Into each traveler’s travels, a little rain must fall

we have two sets of grandchildren…  one  set in Duluth, Minnesota, three hours north of where we live in Maplewood and one set in Riverside, Ca…  while the kids are little, we have tried to spend Halloween with one set one year and the other set the next year…  Halloween is a big deal to little kids in the USA…

so, this year was our year to go to Riverside, Ca for the holiday…  we flew to LAX on October 21, 2023 and took the Metrolink out to Riverside…  we had a wonderful visit with our daughter and our three amazing grandchildren…  carved pumpkins and watched soccer practices and games… and generally enjoyed the warm southern California sun…  on the day after Halloween, November 1, (all saints day on the Christian calendar), our daughter dropped us off on her way to work at the Rialto Metrolink station and we caught the train for Union Station…  then, the flyaway bus from Union Station to LAX…  the trip usually takes about two hours depending on traffic…  sort of weird that southern California does not have a more efficient mass transit system, but, they do love their cars…

anyway, it was a bright sunny day and we had a beautiful view from the train of Mount Baldy, the mountain that borders the Los Angeles basin to the north…  it is an interesting view from the junk strewn rail yards with their elaborate gang graffiti, across the suburban sprawl that begins to crawl up the edge of the mountain, then to the magnificent bulk of the mountain itself, looming in the distance, with its vast ridges edged against the incredible cerulean southern California sky…

we had a flight booked on ITA, successor airline to Alitalia, that left at 4:30 pm… it was a direct flight over the USA to hit the Canadian border over North Dakota then just south of Hudson Bay…  across the Atlantic over the southern tip of Greenland, then over England and Europe to FCO, Rome, Italy’s airport… we arrived at about noon and as we were going through customs, Mary’s passport had a problem and we got separated…  I had her phone in my bag…  I could not contact her and since I was through customs, there was no way I could go back to the secured area to look for her… I asked information people and officials that I could find and there was simply nothing to do but wait and hope she came out the exit that I was waiting at…  which she eventually did…  but I spent a tense hour waiting…  it turned out she had to go through a very long line to talk to a real live customs person and there never was any real problem with the passport…  but it was a crazy, helpless feeling…

there is a train station at the Rome airport, so we took the train to Rome Termini, the central train station in Rome…  we had decided to avoid the hustle of Rome and so I had found a small hotel in the city of Ladispoli, which is considered to be part of Rome but is actually out in the country about twenty minutes from the Rome Termini…  the Italian trains are very fast and dependable… so, we flew through the countryside of farms and fields with eventual views of the Mediterranean sea… and got off on the platform of Ladispoli…

Ladispoli is a city of some 44,000 people…  it is an older resort on the shore of the Mediterranean… I had found a lovely back to the fifties hotel with a balcony that looked out across the street over the black sand beach to the crashing surf…  it was very windy while we were there, so the waves were large and spectacular…  the temps in the day time got up to the upper 60s/lower 70s…  which we found comfortable to walk around with a light jacket…  we did have some light rain while we were there… the town had a busy shopping district with upscale clothing stores…  the Italians seem to be very fashion conscious and I assume that these stores did a good business catering to the stylish needs of the locals…  there were trattorias and restaurants on every corner and numerous pizza stalls…  hole in the wall places selling slices of freshly made Italian pizza…  we found the food in all of the venues to be delicious… so, we fell asleep to the whistling of the wind and the roar of the surf across the street from our hotel…  the next day, Friday, we caught the train back to Rome…  to do some sightseeing…  I had never actually seen a Michelangelo statue that is in a church in Rome…  it is a statue of Christ the Redeemer in the church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva… so, we made our way from the Termini via subway to the Pantheon stop…  we walked around the outside of the Pantheon admiring this wonderful ancient building, one of the very few buildings from Roman Times standing more or less intact…  due to the all saints day holiday, this was a holiday weekend in Rome and so the streets were very crowded with tourists from all over the world, but mostly, it seemed from the USA… 

we found the church of the Minerva and it was cool and lovely inside with soaring, barrel vaulted naves and spectacular stained glass glowing in blue and other rainbows of colors, impossibly high in the gloom of the vault… there just to the left of the high altar was the Michelangelo statue… just standing there with a rope to keep the spectators a few feet away…  this is supposedly a work that Michelangelo was unhappy with and had others work on…  but it was easy to see the master’s hand in the beautifully carved torso and the intricate musculature of the legs…  it was overpowering to be in the presence of a work of such genius…  most places in the world would build a special museum to house this work from the hand of Michelangelo, but it Rome, it just stands there by the alter…  you can deposit a euro in a box which causes a light to shine down from the ceiling and illuminate the statue…  we spent an hour looking at this wonderful work and feeling blessed to be in the presence of such true genius…

