Chapter Three

A day had passed since the spat with Naomi, and Deb was sitting on a bench in front of a store, slurping on a frozen drink. After she had sought refuge from the thundering sky, she was able to sit and enjoy the pungent smell of the storm's rain.

She absentmindedly watched as the drops of cool water splashed and sloshed against the pavement, pooling into the sunken spaces. Her mind was elsewhere, too involved with the inner workings of her own life.

Earlier that day, she had walked to work only to be sent home within the hour. Her boss, a man no older than she, had hastily told her to use or lose the accumulated vacation days that Deb had earned. So she had no choice but to take the day off, but she couldn't enjoy herself.

Now, while she sat shielded from the downpour, she thought about the possibility of visiting her mother, but was brought back to her own words. She couldn't visit her, especially now, after she had bought and mailed a card on which she had jotted down lame excuses about being too busy with her career and life. I'm a shit daughter, Deb had thought as she wrote the words that she would be dwelling on long after sending the card.

While engrossed in her thoughts, she barely noticed as the darkened sky lost its wetted clouds, and the only remembrance of the rainstorm became the humid, damp air that penetrated Deb's pores. Sweat beads slipped down her face, soaking her in a salty smell. Her dark hair clumped together in moist masses. She allowed a low curse to slip from her lips as she swiped the salty fluid from her face. She had to get out of this heat.

Of course, things hardly ever go according to plan. As Deb moved to flag down a taxi, she felt a hand placed on her shoulder. “Debby Moore, is that really you?”

Oh lord. Deb knew that voice fairly well. Well enough, in fact, that she thought not to turn around, but curiosity got the best of her and she turned to face the woman. Before Deb was a tall, hefty blonde.

“Don’t just stand there, silly.”

Deb smirked, “Hey, Holly. What’re you doing here?”

“Come on, Debby, love. You act like you ain’t missed me,” said Holly, Deb’s closest friend from high school.

“We haven’t spoke in over five months.” Deb was bitter.

“And whose fault is that?”

Deb looked away guiltily. She had avoided Holly’s calls and adopted excuses involving a busy work schedule. Mostly because of Holly’s incessant desire to exercise, exercise, exercise. This, of course, meant she wanted Deb to tag along and complete the same rigorous workouts.

Deb curled her lip under to form a loose, awkward smile and spoke, “What would you like me to say? I’ve been busy.”

Holly looked away, smirking. Deb wanted to strangle herself for being so hateful.Why can’t you just shut up? Shut up, shut up, shut up! Deb bitterly thought to herself. She wanted to be pleasant, but it was as if she was bent out on self-sabotage. She mused that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t capable of human relation; that maybe she was far too spiteful and disassociated. Maybe she was just a selfish bitch and didn’t deserve anyone’s friendship.

“You know, we’ve been friends for years, Deb. I’d like to think that I know you better than to believe that bullshit you’re trying to shove down my throat. Come on now, Naomi and me are still friends. And I’ll bet that you’re still sitting home alone, avoiding phone calls and making excuses,” Holly paused and allowed a small, secretive smile before continuing, “Always the same, aren’t you?”

Deb was slightly taken aback, mistaking her expression for angry. Holly was a woman of forgiveness, and Deb had forgotten thus. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Holly still smiled, but shook her head, appearing amused. “No bullshit, ‘kay? I missed my sista from anotha mista!”

Deb chuckled, and nodded her head in compliance before becoming swallowed in the arms of her busty best friend. Contact with Holly was not unnatural for Deb, like it was with other people. Holly and Deb were opposites made from the same mold. How had she forgotten?

As they broke away from one another, Deb looked her friend over, undoubtedly analyzing her. “What’re you doing here?”

Realizing the supposed heartwarming reunion had come to a close, Holly responded, “Well, I kind of need a place to crash.” The dead cold stare Deb shot her was enough of an answer, but Holly never knew when to stop and so continued, “It’s just for a little while. I’ll sleep on the couch and help keep the place and, look, I have some cash on me.”

