle and put it on the conveyor belt. She crossed her fingers and walked through the metal detector. She stood impatiently as her belongings ran through the baggage scanner then quickly gathered up the items and walked toward the C concourse. She felt her shoulder start to throb and headed for the nearest restaurant. “Small Coke." Lizzie placed her $2 on the counter. Two fucking dollars for a small Coke. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick.

She wandered over to the waiting area at the gate. There were only two seats available, one that appeared to have feces on it and the other next to a very large, sweaty man. Great. Crowded flight. Lizzie plopped down next to the man and took the Vicodin out of her carry-on. She ground the heel of her right hand against the top, the numbness in her hand preventing her from even registering the action. She shook three pills into her right hand. Might get me through the hour flight. She took each with a tiny swallow of Coke then glanced at the large, sweaty man to her right. If this guy were a superhero, he’d be Perspiro. Lizzie drained the rest of the Coke.

“First call for flight 5718, non-stop to Cincinnati," the speakers crackled. First-rate equipment, Lizzie thought sarcastically. Makes me want to put my life in this company’s hands. Lizzie stood, preparing to get in the line at the next call. Lizzie thought about the job she was leaving behind here in Chicago. Times were tough and the job did pay the bills, but she couldn’t say much more for it. She used to love working for the airline, primarily because of the travel benefit. She had used every day of vacation in the first five years she worked for Concordia flying everywhere her heart desired: Amsterdam, Frankfurt, London. Lately, though, she had the distinct impression that she was treading water, about to go under.

“Rows 8 through 13, now boarding flight 5718 non-stop to Cincinnati." Lizzie shuffled into line behind the great Perspiro. $5 says that he’s my row-mate. Lizzie sighed. At least the rows are only two-deep, not three or four.

She walked down the jetway, trying to avoid the bulky man. She stifled a laugh as Perspiro whacked an elderly man in the head with his briefcase. She saw Perspiro looking at the row number then back to his ticket. Oh shit. Perspiro shoved his briefcase into the overhead compartment and squeezed into the window seat. Lizzie looked to the row number. Oh, lucky 13 B. That’s me. She sighed. Right next to Perspiro. Lizzie grunted, heaving her carry-on into the overhead compartment. The pain shot through her shoulder, causing her to suck in her breath. She steadied herself against the seat. She kept only a paperback and a pen in her jacket pocket, since the flight was so brief. Sam had picked up a reprint of Ann Bannon’s “Odd Girl Out," a pulp novel from the 50s, for Lizzie last Christmas. It seemed the ideal reading selection, given Lizzie’s flight from the only civilization she had ever known to her backwater hometown. Lizzie plopped down next to Perspiro, fastened her seatbelt, and opened the book. Sorority sisters? Lizzie arched an eyebrow. Now this could actually be good.

[Kieli]

LOL This is quite good...I can sort of relate to Lizzie and Sam's friendship. I had a few guy friends that we used to do that buddy-buddy stuff to freak out the uptights. This is very well done. Nice flow (although the second chapter flew by a little bit), spelling and grammar were on the mark (you have no idea how unique that is...I beta read for a lot of people and those last two are my pet peeves) and you've managed to pique my interest for the next chapter. So post on, my child, post on!

Cheers!
Toni

[Patches]

tcurti3

Great start. I'm interested to see where you're going with this story. Please continue.

Patches

[justin]

That's a really good start tot he story.

I liked the banter between Lizzie and Sam. Also at Granny and her dogs.

I'm looking forward to reading more of this story.

[tcurti3]

Kieli & Justin: Glad you're enjoying it so far.
Patches: I think you'll be amused as the plot develops.

Same rules apply as stated above.
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Squirrel and Biscuits

“Ron!" Lizzie cried, jumping into her stepdad’s arms. Lizzie winced from his bear hug, but refused to let go. She stepped out of the hug and stood back to look at him. He wore a red-checked flannel shirt and dark blue jeans. His gray beard was neatly trimmed, unlike his eyebrows. He looks exactly the same—even the Conway Twitty hair.

“Prodigal daughter," Ron said, reaching to pick up the bag at Lizzie’s feet. Lizzie smiled—it was what her mother used to say on Lizzie’s infrequent trips home while she was in college.

“Where’s Granny?" Lizzie asked.

“Where do you think? At home, cookin’."

“Squirrel and biscuits?" Lizzie smiled. When she was a junior in college, Lizzie brought home her first girlfriend, Nell, during spring break. As Lizzie was prone to exaggeration, Nell had always been skeptical of Lizzie’s self-proclaimed hillbilly heritage. Lizzie smiled, remembering the expression on Nell’s face when Granny placed a heaping platter of squirrel hindquarters and biscuits on the dinner table.

“Probably." They made their way to the baggage claim. “How’s Sam?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Same as always. Unemployed," she smirked. “How’s Jimbo?”

“Hardly ever see him." Ron studied the arrivals/baggage claim board. “New girlfriend." They walked over to the baggage carousel. “How’s the pain?”

“Comes and goes." Lizzie grimaced. “Well, more comes than goes.”

The luggage spilled out on the carousel. “Any special girls?”

“Nope." Lizzie spied the rainbow sash around her suitcase. “You?”

Ron grabbed the suitcase off the conveyor belt. “Nah."

“You can tell me," Lizzie said quietly. “You know that she wanted you to.”

Ron shook his head, blushing. “Let’s get you home to Granny.”

“What do you mean I’m not even in Ohio?" Lizzie glanced at the Hertz customer service desk just in time to see Perspiro screaming and gesturing wildly at the counter attendant.


Lizzie leaned forward in her seat, raising her right arm to cradle her head.

“You okay?" Ron glanced over at her.

“It’s the only thing that makes it feel better," Lizzie said. “Unfortunately, it also makes me look like an idiot."

Ron chuckled. “How about some Beach Boys?”

“Sure," Lizzie mumbled. She stared out the passenger window at the open fields and doublewide trailers that populated either side of the road. Nothing ever changes here. She dropped her right hand to lightly massage her neck. But the trailers do seem to be getting bigger. Lizzie squinted as they drove by the old Beddler farmhouse. The house used to be white, but now had a faint gray hue. The front porch had collapsed and no one had yet cleaned up the splintered wood and shingles strewn about the yard. “Where’s the school bus?"

“You ask that every time you come home," he said, letting the Subaru roll to a stop at the intersection. “And every time, I tell you it ain’t been here for ten years." He glanced over at her. “And before you ask, no one ever lived in that bus. That was just a story your Granny used to tell you.”

“I know," Lizzie reclined against the seat. “The Beddlers kept hay in it." Lizzie smiled at the familiar exchange. Our little game. Lizzie sighed as she contemplated the decaying fence posts and decrepit barns on the road to her grandmother’s house. The leaves were just starting to turn. Lizzie rolled down her window and inhaled. Freshly-cut hay, apples, and burning wood. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sunshine on her face. She opened her eyes just as they were passing the Sampson Funeral Home. Lizzie closed her eyes again when she saw the Hearse and a line of black cars filing out of the parking lot.

“You okay?" Ron asked.

Lizzie nodded. “I know it’s stupid," she said. “But I’ve never been able to count the cars in a funeral procession. Someone told me it was bad luck when I was little.”

Ron’s car kicked into low gear as they started up the hill. “Let me guess," he said. “Granny."

Lizzie sighed. “Who else?" She looked out the window at the rusted barbed wire fence encasing her uncle’s field. “What the Hell happened there?" she asked, indicating a gaping hole in the fence.

“Your cousin Billy got drunk and decided to go four-wheelin’," he replied. “Didn’t your grandmother tell you?”

“She never tells me the good stuff," Lizzie strained to see her grandmother’s house. “She just calls to read me obituaries of people I’ve never met." Lizzie smiled when she saw the white farmhouse peeking through the trees. “God, is she ever gonna paint those shit-brown shutters?"

Ron pulled into the driveway, narrowly missing a stray branch on a lightning-damaged oak tree. He unloaded her suitcases and moved them to the porch. “Call me when you get settled?”

“You know I will," she said, pulling him into a hug. Lizzie waved goodbye to her stepfather then opened the door and was immediately accosted by three poodles. Lizzie turned and tried unsuccessfully to shut the aged screen door. Granny had fashioned a Byzantine locking mechanism from twisted, rusty nails and duct tape where a handle had once been mounted. “Lizzie, shut the door. You’re lettin’ all the heat out," Granny admonished her as she walked from the kitchen into the living room.

“I’m trying," Lizzie snapped. “What the Hell is wrong with this door?”

“It’s old," Granny stretched out the syllable of the last word. “Like Granny."

Lizzie glanced around the living room, the walls covered in overtly fake, peeling walnut paneling. Not one God damned thing has changed since 1980. Lizzie averted her gaze from the high bookshelf against the far wall, knowing it was lined with dolls wrapped in dusty Zip-loc bags. She gazed at the vintage 1970s furniture, dark-stained pine with a hideous orange and yellow swirl pattern on the cushions. Lizzie inhaled deeply. Apples, bacon, wet dog, and cigarette smoke. She smiled. Home.
Lizzie turned her gaze to her grandmother. Is she getting shorter?

Granny wore her white hair in short curls. Her pink-framed glasses were enormous against her small face, and the lenses magnified her eyes to comic proportions. She wore a pair of red polyester pants and a sweatshirt emblazoned with the motto ‘Dieborn Employee Picnic 1992’. Granny grinned widely as she picked up one of the poodles. “Look, boys. Lizzie’s home to stay with us! She’s gonna stay with Granny and her boys for four whole months!" The other two dogs barked and rushed past Lizzie to the screen door. Lizzie laughed softly, remembering something her mother had once said: “Your grandmother has been laboring for a number of years under the delusion that her dogs not only speak English, but share her emotions and enthusiasm." Lizzie stomped through the dog pack and headed for her old room.

Lizzie looked around the bedroom of her childhood, amazed that Granny managed to keep the room essentially as it was before she left for college. The “Fangoria" posters were still on the walls, as were her high school awards, her woodcut print of the Wife of Bath, a charcoal sketch of Wonder Woman, and a calendar from 1986. Lizzie acknowledged that Granny had succeeded in suspending time, save for the bedclothes that were laundered once every two weeks.

“What about your job? Granny knew them computers wouldn’t last." Since Lizzie was a little girl, Granny had insisted that the world would return to functioning as she knew it in the 1930s. Lizzie and Sam would save voice-mail rants from Granny for months about “the gubment" and how they were trying to “break the workin’ man" by taxing bread. Lizzie could never quite convince Granny that there is no tax on bread in the state of Kentucky.

“I still have my job, Granny. They put me on short-term disability." Lizzie looked closely at her grandmother. “I just told you that on the phone a couple of days ago.”

“You all right, Lizzie? You hungry? You want Granny to fix you some catfish?" Granny hugged Lizzie tightly to her chest. “Granny’s fixin’ up a batch of squirrel for tonight," she whispered. “Now, you keep your big mouth shut—your Aunt Virgie don’t need to know that.”

Lizzie heard the creak of the front door. Ah, the advent of Aunt Virgie. The poodles started barking and moved en masse from Lizzie’s bedroom toward the front room. Lizzie remembered something else her mother used to say: “If you can tolerate Virgie for an hour, the fires of Hell will be like a summer vacation in Alaska.”

“Mother!" Lizzie thought the word when used by Virgie was more of an accusation than a term of relation. Virgie pushed her way through the carpet of dogs to Lizzie’s bedroom. “Well, what are you doing here, Lizzie Mae?”

“Lizzie’s come home to stay with Granny and the boys." Granny held the smallest dog, an apricot toy poodle named Murph, up to her face. “Ain’t that right, Murph?" The dog growled and snapped at her nose. Granny tossed him to the ground. “You son of a bitch!" Granny shook her finger at him. “You’re mean! You’re just a mean old bastard!"

“I’m going to have an operation on my spine," Lizzie said matter-of-factly. She never understood this game between Granny and Virgie. Everyone knew that the two told each other everything, but both pretended never to speak to the other.

“Well, glad you decided to tell me." Virgie inhaled the last of her BestBrand cigarette and crushed it into the Niagara Falls ashtray she held in her hand.

“When did you go to Niagara Falls?" Lizzie smiled despite the pain in her right arm. This little game she did understand: haranguing Virgie whenever she produced a souvenir from a place Lizzie knew Virgie had never seen.

“What? Oh, you know damned good and well I got this at Betty James’ yard sale four years ago, smart ass. I see you didn’t lose any of that smart mouth in Chicago." She laid the ashtray on the dresser and Granny immediately picked it up and headed for the kitchen. Virgie swooped down to pick up Murph. “How’s my Murph today?" Murph turned and bared his three remaining teeth at her. “You mean-ass son of a bitch!"

“Lizzie! Granny needs some Crisco from the store!" Granny called from the kitchen. “And while you’re at it, get some peanuts. Doctor says I ain’t supposed to have ‘em, but I don’t care what he says. Old son of a bitch thinks he’s so smart, then up and marries that whore what drives the bookmobile. I ain’t listenin’ to him." Granny grumbled.

Lizzie grabbed the keys to Granny’s 1980 Concord and headed for the front door. “Be back in a minute," she yelled. The dogs snapped at Lizzie’s heels as she walked out the door.

“Wait a minute! Take some money with you!" Granny charged out the door with two wrinkled dollar bills.

“Granny, I think I can afford Crisco and peanuts." Lizzie gunned the engine in the powder blue Concord. Such a cool ride, Lizzie laughed to herself. She turned left at the foot of the hill and spied the underpass leading to Butler. Each time Lizzie saw the underpass, it seemed a little less sturdy. Lizzie’s mother was convinced her entire life that the tunnel would collapse as she drove through on her way to work at the local grade school. Every morning Lizzie would ride with her mother to school, shutting her eyes tight and praying to be spared for just one more day.
Lizzie dodged the massive holes in the floor of the underpass and made a left at the end of the tunnel into the parking lot of Shirley’s, the local grocery store. The sign on the store read “Bill’s Grocery," but Bill had been dead about 15 years.

Lizzie hopped out of the car and pulled open the screen door, almost collapsing from the pain that ripped through her right shoulder. The smell of overripe bananas and stale cigarette smoke bombarded her. Lizzie recognized Hap Baden and Bill Ramsey. They were standing around the counter while Shirley’s obese sister, Melva, played absently with a deck of cards. They glanced at Lizzie then went back to their conversation.

“You hear about that plane crash over in Fred’s field?" Hap asked Melva.

“Everybody heard about that. It was in the paper." Melva stared at her cards.

Lizzie found the Crisco between the pink Circus Peanuts and the faded boxes of maxi-pads, then grabbed a jar of Smith’s Best Peanuts in the Shell and tossed them on the counter before Melva. “Something’s always crashing in Fred’s field," Lizzie said. She snickered, recalling the frantic message Granny had left on her voice mail last month. The message claimed that terrorists had brought down a 747 in Fred’s field. Lizzie immediately called Ron to discover that the allegedly hijacked 747 was really a Cessna that ran out of fuel.

Melva squinted her eyes at Lizzie. “Ain’t you Hannah’s granddaughter?" Lizzie nodded. “I ain’t seen you in years. I thought you was off in New York."

“Chicago, actually. I still live there. I’m just visiting Granny." Melva shrugged and tossed Lizzie’s purchases into a Big Lots bag.

“See ya," Lizzie said. The two men stared at Lizzie. Melva returned to her cards. “Quite a homecoming," Lizzie mumbled to herself and moved to push the door. She saw the arm pulling the door open from the outside too late to stop. “Shit!" Lizzie said as she stumbled through the door. A strong arm grabbed Lizzie around the waist and steadied her. “You okay?" a deep but distinctly female voice asked. Lizzie looked up to bright blue eyes and wavy shoulder-length brunette hair.

“I’m fine. Just a little off-kilter today, I guess." Those eyes, I know those eyes. “Wait a minute, I know you. Michelle Gardener? Is that right?”

“Mickey, if you don’t mind." She looked Lizzie over, never dropping her strong arm from Lizzie’s waist. “You look familiar, too, but I just can’t place you.”

“We went to high school together. You were a couple of years ahead of me." Lizzie reddened as she remembered drawing a red outline around Mickey’s picture in the school yearbook until the ink showed through the other side of the page. “I’m Lizzie, Lizzie Gossage.”

Mickey’s face brightened. “Lizzie? You mean Jimbo’s stepsister Lizzie?”

Lizzie stiffened. She only knows me through my stepbrother? How the Hell does she even know my stepbrother? He’s younger than me! Lizzie’s teenage fantasy of mutual late-night longing and study-hall daydreaming wilted. “Yeah," Lizzie mumbled.

“I can’t believe I haven’t met you yet!" Mickey gave a puzzled glance at Lizzie’s right arm, now stretched over her head. Lizzie blushed and let her arm drop. “I’m Jimbo’s fiancé!”

“Oh, that’s…uh…that’s…uh…something," Lizzie tried to remember how many Vicodin she had taken that morning. Can’t be real…can’t be real.

Mickey shoved her right hand directly in front of Lizzie’s nose. “Isn’t it beautiful?"

I always thought so. Lizzie examined the tiny stone set in what appeared to be a white gold band. “Yeah, that’s really…nice.”

“I just can’t believe he asked me," Mickey gushed. “We’ve only known each other for six months."

Lizzie tried to remember the last time she had talked to her stepbrother. Has it really been nine months? She grimaced, remembering the drunken call she placed to Jimbo on New Year’s Eve. “Yeah, that’s…he’s…he’s really a great guy.”

Mickey squealed, turning her hand to admire her ring. No, not a squealer, too. “Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were in New York or something." Mickey lightly slapped her forehead. “Wait a minute…you’re here for that operation, aren’t you?”

Lizzie blushed. “Yeah. I…uh…yeah." Brilliant! Impress her with that 160 IQ!

Mickey brushed past her, heading for the back of the store. “I guess I’ll see you!" she called out over her shoulder.

Wounded, Lizzie tossed her Big Lots bag in the seat. She popped the parking brake on the Concord and glanced back up at the door. Hap and Bill stared at her through the door. She tossed up her hand, mumbled a “fuck you both" under her breath, and headed for home.

[onyxsundrops]

It's always great when people post original works, rather it's poetry, fiction, etc. I'm enjoying this story and I look forward to reading more.

Yvonne

[Kieli]

Yep, you've pulled me back in time...back to the rural South (North Carolina, to be precise), when I can remember all of those nostalgic things (both good and bad). I felt like I was in my Aunt Viola's kitchen with her soaking black eyed peas and yelling at my Uncle Earl to mind the barbecue pit.

All of this to say, Damn Good, sister!