when we left the church, it was raining…  so we walked to a bus stop to catch a bus back to the Termini…  I had my credit cards and id in a pouch under my clothes to keep safe from the ever-present Rome pickpockets… but I had 35 euros in my pocket to use for incidentals…  when the bus came, it was very crowded, but because of the rain, we boarded it anyway and were accosted by one of the pickpockets who got the 35 euros out of my pocket before we managed to get off the bus…  it was a stupid mistake to get on such a crowded bus, but, I was really glad that I had secured my cards and my id…  35 euros is about 35 dollars, so it was a small loss and kind of annoying, but c’est la vie… the bus and train fares were so low as to be almost free, so it was a very inexpensive day, even including the theft…

the next day, we had planned on an outing to a small town north of Rome, but when the ticket agent at the train station told us that it would take two and a half hours each way by train to get there, we decided to go to another small town just a few minutes away from Ladispoli by train…  this town Santa Marinella was very quiet…  we walked around the town and looked down at the boats in the marina…  we then decided to have a nice lunch at a nice restaurant…  we found a lovely place with amazing home made pasta where two large meals, including chianti, cost less than $40…  

the next day, Sunday, we spent walking around Ladispoli and ended up with a seafood dinner at one of the many seafood restaurants…  the spaghetti with clams was delicious…  then, on Monday, we hauled our suitcases six blocks to the train station and caught the train for Civitavecchia…  as we walked through the town, we noticed that what looked like a small carnival was set up in the park near our hotel…

in Civitavecchia, we boarded a cruise ship for a 16 day cruise to Tampa, Fl… the next morning, at about 3 am, I awoke violently ill with what seemed like a norovirus…  I was sick for one day and missed the first port which was Toulon, France… I then did not feel terrific, but was good enough to go to shore at the next port which was Palma de Majorca…  we had a nice walk around the city and ended up at a coffee shop near the cathedral…  it was lovely and warm…  and Mary much enjoyed her coffee…  we stopped in at a church we walked by and enjoyed the beautiful stained glass and then spent some time sitting quietly in the garden in front of the cathedral… we then stopped at two ports in Spain, Malaga and Cartegena, both of which we have visited before and both of which are lovely cities to walk around in…  we hired a horse and carriage for a ride around Cartegena and visited the central market in Malaga which had lots of olives, seafood and cheese…  picture the fish, large and small on thick beds of ice, vegetable stalls with fresh oranges, berries, tomatoes, etc… the aisles crowded with shoppers picking up the ingredients of dinner… lots of smiles and talk in the quick native Spanish of the venders and the customers…

the next port was Gibraltar… we had been scheduled to stop at Azores, but bad weather in the north Atlantic dictated a more southerly crossing, so we stopped in Gibraltar…  we hired a tour and rode a mini van up to the top of the rock with stops along the way to enjoy the spectacular views of Spain and of Africa, across the strait…  there are troops of monkeys, Barbary Macaques, who live in the woods up the side of the rock and seem to enjoy bugging the tourists, trying to steal their Starbucks coffee and snacks…  one jumped up and grabbed a lollipop out of the mouth of one of the tourists…  the tour guides were on very good terms with the monkeys, visiting them every day, and carried sliced apples for the monkeys…  across the strait, we could see the shadowy bulk of the Atlas mountains of Morocco…   looking the other way, you could see the harbor and beyond the city, the green hills of southern Spain…

well, we said goodbye to the monkeys and embarked on a nine day sea voyage to Tampa, Florida…  the sea was kind of rough for the whole voyage…  we have done this trip or similar trips across the Atlantic many times and always had calm seas, more or less…  when the boat rocks, I take a medication to prevent seasickness…  this stuff works like magic, but leaves me kind of stoned and drowsy…  but not seasick…  unfortunately, a couple days out, I became ill again, this time with respiratory symptoms and fever…  I was worried that it was Covid, even though, I have had six inoculations for Covid and have actually had Covid three times, most recently, in June…  the Covid tests proved negative and I was diagnosed with acute bronchitis…  the doctor gave me a strong antibiotic that had some very strong digestive side effects, so, while I felt better, I was still uncomfortable for a couple days…  aside from that the sea voyage was lovely…