“It figures I would run into you,” Deb murmured, “Fine. Let’s get your shit.”


A small pile of belongings—a duffle bag, a suitcase, and two plastic bags—made up everything Holly Nelson owned. It made for a rather sad and small existence, but when Deb looked to Holly, she noticed her blue eyes light with calmness. It was surreal, that someone with hardly anything could be so contented. Deb was blessed with a home, a job and a family, but she wasn’t certain she was happy.

“Did your parents finally boot you off their lawn?” Deb asked with a cocked brow.

“They’ve been more than generous, and they were kind enough to let me eat their food and bathe in their tub. I’m an adult, not their responsibility.”

“And the tree-hugging Italian?” Deb inquired, speaking of Holly’s previous romantic interest.

Holly gave her an exasperated look. “I thought we had gotten past the name calling?”

“Three weeks of stale tea and ‘love Mother Nature, caress the lovely bosoms of earth and its wonders’ and tell me that shit don’t get old quick.”

“Honey, I was with him for ages. It grows on you,” she responded with a sad smile.

Deb perched her hands upon her hips defensively. “And where might he be now?”

“He left. Some spiritual run to ‘find himself’. I guess I should be angry or maybe a bit spiteful but when you love someone like I loved him…I guess you learn to accept them and the things they need to do.”

“You’re crazy. Bat shit crazy and hung up on a man who done left.”

“And you’re complacent and jealous,” Holly replied, sticking her tongue out.

Deb discarded the retort with a flick of the finger directed at her friend and resumed folding clothes into neat squares and tucking the garments away into dresser draws. “Really though, you’d think you’d grow out of the whole teenage ‘true love’ bit.”

Holly waved the notion away, before hesitantly replying, “Love transcends, etches itself unto your being. It’s really something to be experienced, not understood.”

Deb scoffed, a bit of saliva slipping to the floor and finding Holly with a grimacing expression.

“Love is dumb. A chemical reaction prompting stupid interaction.”

Chapter Two

When she woke the next morning, her groggy eyes unfocused, a loud snore was emitted by the form that lay next to her, adorning her sheets with a thick layer of saliva. At first, her face remained lull and relaxed, but soon she absorbed the full extent of the drool on her bed.

"Jack! Jackal Liberace, get up, get up! You big ol' oaf!" She fruitlessly tried pushing the massive bulldog off of her drenched sheets. As if in defiance, Jack let out a long snore and flopped over on his back. It was moments like this that made Deb certain that she had named him Jackal for a reason.

After showering and changing into her work clothes, she fixed herself a light breakfast. Once she cleaned and put away her dishes, she filled Jack's dish with food and another with water.

"Food!" hollered Deb. Like a puppet brought to life, Jack was flying down the corridor and into the living room, where his food dish resided.

"All right, Jack. I'm off to work. Be a good little doggy." She grabbed her keys and exited her apartment.

Deb didn't own a car anymore, and walked everywhere. The car that was previously in her possession was roughly sixteen feet under the ocean. As Deb walked to her job, she reflected upon her lost car. After a nasty, heartwrenching break up with a long-term boyfriend, Andrew, Deb had been distraught. Deb was never a delinquent, but after a short period of mourning, she yearned for vengeance.

Meanwhile, she had a sleek red vehicle outside of her home, listed under the ex's name. The obvious deduction was made, and soon Andrew's prized possession was rusting under the ocean. Unexpectantly, it held no satisfaction to her, but it was far too late and the car was long gone.

By this point, Deb had reached the street where her job was located. There was a harshly decorated sign that read Maggie's Magazine Co., behind it was the company it advertised, squeezed between two other businesses. Maggie's Magazine was a new, inexperienced magazine firm. Deb had applied several months previously and had been employed almost immediately. Recently, the magazine's success had skyrocketed; however, Deb's paycheck remained the same value as it had always been.