[vix84]

Haha, I loved this line: “Your grandmother has been laboring for a number of years under the delusion that her dogs not only speak English, but share her emotions and enthusiasm."

Wow, I'm glad I found this story. Lizzie is such a fun character - I really liked her vacuum cleaner retort - and I like where this is going. It's full of very funny lines and you've got a great set up. The people in the town are just hilarious!

Looking forward to more!

[tcurti3]

Kieli, onyxsundrops, vix84--so glad you guys are enjoying the story. Things are going to get quite, um, interesting in just a couple of chapters.
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Mangoes and Mysteries

“You got your clothes, Lizzie?" Granny called from the bedroom.

“I’m not staying overnight—I just have to get some blood work done." Lizzie had been ready to leave for an hour.

“Not them kinda clothes, Lizzie." Granny waved her hand in front of her zipper. “Clothes! For your thing!”

Lizzie looked at Granny with confusion. Slowly, it dawned on her. “Do you mean tampons?”

“Clothes!" Granny said in a hushed tone, teeth clenched.

Lizzie shook her head. “If you mean tampons, I’m not on my period, so I won’t be needing those." She glanced up at Granny. “If you have yet another meaning for the word ‘clothes’, then I’m guessing I won’t need that, either.”

Lizzie turned, hearing Ron’s 1989 Subaru Legacy wagon pull up the gravel drive. “He’s here!" she called. All three dogs yipped wildly, pressing their feet against the mesh of the screen door.

“Ready?" Ron tapped on the screen door. The three dogs went wild, howling and scratching at each other. Granny shoved Murph out of the way with her toe. The hackles on the dog’s back arose and his mouth twisted into a near-toothless snarl.

Lizzie pulled the door shut behind her. “Hang on a minute," she said, rushing back to the door. She emerged a few minutes later carrying the large bottle of Vicodin and two Cokes. She slid in the back seat behind Ron. “Just in case," she said, popping the bottle open and tapping three pills into her palm.

Ron slipped the car into gear and headed out the driveway. Lizzie swallowed the pills, squinting out the window in the glaring sunlight. She hadn’t had much sleep, but she could have driven this route with her eyes closed. It’s 1985. Lizzie closed her eyes. It’s 1985 and I’ve got a crush on this really hot basketball player named Mickey who has no idea who I am. Lizzie leaned her forehead against the window. And I made Sam come to the regional basketball finals and he’s never going to forgive me for that. Lizzie tapped her head lightly on the glass. But she’s just so fucking hot in that uniform. And she kinda looks like Wonder Woman just a little.

“I heard you met Mickey," Ron said, slowing to stop at the foot of the hill.
Lizzie snapped back to reality. “Uh…yeah. Saw her at Shirley’s." And I really shouldn’t be thinking about my future sister-in-law like that. “We went to high school together, too." Of course, she wouldn’t know that. But I do, oh, I do.

“Huh. I didn’t know that." Ron turned on to the main highway.

“Neither did she." Lizzie said quietly. She saw Ron glance at her in the rearview mirror.

“So, do you remember how to get to the hospital?" Ron asked.

“I think so." Lizzie said. “From when Mom was in there." Lizzie’s mother had been confined to Deaconess Hospital in Cincinnati sporadically throughout most of the last six months of her life. Lizzie had made frantic trips home from Louisville every weekend to help take care of her. I was lucky not to have a real job then.

“Velma got shot in the head," Granny stated. Ron and Lizzie turned to look at her.

“What the Hell did you just say?" Lizzie asked.

“I said Velma got shot in the head."

“Velma’s been dead for five years, Granny." Lizzie said.

“Now, I know that, Lizzie Mae Gossage." Lizzie recognized the anger in Granny’s voice. “I’m sayin’ that she got shot in the head in Cincinnati when we was kids.”

Lizzie exchanged confused glances with her stepfather in the mirror. “I knew Velma all my life and she never told me she suffered a head wound." Lizzie took a sip of her Coke. “You’re making that shit up.”

Granny turned in her seat to look full on at Lizzie. “I. Am. Not." Granny twisted back to her original position. “She got shot in the head. The very first day we got here."

Lizzie shook her head. “You mean, got here from Illinois?" Or got here from outer space?

“From Illinois!" Granny said. “They was some man there at the train station and he shot her in the head.”

Lizzie looked at her stepdad in the mirror. He was going to be no help with this one. “What man? Velma had to be, like, ten years old then. What the Hell, Granny?”

Granny shrugged and looked off over her right shoulder. “Got shot in the head," she said softly. “Rode that train for six days." Lizzie frowned, choosing to allow the topic to die.

“When did that happen?" Lizzie pointed to a strip mall in what had previously been a field.

“That’s where your cousin Missy works," Granny said, pointing to the Mei Wah Cantonese restaurant next to the Kroger.

Lizzie suppressed a gag as she contemplated a hillbilly interpretation of moo shu chicken. She shuddered as she thought of her cousin, champion dirt eater, handling food. “Remind me never to eat there.”
“Here we go," Ron said as he eased the car onto the interstate access road.


“Lizzie, we’re here," Ron shook her gently. “We’re at Deaconness.”
Lizzie blinked her eyes, trying to remember where she was. “Sam?" she said groggily.

“Sam ain’t here," Granny snapped. “Granny’s takin’ care of you now."

At that, Lizzie snapped awake. She followed her stepfather and grandmother in the front door of the hospital. “It’s on the second floor," Lizzie said, checking the hospital directory posted just inside the door. They took the elevator to the second floor and Lizzie checked in at the desk. Moments later, Lizzie sat staring at a haggard brunette nurse. Lizzie winced as the nurse inserted the needle in her left arm. Fuckin’ Morbius. “Any history of diabetes?" Lizzie shook her head. “Heart disease? Thyroid disorder? Any current medications? Any medication allergies? Any loose teeth?" The items of the list blended together. .

“I’m on 15mg Prevacid and 20mg Lisinopril. I lost a tooth when I was in a car wreck 20 years ago—does that matter?" Loose teeth? What the fuck?

“They don’t want you to swallow any loose teeth or bridgework when we intubate," the nurse said as if reading Lizzie’s mind.

Lizzie shivered. “Intubate? I’ll be asleep for that, won’t I?"

“Well, you’ll be asleep when they insert the tube," she removed the needle from Lizzie’s vein, placing a small bandage over the wound. “But you’ll be awake when they remove it.”

“I’ve got a pretty horrific gag reflex." Lizzie drew her left arm back against her chest. “Any chance they can remove it before I wake up?"

“Not with this surgery. Too great a risk the tube will do permanent damage to the spine." Lizzie frowned. “Don’t worry—you won’t even remember it.”

“Well, how great a chance is there?" The nurse raised her eyebrow. “Of damage to my spine from the tube?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it." The nurse gathered up the needle and tubes. “I’m sure nothing like that will happen.”


Lizzie retrieved her grandmother and stepfather in the waiting room and headed for the parking lot. “How about we get together at the house tonight?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a party," Lizzie said, rubbing the wound on her left arm.

“It’s not a party," Ron said. “Just me, your Granny, Jimbo, and Mickey. Jimbo really wants to see you before you go in for your surgery."

Well, that’s just fucking great. Maybe I’ll just steal away during dessert and whack off in the bathroom to visions of my stepbrother’s girlfriend. “Okay.”

“Granny’ll make airplane salad!" Granny yelled. “Pull into the Kroger, Ronnie, and I’ll get me some mangoes.”

“Granny, how many times do I have to tell you? Those are green peppers, not mangoes. Mangoes are a tropical fruit." Lizzie could not count the number of times she had this conversation with Granny.

“Lizzie, Granny’s got to have mangoes for the airplane salad!" Lizzie threw up her hands as the old woman climbed out of the car.

“Why do I even try?" Lizzie asked.

“With her? I’m not sure." Ron reached for the radio. “So, what’s the deal with you and Mickey?”

The breath caught in Lizzie’s chest. “What?" She reached for another Coke. “No deal, just…no deal." She popped the top and took a sip. “Just Pendleton High School alumni, that’s all."

“Um hmm." Ron smirked as he pushed the tape jutting from the radio into its slot. “How about some Ray Charles?”

“Now you’re talkin’." Lizzie searched for her Vicodin. He knows. Shit. Lizzie remembered the night she lost her virginity. Stinking of bourbon, she had stumbled into the front door and proclaimed that someone had spilled a drink on her. Her mother had looked at her suspiciously. Ron had taken her quickly by the arm and led her towards the bathroom. “Did you use protection?" he had asked. Lizzie had shaken her head, numb. “Okay. You’ll be all right." He had kissed her on the forehead. “Just get some sleep and we’ll work it through tomorrow." Lizzie was jolted back to the present by Ray Charles’ “I Can’t Stop Loving You.”

Oh Christ. Lizzie closed her eyes and settled back against the car seat. What am I doing? What if she knows?

“Let’s go!" Granny said excitedly as she slipped into the front seat. “Granny’s gotta get home and make her airplane salad." Lizzie smiled despite the pain in her shoulder.


Granny spent the afternoon chatting with her dogs as she prepared the airplane salad. Lizzie watched her sleepily from the living room couch as the older woman buzzed around the kitchen. “Lizzie," Granny said quietly as she jostled her out of sleep.

“What?" Lizzie cried.

“We gotta get ready to go to the party," Granny rose and walked toward her bedroom. “You need to go get the stink blowed off ya."

Lizzie pushed herself into a sitting position. She winced from the pain shooting through her shoulder. She reached for the Vicodin with shaking hands. What the fuck have I gotten myself into? “Where’re your keys?" she called to her grandmother. “I’ll drive."

Granny returned wearing a t-shirt adorned with two squirrels holding an acorn. The squirrels’ tails were streaked with gold glitter. “Granny is perfectly capable of driving.”

“No, you’re not," Lizzie said flatly. “And where the Hell did you get that hideous shirt?"

“Your Aunt Virgie got this for me from the flea market at Metamora," Granny replied indignantly, taking her keys from a nail driven into the doorframe. “And yes, I am.”

It’s only a half-mile to Ron’s house. Lizzie swallowed hard. We might make it with only minor injuries. Fifteen minutes later, Lizzie stumbled into Ron’s house, pale and shaking from the ride.

“There she is!" Jimbo grabbed Lizzie around the waist, picking her up and hugging her close. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry—I forgot," he apologized, placing her back on the ground. Lizzie smiled weakly, moving her right hand up to grasp the back of her neck.

“That’s okay." She grabbed his shoulder with her left hand. “Couldn’t hurt me any more than Granny’s driving." Lizzie heard Granny grunt at her comment. “I’ve missed you, Jimbo."

Jimbo smiled. “Missed you, too. Heard you ran into my girl." Lizzie noticed Mickey sitting on the couch in the living room. She was wearing a tight blue mini-skirt and a white tank top.

“Hey," said Mickey, starting to get up.

“Hey," Lizzie mumbled, averting her eyes. Oh my God, a mini-skirt? Seriously?

“See the new truck?" Jimbo asked, gesturing his head toward the driveway.

“Fuckin’ A. Dakota 4x4 long bed. Nice." Lizzie was grateful for the small talk. “I’ve still got the Jeep.”

Jimbo shook his head. “How’s Sam?”

“Same as always, unemployed," Lizzie said.

“Is that your boyfriend?" Mickey asked.

Lizzie looked at her incredulously. “You didn’t mention…" she said to Jimbo.

“Yeah, I know I did." Jimbo draped his arm over Mickey’s shoulder. “Remember, honey? I told you Lizzie is gay.”

Mickey smacked her head lightly with her open palm. “Duh!" She leaned in to Lizzie. “Forgot.”

Oh Christ. “Oh, that’s…okay." Lizzie said.

“Stupid girl," Granny growled. “Lizzie don’t like no boys!”

Ron ducked into the kitchen. “Anybody want anything to drink?"

“I’d kill for a Maker’s and Coke, but I guess I’ll just stick with the Coke and these," Lizzie followed Ron into the kitchen and placed the Vicodin on the kitchen table. She glanced around the room. It’s exactly the way Mom left it. Lizzie smiled at the vintage 1970s mushroom-themed dishes stacked on the counter.

Granny plopped a large Tupperware bowl next to Lizzie’s medication. “Here’s that airplane salad.”

“What kind of salad?" Mickey asked.

“Airplane." Granny said, grabbing a ladle from Ron’s dish drainer. “It’s got maters and onions and mangoes in it.”

“It’s gazpacho," Lizzie mumbled to Mickey. “It doesn’t really have mangoes, it has green peppers."

“Them’s mangoes, Lizzie!" Granny smacked the ladle down on the table next to the bowl. “Can’t make airplane salad without mangoes!”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and shook her head at Mickey. Mickey laughed and scooted off toward Jimbo. Whew.


As soon as Granny pulled into the driveway, Lizzie sprinted into Granny’s house and dialed Sam’s number. Only Granny would still have a rotary phone. She breathlessly relayed the events of the evening as soon as he picked up. “No fucking way," Sam said.

“Yes, fucking way," Lizzie retorted. “I swear. And she looks fucking good. Has not changed a bit since high school." Lizzie twirled the phone cord around her finger. “And I mean fucking good." Lizzie sighed. “Of course, it doesn’t matter at all since she’s dating my brother.”

“I always hated that fucking cunt.”

“Yes, I know. Her dumbass boyfriend called you Twinkletoes every day for ten years," Lizzie said. “But how was that her fault?”

“Guilt by association," Sam spat. “Twinkletoes—how fucking stupid is that?" Lizzie envisioned the look of disgust on Sam’s face. “I bet that fuckhead is working as a bagboy at Kroger.”

“Actually, I think he’s a bagboy at the Winn-Dickme," Lizzie said. “God damn, Sam. It was like being back in high school."

“Only she actually spoke to you this time.”

[tcurti3]

And now it gets a little more complicated for our intrepid hero.
Same rules as above (mine, all mine).
Feedback foamy.

---------------------------
No More Talking

“Really, not everyone has to be in here with me." Lizzie said, painfully aware of how bad she looked.

“Granny’s gonna be here the whole time, Lizzie," Granny cried. “Granny ain’t goin’ nowhere!”

Lizzie motioned for Ron to lean his head down to the bed where she laid, IVs running to both hands. “Please get her out of here." She motioned toward Granny. “I love her but this is tough enough without…"

Ron nodded. “Jimbo, why don’t you, me, and Granny go get some coffee? Mickey, you don’t mind stayin’ with Lizzie for a few minutes, do you?”

Mickey looked at Jimbo, then down at Lizzie. “I guess not."

Lizzie blushed. She looked down at her hospital gown, flecked with blood from the IVs, noting that the booties the nurse gave her were two very different shades of green. I look so fucking hot.

“I think I remember you from high school," said Mickey over Granny’s retreating protests.

“Really?" Because I sure as shit remember you.

“Yeah." Mickey absently played with a strand of hair just behind her ear. “I think they used to call you Lizzie Borden, didn’t they?”

Lizzie felt her ego deflate. “Um…yeah. There were some guys who called me that." I can’t believe that’s what she remembers. How about me winning the Governor’s Cup regional? How about me winning the full tuition scholarship to Centre? How about me dropping Physics to take Home Ec just so I could be in the same room with you?

“I guess you didn’t like that, huh?" Mickey asked. Lizzie shook her head. “I’m really sorry that you have to go through this," Mickey said. Lizzie looked up and they both smiled.

“So, you’re just about ready," said the intern.

Lizzie snapped back to reality. “Huh? Oh yeah, it looks that way.”

“They explained the risks to you?" he asked, popping open Lizzie’s chart.

“Well, kind of. They said that there could be some kind of intubation issue." Mickey looked at her quizzically.

The intern made a dismissive sound. “That’s the least of your problems." He continued scanning her chart. “You have a 1 in 10,000 chance of being a quadriplegic, a 1 in 50,000 chance of being a paraplegic, and a 1 in 200,000 chance of dying due to unforeseen issues with anesthetic."

Lizzie’s jaw dropped. “What?" She looked around then felt a cool hand grasping her fingers. She looked up at Mickey, then back at the intern. “No one ever told me that." Lizzie felt tears well up. “1 in 10,000? That sounds like pretty shitty odds."

The intern shrugged. “Well, better than 2 in 10,000." Asshole. He wrote something on the chart then snapped it shut. “You should be fine, though. Dr. Harrison has done this operation hundreds of times." He turned and walked off briskly.

“Has he done it 10,000 times?" Lizzie called after the intern. She looked up at Mickey. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“I know. What a jerk." Mickey glared at the intern’s back. “He could have at least been nicer about it.”

Lizzie started, feeling liquid fire in her free hand. She glanced over to see the nurse injecting the last of a very large needle into the IV. “Demarol," said the nurse. “You’ll be ready to go in about five minutes." She walked off.

Lizzie felt her head start to swim. Dizzy. Kryptonite. 1 in 10,000. Jesus. She motioned for Mickey to come closer. “I’ve got something to tell you." She closed her eyes, feeling the Demarol and Vicodin give her strength. “All through high school, I had the hugest crush on you. I took classes I hated just to be in the same room with you," Lizzie swallowed hard. “And I memorized your schedule so I knew where I needed to end up during my breaks to see you." Lizzie sighed. “I was absolutely, completely in love with you and I never really got over it."

Lizzie opened her eyes. Mickey’s face hovered just above hers, her ear turned toward Lizzie’s mouth. Oh fuck, I have so fucked myself now. Lizzie tried to formulate an apology when she realized that Mickey was slowly turning her head. Without looking at her eyes, Mickey placed her lips over Lizzie’s. Lizzie arched her back, leaning in to the kiss. She reached for the back of Mickey’s head, then felt warm liquid all over her arm. She pulled out of the kiss. “Shit!" Lizzie spat. The blood from her now-useless IV splattered on the bed. “Sorry," she said to Mickey.
Mickey looked down at Lizzie. “I…uh…Jimbo," she said as Lizzie heard someone walk up to the bed.

“How’re my two favorite girls?" he asked, then noticed the torn IV. “Oh shit, I’ll get a nurse.”

Oh God, how could I do this to my brother?


“Miss?" Lizzie felt a push on her left shoulder. “Miss?”

Lizzie opened her eyes. She glanced around groggily. Where am I? She could think the words, but no sound came out when she opened her mouth. Lizzie moved her fingers, then her toes. She smiled, relieved.
“You’re in Recovery," the nurse stated. “Are you in pain?" Lizzie pointed to her throat and nodded weakly. The nurse injected liquid into the IV in her left hand. “Morphine.”

Lizzie continued pointing to her throat, raising her eyebrows. “The incision is in the front—remember? That’s why you’re sore. Well, that and the intubation." She checked the levels on a machine attached to Lizzie. “At least you’re not a quadriplegic.”