every morning, I would walk my usual 40 minutes, round and round the top deck…  this walking/jogging track was kind of bouncing around with the motion of the ship and as we were usually heading into a head wind, very windy…  but the air was amazingly fresh and watching the sun come up over the deep blue of the ocean horizon and light the clouds on fire was spectacular…  it was warm enough that we could eat breakfast on the open deck in the back of the ship where the bulk of the ship blocked the wind and the morning sun became warmer and warmer as we approach the Bahamas…  I breakfasted on the lovely fresh rolls with butter and jam and a piece of English bacon, maybe varied a few times with the full English breakfast of eggs, baked beans, mushrooms and grilled tomato with bangers and English bacon…  breakfast has always been my favorite meal of the day…  and looking out at the vast blue circle of the ocean, we felt very privileged to have this experience of crossing the ocean…  out in the ocean, it is very rare to see any wildlife…  you will occasionally see a frigate bird soaring just above the waves and occasionally, flying fish jumping away from the bow wave of the ship…  but that is about it…  when you get closer to land, you begin seeing sea gulls and other birds and if you are very lucky, you may see a dolphin or two…  we did not see any dolphins or whales on this trip…

after all those days at sea, we were pretty excited to get off at the port of Nassau in the Bahamas which was our first stop in 9 days…  we wandered around the straw market in Nassau, I bought a hat that said Nassau on the front…  and we bought a few trinkets…  mostly, it was lovely to sit in the shade and look out over the port where no less that six cruise ships were tied up along with an assortment of cargo ships and pleasure boats… in the distance, we could see the pink spires and towers of the fancy Atlantis resort…   it was not as hot as it usually is in Nassau and so was a very pleasant sunny day…

then we got back on the ship for one more day at sea going around the Florida Keys to Tampa… it was fun to be close to land again and to see the lights of Key West in the distance…

we disembarked in Tampa the day before Thanksgiving and got an afternoon direct flight back to Minnesota…  we were tired and glad to be home…  our daughter in California sent us a news article she had seen to the effect that a real male lion had been released from his cage by animal rights activists…  apparently, this was at a circus in Ladispoli, which was the small carnival we had seen and walked past… so, not long after we left Ladispoli, a Lion was loose, wandering around the streets looking quite lost and forlorn…  he was later captured, the article said, and returned to his cage… which was a bittersweet ending to a very odd story…  I mean, the Lion was not harmed, but then he was returned to his life in a cage, which must have been awful for him…

it had been an interesting trip with some negative times, getting robbed, getting sick, being separated at customs in Rome, some wind and rain on land and then rough seas… but overall, it was a fascinating trip and the highs more than made up for the lows…  and it is good to remember that travel always involves some risk… even the fairly sheltered type of travel that we do can have its difficult and uncomfortable moments….  still from the monkeys of Gibraltar to the spectacular sunrises of the central Atlantic, I am glad we went…  now, we are home in Minnesota where the temperature had not been above freezing for a week and we have had some light snow… we have, I think a new appreciation of our beautiful and tranquil home and of the many privileges we are blessed to enjoy at home in Minnesota…

a fast train

I was standing on the

railroad platform in the Ladispoli-Cerveteri

train station,

when a red train came

roaring through at 150 miles per hour…

two feet from where I was standing…

the blast of noise and wind

almost knocked me over…

an Italian commuter sat

on a concrete bench, playing

with her phone and

did not even look up… 

a visit to Palma de Majorca

what I remember of the stop

in Palma de Majorca, was that

the walk into the town was

straight up hill…  alongside the

old mustard colored

cathedral, a forest of spires

and buttresses, build between 1229

and 1601…

we stopped at a coffee shop with

a bright, white and blue tiled floor

and a bathroom at the

bottom of a tight circular

stairway, in the basement… finding

bathrooms in cities we

visit has become more

important now that we

are in our mid 70s… and facing

our bodily limitations…

walking back down the hill, we stopped at

another church, Parròquia de Santa Eulàlia,

to admire the

stained glass, then sat for a while in the

shade of a park at the front

of the cathedral and watched the

fountain jets squirt in arcs

over oblong pools…  the old

trees were green with twisted black trunks

and

the hedges were trimmed square around the

pools…  from where

we sat, we could see the

port through the trees

and the cruise ship, like

a white and black mirage

looming over a concrete dock…

Dream

It’s summer. It’s a hot day, it’s almost noon right now. The road to the end of our neighborhood is quite far. Sister Dilbar is carrying 2 buckets of water from a distance. Iular is the main character of our story today. It has been about 5-6 years since the Dilbar sisters moved to our neighborhood. They live here with their spouses. But they still have no children. Almost every day, my mother prays that your skirt will be full of children, that you will have sweet children. The reason is that she is a very open-minded, free-spirited woman. She is white, has thick eyebrows, tall and beautiful figure. His spouse, Salim, is also a very kind person.

