—Excerpted
from In Retrospect, by Katherine Luck, available at www.amazon.com.Wednesday, March 15th, 198910:50 a.m.Avalon Hospital, Seattle

Affirmations
By Katherine Luck

It was her silent affirmations that kept her from going completely insane. She had posted them on the wall of her cubicle, in ornate 24-point Copperplate Gothic font.
• Methamphetamines are illegal.
• Methamphetamines will not solve my problems.
• Methamphetamine dealers make more money each month than I do.
• I do not sell methamphetamines.
• I deserve a raise.
Sheree said that she took her affirmations down whenever her boss was around.
“Which is exactly never. Condo-renovating jerk.”
She left them up for the benefit of her clients, however.
“There’s days I find myself buying their line of bullshit, and I want them to see that even if I’m currently addled by caffeine and sleep-deprivation and low-paying social service job blues, at one point in the past I was immune to their tricks.”

Daydreaming has its benefits.
________________________

The other day I was sitting on the beach. The ice-cold pink lemonade felt like a warm blanket on a cold night as it submerged my tongue and coated my throat in sweet bliss. A light layer of sweat had formed on my bare torso and arms, but an occasional breeze would soothe my heated skin. In the distance my friends were throwing a beach ball to each other as they ran around in circles, the water splashing against their legs, their feet making temporary imprints on the saturated sand.

The young man walks slowly across the worn stone bridge, his head bowed and eyes staring intently at the cell phone in his hand. Dried leaves and bits of twigs and dirt blow in little tornados around his feet as he walks, a slight misting of breath escaping his lips in a rhythmic pattern; step… step… breath mist… step… step… breath mist… never taking his eyes from the phone. The lower front corners of his tweed jacket flap around his waist, tugging at the buttons. The unraveling end of a shaggy grey, pebbly wool scarf wrapped around his neck and chest flutters peek-a-boo from under an edge of his jacket.

A late afternoon steel sky hangs close above, brushing past the tops of the naked trees, as the ground wind rises and falls indiscriminately. One fisted hand pushes far down a front jean’s pocket, the other wrapped tightly around the cell phone. Step… step… breath mist… He reaches the end of the arched bridge, turns and heads back the opposite way.

This story is dedicated to all of the lost loves, and truly broken hearts throughout the world. Acceptance is more than a word, it is of heart and soul.

In a very small town, a young man fell in love with a beautiful young lady. The young lady had always admired, and cherished her time with the young man, and was so happy to be his bride. Now in this small town of 3500 people their wedding was huge, beautiful, and had most townspeople in attendance. Everything was just right.

Before long, the beautiful young lady gave birth to a beautiful little boy. He was the joy and happiness of his Mom and Dad. They loved him, and cherished him, and made sure that he had the finest of things growing up. This young man was not like other children though, he spent much of his time alone, reading, and not playing sports, or doing the expected boy things. He loved to watch movies and listen to musicals, and to go to the neighboring town and watch the theatre in the winter.

Jake had no leg hair. The first night I slept with him all I could think about was how we were like fevered snakes slithering together.

Later, he told me it was because his legs had caught on fire when he was little, and the scabbing had been so bad his hair never grew back. I didn’t know what to say when he told me this, so I just laughed. He started to laugh too, and we hollow laughed together.

After our laughter died down, he said, “My step dad burned them.”

My stomach lurched, “He burned your legs?”

“Yeah.”

We both grew up in Cincinnati. Not in the cute trendy part of the city where Graeter’s and Skylines and little flower shops crowded the streets. We grew up in the part of the city where you learned how to shoplift from those little stores, where you yelled out of the window on your public school bus, “Police man, police man do you duty, here comes a lady with a big fat booty…”

The hills were beautiful, wispy mounds of colorful leaves. Our little white car whipped up rocks behind us. It was as though a red and orange and gold quilt had been spread out across the land. The sky was a smoky gray; I rolled my window down to let the crisp, cold air in. Pulling my hat over my ears, I glanced at Jimmi. He had been a wreck all week, but this morning had been the worst. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
“Hey would ya relax?” I said, reaching over to massage the back of his neck. “Just enjoy this beautiful day, and think about that big turkey coming.”
“You haven’t met them,” he muttered.
“Yeah, and I’m so excited.”

The two friends left the tiny coffee shop, laughing and nudging each other as they walked down the length of cold cemented corridor to the dorm they shared. Rhia pushed open the door with her wheelchair. “You so were into him!” She smirked at Liana’a s struck face. She blinked, coming back to a smile beginning to pull on her mouth. Her friend laughed out loud. “God, if you saw your expression!” Lianaa glared at her as she held up her hands. “Alright, Alright, I’ll go do the laundry!” She bent down to collect their basket of laundry by the door, smirking. Liana sighed, but that didn’t stop Rhia’s laughter from echoing down the hallway, even when she was gone from sight.