At the mention of the word, Lizzie’s eyes flew open wide. Oh God, please let it have been a dream. Lizzie felt her head begin to swim as the morphine hit her bloodstream.



“Lizzie?" Granny rushed for the gurney, her eyes red-rimmed. “Is my baby all right?"

Lizzie blinked slowly as the aides positioned the gurney in her semi-private room. She looked up at Granny and nodded weakly, flinching from the searing pain in her neck and throat. The nurse picked up her left hand, checking the integrity of the IV. Lizzie winced. At least there’s only one now. She felt another dose of medication enter her bloodstream.

“Lizzie? Lizzie, why ain’t ya talkin’?" Granny pushed Lizzie’s hair out of her eyes.

“I think it’s because of the surgery," said Ron, leaning in to kiss Lizzie on the forehead. “Hurts?" Lizzie blinked and attempted a slight nod of her head. “Want me to get some Chloraseptic?" Lizzie mouthed the word ‘yes.’ Ron turned to leave the room.

“Poor baby. Granny’s gonna take good care of her baby," Granny cooed. “Ain’t no bastard gonna hurt my Lizzie again!" Lizzie sighed, closing her eyes. “Granny’s gonna take good care of her just like she took care of Ruth." Lizzie felt tears forming at the mention of her mother’s name. Not that. Not pancreatic cancer, Lizzie thought as she drifted off to sleep.


Lizzie stirred when Ron returned bearing a red spray bottle. “This should help," he said as he placed it on the adjustable table next to her bed.
L
izzie sprayed two blasts into her mouth, swallowing hard. She coughed, sending sharp pain from her shoulders all the way to the base of her skull. She felt herself starting to gray out.

“Lizzie!" Granny yelped. Lizzie snapped back to consciousness. “Lizzie, before Granny forgets, your aunt Virgie called and said to say ‘hi.’" Lizzie felt her eyes drift shut.

“Lizzie!" Granny shook her shoulder. “Lizzie, Ron says we’ve got to leave!"

Lizzie blinked. Ron leaned down to kiss her forehead. She raised a finger and formed a ‘J’, mouthing the word ‘Jimbo’. Ron nodded. “Jimbo and Mickey had to leave. Jimbo had to work tonight." Lizzie blinked her understanding. “You’ll see them tomorrow, though.”

Lizzie fell into a dreamless sleep. She awoke the next morning to a bustle of activity as the surgeon visited her on his round. Following his visit, the nurse removed her IV and left her with a packet of paperwork. She was filling out the forms when she heard a familiar voice.

“Ready to blow this shithole?" Jimbo joked, popping his head around the door of Lizzie’s hospital room. Lizzie smiled, pointing to her throat and shaking her head. “Yeah, the old man said that you couldn’t speak yet." He tousled Lizzie’s hair. “That’s a first.”

Lizzie looked up to see Mickey standing in the doorway. “Hey," Mickey said, looking at the floor. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

Lizzie blushed and looked to the floor. Oh God. What have I done? Jimbo took Mickey’s hand. At least she didn’t tell Jimbo. Yet.
The nurse entered the room. “The doctor’s signed your release, so you’re good to go." She handed Lizzie five slips of paper. “These are your prescriptions. Take this one for pain once every four hours, this one is a muscle relaxer and that’s four times a day, this one’s an anti-inflammatory and that’s twice a day, and this one’s a laxative that you take once a day," the nurse intoned, pointing to each slip. Lizzie blushed, grabbing the papers from the nurse.

“Better than gettin’ an enema from Granny," Jimbo said. Lizzie glared at him. He put up his hands in mock surrender then picked up her bag.
Lizzie put up her finger, indicating that Jimbo should place the bag back on the bed. She rifled in the side pocket, producing a Cubs hat. She placed it on her head, relieved that at least her horrific case of bed-head would no longer be visible.

“Feel better?" Jimbo said. “I think that’s the longest I’ve ever seen you without a baseball cap." Lizzie smacked at him lovingly, then let her hands drop, shamed by what had happened with Mickey.

“I’m kind of liking this no-talking thing," he laughed, walking towards the door. Lizzie shuddered as Jimbo placed his arm around Mickey’s shoulders.



Lizzie dozed in the truck on the way home. Jimbo and Mickey dropped her off at Granny’s house. The next three days passed in a haze. Lizzie still couldn’t speak and suffered shocks of pain every time she moved her head. She found herself drifting in and out of sleep.

“God damn it straight to Hell!" Lizzie awoke to Granny’s scream and three yipping dogs. She tried to lift her head to determine the nature of the commotion, but couldn’t quite move it. She lifted her right hand to the back of her head, pulling her head forward as she moved to a sitting position. Lizzie waved her hand toward Granny, attempting to determine what was going on.

“Granny brought ya some shrimp, Lizzie." Granny put a heaping plate of fried shrimp on the bedside table. “Damned dogs got in the way and made Granny yell.” Lizzie shook her head, pointing at her throat. She picked up the notepad from the bedside table and wrote the word ‘Jell-O.’ Granny’s face fell. “Thought you’d be sick and tired of Jell-O!" Granny snatched the plate away. “Just gonna have to eat it ourself." Lizzie watched her shuffle out the door. “Jell-O," Granny scoffed as she headed for the kitchen.

Lizzie lay back on the bed slowly. The constant pain in her shoulder and numbness in her arm had been replaced by a more tolerable throb in her neck. Her mind drifted back to her mother’s last days.

“I’m sorry," she blurted out to her mother. Ruth was hunched over in her hospital bed, sneaking a cigarette after maxing out the morphine drip.
“For what?" Ruth asked.
“That this happened," Lizzie nodded her head at the morphine drip, the cheesy Seek-a-Word puzzles, and the ugly hospital gown. “For all this." Lizzie felt a tear roll down her cheek. “For being…for everything." For loving Dad more, for not being exactly what you wanted, for breaking my leg jumping off the roof while pretending to be Batman when I was 7, for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to you.
Ruth closed her eyes. “You were just a kid growing up," she said, dropping her cigarette in a Styrofoam cup. “You didn’t know any better.”

“Here’s your God damned Jell-O!" Lizzie jumped as Granny tossed a pre-made cup of lime Jell-O and a plastic spoon at her head. Not even a ‘think fast.’ The cup bounced off the headboard, landing upside down on the pillow next to Lizzie. Glad she didn’t take the lid off. Lizzie raised her right middle finger towards the doorway.

Lizzie sighed then pulled the sealed top off the Jell-O. She picked up the spoon and started to eat. Her mind drifted back to the kiss she had shared with Mickey before the operation. I wonder if she’s told him yet. She shuddered at the thought. That’s why he hasn’t even called. Ron had visited every day, but he hadn’t mentioned Mickey or Jimbo.

“Stop jumpin’, you little son of a bitch!" Lizzie heard Granny yell from the other room. “They’se plenty shrimp for all of us.”


“He did not!" God, her voice is enough to break glass. “Mother, he did not die 25 years ago!”

Slowly, Lizzie arose from her bed. She checked her bandage in the mirror. One side appeared swollen. A goiter—now that is hot. She walked through the hallway to the front room. Virgie perched on the edge of Granny’s couch, alternately sipping coffee and puffing her cigarette. “Well, the dead have arisen.”

Lizzie shot her a piercing look. Fuck you. Lizzie lowered herself into the bright blue La-Z-Boy.

“Lizzie!" Granny stood in the door between the kitchen and the front room. “Whatcha want, Lizzie? You want some catfish?”

Lizzie shook her head and motioned at Virgie’s coffee cup. Lizzie watched as Granny poured her a cup, added milk, and set the cup down beside her. Lizzie took a sip and grimaced. That is so fucking weak. Lizzie forced herself to swallow the liquid.

“Maybe you can settle this," Aunt Virgie said to Lizzie. “How many years ago did your grandfather die?”

Lizzie counted the years in her head. She held up all ten fingers, then lowered them and raised eight more.

“Huh. Eighteen. See, I told you so, Mother!" Virgie yelled toward the kitchen. “Well, you ever gonna be able to talk again?" Virgie said, crushing out her cigarette. She pulled another one from the pack at her side. “Although it has been nice around here without that smart mouth.”
Seriously, fuck you. “Doctor said it should be about a week," Granny said from the kitchen.

Lizzie swatted at a dog that had leapt up on the chair with her. “Don’t hit him!" Aunt Virgie spat. Lizzie extended her right middle finger. “Well, that’s real nice."

“Don’t hit who?" Granny rushed into the room.

“Lizzie tried to hit Coochee."

Did she really just say that this dog’s name is Coochee? Lizzie shook her head at Granny. She pointed to Aunt Virgie then twirled her finger against her temple, making the universal sign for insanity.
“Well, I certainly don’t have to stay around and take this," Aunt Virgie huffed as she stormed out the door.

[Kieli]

Only one nitpick....Lizzie wouldn't have had a goiter unless she ingested a large amount of food or drugs or had a thyroid problem. She'd have had other symptoms to follow other than simple neck swelling. I'd say she probably just had edemic swelling due to the trauma to her neck. I'm sure there's fluid that needed to be drained there or, unfortunately for her, there was an infection. *bleh* In either case, it's not pretty.

Otherwise, this is thorougly enjoyable, though it seemed a bit rushed. You could slow down some of that action and give us more drugged introspection on Lizzie's part or give us a real reason why she felt she needed to confess to Mickey right then and there. I can guess that she did it because she felt a) the chance she would die under the knife was really high and she wanted Micket to know and b) she felt she could always explain it away as the drugs talking. But I love this piece; it's funny, quirky and god knows it reminds me of my own hick relatives. So...update soon?

[tcurti3]

Hey, Kieli! I really appreciate your feedback on the story. One of the fun parts of writing Lizzie is that, well, she tends to think she knows a lot more than she actually does. This tendency, and the ramifications thereof, crop up throughout the rest of the story. In the next chapter, her doctor actually laughs at her for referring to the infection (eww!) as a goiter.
Good idea on slowing it down/showing more of Lizzie's thought process. The primary motivation in her telling Mickey was the medication. I recently had surgery and the pre-cutting cocktail was pretty powerful stuff. I vaguely remember conversing with a camel before waking up in recovery.
Again, thanks so much for your feedback. You rock.
Signed,
Anxiously Awaiting an Update on Coincidental Magic

[Kieli]

In the next chapter, her doctor actually laughs at her for referring to the infection (eww!) as a goiter.

LOL Doctors...they can be such assholes sometimes. I wanted to throttle that damned intern in your last chapter. I see too many of them here where I work.

I recently had surgery and the pre-cutting cocktail was pretty powerful stuff. I vaguely remember conversing with a camel before waking up in recovery.

You're lucky...I had my wisdom teeth removed (all of them in one day...bleh) and I am constantly reminded of how I tried to sing country music at the top of my lungs in the recovery room. *shudder* Glad I don't remember it...but my partner sure does...damn it all.

[vix84]

Hey, loved the update. I was waiting to see what she'd do when left alone with Mickey and she definitely didn't disappoint.

Again, I have to tell you how much I love the humour in your story. If you keep this up, my day might stop sucking as much as it is currently.

You and Kieli are making me wish that when I went under anaesthetic I had done something more interesting. All I remember was telling the nurse how beautiful the sky was and then I was gone.

Looking forward to more of Lizzie's messed up adventures.

[StrangeQuark]

First of all, this is a great story told very well. Bravo.

It’s gritty and full of earthy dialogue. It’s chocked-full with powerful, definite characters and settings. The flow feels right to me-- not too fast, not too slow-- and the progress of Lizzie’s condition, its treatment, and the aftereffects is spot-on. You tell much of the story through dialogue (a technique which I love) and have a knack for mixing story and back-story in a seamless way.

I eagerly await more.

--SQ

[tcurti3]

Hey, Kittens! Sorry I haven't updated in a few days--way too busy prepping for our super-fantastic Halloween party.

Kieli--as always, thanks for your comments. I'm glad that, if I was singing, it was in Recovery and only the nurses can make fun of me for that. I don't know many country songs, so I'm guessing it would be something even more embarrassing, like 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald' or something else they made us learn in grade school.
vix--sorry you didn't have any anesthesia-related stories. Maybe some pain medication-related stories?
SQ--wow. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimers: same as above. Mine--all mine.
WARNING: this chapter is NC-17!!! Proceed with caution.

-----------


Recovery

“How is it today?" Ron asked, handing Lizzie a new collection of crossword puzzles and the latest Batman comic.

“Better," she managed to say in a strained voice.

Ron smiled. “I could almost hear that," he joked.

Lizzie took a long drink of the hot tea with honey on her bedside table. “No karaoke anytime soon," she said, immediately regretting the number of words in her sentence.

“Thought you might like some different reading material," said Ron, handing Lizzie a paperback.

’The Christine Jorgensen Story’? Lizzie squeaked, “Because I’m gay?”

“Look inside the front cover," Ron said.

Lizzie opened the book. In her mother’s distinctive script was a note reading ‘Ruth Gossage April 1968’. Lizzie looked up at Ron. “The date…”

“I know," he said. “She must have been reading it right around the time when she had you.”

Lizzie smiled at the thought of her mother purchasing the transgender classic during her ninth month of pregnancy. “Full of surprises," Lizzie said. “Still.”

“I found a box of her stuff in the shed," Ron said, picking up Kleenexes and empty Jell-O containers. “That was right on top.”

“Been thinking about her," Lizzie gestured towards her bandaged neck.

“I know," Ron said. “Me, too." He nodded toward the front room. “They’d be fighting tooth and nail over who got to take care of you if Ruth were still here.”

Lizzie smiled. “I’d pay to see who won that fight.”


“Look what Granny found," Granny plopped down on the bed beside Lizzie. She shoved a worn photo album in Lizzie’s lap.

“Jesus, Granny," Lizzie croaked. “It’s 5:30 in the morning.”

“You’re stupid, Lizzie," Granny opened the album in Lizzie’s lap. “It’s
5:30 at night." Lizzie turned her head slightly to peer out the window. Shit, she’s right. “There, look there!" She realized Granny was tapping on a page in the open album.

Lizzie looked down to see an image of herself at age ten, wearing a coonskin cap and standing in front of the entrance to a cave with her parents and Granny. “So?" Lizzie raised a hand to massage her neck. “It’s us at Mammoth Cave. The summer before Dad died.”

“Don’t ya remember, Lizzie?" Granny said excitedly. “Don’t ya remember in the cave? When they shut off all the lights?" Granny laughed. “You just about run up your Daddy’s pants leg.”

“You woke me up for that?" Lizzie moaned. “No, I don’t remember that.”

“Well, ya did." Granny pulled the book back into her lap. “See? Here’s you and your granddad fishin’." Granny frowned. “Member how mad you got at Ruthie? When she said you couldn’t go night fishin’ with your Daddy?”

“No," Lizzie lied. “I remember playing Red Rover with some other kids at the campground and losing a tooth."

“Ruthie hated that old coonskin hat," Granny said, tracing her finger along the edge of the photo.

“Yeah, I know," Lizzie mumbled.

“Hated that hat with a passion," she reiterated. Lizzie sighed and slid back down in the bed. “You get on back to sleep now," Granny said as she stood and placed the book on Lizzie’s dresser. “Lizzie needs her rest.”



Lizzie fell into a fitful sleep. She was awakened by a familiar voice. “Hey, how’s my favorite sister?" Jimbo slapped Lizzie on the foot. Lizzie rolled over to look at the alarm clock on her bedside table. Is it really 9:00PM?

“Only sister," said Lizzie, noticing movement in the doorway of the bedroom. She reached for her Cubbies hat before realizing it was already on her head.

“You even sleep in that thing?" Jimbo sat on the edge of the bed. “How you been? The old man said you could talk now. Kind of." Jimbo motioned for Mickey to join them.

“How are you feeling?" Mickey asked, her eyes drawn to Lizzie’s bandaged neck.

“Okay," said Lizzie, blushing. Fuckin’ goiter.

“Oh shit," Jimbo said, glancing behind him. “I forgot your present in the car." He stood, moving past Mickey into the hall. “Be right back!"

Mickey sat on the bed next to Lizzie. Her hand moved to Lizzie’s bandage, lightly stroking the inflamed part of the incision. “Hurts?"

Lizzie’s heart hammered inside her chest. Christ, she’s touching me! Lizzie leaned forward. “I’m so sorry," she whispered, trying to draw Mickey’s eyes away from her neck.

Mickey leaned forward, placing a small kiss just above the bandage on Lizzie’s neck. Lizzie heard Jimbo slam the front door on his way back in the house. “I’m not," she whispered in Lizzie’s ear, then pulled back to an upright sitting position.

“Man, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost," Jimbo said to Lizzie.

Something like that. “What’s that?" Lizzie pointed at the package in his hand.

“From us," he said, handing the package to Lizzie and placing his hand on Mickey’s shoulder. Lizzie tore into the package, averting her eyes from the couple.

Lizzie smiled, admiring the Cincinnati Reds hat. She pointed to the retro logo. “Mr. Red!"

“I knew you’d love it." Jimbo smiled.

Lizzie removed the Cubbies hat from her head and replaced it with the Reds hat. She smiled up at Jimbo then glanced over to Mickey. Mickey held her gaze, a faint smile on her lips.


Lizzie’s post-surgery follow-up was scheduled a week after the operation. Jimbo had agreed to take her to the doctor’s office. Lizzie was looking through a photo album in her bedroom when she heard a car door slam. She walked out the living room and was shocked to see Mickey standing just inside the front door.

“Jimbo got called in to work," Mickey said, twirling the keys on her finger.
Granny eyed her suspiciously. “Granny’ll just get her purse and go with Lizzie.”

Mickey pointed to the shiny Thunderbird convertible parked outside. “Two-seater. Sorry.”

Lizzie swallowed hard, self-consciously picking at the remnants of the bandage around her neck. She shrugged her shoulders at Granny and walked out the door.

Mickey slid into the front seat, fastening her seatbelt. “Do you need help?" she asked Lizzie.

“Nope," Lizzie said weakly, clicking the seatbelt. Thank God I can’t really move my neck.

Mickey revved the engine in the T-bird. “Here we go.”

Say something. Anything. “Nice car.”

“Thanks." Mickey turned on the radio, hitting preset #1.

‘Missing You’ by John Waite. You remember, Mickey, our imaginary first slow dance. Lizzie stared out the window, counting the cows and barns they passed.

“Good song," Mickey said.

“Mmmhmm." Lizzie swallowed hard.

“I think I was a senior when this was popular," Mickey slowed to turn at the foot of the hill.

“Junior." Oh God, did I just say that? Lizzie spied Mickey smiling slightly in her peripheral vision.