One day, I caught sight of sister Dilbar, who was barely walking from the beginning of the neighborhood. Even though it’s hot and humid in the summer. But I’m going out to play. When I recognized them from a distance, I ran to them.
– Hello sister Dilbar
– How are you, Nargiza?
– I’m fine, where do you come from?
– From the hospital.
– Was it peace?
– Yes, I have something important to say today
– I will tell you…

When I said that, I fell into the game again. When I returned home, my mother was washing dishes in the kitchen. I went in front of them and greeted them.
Mom!
–  Where have you been? My mother started to fight with me asking if you have been walking on the street all day and you are a girl, can you take care of my housework?
– Listen to me too. I was at my friend’s house. It’s been a long time since I haven’t seen him, so the vacation is over.

Then they started talking about my mother, Dilbar, and your sister. I am also impatient, and when I was waiting for his words, he said, “I have something important to say, today, sister Dilbar, come to our place.” I bit my lip for a while, thinking that I forgot about the game. And then my mother quietly laughed and said, “Oh, wow, you’re so impatient, I’ll tell you the same thing.” When your sister Boya Dilbar was going out, I called you because you didn’t come out. Then we sat and talked a lot. By the way, your lovely sister will be a girl soon. I said yes, I was surprised that they were coming from the doctor today.

– Yes, it’s getting late, I’ll go in and sleep
– Can’t you eat, girl?
– No, mother, I’m full, thank you
– Yes, you know, take your time and come in
– Ok

After some time, sister Dilbar disappeared

I went in front of them and began to question my mother.

– Oi Oi Oi Oi Dilbar, where did you disappear?

–  Yes.

Mom said they would be back soon. I silently left the room

The reason why I love sister Dilbar is that she is similar to my sister named Ayisha. It’s almost a trick to talk. My sister died in a car accident at the age of 15, when I was a 6-year-old girl. You think a 6-year-old girl understands something. I didn’t know anything even when Pyim screamed and cried. I can only remember that they took a 6-year-old girl by the hand and brought her into the room where the body was lying to say goodbye to your sister. I felt my sister lying on the ground like ice, but I couldn’t cry for some reason. At that time, the thing that got on my nerves was that the corpse is ours, the dead is ours, but all kinds of women came crying in frustration and yelling at me that it was not enough. After that, they sent me to my younger uncles. When I turned 10, I returned to my home in Tashkent. Sister Dilbar, the first woman I fell in love with when I came here, that’s why I love them so much.

A little time passed. My school has started. One day, when I was coming home from school, there were 3 or 4 beautiful cars parked near our house. Aren’t you going to make loud noises? I wondered what was going on, and later I found out that my lovely sister had come. She was named Malika when she was a girl. But they welcomed him with cash. I was surprised by this/ One question was bothering me, whether they welcomed me with such a celebration then. Now in youth.

Many months have passed since then. During that time, I went to Bukhara to prepare for studies. I had to submit to institutes in Tashkent. I returned home.

It’s early morning. There is a knock on the door. I went and opened the door. Dear sister

– Wow, Nargiz, are you back?

– hada sister

– Where are your months?

– My mother is gone

– I’ll give you the key then

– Hop, sister, hop

– Yes, Salim, your brother is taking us to the mountain

– Ok, come and have fun another time

– yes, stay well

They went to the mountain, their daughter had grown up, she was 8 months old. The road was suddenly covered by a black cloud, the rain was pouring down on it, and Malika was crying loudly. Brother Salim did not pay attention to this. After that, Dilbar’s sister also started to feel sad. “Let’s go back,” said Salim, saying that he had arrived.

And finally they arrived after walking for 5 hours. There was no sign of the dark clouds from the heavy rain.

– Tin

– It’s okay though

– Be quiet, listen to the sound of nature, there is no such air in the city.

– Yes, I know

They entered the yard with joy. The yard was not very big, 4 rooms. But there were strange pictures painted on the walls. Dilbar looked at them a little daydreaming and his eyes fell on his wife. Salim went out carrying his daughter. And Dilbar is looking at them from the window.

– Dad, come home, a dark cloud is coming

– Right now

Brother Salim was happy. In order to play with his daughter, he began to shoot her up. It rained so much. They didn’t want to go inside even though the ground was slippery. Later, the princess did not like this and began to type. Suddenly, due to Salim’s carelessness, the baby fell to the ground. The baby’s head hit the stone. Salim was afraid that he would go after his daughter, so he was also injured. His leg was broken. Dilbar could not move, he could see this situation but could not do anything. Then a person appeared. The charmer did not know who he was. The reason was that he was caught by a thick blanket. If you can’t protect the blessing given to you by sitting next to Dilbar, it’s a pity, such a blessing will not be returned, he said, protect it.