“Oh yeah, you’re right." Mickey turned down the radio a notch. “I think I was dating Billy Thornton that year.”

No, you were dating Chuck Fogle from March through July, then Jim Norton from August through January of the following year. “Don’t remember.”

“You would’ve been a freshman then, wouldn’t you?"

“Guess so." Kill me, God. Please kill me.

“I think you were in my Home Ec class that year.”

Lizzie rotated her upper body to face Mickey. “You remember that?”

Mickey nodded. “You sat in the back by the window." Lizzie’s jaw dropped. “You were always in trouble with Rosemary.”

Lizzie was stunned. “Yeah…I…uh…" she stumbled over her words. “Rosemary Knox didn’t like me." She actually remembers. “She knew I hated that class so much.”

“So, why’d you take it?" Mickey turned her eyes to Lizzie.

Lizzie coughed. “Not, um, sure. I think my Mom made me take it." Change the topic. “Poor Rosemary, I always felt a little responsible for what happened to her that year.”

“Oh, you mean when she went nuts?"

“Yeah, poor thing." Lizzie chuckled. “I guess I’d have gone nuts, too, if I was doomed to a life of teaching Home Ec at Pendleton County High School." Lizzie realized that Mickey still lived in the county. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with Pendleton, but, you know, teaching Home Ec would be a nightmare.”

“You don’t know what I do for a living, do you?" Mickey said.

Oh, no. “I hope you’re not a Home Ec teacher at PCHS?"

“Close." Mickey smiled. “Phys Ed teacher at PCHS.”

“Well," Lizzie said, “at least it’s not Home Ec." She tried to think of something more positive to add. “At least you get to play sports and be outside a lot." No fucking way she’s a gym teacher! Lizzie tried in vain to banish the mental image of Mickey in tight gym shorts and a tank top.

Mickey shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

“So, um, how did you remember that I was in that class?" Lizzie asked.

Mickey locked eyes with her. “How could I forget that?" Mickey turned back to the road as she eased the car onto the interstate on-ramp.

Lizzie turned to face forward. “Do you know how to get to Deaconess?" What in God’s name did she mean by that?

“I think so," Mickey said. “It’s in Clifton, isn’t it?”

“Yeah," Lizzie replied. She took a deep breath. “So, what did you mean just then? About me being in the class?”

Mickey smiled over at her. “I think you know.”

What? Lizzie sat in silence until they pulled into the Deaconess parking lot. Mickey pulled the car up to the main door.
“Did you want to come in or did you want to wait…" Lizzie’s sentence was halted as she felt Mickey’s lips cover hers. Mickey’s hands rose to cradle Lizzie’s face, gently pulling her into the kiss. Mickey nipped Lizzie’s bottom lip then pulled back a few inches.

“I’ve got a couple of errands to run, but I’ll be back," she said, her breath hot on Lizzie’s skin.

Lizzie nodded and opened her door. She stumbled over the mat at the base of the door, then made her way up to the doctor’s office on the second floor. What in the Hell is going on?


Dr. Harrison removed the remnants of the bandages. “Ewwww," he said.
Lizzie looked at him quizzically. Are doctors allowed to say that? She felt pressure against the incision on her neck.

“Looks like you popped a stitch," he said. He reached toward the small cart loaded with instruments, choosing a small pair of scissors and a pair of tweezers.

“Is that the deal with the goiter?"

He laughed. “You don’t have a goiter." Lizzie saw the tips of the tools as he manipulated her skin. “There you go. Not my best work, but the scar won’t be too bad." He handed Lizzie a mirror. I look like I just broke out of Arkham asylum.

“It’s a doozy," she said simply, fingering the red horizontal scar that ran almost perfectly parallel to her collarbone. “Can you do something about this for today?" she asked, pointing to the inflamed skin near the ruptured stitch.

The physician stood and rummaged through a drawer, producing a 1x1 patch of gauze and some surgical tape. “I think we can do that." He quickly patched the wound. “Can you move your neck for me?”

Lizzie did her best to turn her neck. Jolts of pain reached down her back when she twisted to the right.

“Thought so," the doctor said, pulling a prescription pad from his jacket pocket. “I think you would benefit from some physical therapy." Lizzie grimaced. “Yeah, I know it’s never a popular prescription, but it helps.”
He checked the scar once more. “Pick up some vitamin E lotion to help that heal." He turned to leave the office. “Oh, and do not drive yourself under any circumstances for three weeks.”


Lizzie walked out to the waiting room. She swallowed hard and walked up to stand beside Mickey. “So, how did it go?" Mickey asked.

Lizzie shrugged. “Physical therapy, no driving." They walked wordlessly to the car. She glanced at Mickey out the corner of her eye, wondering what other surprises the brunette would spring on her this afternoon.
Mickey nodded and turned right onto Clifton Avenue. Moments later, she merged onto Vine Street.

Guess we’ll be driving through the city. Lizzie stared out the window at the urban clutter of Vine. I need to call Sam. She smiled. He is so going to love the gym teacher thing. Lizzie mused on the mix of decaying art deco and castle Walgreens that comprised the city of Cincinnati. She tried to determine if they were near Union Terminal. Didn’t Ron tell me they were making it a museum? Lizzie was startled from her reverie by a sharp turn into a parking garage. She glanced around, unfamiliar with the location. She saw a rate sign posted on the tollbooth. ‘Parking for guests of The Cincinnatian only.’ Isn’t that a hotel?

Mickey grabbed the parking receipt and pulled forward. She glanced over at Lizzie. “They have a really nice restaurant here.”



Lizzie trudged along behind Mickey, fingering the bandage on her neck. They exited the garage and walked around the corner to the hotel. They moved through the lobby and stood at the entrance to the Cricket, a small pub-like restaurant.

“Right this way," the hostess said, leading them to a two-top table.

“Can we sit there instead?" Mickey asked, indicating a four-top in a darkened corner. The hostess nodded, pulling out the chair for the mildly disabled Lizzie. Mickey waited until the hostess was gone to move her place setting next to Lizzie.

“It looks better," Mickey said, running her index finger lightly along the exposed portion of the scar. Lizzie felt her pulse hammering through her skull.

“Yeah, he…uh…he said that it was healing okay except for the goiter—I mean, rupture," she shuddered slightly at Mickey’s touch. “He said to put some lotion on it.”

Mickey moved her mouth close to Lizzie’s ear. “We’ll just have to get some.”

“Can I get you something to drink?" Lizzie nearly jumped out of the chair at the waitress' words.

“Bud Light," Mickey said without looking at the menu.

Flustered, Lizzie fumbled with the menu. “Uh…what do you have on tap?"

“Foster’s, Harp, Guinness, Bass, Goose Island, and Dortmunder."

“Black and Tan, please." Lizzie studied the menu, trying desperately not to look at Mickey. The waitress retreated toward the kitchen.

“What’s that?" Mickey asked.

“Huh?" Lizzie said. “Oh, it’s half Guinness and half Bass." Is this really happening or have I taken too much pain medication? “It’s really good.”

“You’ll have to let me have a taste.”

Lizzie felt the flame rising through her neck to her face.

The waitress returned, placing their drinks on the table. Mickey took a drink from her bottle. “Are you supposed to be drinking?”

Shit. “I guess not, but I really n--, uh, it really sounds good right now." Lizzie took a sip of her drink, breaking the cloverleaf pattern on the head.

Mickey took the drink out of Lizzie’s hand then took a deep swallow. “Mmmm," she moaned. “Tastes kind of like chocolate.”

I’m in Hell. “That’s the, uh, Guinness." She desperately scanned the menu. “When the Bass bleeds through, it tastes really light and yummy." Did I just say yummy?

“What can I get you for lunch?"

“Um, butternut squash soup," said Lizzie. She still had trouble swallowing anything other than liquids.

“Black angus burger for me," said Mickey, snapping the menu shut. She leaned close to Lizzie. “So, do you like the restaurant?”

Lizzie blushed. “Yeah, it’s nice." She took another drink of her beer. “Good Black and Tan." Lizzie placed her beer back on the table. “How did you know about this place?”

“We had a meeting of the Northern Kentucky Science Teachers Association here a few weeks ago." Mickey leaned back in her seat. “So, what do you do up in Chicago?”

“I’m a systems analyst for Concordia." Terra familia. “I’ve done a lot of work on the reservation systems."

“Do you like it?"

“I used to." Lizzie stared into her beer. “Before 9/11 it was a great place to work.”

Mickey nodded. “Did you know anyone in…?”

Lizzie shook her head. “No, just friends of friends. No one personally, thank God.”

Mickey took another drink. “That’s good.”

“I guess," Lizzie mumbled. “So, what did you do after high school?”

“I went to EKU on a basketball scholarship." Lizzie nodded. Knew that. “That’s where I decided to get my teaching certificate." Mickey sighed. “And here I am. Back at PCHS." Lizzie smiled at her. “What about you?”

Lizzie took a deep breath. “I got a full ride to Centre in Danville." She paused as she took a sip of her beer. “Picked up a worthless degree in philosophy and English Lit, then attended U of L for postgraduate work in computer science." Mickey looked puzzled. “My area of interest in philosophy was symbolic logic.”

“Oh," Mickey said, retaining the puzzled look.

“Anyway, then I got this job with Concordia during my last year, so I took it and never finished up on my Master’s."

Mickey leaned forward. “What’s Chicago like?”

Lizzie smiled. “It’s a great town." She looked up at Mickey. “You’ve never been?" Mickey shook her head. “You guys will have to come visit when…" Lizzie trailed off, stricken by the fact that she hadn’t even thought of her stepbrother in hours.

“Here’s your soup," said the waitress, sliding a huge bowl in front of Lizzie. “And here’s your burger." She placed a bottle of ketchup on the table. “Anything else?”

Mickey shook her head. Lizzie and Mickey ate their respective meals in silence. “Thanks," the waitress said as she placed their check on the table. Lizzie and Mickey reached for it simultaneously. Mickey placed her hand over Lizzie’s.

“Let me get this," said Mickey.

“No, I’ll get it." Lizzie tried not to shake at the touch of Mickey’s hand. “Uh, after all, you drove me all the way up here.”

Mickey shrugged. Lizzie placed her debit card on top of the bill and waved for the waitress. “In a hurry?" Mickey asked.

“Oh God, no!" Lizzie said. Little too emphatic. The waitress picked up the card and headed towards the bar. Lizzie felt Mickey looking at her but couldn’t return the stare. The waitress returned. Lizzie calculated the tip and signed her name to the bill. She and Mickey rose from the table.

“Let’s go have a look around," said Mickey.

Weird. “Oh, okay."

They boarded the elevator. Mickey pressed the button for the 8th floor. “I heard there’s a good view."

Well, this is a little uncomfortable. They walked out on the 8th floor. Lizzie walked to the nearest window. Not what I would describe as a good view. She turned to ask Mickey who had told her about the alleged scenic vista. She trotted after Mickey, who was approaching the opposite end of the hallway. I guess the view’s down here. She stopped dead in her tracks when Mickey produced a key card and opened the door to a room at the end of the hall. Oh my fucking God. Mickey turned and looked at Lizzie, then entered the room.

Lizzie stumbled down the hall, stopping at the room Mickey had entered. She placed a hand on the doorway, unsure of her stability. Is this real? She entered the room and looked around, finally seeing Mickey staring out a window. Lizzie walked on unsteady legs, standing close enough to see past Mickey to the building across the street. My God, I think it’s really happening. Lizzie slowly slid her arms around Mickey’s waist. She buried her head in Mickey’s back, breathing in the faint smells of sweat, beer, and Irish Spring. Is she trembling? Or is that me? Mickey’s hands moved over Lizzie’s, gripping the smaller girl’s fingers. “Nice," Mickey whispered. Lizzie groaned in response. I’m going to Hell for this.

Mickey turned in Lizzie’s arms to face her. She placed her arm around Lizzie’s waist, pulling her closer. She placed her hand on Lizzie’s jaw and gently tilted Lizzie’s head upward. Mickey kissed Lizzie’s forehead. She pulled back and looked into Lizzie’s eyes. She leaned forward, kissing each eyelid. Lizzie wound her fingers in the fabric of Mickey’s shirt. Mickey trailed kisses from Lizzie’s eyes to her mouth. Lizzie moved her hand to the back of Mickey’s head, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Lizzie slowly moved the tip of her tongue to lick at Mickey’s upper lip. Mickey moaned, leaning in to Lizzie.

Mickey’s hand moved down to Lizzie’s neck. Lizzie drew back at the unexpected feel of rough skin against her scar. A half-smile crossed Mickey’s face as she bent down to kiss Lizzie’s neck. She placed small kisses along the length of the scar then ran her tongue along the left side of Lizzie’s neck. Finding the pulse point, she kissed it then gently started to suck.

Lizzie bit her lip. Oh God, it’s worth going to Hell. Lizzie pulled Mickey’s head upwards. She kissed Mickey gently, followed with a gentle nip on the lower lip. She turned Mickey’s head with her hand, placing kisses along her cheek. Lizzie rested her head against Mickey’s, breathing slowly into her ear. Mickey raked her fingernails along the fabric covering Lizzie’s stomach. Lizzie gently nibbled the earlobe in front of her. A small moan escaped from Mickey. Lizzie worked her tongue slowly around the inside of Mickey’s ear, resting to breathe deeply in her ear once more before lifting her head.

Lizzie ran her hands down the front of Mickey’s shirt. She leaned in for another kiss and started unbuttoning from the bottom. Mickey reached down to Lizzie’s waist, pulling the T-shirt up to her neck. They broke the kiss as Mickey pulled the shirt over Lizzie’s head. Lizzie resumed unbuttoning Mickey’s shirt. Mickey ran her fingers over Lizzie’s pronounced collarbone, following the line down her sternum to her stomach. I’m glad I haven’t been able to eat solid food for three months. Mickey leaned forward and started kissing points along Lizzie’s collarbone. Lizzie gently pushed Mickey’s shoulder after she finished with the last button. Mickey pulled back, allowing Lizzie to remove her shirt. Lizzie felt tears gather as she looked at Mickey’s tan skin and perfect breasts. She blinked them away and slid her arms around Mickey’s waist. Lizzie pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “So beautiful."

She felt Mickey’s hands working at her bra clasp. Lizzie smiled. Mickey ran her hands down Lizzie’s arms as she removed her bra. Mickey discarded the bra in the fast-growing pile of clothing on the floor and bent towards Lizzie’s breast. Oh, Jesus. Lizzie gasped as she felt the warm mouth encircling her nipple. Mickey alternated licking and sucking, kneading the other breast. Lizzie unsnapped Mickey’s bra. She pushed up gently on the brunette’s shoulders. Mickey stood, her eyes partly lidded. Lizzie placed the fingers of her right hand in an arc over Mickey’s heart, slowly trailing her fingers towards Mickey’s breast. Her left hand joined in as she cupped both breasts at once, rubbing her thumbs over the hardening nipples. Mickey moaned as Lizzie leaned forward to kiss her.

Lizzie started with a deep kiss, probing Mickey’s mouth with her tongue. She lightly pinched Mickey’s nipples, moving her lips down the brunette’s chin. Lizzie pushed Mickey toward the bed, slowly licking along the path of Mickey’s carotid artery to her collarbone. Mickey plopped on the bed in a sitting position. Lizzie kneeled before her and then gazed up into her eyes. Lizzie moved forward slowly and licked one nipple lightly. Mickey groaned. Lizzie scratched Mickey’s stomach with her nails, slowly moving over to lick the other nipple.

Lizzie felt intoxicated by the musky smell emanating from Mickey. Still suckling on the nipple in her mouth, Lizzie started to unbutton Mickey’s pants. Mickey raised her hips in response, allowing Lizzie to slide off pants and panties at once. Lizzie pushed Mickey back on the bed, coming up to lie with her. “I don’t know how much I can…you know. Because of the surgery," Lizzie said.

“I think you just have to be careful." Mickey said then kissed her, probing Lizzie’s mouth with her tongue. She ran her fingers down Lizzie’s chest, stroking her stomach lightly. She smiled at Lizzie then moved back to her breasts. Mickey suddenly sucked an entire nipple and a portion of breast into her mouth.

“Oh God," Lizzie moaned, cradling Mickey’s head in her hands. Mickey ran her hands along Lizzie’s thighs, still clad in sweat pants. Mickey moved to the other breast, taking it in the same savage manner. She moved her hand up Lizzie’s thigh, kneading her crotch. Lizzie thrust her hips upward, finding a rhythm with Mickey.

Lizzie grabbed Mickey’s wrist. “Your turn," she said, rolling Mickey onto her back and straddling her. Lizzie traced delicate patterns along Mickey’s breasts with her fingertips. Lizzie smiled at Mickey then leaned forward, propping up her upper body with her forearms. She placed her right thigh between Mickey’s legs. She nudged Mickey’s head to the side with her nose then leaned in to nibble the neglected earlobe. She felt Mickey stretch her neck, clearly enjoying the attention her ear was getting. Lizzie abandoned the ear to kiss slowly down her neck, stopping to breathe in time against the throbbing in Mickey’s jugular. Lizzie moved lower, taking Mickey’s left nipple in her mouth. She suckled gently, then bit down, smiling at the sharp intake of breath. She alternated licking and biting her way down Mickey’s flat stomach then lay her face in the dark curls.

Lizzie closed her eyes and breathed Mickey’s scent. Lizzie moved her right hand to play with the brunette’s thighs. She pulled her fingernails down slowly along the outside, then up the inside, of Mickey’s left thigh. She looked up, noting that Mickey’s eyes were closed and she was whimpering slightly. Slowly, Lizzie dragged her forefinger and middle finger along Mickey’s labia. Mickey arched her back and pushed forward onto Lizzie’s hand. Lizzie withdrew her hand slightly, wanting to make the moment last as long as possible. She slowly pushed her fingers further in, brushing the hood of the clitoris and tracing the outline of her vagina. So wet.

Lizzie slid over until she was sitting on the floor beside the bed. She guided Mickey’s legs on either side of her head. Lizzie licked her lips and leaned forward. She moved her tongue flat from the bottom of Mickey’s sex to the top. She lightly traced circles around Mickey’s clit with her tongue, tentatively touching the opening of her vagina with her finger. Mickey groaned loudly, pushing into Lizzie’s face. Lizzie flashed her tongue into the body of the clit. She felt moisture on her chin and smiled involuntarily. Very nice. Lizzie entered Mickey with her index finger, returning to tongue the clit tenderly. Once inside, she crooked her finger and turned it, probing for the G-spot. She smiled into Mickey’s pudendum as she found her sweet spot. Lizzie set up a rhythm, stroking gently as she ran her tongue up the side of her clit. Mickey caught the rhythm, shaking and pushing against Lizzie’s hand. Lizzie moaned as she felt Mickey’s internal muscles contract, showering her hand. Simultaneously, Lizzie attacked the clit with renewed vigor. Mickey sprang upright in the bed, pulling Lizzie’s head into her. “Yes!"