Dilbar kept crying but could not go there. It was as if the leg was not pulling. Dilbar was crying, as if he was washing his clothes with tears dripping from his eyes. Then Salim Dilbarni came to him

– Be charming. You’ve been crying about something for a long time. Your clothes are getting wet

– My daughter, my daughter, where is the Princess?

– Why are you panicking? Do as I say quickly and change your clothes. You will catch a cold when your clothes are wet

– Was it a dream?

He went straight to the room where his daughter was walking. He remembered his dream of seeing his sweetly sleeping daughter. Cold sweat broke out from his body. They returned home.

Later, after this dream, he took his daughter to the kindergarten, where he did not believe in the sky. The reason is that those words stuck in a part of his brain as if they were engraved on a stone

“If you can’t protect the blessing that God has given you, it’s a pity for you, such a blessing will not be returned” these words kept spinning in his mind. The truth is that he has no children except his daughter Malika…….

Head Case

Standing on the parking lot of the little strip mall, Trevor Baker leaned on his push broom and waxed philosophical. He glanced at the clock tower across the street: 12 minutes until Jan. 1st,, 1996, the dawn of a new year and for him, he knew, it would outpace every year that had come before. The wind began to pick up and tiny spicules of ice struck his exposed face. Trevor only smiled.

. . . . .

Trevor, enrolled in undergraduate school, raked leaves as part of his college work study employment. Money was scarce and he took his job, slight as it was, quite seriously. Occasionally he hunched his shoulders or made faces, almost unconsciously, and passing students glanced curiously at him. All at once a shadow fell across Tremor and he started.

“You got I.D.?” asked a campus policeman who was perhaps a decade older than Trevor’s 20 years. Tremor made no reply. He had found it auspicious to say as little as possible to the police. “C’mon,” urged the policeman impatiently. Trevor dug through his blue jeans and pulled out a wallet and turned up a driver’s license. “Are you on drugs? Are you loaded? Do you drive?” asked the cop rapidly. “Can you talk?” he asked. “Are you retarded, er, special needs?”

“I can talk,” Trevor assured him. “And I have a doctor’s statement saying I can drive,” he added.

“I’ll be the one to decide if you can drive,” snapped the policeman proprietarily. Trevor only shrugged.

The cop looked at him narrowly and then insisted upon a field sobriety test: follow my finger, watch my eyes, walk a straight line, touch your nose with your own finger, and so on. Other students and teachers observed Trevor and the cop curiously and Trevor was humiliated, although this was not the first time this had happened to him. Finally, more or less satisfied, the cop allowed him to return to work, with a curt warning: “Watch it. I’m keeping my eye on you!”

. . . . .

Trevor, fresh out of graduate school, crossed the hot asphalt parking lot, littered with snuffed cigarette butts, soda cans that had been run over by automobiles, crumpled pieces of paper and other urban detritus. As he approached the red brick building, he beheld a glass and metal door, with the words, Department of Public Aid emblazoned upon the glass. He pushed through and was nearly overwhelmed by the stench of urine, dirty diapers, marijuana and cheap cologne; this was 1989, when Hai Karate was still a best-seller. A small forest of cheap, pastel-colored plastic chairs rose up from the floor. In one corner sat a corpulent rent-a-cop reading a comic book and straight ahead was the service counter, with a large plexiglass screen separating the clients from the DPA staff. There was a line of people that extended nearly the length of the room. Making a beeline for the guard, Trevor asked him how one went about applying for Food Stamps. Trevor coughed and then twitched several times.

Without taking his eyes off his comic book, the fat guard growled, “I hears ya, fella,” and he pointed a finger at the ever-growing queue. Trevor took his place in line. The screams of babies and infants filled the air and Trevor could have sworn at least one person lit a joint. After about two hours of shuffling forward, he reached the front desk clerk, who handed him a questionaire, a pen, and a slip of cardboard with a number on it. At length, his assigned caseworker appeared from the nether regions of the building and mutely led Trevor to an interviewing cubicle. The worker was quite handsome, some years older than Trevor’s 23 years, and he smelled nice.  He wore a wrinkle-free dress shirt, chinos and a distinctive necktie. Everything about the young man screamed State Bureaucrat. He introduced Himself as Mr. Sweetin and reviewed the details of his new client’s identity as had been revealed to the front desk worker. He then proceeded to ask Trevor a battery of questions: Age?  Any bastard children? Work history? And so on. When Trevor confessed that he had a job, the worker’s whole attitude changed; he seemed to think they were both wasting their time.