After Mickey’s spasms subsided, Lizzie kissed her labia gingerly, exhausted from the effort. She crawled back up on the bed and lay beside Mickey. “Was that okay?"

Mickey turned to her, her face covered in sweat. “That was," she started, kissing her own juices from Lizzie’s chin. “That was so much more than okay." They both smiled. “And now I’m going to…" She was interrupted by a metallic ringing to the tune of “Dixie.” Oh God, tell me she doesn’t really have 'Dixie' as a ring tone. Mickey looked down at Lizzie. Lizzie smirked and shook her head, getting up and heading for the bathroom.

Mickey dug through the pile of clothing, finally locating her pants. She removed the cell phone from the pocket. “Oh, hi honey," she said sweetly. Lizzie blanched, picturing the look on her stepbrother’s face when he had introduced her to Mickey. “No, we just got finished with lunch and now we’ll be heading home." How can she do this? How can I do this? “Sure, I can stop by Kroger. What do you need?" Lizzie shut the door with her foot. She felt vaguely nauseated. She attempted to put her head between her knees, but couldn’t quite make it. Didn’t have a problem with putting my head between her knees.

Lizzie walked out of the bathroom, startled by the sight of a fully-dressed Mickey. “I’m sorry but we’re going to have to cut this short," said Mickey. She kissed Lizzie lightly on the cheek. “Make it up to you later.”
Lizzie mumbled and started getting dressed.

“Do you mind if we drop by Kroger?" Mickey asked, checking for hickeys in the bathroom mirror.

“Whatever." What the fuck ever. Lizzie winced at the pain shooting through her neck.

“Are you okay?" Mickey touched Lizzie’s shoulder. “You knew I had to go back sometime.”

Lizzie jerked her shoulder away. She looked up at Mickey, hoping that her eyes conveyed more anger than fear.

“Okay," Mickey sighed. They remained in uncomfortable silence for the trip back to Pendleton County. “Feel better," Mickey said brightly as she dropped off Lizzie at Granny’s house. Fuck you.

[Kieli]

Oh...my...GOD! I just need a sec to get my breath back. Whoa...ummm ok...now that my brain cells have been rerouted back to their normal functions, all I have to say is Wow...

If Mickey hurts Lizzie, I swear I'll blow a gasket. She's playing with fire now that she knows how Lizzie feels about her and that's not good. It wasn't fair of her to lead on Lizzie and I'll bet dollars to donuts she doesn't consider that little romp in the hay "cheating". I sure do.

Umm...I was about to take issue with the Black and Tan because Guinness does have a Black and Tan beer that's in a can and draft. I've never had Guinness and Bass mixed together (a total crime IMHO). I like my Guinness extra stout, thankyouverymuch

But...I love this. I really do. And damn if you didn't have my blood racing those last few paragraphs. *whew* Cold shower...right...now.

[Boschi]

Ya know the whole trip down Appalachian memory lane coupled with the whole mind fuck sans mind of Mickey is just ... cool. In a disturbing, how the hell did I get here kind of way.

I ended up with flashbacks to afternoons in West Virginia watching Reds baseball games... and I hate baseball. But the only other thing the TV would pick up was a public television learning thing on pre-algebra. Ah, I can smell the bacon grease and slight mildew stink of the 30 year old carpet now... oh, and Kroger - havent been to a Kroger in years. And the Conway Twitty reference. Christ, would ya please just let me forget some things? O

And then we have the hotel scene. Since my jaw was already slack from my little flashback it wasn't much of a stretch to the floor, for which I'm grateful.

I'm not seeing much to sympathize with in Mickey so far, but suspect that will change.

Thanks (I think) for writing this.

- Boschi

[Kieli]

I ended up with flashbacks to afternoons in West Virginia watching Reds baseball games... and I hate baseball. But the only other thing the TV would pick up was a public television learning thing on pre-algebra. Ah, I can smell the bacon grease and slight mildew stink of the 30 year old carpet now... oh, and Kroger - havent been to a Kroger in years. And the Conway Twitty reference. Christ, would ya please just let me forget some things?

Are you kidding? I still live in the Land of Kroger's, Piggly Wiggly and Ukrops. It's a nightmare come true for this city kid (although living in places that sell alcohol in the supermarkets, totally rocks...up North, we can't be trusted to handle alcohol in such a responsible manner )

Conway Twitty....good lord, I had flashbacks of Mickey Gilley, Charlie Pride and the Oak Ridge Boys. Somebody get Momma's gun....

[Boschi]

OK - first things first: Update? Please? I've been harboring peevish thoughts about Mickey for long enough - they need to be fanned in to full fledge hatred, or mellowed by some insight soon - longterm peevishness is just wrong. Or you could just write more steamy stuff - I could (ahem) make do with that.

Second thing: Kieli: Ukrops?? Edumuhcate me please. And booze in supermarkets? But of course! Here in the Midwest we have also reached that pinnacle of civilization ( at least in Missouri - silly Kansas has some weird liquor laws - must be scared that if folks drink on Sunday evolution will start to make sense).

- Boschi

[tcurti3]

Next chapter should be up within 2 days--fine-tuning some dialogue. Let's see if I can churn up some horrific memories for you guys to tide you over: 'Hee Haw', 'Movin' On', 'Sheriff Lobo', and 'BJ and the Bear' on TV. The Kendalls ('Heaven's Just a Sin Away'), Charlie Rich, Kenny Rogers' 'Lady', and that damnable 'Swingin' song. Alabama (the group, not the state), particularly 'Feels So Right.' Of course, I'm assuming you guys are of an age to remember these. If not, I envy you.

There are a couple of variations on the Black & Tan. Mixing Guinness and Blue Moon is a Black & Blue (this gets an orange slice in it). If it's Guinness and Smithwicke's it's called something that escapes my memory at the moment. Kieli, you are absolutely correct about there being a Black & Tan brand. I'm sure that I would be soundly bitch-slapped if I ordered any of these permutations anywhere outside the US.

The next chapter features a former Reds player, more Granny madness, smut, and a really hot physical therapist. I know you kitties will immediately recognize the physical model for the therapist. In the words of Willow, I am a breast gal.

[vix84]

ARGH!

I loved the update, hated Mickey and salivated for more! I'm so curious as to how Jimbo is going to find out, and how he'll react. I just hope that Lizzie's status as his step sister will stop him from having the "Let's have a threesome" fantasy.

You write so well, and I really enjoy the comedy. Looking forward to the update.

[tcurti3]

Well, here it is, kittens--the much-ballyhooed update. Thanks to everyone for their comments. I'll try to update again before the weekend runs out.
Warning: NC-17! Read at your own risk.
Same rules apply as above: it's mine, all mine.

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

Going Straight to Hell

“You are so fuckin’ lying," Sam said.

“How could I make that shit up?" Lizzie asked, glancing up at the bedroom door to ensure Granny was not around. “She was just fuckin’ on me." Lizzie shuddered at the memory of the events earlier that afternoon.

“I don’t which I find more unbelievable: the fact that she molested you or the fact that she’s a fucking gym teacher," he laughed.

“I guess the molestation is an occupational hazard," Lizzie joked.

“You don’t think that Jimbo suspects anything?”

“You know he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed," Lizzie said, immediately regretting it. Not only do I fuck his fiancé, now I have to insult him. “Jesus, Sam. I feel like shit but I just…I couldn’t help it, you know?”

“That’s what makes you a whore,” Sam said flatly.

“No, seriously,” Lizzie felt tears sting her eyes. “I mean, you know how I...” she paused. “You know what she meant to me. Back then.”

“I know,” the gentle tone in his voice surprised Lizzie. “I remember what it was like.”

“Mickey Gardener,” Lizzie whispered the name. “My God, Sam. I fucked Mickey Gardener.”

“Well, I have some news too, cunt." Sam said abruptly.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been so involved in," Lizzie sighed, “all this shit. What is it?”

“I applied for a job at WGN.”

“Fantastic! What’s the position?" I can’t remember the last time he even talked about getting a job.

“It’s an internship," Sam said. “But you don’t have to be a current student, just a college graduate.”

“Uh, Sam, you’re not." Lizzie couldn’t think of a gentle way to phrase it.

“I know that, cunt!" Sam snipped, a note of irritation in his voice. “They never check that shit.”

Lizzie massaged the right side of her neck, still sore from the afternoon’s escapades. “You’re right. I know this bitch at Concordia who lied about having her Master’s." That hurts like a bastard. Hope I didn’t do any permanent damage. “She worked there, like, ten years and they never found out. She got drunk and told the five people who bothered to show up for her farewell luncheon.”

Sam laughed.

“How did you find out about the job?" Lizzie asked.

“I kind of met this guy, Joel, at Roscoe’s and he’s a cameraman.”

“How did I know there would be a burly man and a gay bar involved?" Lizzie smiled weakly as she reached for the bottle of Vicodin on the bedside table.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Before I forget, you need to call Janet. She’s called here three times for you.”

“I’m actually kind of afraid to," Lizzie replied. “It can’t be good news.”

Lizzie wrapped up her conversation with Sam then dialed her co-worker’s number. “Rumor is that the government isn’t going to give us the $2 billion for the bailout," Janet stage-whispered into the receiver.

“Why are you whispering?" Lizzie asked. “I read that in the fucking Cincinnati Enquirer.”

“You know how it is around here," Janet whispered. “The walls have ears.”
“I’m trying desperately to forget how it is there." Lizzie toyed with the receiver cord.

“Aren’t you coming back?" Janet’s voice sounded genuinely surprised.

“I guess I have to," sighed Lizzie. “But things here are much more interesting than I ever thought possible.”


Lizzie hung up the phone and walked to the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee and walked back to the living room. “Why do you have so many of those?" Lizzie gestured toward the plastic-encased dolls on the bookshelf. “And why in God’s name do you keep them in plastic bags?"

“Them’s Granny’s dolls, Lizzie," Granny said.

“Yeah, I know what they are," Lizzie replied. “But it still doesn’t explain why you have so many of them or why you keep them in plastic bags."
Lizzie shuddered. “It looks like they’re all dead from asphyxiation.”

“Don’t be stupid, Lizzie," Granny hissed. “They ain’t real babies." She stood and walked to the bookcase then picked up one of the dolls. “Can’t be dead if they was never alive.”

Hard to argue with that logic. Lizzie shook her head and reached for her coffee. “Guess not," she mumbled. “Doesn’t make it any less creepy.”

“Granny never had no dolls when she was little." Granny crossed her arms over her chest and clenched her jaw. “You don’t know, Lizzie." Granny plopped back in her chair, staring straight ahead at the television. “You don’t know nothin’.”

“Yeah, I know," Lizzie sighed. “You grew up during the Depression." Lizzie rolled her eyes. “I’ve only heard that story every day of my life.”

Granny turned to look at her. “You was spoiled rotten, Lizzie Gossage." Lizzie felt the blood rise in her neck. “Granny bought you everything you ever wanted.”

“I know," Lizzie mumbled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Bought you that doll baby," Granny continued. “That one that looked like my dead baby.”

Oh, Jesus. Not that again. “I think I need to call the doctor’s office," Lizzie said, rising from the couch.

“Poor little Billy," Lizzie heard Granny say as she headed for the bedroom. “My poor little dead baby.”


Lizzie tried to push the image of Granny’s stillborn first child out of her mind. She opened the phone book and looked up the name of the physical therapy office Dr. Harrison recommended. She sighed and dialed the number. “I need to make some appointments for physical therapy," Lizzie said, twisting the phone cord in her fingers.

“Okay," the voice replied. “When do you want to come in?"

“I can start tomorrow, I guess," Lizzie frowned, trying to remember what day of the week it was.

“So, that’s October 11." She heard the man typing. “How about we do every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. How many visits total?”

“My insurance approved me for ten," Lizzie said. “Hey, wait a minute, does that leave me open for Halloween?"

“It looks like…" the man paused. “Nope, you have an appointment November 1, but nothing on Halloween.”

“Good," Lizzie smiled. Now to plan my escape from Granny.



Lizzie went to the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee. Weak ass shit. She walked to the living room and plopped into the recliner. She was lost in thoughts about Concordia’s financial troubles when she realized that Granny was gesturing at her.

“It stung your Aunt Virgie on her possible!" Granny yelled.

Lizzie stared at the old woman. “I have no idea what that even is." Lizzie took a sip of coffee. “And what stung her? Some kind of bee?”

“Her possible!" Granny said through clenched teeth, gesturing toward her crotch.

“Oh my God!" Lizzie spat her coffee on the nearest dog. “You mean on her pussy?”

Granny shook her head. “Yeah, a ground hornet stung her on her possible.”

Lizzie collapsed in laughter, shoving a random poodle off her lap.

“Be careful with Pete Rose!" Granny snapped. “He ain’t right.”

And who in this house is? “Why in the Hell did you name him Pete Rose?" Lizzie teased the dog with a stuffed ball. “Are you a gambler?" She tossed the ball toward the kitchen. “Did you get kicked out of pro baseball?”

“Now, I didn’t name him that, Lizzie." Granny plopped down on the couch. “Ms. Kittner named him that." She gestured towards the dog. “She used to feed him nothin’ but hot dogs." Lizzie rolled her eyes. “And she used to give him a bath once a week in a bucket of Pine-Sol." Lizzie opened her mouth in horror. “Yeah, you don’t know Ms. Kittner." Granny reached down, scooping up the dog. “He’s all right now, though. Fat as a pig!”

“Pine-Sol?" Lizzie couldn’t quite get that image out of her mind.

“Yeah!" Granny placed the dog back on the floor. “It was a big red flyin’ thing with white dots on it. Flew right up the leg of her shorts and stung her possible.”

Lizzie found it impossible not to laugh again. “So, I’m guessing she can’t drive me to my physical therapy.”

“Can’t drive!" Granny said through gritted teeth. “Possible’s too sore!" Granny slowly rose from the couch. “Granny’ll drive ya to the doctor.”

Lizzie’s mind raced back to 1984, the last time she had allowed Granny to drive beyond the borders of Pendleton County. She distinctly remembered the fear coursing through her veins, as well as her mother’s parting words: you’ll never bitch about my driving again. The only reason she’s still alive is that everybody in Pendleton knows to just pull off the road when they see the Concord. “No, that’s okay, Granny. I think I know someone to call.”

Lizzie rose and walked to the bedroom. She dialed her brother’s number. Mickey picked up on the first ring. “Hey, it’s Lizzie.”

“I know who it is," Mickey purred.

“Um," Lizzie felt her face flush. “Is Jimbo there?”

“Nope,” Mickey said. “He had to go down to Lexington.”

“Oh.” I shouldn’t do this. I should accept my fate and die in a fiery crash with Granny. “My aunt had a, um, an accident." Please don’t ask me to explain. “I was hopin’ that Jimbo could take me to my physical therapy appointment tomorrow?" Please don’t hang up.

“Well, he’ll be gone ‘til tomorrow night.” Mickey paused. “But I can probably take you. What time?"

“The appointment’s at 3:00, but I should probably be there a half-hour early," Lizzie said, her heart pounding.

“I’ll be there," Mickey said and hung up abruptly.

What the fuck have I done? Lizzie shrugged and hung up.


Lizzie checked her hair in the bathroom mirror, dreading the physical therapy appointment that afternoon. Looks like shit. She grimaced and pulled on her Reds cap. She popped two Vicodin into her mouth, washing the pills down with tap water. She examined her reflection for a few more seconds then turned and walked to the living room. Lizzie heard a car pull up. She walked to the door, immediately recognizing the T-bird. “I’ll be back in a few hours," she called to Granny as she stepped onto the porch. She swung open the car door then leaned in tentatively, eying the driver. “Are you sure this is okay?" Lizzie asked.

“No problem," said Mickey, lowering her sunglasses. Lizzie waved to a disapproving Granny standing on the front porch. “Your Granny doesn’t like me, does she?”

“Granny doesn’t really like anyone except me," Lizzie said. “And I’m not all too sure of that sometimes.” Lizzie fastened her seat belt as they pulled out of the driveway. “Did you have any trouble getting off?" Lizzie saw Mickey glance at her. “I mean, getting off work with such short notice?”

“In-service day," Mickey said. “Only had to be there for the morning. Not a big deal.”

“So, what have you been up to since we…uh…I saw you last," said Lizzie, blushing.

“Just working," smirked Mickey.

Lizzie stared out the window, noticing an election sign nailed haphazardly to a tree. “Peter Dickinson?" She twisted to face Mickey. “Is that the same Peter Dickinson we went to school with?”

Mickey rolled her eyes and nodded. “Dumbass.”

“Should I even ask what his agenda is?" Lizzie smiled. “Cause if it’s the same as it was in high school, it involves smoking a lot of pot and date-raping a freshman.”

Mickey laughed. “Oh, he’s a born-again Christian now.”

“No fucking way," said Lizzie. “I guess that means no pot and no under-aged girls.”

“Well, at least no pot." Lizzie raised her eyebrow. “He was accused of molesting his daughter a couple of years ago.”

“Oh, Christ!" Lizzie said. “And he’s still running for public office?" I am definitely back in the South.

“Running unopposed for constable," said Mickey.

“Oh, so it’s not like it’s a real office," mused Lizzie. “But I think that does mean he gets to carry a gun, doesn’t it?" Lizzie shuddered.

“I try not to think about that," Mickey said.

Now or never. “I guess we should talk about what happened," Lizzie returned to a forward position in her seat.

“Nothing happened that both of us didn’t want." Mickey reached for the radio. “Broken Wings” by Mister Mister filled the car. "Oh, I love this song."

Oh, it’s our imaginary first makeout song. “What is this station?" Lizzie snapped. “All 80s?”

“Yeah," Mickey said. “I thought you’d like it more than my other presets—they’re all country.”

“Well…" mumbled Lizzie. God, what the fuck have I gotten myself into? “My physical therapist’s office is in Cold Springs, just off 27 past the Frisch’s.”

Mickey nodded.

Seriously? Country presets? Lizzie sighed and closed her eyes. Well, it is Kentucky after all. Why should I be surprised?


Mickey hummed along to the radio as Lizzie pretended to sleep for the rest of the drive. Inside the physical therapist’s office, Lizzie filled out her paperwork as Mickey sat reading an outdated bridal magazine. Lizzie stole a sideways glance at her high school crush. Someone actually reads bridal magazines? Lizzie returned the forms to the front desk and tried not to look at Mickey. She was relieved to hear the nurse call her name a few minutes later. “Gossage?" The nurse read. Lizzie stood to follow her. She led Lizzie to a small office just off the main corridor. “The therapist will be in shortly.”