He told Trevor: “With no dependents, if you have any kind of decent job at all, there is virtually no chance you’ll qualify for Food Stamps.” The program was for poor people. What was Trevor trying to prove, anyway?  All at once the caseworker wasn’t as good-looking as he had been only minutes before. While there were still no wrinkles in his shirt, there were sweat stains in his armpits. He didn’t smell as nice, either. And his tie was a clip-on. At length he stood, thereby dismissing Trevor. He told him good luck, and did he want to register to vote? Trevor didn’t. Before he departed, he asked if there were any employment opportunities with the DPA. The worker said there were many opportunites, for “the right person.”

“What does the position pay?” he asked. The caseworker told him. Trevor silently whistled. It was approximately three times what he earned at his first post-graduate job mopping floors.

Trevor asked Sweetin what qualified a person for a job such as his? Sweetin’s chest swelled importantly and he told Trevor that he’d need at least an associate’s degree, as Sweetin himself possessed, “to make the grade”. Trevor thanked him and slipped out of the cubile.

Crossing the lobby. he pushed back through the glass and metal door and arrived again at the torrid parking lot, with the cigarette butts and the crushed cans and a dead bird or two, his welfare adventure now complete. Shit, thought Trevor, I could do this. It was but a matter of a state employment qualifying exam, and one month later, Trevor was hired.

. . . . .

Trevor Baker and his current significant other, Sally, sat slumped at a table in the back of the tavern, taking in the entertainment; this was Sunday and Open-mike Night. On stage, a faceless guitarist played Van Morrison tunes, much to the appreciation of the heavily-imbibing crowd. Sally sat close, her bare shoulders aglow in the warm yellow lights of the tavern. Although marijuana was not yet legal in this state in 1994, a thin haze of pot smoke rose languorously toward the ceiling. Which reminded Sally: “Bake, do you wanna get high?” With Sally, this could mean anything from beer to pot, from cocaine to Quaalude, so Trevor raised an inquiring brow.

“I bought some Mexican this afternoon,” she told him, turning up a small plastic bag and shaking it evocatively. Customers sitting at adjoining tables gazed enviously at Sally.

Trevor took a sip of beer and considered. With pot, it only served to make him horny; with Sally, it put her to sleep; altogether, he thought, it was a wash. “Sure,” he agreed, coming to his feet. As Trevor and Sally threaded their way though the crowded bar, Sally following in his wake, Trevor scrunched up his neck, first to one side and then the other, then coughed loudly and shot his arm out from his body for just an instant. Most bar patrons, used to this display, paid Trevor no mind; others, unaccustomed to the behavior, stared curiously. Sally rolled her eyes a little and looked down, but said nothing.

After they had made love, Trevor went through his twitching routine anew and Sally said, “Bake. I’ve told you this before: I think you have Tourette’s Syndrome. Talk to your doctor, babe.” Sally was a registered nurse and knew whereoff she spoke.

“I did,” he said. “He said Tourette’s isn’t real and even if it is, there’s nothing you can do about it.” They’d had this conversation before.

“At the state hospital, where I used to work, they gave the patients Orap or Haldol,” she told him. “Ask him about those,” she urged. “Please, Bake, I hate to see you going through this without help.” She put her hands behind his neck and softly kissed him. He kissed her back. Sally, he thought, really got him.

“I’ll make an appointment tomorrow,” he promised, then screwed the lid off a container of cold medicine and decanted the syrupy green glop into a plastic cup.

. . . . .

The next morning, at the Public Aid Office, where Trevor worked as a caseworker, he sat at his desk, going through some pending files. Into the room walked Karen, a tall, slender coworker with whom Trevor had a newly contentious relationship. He’d overheard her say one time that “Trevor Baker is a pain in the ass. If he starts coughing and twitching again, I’m going to murder him.” Most of his coworkers were well used to his nettlesome behavior, but Karen seemed to take particular exception to it and found him a nusiance. As she made her way behind his desk, Trevor unleashed another hoarse cough. With a cry of exasperation, Karen, as she had done every day for a week, slammed a handful of cough drops onto Trevor’s desk. Sheepishly, he murmured his thanks. Without turning, she stalked on by.

Karen had found a key to retribution, however, quite by accident: inadvertently popping her ever-present chewing gum, she observed Trevor wince almost as if in pain. She repeated the action, garnered a like result. Trevor stared at her helplessly. Karen smiled tightly. This, she thought, was important information. Information she subsequently used again and again.