I won’t hold my breath. Lizzie examined the wall chart illustrating the adrenal system. She heard the door open and turned. Holy mother of God. A stunning blonde woman in a lab coat stood reviewing Lizzie’s chart. She looked up at Lizzie and grinned, full lips accentuating an angelic face. Lizzie took in the woman’s curvy feminine figure. She felt her mouth go dry. How many Vicodin did I take today? The therapist looked back at the chart, frowning slightly and toying with a piece of her hair. She looked back to Lizzie, piercing her with bright blue eyes. Lizzie took a step back, feeling her pulse quicken.

“You must be Elizabeth," the woman said, extending her hand. “I’m your therapist, Amber Thomas. You can call me Amber.”

You may call me any God damned thing you want. Lizzie stared at the perfectly manicured hand, finally extending her own. She felt her pulse race even faster when their hands touched. I think I may be having a heart attack. “It’s Lizzie. You can, uh, call me Lizzie.”

“Are you okay?" Amber turned her head slightly, staring into Lizzie’s eyes. “You look a little faint.”

“No, no. I’m okay," Lizzie said, leaning against the examining table. I think I’m going to faint. I’ve never fainted, but I think this must be what it feels like.

“I need to get some stats on you," Amber said, sitting on the stool in the middle of the room. “You can sit down if you want.”

Lizzie slid into the chair next to the examining table.

“How have you been feeling?" Amber placed her pen on the chart.

“Okay," mumbled Lizzie. “Been having a little neck pain.”

“Hmmm, show me where.”

Lizzie pointed her finger to the right side of her neck. “Here, mostly.”
Amber reached out her hand, tilting Lizzie’s head to the right, then to the left. “Yeah, you have some stiffness."

She pushed upward on Lizzie’s chin. “Ow!" Lizzie yelped.

“I’m so sorry!" Amber said, letting her hand drop. “Just had to see how flexible you were.”

Given the right circumstances, you have no idea. Lizzie blushed at the thought, but held Amber’s gaze.

“Okay, um, we’ll get your blood pressure and then we’ll continue the evaluation." Amber pulled the cuff and gauge from the cabinet. Lizzie rolled up her sleeve, wishing she had worn something other than sweat pants and a ratty University of Louisville t-shirt. Amber tightened the cuff then pumped several times. “Oh dear.”

“Something wrong?”

“Are you on any high blood pressure medication?" Lizzie nodded. “Did you take it this morning? Because it’s 160 over 105, which is pretty high."

I’ll bet it was normal before you walked in. “Uh, Lisinopril and no, I forgot." Lizzie looked down at the floor. “Doctors make me kinda nervous." Now, why in the Hell would I say that?

Amber smiled. “Are you actually afraid of me?" Lizzie felt as though a mule had kicked her stomach. She felt her skin burning hot. I think I’m having a stroke. Lizzie shook her head ‘no.’ It’s definitely not fear.

“Well, good." Amber pulled her stool closer. “Now, let’s see how we can help you." She placed Lizzie through a series of strength and flexibility tests, writing comments on her chart throughout the process. “Well, I think that just about does it." Amber closed her chart. Lizzie noticed that Amber wore no rings. “Ow, that looks like it hurts." She tilted Lizzie’s head, placing her fingers on the ruptured stitch. “Are you using vitamin E lotion on that?" Lizzie involuntarily licked her lips as Amber touched her neck.

“Um, yeah. I’ve got some at home." But I could use some help applying it.

The therapist let her hand linger a few seconds on Lizzie’s neck then closed her chart with a snap. “Okay, let’s get you going on a few exercises." Amber stood and gestured for Lizzie to follow her.

Lizzie blinked at the garish brown and yellow paint scheme in the exercise room. “I need you to give me ten minutes on the bike." Lizzie nodded and adjusted the seat on the bike. Lance Armstrong style! Lizzie pedaled furiously on the bike, feeling beads of sweat form on her forehead. Amber turned and walked toward the back of the room. Look at me. She rifled through a desk, pulling a single sheet of paper from the bottom drawer. Look at me. She walked back toward Lizzie. “Okay, that should do it. Let’s go over to the benches."

Lizzie dismounted the bike, stumbling toward the benches. Guess I’m a little out of shape. “I need you to lie on your back, then place both palms together and point three times." Amber demonstrated in a standing position, the paper still in her hands. “First straight up, then to the left and then to the right. Five times, five seconds in each position." Lizzie nodded as she removed her Reds cap and placed it on the floor beside the bench. She climbed onto the bench and placed her palms together. “Oh, and legs bent," Amber said, pushing upward on the underside of Lizzie’s right knee. Higher. Touch me higher. Lizzie pointed her arms to the left, rolling her right shoulder slightly off the table. She then started to point her arms to the right, stopping when she realized that her fce would be inches away from Amber’s torso. I know I’ll faint if I have look at her that close. She rolled as far as she could without removing her left shoulder from the bench, squinting her eyes. Please don’t let her think I’m a freak. Grateful for the lack of protest, Lizzie continued performing the exercises. “So, you’re a Reds fan?” Amber asked. Lizzie gave her a puzzled look. “The hat,” she said, pointing to Lizzie’s hat on the floor.

“Oh,” Lizzie said. “Yeah. More of a Cubs fan, but that’s only because I’m such a masochist.” Lizzie blushed. Oh my God, did I say that out loud? Think of something to divert attention. “My grandmother has a dog named Pete Rose.”

“Really?” Amber looked down at her. “Why would she name him that?”

“You’d have to know my Granny,” Lizzie replied as she finished the exercises.

“Okay. Now I need you to lean face-forward against the wall and slowly lower yourself to the wall. Five times, ten seconds each." It would be a lot more fun if you were in front of me. “Almost done,” the therapist said, patting Lizzie’s shoulder. She touched me! “Now I just need you to sit in this chair," Amber pointed to a straight-backed chair with no arms. “And give me five seconds each of your head pointing to the right, to the left, up, and down," she said, gesturing each direction with her pen. Lizzie complied.

“The surgeon told me I’d never have full functionality again," Lizzie said as she performed the exercise.

“That’s true. They fused three out of eight cervical vertebrae, which will leave you with about," Amber placed the tip of the pen between her lips. Lizzie felt saliva flood her mouth. “About 62% of total functionality, give or take." Lizzie nodded. Amber continued taking notes. “Okay, final thing is I need you to tilt your head to the right and left five times, five seconds each." Lizzie attempted to tilt her head to the right. “Don’t twist your neck," said Amber. Lizzie tried again. “Hang on," Amber said. She placed her hands on Lizzie’s cheeks, her thumbs meeting under Lizzie’s chin. Amber locked eyes with Lizzie. “Okay, like this." Amber slowly tilted Lizzie’s head to the right and then to the left for each of the five iterations. “Feeling okay?" she asked, leaving her hands on Lizzie’s face.

“Never better," Lizzie smiled.

Amber blushed, dropping her hands. “All right." Amber looked down. “I think that’s it for today."

Lizzie stood and smiled. Maybe for today. She extended her hand. “Thanks for everything today, Amber.”

Amber smiled as she shook Lizzie’s hand. “My pleasure.”


“So, how was it?" Mickey asked, rising from the waiting room chair.

“Great," said Lizzie, her head still buzzing.

“Really?" Mickey opened the office door for her. “I had to take therapy back at EKU when I pulled a hamstring and it was a bitch.”

Lizzie shrugged. “Nope, not a bitch." God, those eyes.

"What do you want to do now?" Mickey unlocked the car door.

“I guess we should head back to Pendleton." Lizzie buckled her seat belt.

“I’d like to go someplace first," said Mickey, pushing the car into first gear.

“Sure, whatever," mumbled Lizzie. Amber touched me.

Mickey drove north on 27, making a left on 11th Street and crossing the bridge into Covington. She wound through the streets of the old city, taking Lizzie down Route 8 along the Ohio River. Lizzie stared out the window at the spectacular view of Cincinnati. It’s no Chicago, but it is kinda beautiful. She glanced at her watch. It was 7:30 and starting to get dark. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise," said Mickey, turning left on Parkway. They pulled into the Devou Park main parking lot. “Come on, Lizzie Borden," she called, walking swiftly into the woods.

“Isn’t this park kind of dangerous?” asked Lizzie as she rushed to catch up with Mickey.

“It’s not as bad as it used to be," Mickey replied. “It’s right over here." She pushed through the last of the thicket, holding a branch as Lizzie passed.

“Wow," Lizzie gasped. They stood on the fifth green of the golf course, the Cincinnati skyline shining majestically across the river in the twilight.
“I told you I’d make it up to you," Mickey stood behind Lizzie, placing her arms around Lizzie’s waist. “Even the view.”

“It’s nice," said Lizzie. Glancing around, she added, “When the Hell did they make this a golf course?”

Mickey moved her hands slowly up Lizzie’s ribcage, resting on her breasts. She cupped them, pinching the nipples lightly between her index and middle fingers. Lizzie moaned, shifting her weight to lean backwards against Mickey as the brunette licked the nape of her neck. Lizzie shuddered. “We shouldn’t,” Lizzie said halfheartedly. I almost believe that.

Mickey responded by humming “Broken Wings” against her ear and moving her right hand downwards to the front of Lizzie’s sweatpants. “Not out here in the open," Lizzie whispered. Mickey took her hand and led her back the way they had come to the edge of the woods.

“How about here?”

Lizzie glanced around. “I’m not sure." Mickey grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close. Mickey moved her lips within millimeters of Lizzie’s mouth, breathing slowly. She turned her head, teasing Lizzie. “I guess this will do," Lizzie whispered as Mickey assaulted her lips. Their tongues met as Lizzie ripped at the bottom of Mickey’s pink polo shirt. Once the shirt was untucked, Lizzie’s hands moved rapidly up the shirt to knead Mickey’s breasts. Mickey moaned as they kissed. Lizzie pushed her against a tree, kissing and licking her neck. Lizzie kicked aside Mickey’s left leg, placing her thigh between Mickey’s legs. Mickey moaned again as Lizzie rubbed her thigh up and down against the denim stretched across Mickey’s crotch.

Lizzie returned to Mickey’s mouth, kissing her deeply. This is so wrong. Lizzie pushed up Mickey’s shirt, licking the hollow between Mickey’s breasts. Her tongue moved in a spiral to Mickey’s left nipple. She licked teasingly around the nipple. Mickey’s hands tangled in Lizzie’s hair, pulling her closer. Lizzie licked the nipple tentatively then attacked it in a circular motion. “Oh God, yes…" sighed Mickey.

Lizzie unbuttoned Mickey’s pants, pulling them down to her knees. Mickey lifted her left leg and kicked the pants free. Lizzie grabbed Mickey’s left leg and lifted it up, knee bent, leaning Mickey’s back against a tree. She leaned in to kiss Mickey, simultaneously running her index and middle fingers down Mickey’s chest to her pubic hair. Mickey gasped as Lizzie ran her fingers gently from her clit to her vagina. Mickey’s breath caught as Lizzie inserted two fingers into her. I hate myself for this. Mickey dug her fingers into Lizzie’s back. Lizzie stroked three times then removed her fingers. She brought her hand up to their mouths, smearing Mickey’s juices over their lips. Mickey sucked Lizzie’s fingers into her mouth. Lizzie removed her fingers from Mickey’s mouth then turned Mickey’s face to the right. She nibbled Mickey’s ear, moving her hand once more to Mickey’s warmth.

Mickey thrust her hips towards Lizzie’s hand. Lizzie rubbed her hand along the inside of Mickey’s thigh, pressing on the area just to the right of the clit. She then rubbed her hand against the opposite thigh, pressing on the area to the left of the clit. Mickey squealed when Lizzie placed fingers on both pressure points and slowly brought her fingers together over her clit. She then lightly drew swirls in Mickey’s pubic hair before placing her fingers back at the opening of Mickey’s vagina. Mickey turned her face back to Lizzie and kissed her just as Lizzie inserted just her fingertips, swirled them, and withdrew. Mickey groaned, wrapping her leg around Lizzie’s waist. “Now," Mickey whispered. Lizzie thrust two fingers deep inside her, crooking them slightly to hit her G-spot. “Oh, oh, God, oh," Mickey chanted, sweat pouring down her face in the chilly October air. Lizzie stretched her thumb to sweep against Mickey’s clit. Lizzie felt Mickey’s vaginal muscles clench, then felt the warm rush of liquid. “Oh my God, oh…" Mickey grabbed Lizzie’s wrist and shoved it into herself harder. “Oh…"

Mickey removed her leg from Lizzie’s back, standing shakily. “That was…really something." Mickey cradled Lizzie’s face, kissing her deeply. “Your turn," Mickey grinned as she kicked off her remaining pants leg. She knelt on the ground, pulling Lizzie with her. “Let’s just get rid of this," Mickey pulled Lizzie’s T-shirt over her head, tossing it on the ground behind them. Lizzie shivered from the cold. Mickey pulled off Lizzie’s sweatpants. Lizzie stretched out supine on the grass, stretching her arms over her head. Mickey straddled her, caressing Lizzie’s upper arms. “Cold?" she asked. Lizzie nodded. “Not for long," Mickey stretched herself atop Lizzie. “Better?" Lizzie smiled. Mickey lifted herself up on her forearms, sliding slowly down Lizzie’s body. Mickey halted over her breasts. She leaned forward, breathing against Lizzie’s left nipple. Lizzie groaned, arching her back. Mickey extended the tip of her tongue, barely licking the tip of her nipple, then pulled away. She then performed the same action on the right breast. “Stop teasing!" Lizzie cried. Mickey laughed then pounced on the right breast, sucking the nipple into her mouth and caressing it with the underside of her tongue. Lizzie stifled a scream.

“What do you want me to do?" Mickey whispered.

“Huh?" Lizzie glanced down.

“Tell me.”

Lizzie frowned. “Well, I…uh…guess you should do whatever you want." God, I fucking hate dirty talkers.

“Tell me," sterner this time.

“I want you to, uh, fuck me." How humiliating.

Mickey glared at her. “More specific."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “I want you to select at least two of the following: A) lick me B) finger me C) kiss me D) fondle me.”

Mickey smacked Lizzie’s thigh. “Smart ass.”

Lizzie laughed. “I’m just not good at the dirty talk. Sorry.”

“I like it," Mickey said quietly.

“Okay," Lizzie sighed. She reached down to cup Mickey’s face, pulling her up until her lips touched Mickey’s ear. “I want you to suck on my nipples until they’re raw." She felt Mickey swallow hard. “Then, I want you to penetrate me, first with your tongue then with your fingers." She turned Mickey’s face to look in her eyes. “And don’t forget my clit.”

Mickey kissed her, running her tongue across Lizzie’s bottom lip. Mickey pulled away and smiled, then moved quickly down Lizzie’s midsection. Why am I doing this? Lizzie shut her eyes tight, choking back tears. Why am I doing this to him? Her eyes flew open as Mickey pushed her breasts together and sucked both nipples simultaneously. Lizzie felt wetness creeping to the top of her thigh. Lizzie closed her eyes again. ‘Are you actually afraid of me?’ the words echoed in Lizzie’s skull. Lizzie felt her breath catch in her chest.

Mickey dragged her tongue down Lizzie’s sternum, licking a trail downward. Mickey paused over Lizzie’s sex. Lizzie crossed her right arm behind her head. She looked down at Mickey, catching her gaze. Mickey smiled wickedly and spread Lizzie’s folds with her left hand. Lizzie’s back muscles clenched as Mickey licked her entire length. Oh my God. Lizzie shuddered as Mickey swirled her tongue around her opening. Oh God, just do it. Mickey abruptly shoved her tongue deep in Lizzie’s vagina. Lizzie ripped a handful of well-manicured grass from the fifth green. Mickey pushed her tongue in then withdrew. Lizzie thrust her hips toward Mickey’s face. Mickey licked slowly upward until she found Lizzie’s clit. Her tongue traced lazy circles as she stroked her index and middle fingers against Lizzie’s slit. “Please," Lizzie moaned.

Mickey shoved her fingers deep inside Lizzie. Lizzie felt her legs trembling, the blood rushing in her ears. Mickey sucked Lizzie’s clit into her mouth, lightly nipping at it. “Christ!" Lizzie screamed. Her left arm rocketed to grab the back of Mickey’s head. Mickey pumped her fingers furiously, prodding Lizzie’s clit with the end of her tongue. Lizzie felt her heart stop then a rush of heat swept from her head to her thighs. She felt her vaginal muscles clench Mickey’s fingers as her entire sex was struck with a powerful spasm.

“Hey, are you okay?" Mickey asked, shaking Lizzie’s shoulder.

“Who the…what?" Lizzie blinked. What happened?

“I think you passed out," said Mickey. She wiped the tear running down Lizzie’s face. “Are you okay now?”

Lizzie grabbed Mickey’s wrist. “Do you want to be with me?”

Mickey rolled off Lizzie’s body, landing on her side in the wet grass. She propped herself up on one elbow and studied Lizzie. “What?”

Lizzie rolled over. Ow, God damned neck. Lizzie lay on her side, twisting her head to gaze up at Mickey. “You heard me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding."

Lizzie felt a sharp pain in her chest. “Do you really think that I am? Because I’ve--”

“No!" Mickey said forcefully, jumping up and running towards the pile of clothing.

Lizzie struggled to a sitting position. She felt the tears stinging her eyes. “So, what was all this?”

Mickey shoved her right leg into her panties and jeans. “We were just fooling around." She buttoned her jeans and looked at Lizzie, still sitting nude in the grass. “We both wanted it." Mickey picked up her shirt. “Now get dressed," she said, softer.

Lizzie reached for her T-shirt and pulled it over her head. “So, what are we going to tell Jimbo?" Lizzie winced at the mention of her stepbrother’s name.

Mickey knelt beside her. She grabbed Lizzie’s shoulders and forced Lizzie to look at her. “Nothing.”

Lizzie looked at the ground. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

“Well, you’re going to have to do that," Mickey said sternly. Mickey stood up and struggled to put on her socks in a standing position.

Lizzie wiped at her eyes. I hate myself for crying. She pulled on her sweatpants and then her socks. I fucking hate wet socks. The pair walked in silence through the woods to the car. Mickey drove down Parkway to Montague. She gunned the car as they shot up the I-71/I-75 South onramp. “It wasn’t your first time," Lizzie said quietly. Mickey shot her a withering look. “I mean, with a girl.”

“No," said Mickey coldly. “Back in college a couple of times.”

“So," started Lizzie, “I guess you’re bi, then.”

“No." Mickey whipped around a semi, settling into the left lane.

Lizzie turned to look at Mickey. “So, what then?”

“I’m normal." Mickey glanced in the rearview mirror before whipping the car into the middle lane.

“But…how?" Lizzie felt her eyes start to water. “I mean, we just…”

“I know what we just did," Mickey switched back to the left lane. “It just didn’t mean anything.”

“Maybe not to you," Lizzie mumbled, facing forward. Lizzie heard Mickey’s breath quicken.

“I just remembered something else about you from high school.”

Lizzie felt a lump rise in her throat. “What?”

“Lizzie the Lezzie.”

[Kathryn91628]

Hi. I'm not sure if i've left feedback on this yet.. but i have to say, i'm lovin' it. Lizzie is a very real, blunt character, and i can really relate to her. Granny is a funny character, and it's unusual to have someone talk about themself in third person, but you pull it off very well.

It doesn't seem as if we're supposed to like Mickey right now. And with this whole fooling around thing, it sounds like she's in serious denial. I liked the introduction of this new character, Amber, and i wonder if Mickey will become jealous of her. It's still unclear to me as to whether Lizzie is going to end up with Mickey or not, but i can see that it will cause a great deal of trouble because of Jimbo.

As for your writing style, i have to say: two thumbs up. A lot of original work out there needs a lot of editing (grammar and other such things), but yours has nothing but a few typos. As a writer, myself, i can comment that your writing flows very well, and there is none of the usual stuff that irks me. So, good job. I'm looking forward to more.

~K. Clark

[Kieli]

I have to say, I doubt there has EVER been a fictional character that has made me blow a gasket the way Mickey has. What's worse, I'm more brassed off that Lizzie is quick to give into her hormones! Her brain keeps saying "Warning Will Robinson! Warning!" but....ah well, if some hot chick came onto me that badly and I already had a serious crush on her (and if I were VERY single, which I'm so not), my mind might have gone on holiday too. But I doubt it Here's to hoping that Mickey gets bitch slapped...HARD. Poor Jimbo...either way he's going to take his wife's side. And I'll bet you she'd lie out her ass to save her own neck. Lizzie better ditch this chick and take up with Amber

[tcurti3]

Howdy! Sorry, but no update yet. Am working on it now & hope to get it out tomorrow. Kathryn, thanks for your kind words. Kieli--I don't think I've ever enraged someone that much with my writing. Cool!
If you guys would like to check out one of my essays, I'm involved in a contest entitled "Survival of the Lewdest". Just go to http://www.thetruthmagazine.com/survmain.html and check out #8. You'll even get to see my picture. Oh, lucky you.
If you decide to vote, please note that you need to submit 5 numbers (i.e. 1, 2, 3, 4, 8) for the vote to count.

[Kieli]

ROTFLMFAO! Your little biography was simply hilarious. I cracked up twice.

[tcurti3]

And here is the promised update. No smut in this one. For profanity, I'd rate it R. Same rules apply as above. Mine, all mine. Thanks to everyone who's been following my twisted little tale.

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

Diversions

“Ready to go?" Ron asked.

Lizzie pulled on her jacket. “Just a minute." She walked down the hallway to Granny’s bedroom. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

Granny looked up from her pillow. “You go, Lizzie." She turned up the volume on her TV. “Granny’s gonna be fine."

Lizzie frowned. “Do you need me to pick up anything?”

“Granny’s fine," more insistent this time. Lizzie shrugged and turned to leave. “You could get Granny some Napoleon ice cream.”

Lizzie smiled. “Neapolitan it is.”

“Napoleon!" Granny yelled as Lizzie retreated down the hall.

“All right, now I’m ready." Lizzie followed Ron out the front door. “We need to stop at Kroger on the way home.”

“How’s she feeling?" Ron asked, adjusting the rearview mirror.

“She’s tired today," Lizzie said. “Hell, she’s 81. I’d be tired all the time.”

Ron shook his head and pulled onto the highway. “Did you have fun with Mickey the other day?"

Lizzie coughed. She grimaced at the pain shooting through her neck. Forgot my fucking pills. “Um, yeah. She just took me to my doctor’s appointment.”

“You were gone an awfully long time." Ron glanced at Lizzie, slowing to stop at the foot of the hill.

“Yeah, well, we had dinner." She felt the sweat forming on her brow. Please don’t ask where.

“Where?”

Shit. “Frisch’s," she said a little too quickly. She desperately tried to remember something on the menu. Don’t ask what we had.

“What’d you have?”

What the fuck? How has he always been able to read my mind? “Um, I had a Big Boy and she had a Swiss Miss." Lizzie shuddered, realizing that she had just listed the preferred dishes of her father and mother, respectively.

“Hmmm. Your Mom liked Swiss Misses," he said.

“Yeah, I know," Lizzie said, desperate the change the subject. “How about some music?" she asked, reaching for the radio.

“That sounds good."

Lizzie pushed in the tape sticking out of the radio. The chorus of “Doctor My Eyes" filled the car. “Seriously? Jackson Browne?" she said. “Didn’t know you were a fan.”

Ron smiled. “I like to listen to some new music every once in a while.”

Lizzie turned to face him. “Only you would think a 30-year-old song is new," she chuckled.

“New to me," he said as they merged into the interstate traffic.


They pulled into the parking lot of the physical therapy office. Lizzie walked in as Ron parked the car. She signed in and glanced around for the restroom. Must be in the hallway. She searched the hallway, finally locating the bathroom past the elevator bank. Lizzie pushed open the door and stared at the bathroom mirror. God, my hair looks like shit. She waved her hand in front of the faucet then raked her wet fingers through her short brown hair. Not quite as shitty. She sighed. I should have worn my Reds hat. She walked back to the waiting room.

“Gossage," the nurse called. Lizzie followed her to the therapy room. “You’ll just come straight here from now on," the nurse said as she returned to the front of the office.

Lizzie stared up at the wall nearest the desk. She perused Amber’s state certification, then glanced at her Bachelor’s. Hmmm, University of Cincinnati. 1995?

“Are you ready to start?" Lizzie jumped at the sound of Amber’s voice.

Lizzie turned. God, she’s even more beautiful than I remember. Amber wore a rose-colored nurse’s top and black pants. She even makes that outfit look good. “Give me ten minutes on the bike," Amber smiled.

“Anything for you,” Lizzie said, returning the smile as she walked to the bike. Not so fast today, Lance. Amber handed Lizzie a hand towel at the end of her ride. “Thanks," Lizzie said, wiping the sweat from her face. “It didn’t used to be so hard," Lizzie said, indicating the bike.

“It’s tough to come back from this surgery," Amber said, staring into Lizzie’s eyes. “You’re doing all right, though." They walked toward the bench. “Your chart lists your address as Chicago. Is that an error?”

Lizzie shook her head. “No, that’s right." She lay down on the bench. “I’m staying with my grandmother in Pendleton County.”

“Oh," Amber said, quietly. Lizzie started the pointing exercise. Amber leaned against the wall near Lizzie’s head. Why does she insist on standing right there? “So, what do you do in Chicago?”

“I’m a systems analyst for Concordia," she said as she rolled to her right, stopping before her left shoulder rolled from the table.

“Hmmm," Amber moved from the wall, walking slowly to the end of the table. “Do you like it?”

“I used to," Lizzie said. “You know, since 9/11 it’s been a little rough. For the industry, I mean." She rolled to the left.

Amber shook her head. “I can imagine." She walked the length of the table, leaning against the wall to Lizzie’s left. Shit. Lizzie rolled to the right, lifting her left shoulder off the table. She rolled left, hesitating as she felt her shoulder blade begin to leave the table, then closed her eyes and leaned into the roll. Lizzie saw Amber begin to write on her chart. “That’s odd," Amber said.

Oh shit. “What?" Lizzie asked innocently.

“Looks like you’re having some trouble with these," Amber frowned. “But it’s sporadic.” She paused. “And it switches sides.”

“Oh, uh, the pain kind of comes and goes," she said. “And, uh, moves.”

Amber nodded. “Now for the wall.”

Lizzie stood, walked to the corner, and leaned in to the wall.

“So, do you have a lot of family around here?" Amber asked.

“Just my Granny, my stepdad, my stepbrother, and some aunts," Lizzie said, pushing away from the wall. She felt her cheeks flush at the mention of Jimbo.

“What about your parents?”

“Dead," Lizzie stated flatly.

“Oh, I’m, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay," Lizzie said, turning to look deep into Amber’s blue eyes. “It was a long time ago.” Amber nodded then looked down at the chart. “What about you?”

“What about me?” the blonde asked.

Lizzie swallowed hard. “I saw you went to UC. Did you grow up around here?”

“Covington,” she said noncommittally. She looked up from the chart. “Now for the neck exercises.”

“My favorite," Lizzie said sarcastically.

“What about friends?" Amber said. Lizzie looked up at her quizzically. “I mean, do you have a lot of friends still around here?”

Lizzie shook her head. “Most of my friends from school moved away." She turned her head to the left. “My buddy Keith is still here. I guess I should look him up while I’m in town.”

“Oh," Amber said, looking down at the chart. “Old boyfriend?”

Lizzie laughed. “Oh, good God no!" Amber glanced up. “Not so big on the boys," Lizzie said, searching Amber’s face for a response.

Amber smiled. “Ah.”

Damn, can’t read it. “Keith’s one of my old high school buddies," Lizzie smiled. “We used to wreak havoc on the greater Cincinnati area back in the day.” Amber nodded as she wrote something on Lizzie’s chart. “Like, we went to school with this girl, Gretchen. Total cu—uh, I mean, bitch.” Lizzie fought the blush she knew would be rising. “Anyway, she ratted us out for cutting Physics class one afternoon. So, late that night, we painted the side of her Dad’s barn to read ‘Gretchen is a bitch’ in 6-foot tall letters." Lizzie laughed at the memory. I haven’t thought about that in years.

Amber chuckled then looked up from the chart. “So, what did she do?"

“Well, that was the best part," Lizzie rolled her head to the right. “We did this at, like, three in the morning on a school night. The bus drove right past her barn every morning on the way to school. So, we were on the bus that morning all psyched about seeing our handiwork in the light of day." Lizzie paused for effect. “They had painted over it by 7AM.”

“That’s pretty funny," Amber said. “Hold on, you’re twisting your neck again." She placed her hands on Lizzie’s face, again touching thumbs under Lizzie’s chin. She tilted Lizzie’s head to the right.

“Yes!" Lizzie exclaimed, staring at the blonde. “It’s like they kept buckets of paint around, just expecting someone to deface their barn with malicious statements about their daughter." I need to know. “What about you? Do you, um, have a boyfriend?”

“Nope, no boyfriend." Amber said, a slight smile gracing her lips. Aha! There’s hope yet. “There you go. You’re all done for today.”

No, I’ve just started. “See you day after tomorrow," Lizzie said, standing to leave.

“Can’t wait," Amber tossed the comment over her shoulder. God damn it! I so wanted to see her face for that! “Oh, and Lizzie,” she called. Lizzie turned to look at her. “Lay off painting barns for a while.” Lizzie grinned. “Who do you think you are--Spiderman?”

“Close,” Lizzie mumbled as she pulled the door shut.


“Are you okay?" Ron asked Lizzie as she emerged from the doctor’s office.

“Oh, yeah," she said. “Just a little hungry."

“How about the Pepper Mill?" Ron asked.

“I haven’t been there since I was in high school," Lizzie said. “Sure." She and Ron made their way to the car. “I think the last time I was there it was with you and Mom.”

Ron shook his head. “Probably.”

“Is it still in the same place? Right next to the Oasis?”

Ron laughed. “You really have been gone for a long time. It’s on Monmouth and 6th now." They buckled their seat belts. “Has been for about ten years." They drove north on 27 toward Newport. Route 27 turned into Monmouth Street, the main drag through Newport.

Lizzie drank in the street of her childhood. Her paternal grandmother lived in Newport for the last thirty years of her life. Lizzie and her mother visited every two weeks to check up on her after Lizzie’s father died. Invariably, her grandmother would take them all out for chilidogs at the Dixie Chili on Monmouth. Sin City—that’s what Granny called it in those days. Lizzie had grown up watching the changing scenes on Monmouth Street from the big front window at the chili parlor. She chuckled, remembering her grandmother’s harsh words for the bums stumbling out of Cinema X into the harsh light of the afternoon. She remembered being disappointed when her mother wouldn’t allow her to talk to the dancers who visited the chili parlor from the strip clubs that surrounded the restaurant. Lizzie had lived for her visits to the delightfully seedy yet vibrant town of her childhood. She frowned, remembering that a reformist mayor in the early 1980s instituted an urban renewal plan that only succeeded in displacing every morally suspect business along the strip, replacing them with respectable banks and appliance dealers. Twenty years after the cleanup push started, more than half of the buildings on the street sat empty. Every time she visited the increasingly desolate town, Lizzie missed the nervous energy and omnipresent danger of the old Monmouth.

“Here we are," Ron pulled the car within an inch of the curb.

Lizzie looked up at the grimy building. “Didn’t this used to be a bar?”

Ron shook his head. “Not since about 1975.”

Lizzie climbed out of the car, wincing from the pain in her neck. “Wasn’t somebody killed here when it was a bar?”

Ron frowned. “Probably." He opened the door for her. “I doubt if there were any Newport bars back then that didn’t see at least one murder.”

Lizzie crinkled her nose as they walked into the restaurant. Smells like grease, hamburger meat on the turn, and urine. Lizzie glanced around at the hideous yellow plastic tables and red benches. She frowned at the ceiling, spotted with water stains, and the floor, streaked with mud. “When’s the last time you ate here?”

“Couple of months ago," said Ron. They sat in a booth near the door. A waitress walked by and dropped two grease-stained menus on the table.
What can I get that is least likely to poison me? Lizzie scanned the menu, settling on a grilled cheese and French fries. “Whatcha gettin’?”

“Think I’m getting a burger," Ron said. They laid their menus on the table, awaiting the return of the waitress.

“What’ll it be?" Lizzie marveled at the waitress’ stained uniform and unkempt hair. Definitely a trip to the hospital for one of us. Probably Ron. She noticed that the waitress had a name tattooed on her forearm. I guess that saves a little money on nametags. Lizzie leaned closer. Margie.

“Lizzie?" Ron said, startling Lizzie out of her stupor.

“Oh, uh, grilled cheese and fries with a Coke," she handed the waitress her menu.

“Is something wrong?" Ron looked concerned.

“Just thinking," Lizzie said.

“What’s her name?"

“The waitress? It’s Margie," Lizzie said. “It’s tattooed on her arm.”

“No, the girl you’re thinking about," Ron grinned at her. “How long have I known you, Lizzie Gossage?”

Lizzie looked down at the table. “Amber. My physical therapist." At least, that’s the only girl I should be thinking about. She unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. “She’s really something, but I’m not sure if she’s gay.”

“Why don’t you just ask her?" Ron asked.

“Not that easy," Lizzie said. Not here, anyway. The waitress arrived with their drinks. “I have to see this woman every other day for the next few weeks, so I don’t want to weird her out." Lizzie drained her Coke in one sip. “It’ll make it a lot harder on both of us if she’s, uh, not interested.”

Ron shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. Lizzie noticed it was the color of strong tea. Can no one south of Chicago make a decent pot of coffee? “I wondered why you were so distracted today.”

“Yeah, that’s, um, why," Lizzie said, blushing at the memory of her last encounter with Mickey.

Ron smiled over at her. He has no idea. “I think I remember the last time we were at the Pepper Mill.”

“When?" Lizzie asked, raising her eyebrows.

“It was your Mom’s birthday in 1984," he said. “No, no, it was 1985. Yeah.”

Lizzie smiled. “You’re right. It was for her 40th birthday.”

Ron nodded. “I asked her where she wanted to go, told her to choose anyplace. And she said she really wanted to come here." He looked around the run-down restaurant. “Well, it wasn’t here, it was next to the Oasis then."

Lizzie sighed. Who knew then that she wouldn’t live to see 50? “Some days I just miss her so much.”

Ron nodded. “I know.”

“I mean, we had some problems when I was a teenager, but then we were fine. And then…" Lizzie frowned at the memory of things she had said to her mother during her teen years.

“Here ya go," the waitress said, sliding the plates in front of Lizzie and Ron. Lizzie picked up a French fry and held it to her nose. Someone needs to change the fryer oil. Now. “Looks good," she said, holding her breath as she popped the fry in her mouth. Nearest hospital is St. Luke.


Lizzie and Ron finished their lunch and drove back to Pendleton County. Lizzie left Ron with a promise to call later that night. She opened Granny’s front door and walked in. “Where’s my Napoleon ice cream?" Granny asked from her perch in the recliner, glaring at Lizzie’s empty hands.

“Shit. I forgot," Lizzie apologized. “Want me to call Virgie and see if she can take me to Kroger?”

“Let me comb my hair and put on my makeup and we’ll all go." The dogs ran to the front door and barked as Granny hopped out of her chair, sprinting for the bathroom. “Call your Aunt Virgie!"

“Are you sure you feel up to it?" Lizzie asked. Receiving no reply, Lizzie sighed and headed for the kitchen phone. Virgie picked up on the first ring. “What?" she snapped.

“Can you drive Granny and me to Kroger? I’ll take us all out for dinner…"

“I’ll be up in just a minute. And I don’t plan on bein’ out all damned night. Your Uncle Bill worries if I’m out after dark.”

“Uh huh." The phone clicked. “Yeah, he’s worried that you’ll come back," Lizzie mumbled into the phone, replacing the receiver on its cradle. Lizzie walked back into the living room just as Granny darted out of the bathroom. “Let’s go, Lizzie!”

Lizzie paused, remembering something her mother once said: A car ride with Virgie and Granny is like being in the middle of a Civil War battle fought by Keystone Cops. And not being allowed to laugh. The three women loaded into Granny’s Concord and headed for Alexandria.

Kroger was the main shopping venue in the small strip mall off Route 27. Lizzie glimpsed a short man with a red baseball cap halfway through the door of the arcade next to the Kroger.

“What the Hell is Roger Joyner doin’ in that place?" Granny said, craning her neck to get a better look at the man.

“Mother, you don’t know if that was Roger Joyner!" Virgie snapped. “Besides, Roger’s off in Gatlinburg on his honeymoon.”

“Well, that sure as Hell looked like Roger Joyner." Granny said, facing forward and pursing her lips.

“That no more looked like Roger Joyner than the man in the moon." Virgie slammed on the brakes, stopping short to avoid a squirrel darting across the street. Lizzie grabbed her neck. “What the Hell would Roger Joyner be doin’ in that place, anyway?”