Trevor’s phone jangled. Seizing the receiver, he listened, thanked the caller and ventured to the lobby. There he found Vanessa, a 20-something client on which he’d done an overpayment the week before. “Good morning,” he said, leading the young woman to one of a rabbit warren of small cubicles branching off a narrow corridor. “How can I help you today?” he asked pleasantly.  Trevor made a point of always being nice to his clients.

“I got a bill,” she said, proferring the statement for the overpayment he’d calculated. “I don’t understand,” she said, staring at him forlornly.

He took the statement, reviewed it and said, “It’s money you need to pay back.” He’d gotten a field evaluation by an investigator, who cited Vanessa for receving AFDC funds for which she was ineligible. He hadn’t questioned the contents of the report; he received them all the time.

“Is this about Reanne?” she asked, referencing her 8-year-old daughter, a beautiful dark-skinned girl whom Trevor had met several times. When he didn’t immediately reply, she went on. “Reanna die four weeks ago, Mr. Baker. She drown in the city pool.” Stunned, Trevor stared at her.

“I guess that’s it,” he answered at last. “You see, if she were…deceased, then you weren’t entitled to receive money for her.” Realizing the enormity of what he was telling this young mother, he hated both himself and the agency for which he worked. “I’m sorry, those are the rules,” he said lamely.

She nodded. Coming to her feet, she said “I unnerstand. Thank you, Mr. Baker,” and she was gone.

. . . . .

Trevor sat in his fancy new ergonomic computer chair, an early Christmas gift from his parents. The spare, sandy-haired man was seated comfortably in the open-space public assistance office, where, since his lateral transfer from the city, he worked as a caseworker, managing welfare cases. He had been so employed for almost a year. This chair, he thought sadly, as high-tech as it was, couldn’t prevent his hands from shaking. Sometimes, on a bad day, it was worse than others; just now, his hands quavered furiously. Clearly, this was not a good day.

Working in the new office had taken some getting used to. Gone was the malicious Karen and the others who referred to Trevor behind his back as a “head case.” But, unlike his previous fellow employees, his new co-workers steadfastly refused to call him Bake, opting to use his childhood appelation of Trevor. Into the room strode Bert, a colleague at the agency, just back from lunch, who observed his co-worker’s afflictions with the usual bemusement. He took off his winter coat, placed his Starbucks cup on his desk, which was next to Trevor’s, turned to the other man and said, “Hey, Tremor, what’s up?”

Trevor instantly became self-conscious and tried to hide his twitching fingers. Although his Tourette’s was 90% under control with the medication he took, other conditions, which had like symptoms, were getting worse. Bert’s coarse misuse of his name only added tension to an already tense situation. Trevor waited for the next remark.

Bert picked up his coffee, took a sip, smiled winsomely, but said nothing. The genius to his technique of torturing Trevor lay in levying the insults and putdowns only half the time. Always keep him wondering when the other shoe would drop, thought Bert smugly. To that end, Bert unwrapped a stick of gum and slowly placed it on his tongue, watching the other man from the corner of his eye. He chewed rapidly, soon getting the wad of gum limber. Then he began loudly popping it. He smiled with satisfaction as Trevor reacted severely to the chewing and to the sounds.

Trevor, who already suffered the early stages of Parkinson’s Disease, had only recently been diagnosed by his neurologist as also suffering from misophonia, a condition in which the patient exhibits untoward reactions to certain “trigger’ sounds, such as lip smacking, gum popping, dogs barking, clocks ticking, or people chewing with their mouths open. As a result of this condition, Trevor routinely frowned, sighed, or even stared at his nemesis. Which only encouraged Bert all the more. Also accompanying these reactions were increased heart rate, panic, anger, and a strong, almost desperate desire to escape the source of the trigger sounds. Just now, Trevor glared balefully at the other man. Bert smirked.

. . . . .

“What can I do about it, Dr. Patel?” Trevor had asked, when told of the diagnosis. “How do we treat it?”

The physician shrugged impassively. “There is no treatment,” he told him bluntly. “You can wear sound-deadening headphones or play music or,” he suggested, “ask your co-workers to stop their annoying behavior.”

Trevor had this condition, in varying degrees, since he was nine or ten years old—more than twenty years ago—though in those days there was no available diagnosis.

“Trev,” said his father, when the young man was eleven, “pretend that dog’s not there; that’s a boy!”

“Mom and Dad are going to take you to a shrink,” threatened Trevor’s brother, two years older and embarrassed by his sibling’s constant overreactions to ordinary sounds, not to mention his face-making and twitching.

The malady was still relatively unknown. Even today, Trevor’s own MD unapologetically admitted that he had never even heard of the condition.