“I’m tellin’ you that was Roger Joyner. I’d swear it on a stack of Bibles." The pitch of Granny’s voice raised. “He was in Gatlinburg, but he got back two days ago.”

Lizzie shook her head. “I can’t believe that you both know this guy’s schedule. It’s not like you see him every day or anything.”

“I don’t know his schedule!" Virgie’s shrill voice rang through the car. “I don’t know nothin’ about that son of a bitch! It’s your grandmother that’s got her nose stuck up his ass.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about Roger Joyner. All I know is that I’ve never known him to wear a hat before." Granny said tersely.

Lizzie stifled a giggle as Virgie pulled into a space in front of the Mei Wah restaurant.

“Wait a minute," Lizzie said. “Isn’t this the place that Missy works?”

“Yeah, but she’s not workin’ tonight," said Virgie as they stepped out of the car. Virgie lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“We’re 20 feet from the restaurant," Lizzie said. “Why did you light that?”

“Because I wanted to!" Virgie snorted. “Why do you have to know every God damned thing?”

“Take it down a notch," Lizzie said, narrowing her eyes. “I didn’t even know you liked Chinese food." Virgie shrugged. “Granny, do you like Chinese food?”

“Whatever you want is fine with me, Lizzie." Granny motioned her head toward Virgie. “Hell, she don’t know what she likes or doesn’t. All she knows is Roger Joyner.”

“Mother! I didn’t say a thing about Roger Joyner. I don’t like that son of a bitch and never did! You were the one talking about Roger Joyner."

Lizzie started walking toward the restaurant at a pace just fast enough to miss the rest of what she would describe to Sam as the Joyner Incident.
They sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant. The blond waitress took their drink orders then Virgie lit up another cigarette.

“What is all this shit? What the Hell am I gonna order?" Virgie huffed as she flipped through the menu. “I don’t know what to order." She threw her menu on the table in front of Lizzie. “You order for me. And remember my allergies.”

“Well, do you want chicken or beef?" Lizzie toyed with the idea of ordering Virgie a dish chock full of green peppers and peanuts, either of which would induce violent allergic reactions.

“Chicken! I heard on the news that Chinese restaurants kill cats and serve them as beef. I’m not eatin’ no cat!" Virgie inhaled deeply from her cigarette.

“Fine. Moo Goo Gai Pan, then. Read that and see if it sounds good." Lizzie handed the menu back to Virgie, pointing out the description for the dish. Virgie nodded.

The waitress returned to the table. “What can I get for you girls today?" she drawled. Pure central Kentucky.

“Kung Pao chicken for me and Moo Goo Gai Pan for her." Lizzie motioned toward Virgie. “Granny, what do you want?"

“That no good pie pan sounds good to me.”

[tcurti3]

And, since I'm feeling oddly motivated, here's another chapter.
Same rules apply as above. Mine, all mine.
---------------

Therapy

Lizzie dialed 411 on Granny’s ancient phone. A buzzing sound made the receiver vibrate then a mechanical voice requested the city. “Covington, Kentucky," she intoned. “Listing for Keith Hillerton." God, I hope he still lives in Covington. Lizzie hadn’t spoken to Keith in years, but she desperately needed a local ally who was not blood kin. She balanced the heavy receiver on her shoulder as she scribbled the number on a yellow legal pad lying on Granny’s bedside table. This phone is a gigantic piece of shit. Jesus! Lizzie started as she realized that her grandfather’s WWII service revolver was lying beside the pad. Lizzie hung up the phone then walked to the kitchen. “What the Hell is Grandpa’s service revolver doing on your bedside table?”

Granny looked up from her coffee. “They’s all kinds of crazy people round here now, Lizzie.”

I’m looking at one. “So? Have any tried storming the door lately?" Lizzie was terrified at the thought of her very near-sighted grandmother attempting to aim a pistol at an intruder. She was even more terrified that Granny would try to fire the pistol that, if loaded, probably held ammo that was at least 20 years old.

“Velma got shot in the head that one time," Granny said.

Lizzie shook her head. She took a deep breath. “Okay. IF that happened, it happened 70 years ago. And it apparently happened in Cincinnati, not in Pendleton County." Lizzie reached for the less-impaired kitchen phone. Holy Christ, it’s a rotary dial, too. Lizzie dialed Keith’s number. “You need to get rid of that fucking gun," she said to Granny. Keith picked up on the third ring.

“Hello-o?" Lizzie smiled at the familiar, slightly effeminate voice.

“Woodston Funeral Home," Lizzie said. “You stab ‘em, we slab ‘em." She hoped that he would remember the slogan they had dreamed up for the local funeral home. She wondered how to break the uncomfortable silence that settled on the line.

“Lizzie?" came the timid response. Thank God! “Lizzie Gossage?”

“That’s my name, bitch!" she said, laughing. “Don’t wear it out. How’s my favorite Pendleton County man pussy?”

“Now, you KNOW I don’t live in that shithole anymore. No, I guess you wouldn’t know that since I haven’t heard from you in two years." Keith said.

“Yeah, I’m a shitty friend, I know." Lizzie leaned against the kitchen counter. Granny stood and walked toward the refrigerator. Lizzie mouthed the word ‘Keith’ to Granny.

“Who wants chicken? Does Granny’s boys want chicken?" The dogs danced on their back legs and yapped.

Lizzie stuck a finger in her ear and yelled into the phone, “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you, Keith. There seems to be a pack of wolves running through my grandmother’s kitchen.”

“Oh my God, does she have dogs now? I thought she had a bunch of birds when we were in high school.”

“Yeah, Dr. Doolittle here has moved on to mammals." Lizzie waved her arm frantically at Granny in an attempt to make her leave the kitchen.

“You want chicken or you want beef?" Granny held a plate of fried chicken in one hand and a small beef roast in the other. Murph made a running jump for the beef, nearly knocking it out of Granny’s hand. “You mean little bastard! Granny’s not gonna give you nothing if you keep that up." Murph turned and growled up at her, causing the other dogs to howl with an increasing frenzy.

“I’m gonna have to call you back in a few minutes, Keith." Lizzie slammed the receiver down. “Jesus Christ, Granny! What the Hell are you doing?" Lizzie snapped. “Couldn’t you see I was on the phone?" Lizzie watched incredulously as Granny teased the dogs, enflaming the feeding frenzy. “You actually let the dogs choose which type of meat they want?" Lizzie shook her head. “What the Hell?”

Granny laid the chicken on the table and slowly began pulling off strips of meat. She tore each strip into numerous small pieces and held a piece to each dog’s mouth, except Murph. She threw the meat intended for Murph into the corner. “There, you old son of a bitch." She continued this meticulous practice until only the bone remained.

“What’s that Keith want with you?" she eyed Lizzie suspiciously.

“I called him—remember? Besides, what does it matter? We’ve been friends since we were kids." Lizzie pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. “We’ll probably go have a beer some time this week or something, I guess.”

“I don’t want you out gettin’ drunk then comin’ home all hours of the night." She threw a morsel at Murph’s head. “It upsets the dogs.”

“I’m 36 years old. I’ve been on my own since I was 17. I’ve been all over the world and I’ve earned two advanced degrees." Lizzie tried to push down her anger. “I’ll have a beer if I want to.”

Granny snorted. Lizzie walked to the living room. “That Keith ain’t no damned good," she said to the dogs.

Lizzie shook her head and walked to the bedroom. She picked up the phone and dialed Keith’s number. “I’m sorry about that," Lizzie said. “She’s just been so crazy since I got back."

“So what are you doing back here?" he asked. Lizzie related the events of the past few months to Keith, omitting the Mickey episode. “Okay, and why are you just calling me now?”

“I know…it’s really shitty of me." Lizzie bit her lip. “I’ve just been so, uh, so busy." She added, “And I couldn’t really speak for a week or so after the surgery.”

“So, you’re forgiven for one week," Keith said. “You still owe me for the rest of the time.”

“Fine," Lizzie smiled, knowing she was on the verge of being forgiven. “Name your price.”

“Well, I think that the Dock is having $3 Stoli lemonade Friday night." Keith hesitated. “Four of those should rectify the situation.”

“Deal," said Lizzie. “Oh, uh, I can’t really drive yet. Is there any way you can, uh…?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake," Keith snapped. “Make that seven Stolis and you can pay for the cab home.”


Ron should be here by now. Lizzie looked to the alarm clock on her bedside table. It’s almost Amber time. Lizzie glanced out the window, startled by the blast of a car horn. Oh, fuck.

“Who the Hell’s that, Lizzie?" Granny asked from her bedroom.

“It’s, um, Jimbo," Lizzie swallowed hard. “I guess he’s the one who’s taking me to therapy today." She grabbed the bottle of water on her dresser and took two muscle relaxers. She walked to the door of Granny’s bedroom. “Do you need anything?”

Granny shot her a withering look. “Not like you’d even remember if I did.”
Lizzie felt the blush rise to her ears. “Okay then. Guess I’ll see you later tonight." Granny dismissed her with a wave of her hand. What the fuck is that all about?

“Hey," Lizzie said, meekly returning Jimbo’s embrace. I am such a worthless human being.

“Hey, bad girl," Jimbo opened the truck door. “Can you make it up there okay?"

Lizzie nodded, pulling herself up into the truck cab. She massaged her neck with her right hand.

Jimbo turned the key and pulled onto the highway. “So, Mickey says you girls had fun.”

Lizzie felt her blood pressure rising to dangerous levels. “Oh, yeah, uh, we had all kinds of fun." Sweaty, hardcore fun.

Jimbo nodded. God, what am I going to say to him? Flashes of Mickey’s face, her naked body, her sounds, her taste, shot through Lizzie’s mind. “She’s really something, isn’t she?" Lizzie looked over at Jimbo's smiling face.

“That she is," Lizzie said. She leaned her head against the window and shut her eyes. “I’m really feeling like shit today, so I’m gonna take a nap.”


Lizzie pretended to sleep until they pulled in the parking lot at the doctor’s office. Jimbo dropped her off at the door. She walked to the office and signed in. The nurse motioned for her to head back to the therapy room. Lizzie pushed open the door and glanced around the therapy room. Where is she? She adjusted the seat on the exercise bike and started pedaling. She didn’t even notice Amber behind her with a towel when she dismounted the bike.

“Jesus!" Lizzie squeaked, jumping a few centimeters off the floor.
Amber smiled and handed her the towel. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me," Lizzie noticed Amber was wearing a tight-fitting deep blue tank top under her lab coat. Lizzie felt the blush spread up her neck. “You, um, startled me." Look away. Lizzie walked toward the bench with her eyes downcast. She lay down and started the pointing exercise. Amber walked over to the right side of the bench next to Lizzie’s head. There is no way I trust myself not to look at her when she’s wearing that. Lizzie stopped before her left shoulder rolled off the mat.

Amber strolled to the end of the bench near Lizzie’s feet. I’ve never noticed these ceiling tiles are so huge. Lizzie rolled to her left, her right shoulder rolling off the bench. Lizzie started to sweat, feeling Amber watching her. She rolled to the right, her left shoulder leaving the bench. “Hold it there for ten seconds," Amber said. Lizzie counted to ten. She rolled back over to her left side, startled to find herself staring at Amber’s torso. How in the fuck did she move that fast? Is she the Flash? Lizzie lifted her right shoulder from the table. She felt her breathing increase as her eyes followed the curve of Amber’s hips. Lizzie felt a flush of heat in her groin as she drank in the sight of Amber’s full breasts, the dark blue of her shirt in stark contrast to the white lab coat. Oh fuck.

Amber leaned down to whisper in Lizzie’s ear. “How about we take that blood pressure now?”

Lizzie felt her face blush a deep red. She looked up to Amber’s face. She caught me. Lizzie grinned sheepishly at her, feeling her color subside. Lizzie pulled herself up from the bench. Amber gestured towards the chair against the far wall. Lizzie nodded and sat down. She rolled her head to the right, counting to five.

“So, I guess we solved the mystery of the weak shoulder," Amber said quietly.

Lizzie failed to suppress a smile. “Not such a big mystery." She rolled her head to the left, taking the opportunity to gaze at Amber. Is it going to be okay?

Amber looked up from Lizzie’s chart and smiled. Lizzie bent her head forward, maintaining contact with Amber’s eyes. That shirt is making them even brighter than usual. Lizzie leaned her head back, closing her eyes briefly. She rolled her head to the left and then to the right. She didn’t put her hands on my face today.

“Good," said Amber. She looked at her watch. "I guess that does it for today."

Lizzie stood and walked towards the door with Amber. Please let it be okay. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry about that." Lizzie stared at the floor.

“It’s okay," said Amber. Lizzie nodded, shuffling toward the door. Amber placed two fingers on Lizzie’s chin and tilted her face up to meet her gaze. “Really." Lizzie felt the smile break over her face.


The smile was frozen on Lizzie’s face until she caught sight of Jimbo’s truck in the parking lot. She pulled herself up into the truck and fastened her seat belt. They drove in silence for a few blocks. “Are you mad at me?" Lizzie heard her stepbrother say.

“Huh? Oh, God, no!" Lizzie said. But you have every reason to hate me. “No, just kind of thinking about therapy.”

“About therapy or about your therapist?" Jimbo shot her a mischievous smile. “The old man told me.”

Lizzie smiled. “Yeah, I feel myself slipping into another doomed obsession." Lizzie toyed with the seatbelt strap, folding it over and stretching it across her upper lip like a moustache. “She’s probably straight." The word brought back a flood of memories about Mickey. Lizzie felt her mouth run dry as she recognized the scent on the seatbelt. Mickey.

“You all right?" Jimbo asked and reached over a hand to touch Lizzie’s shoulder. “You look like you’re…well, you look like you’re gonna pass out.”

Lizzie shook her head. “Probably just low blood sugar or something," she lied.

“Well, let’s get something to eat then." Jimbo pulled the truck into the Frisch’s parking lot.

Lizzie sighed. This should be excruciating. She swung herself out of the truck cab. Just what I deserve.

“Big Boy with onion rings and a Coke," Jimbo said, snapping shut his menu.

“Same," said Lizzie. She handed the menu to the waitress.

“So, tell me about her," Jimbo unfolded his napkin. Oh God, tell me he doesn’t mean… “The therapist," he prodded.

“Oh," Lizzie said in a relieved tone.

“Who’d you think I meant?" The waitress returned with their Cokes. “Granny?”

Nope, not her. “Well," Lizzie drew out the syllable. “She is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen." She placed the straw in her Coke. “She’s definitely the hottest physical therapist I’ve ever seen.”

“And how many of those have you seen?" Jimbo rolled up the paper from his straw and tossed it at Lizzie.

“Asshole!" Lizzie hissed playfully. “Remember that time in Lexington with Mom?”

Jimbo laughed. “You mean the time we hit her with that spoon?"

Lizzie nodded. “She was so pissed but it was so hilarious!" Lizzie got her laughter under control. “Remember? We were going to visit the Centre campus in Danville and we stopped at that Waffle House off the Circle 4.”

“And we sat at the table behind Ruth and Dad because they only had two little tables open," Jimbo said. “And then you and I decided we were gonna flip a spoon into that creamer bowl in the center of the table.”

“Oh, I think it was you who decided that. And then you flipped it right over the fuckin’ table and hit Mom in the head!" They laughed at the memory of a very hostile Ruth hurling the spoon back at them.

The waitress returned with their burgers. “So, how are things going with, uh, Mickey?" Lizzie felt the bile rise in her throat at the mention of the name.

“Oh, man," said Jimbo. “She is just so fuckin’ great." He took a bite of the Big Boy and chewed. “You know how we met?”

Lizzie shook her head. Do tell.

“She came into the garage to get an oil change on that little T-bird she drives." Jimbo’s eyes glazed over. “And she was wearing this halter thing.”

Oh God, no. “Uh huh. So, she needed an oil change?" Lizzie crammed an onion ring in her mouth.

“Well, yeah, but it was…" Jimbo trailed off. “She was just so…" Where’s this going? “Nice. You know--to me.”

Lizzie’s face fell. She had expected Jimbo to talk about Mickey’s considerable physical attributes. My God, he really is in love with her.

Lizzie stared at the platter in front of her. “That’s really cool, Jimbo." What have I done?

Jimbo smiled at her then tore into his burger.


Lizzie suffered through the rest of lunch then feigned sleep on the drive home. She immediately ran to the bedroom and called Sam. “It was fucking torture," said Lizzie.

“Yeah, it’s too bad you’re such a big whore," Sam said, a note of sympathy in his voice.

“You know that I’m really not," Lizzie sighed. “I’ve just got an occasional Big Whore Problem. Usually with straight girls." She paused. "But this was, well, I'm not sure what it was. Different, I guess. I mean, the way I felt about her."

“Maybe you’ve got a thing for gym teachers." They both laughed. “Did you have fantasies about Bloody Margie?"

“You mean our eighth-grade gym teacher? Oh Christ, that is just fuckin’ nasty!" Lizzie pretended to gag. “You do remember how she got the nickname, don’t you?”

“Oh now, how could I forget that?" Sam laughed. “White shorts and that time of the month."

“I do like my meat rare," Lizzie joked.

“Oh, now that is fuckin’ nasty," Sam retorted. “Don’t trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn’t die.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, Mr. Funny Pants. That joke’s so old, it could vote.”

“Whatever. It’s still damned funny," Sam snapped. “So, aren’t you even going to ask me?”

Lizzie furrowed her brow. “Oh, how’s it going at WGN?" she
paused. “And with Mr. WGN?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic," Sam said. “It’s better than I’d hoped. You would be so fucking jealous if you could see this video equipment." He paused. “And things are working out just fine with Joel.”

Lizzie smiled. “That is the best news I’ve had all week." Lizzie twirled the phone cord in her hand. “Well, next to the news that my therapist might be gay.”

“Wha-at?" Sam drew out the word to two syllables.

“Well, I’m not sure," Lizzie backpedaled. “But she caught me checking her out today and she wasn’t freaked. So, considering where we are, that's practically an admission.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be concentrating on getting better?" Sam asked sarcastically.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a college graduate?”


Lizzie finished the conversation with Sam and immediately dialed Janet’s number at Concordia. “So, what’s happening?" Lizzie popped the lid on her bottle of muscle relaxers. She spilled two pills in her palm and swallowed them.

“Nobody’s quite sure," said Janet quietly. “There’ve been five directors resign in the past month.”

“Rumors of the apocalypse?" Lizzie smirked.

“Among other things." She heard Janet shuffling papers. “Oh, be there in just a minute." Janet sighed. “We’ve all been called in to some big meeting in five minutes. Call me back later.”

Lizzie replaced the receiver on its cradle and rubbed her eyes. Fat chance.