Throughout school, Trevor had felt that he wore a cloak of misfortune that no one else seemed to understand. Bert knew none of this; he knew only that Trevor was “different” and “sensitive” and must therefore be punished.

“Want a piece of gum, Tremor?” asked Bert, cracking the Juicy Fruit between his molars. Trevor closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and mentally placed himself somewhere far away. Snap! went Bert’s gum, and Trevor was figuratively seized roughly and wrenched back to the present, nearly sobbing with frustration. He felt a bead of perspiration trickle down his back. He had to do something!

He sprang suddenly to his feet and called out, “Ms. Shaefer, could I have a minute?”

Norma Schaefer, the office manager, also returning from lunch, frowned unhappily at her newest employee, but crooked a finger. What was it this time? She thought peevishly. “A quick minute,” she said. He followed her into her private office, dropped into a chair before her desk.

Once they were both seated, Trevor explained his recent diagnosis, described his symptoms, both physical and mental, and, in spite of  his abject embarrassment, appealed to her for help. He had previously had to account to her for his tremor, which was due to Parkinson’s, because some of his welfare clients, as well as his co-workers, had questioned his sobriety and his sanity. Some had even conjectured that he was undergoing withdrawal from alcohol or drugs.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” she asked impatiently. “I mean, I’ve never heard of this condition, and besides, how can I tell employees they can’t chew gum?”

“It’s just the popping,” he stressed, “and chewing with their mouths open; it’s not gum chewing itself. It’s the noise.”

Norma’s mouth formed a straight, unhappy line. “Look, Trevor, the state already stopped employees from smoking. Many of them substitute gum for cigarettes, and I think that’s a good thing.” At his disspirited look, she pounced: “Maybe casework isn’t the right job for you…” He looked up sharply. “You just don’t seem very happy here,” she added, with feigned concern. You have little to say to anyone; you’re not even signed up for the Secret Santa gift exchange this Christmas.”

Trevor cast his mind back to the office Thanksgiving party, which had been held only the week before. Sitting by himself in the break room, he had witnessed Norma herself eating noisily at the next table.

She sounds like a garbage disposal, he thought wearily, looking dismally at the otherwise elegant woman. “What are you staring at?” she demanded, dropping a Buffalo wing back onto her plate with a little click. “Don’t stare at me!” Her loud chewing hadn’t seemed to bother anyone else, he’d noticed.

Trevor blew out a tired breath. Norma spoke again, drawing him back to the present: “Your work is adequate,” she conceded, “but if you can’t get along with the other employees and you aren’t happy here, then maybe you should consider a change.” And she left it at that, stealing an overt glance at her watch. Pushing himself to his feet, Trevor exited the manager’s office, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Thirty days later, just in time for the new year, found Trevor, Master’s degree and all, sweeping the breezeway that bisected the strip mall where he now worked alone as a maintenance worker and groundskeeper. The air was cold, the wind brisk, but he didn’t mind. The salary was scarcely adequate, but at long last he had found what he most coveted: peace and quiet. He sighed, smiled a little and wondered with genuine interest what Sally was doing. Peace, he thought luxuriously. It was so sweet.

It was my job to keep Uncle Billy from jumping into his mother’s grave

talking politics   my teeth are dry

sea grass so close to a whisper

a descending red-leaf sermon

before it’s too late to simply live and let live

he butchered the deer on the double yellow line

the creepy forensics of strange hairs in hotel rooms

he was a man who knew how to light a lady’s cigarette

amidst the sunny paroxysms of yellow jonquils, I’m asked to repeat myself

unable to dispel worry, I turn to simple prayer

in the middle of a mass extinction: a knock, knock joke

born yesterday   the pine mushroom

the director’s cut of this world

the tea drinker didn’t take sides

grateful to get the heel of the loaf

the One Step Beyond of facelifts & Botox

arranging my own Castalia again

Birds of my land...


The sun's rays wake up the birds
the wind dries the raindrops

the smells of the day, the city
wake up alone
my city is the most beautiful
I know

On the street laughter 
when it starts and the song when it reminds me to love you and you are all happiness 
You are the most beautiful everyone knows that 
The sun's rays wake up 
the birds the wind dries the raindrops 

the smells of the day, 
the city wake up alone 
my city is the most beautiful Because I know that...

Borna Kekic is a poet in Zagreb, Croatia.

Invictus Version

He remembers

When she

Left him

And he remembers

Wondering whether

He really wanted

To be here,

That wondering him

Must have been

A previous version

Of him

Because the 

Invictus version

Is here now.

Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of the Peace Corps memoir “Fiesta of Sunset,” and the forthcoming poetry collection “Home Again.”