Deb entered the building, as she tugged on the ends of the silk blouse she wore. She walked down the hall and to the elevator, up to the second floor and into her office. She kept her office much like she did her home. Every object had its own place and was tucked away neatly.

Deb's responsibility as secretary was mediocre at best; She was the one who alphabetized the subscriptions, transferred phone calls from agencies, and placed data into the computer. Eight hours of frenzied rotation in a day, each day. Today would be the same as every day before. To be honest, the days in Deb's mind would blend together, and she could only tell a Wednesday from a Friday by the proximity of a recess from work, namely, the weekend. It didn't bother her nearly as much as it should.

Throughout the work hours, Deb kept her head downward as she busily typed away at the computer. Deb stayed mostly to herself, excluding the uncommon greeting to and from passing colleagues. She had never fully became acquainted with anyone in the building; nonetheless, those that she had spoken with were courteous and helpful. Deb just had not befriended anyone, for reasons she didn't know or care to know. She would be satisfied with the simplest of things, she came to work to do her job and receive her due pay.

Deb's favorite part of the day was when she walked home from work. Five days out of the week, thirty minutes past five, Deb passed the boardwalk. The sun would peek out over the edges of the horizon, giving the elements around her an earthy glow. The dull buildings would be painted with splashes of apricot and cherry. In Deb's opinion, there was no better sight to be seen.

She walked her way home, ignoring the chattering swarms of people. To her, the world was a blank canvas, ready to be colored by nature's warmth and bliss. People were the ones that tried to ruin nature's beauty, always trying to contain it and change it. Deb only wanted to enjoy its comfort, never to obtain it.

Her thoughts swam around in her head, too profound and astonishing for her to comprehend or write down in words. Deb wished greatly to be able to copy them down somewhere to remember, but it wasn't meant to be, and soon those thoughts would dissipate.

When she arrived home to Jack, she noticed another pair of blinking lights on her phone. She wanted to disregard the messages, but it was too unnerving to not know who had called. That was part of living in a technological world, Deb had long ago surmised. The first three or so were most certainly bill collectors--dearly concerned that she should immediately contact them. She had grown duly bored, and it wasn't until the last message that she really began to fixate her attention.

"Erm...hi, Deb. It's me. Your sister, you know? Naomi, yeah. I was just calling to tell you that--oh nevermind! We need to meet somewhere. Call me, please."

At this point, the message ended and Deb no longer had the viable excuse of not checking her voicemail. She would have to contact her sister and listen to her constant badgering, Deb realized, as she reluctantly picked up the receiver and dialed Naomi's number.

"Hello?" Naomi's soft voice answered.

"Yeah. Hey, make this quick I have somewhere to be, kid,” Deb lied, biting her stubby nails.

"You're always busy, Deb. We miss you, Mom and I," said Naomi.

Deb rolled her eyes. "Save me the speech. What did you want?"

"Will you please cancel whatever it is you've got planned and just come over to the family diner? We need to talk." Even over the phone, Deb's sensitive ears heard the desperation in Naomi's words.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I'll be there in about half an hour." Deb ended the phone call and returned the device to its rightful place. By that time, Jack had made himself comfortable on the couch; laying on his back, his legs sprawled out with his belly full of food.

"Sorry, Buddy, I gotta leave you here again." She murmured. Jack, ever the intelligent, yet excitable dog, jumped up in an alert state. He ran over to her looking up at her with sad eyes, his nubby tail wagging in a rapturous manner. Deb felt a tinge of guilt in between her tiny bosoms; Jack was like the best friend that never left, and the child she never wanted. So what if she was a dog lover.

She didn't have time to do anything other than to craftily exit her apartment, so that Jack wouldn't follow. She would have to walk an estimated half of a mile, before she could be anywhere that a taxi was likely to show up around.

She was lucky; Monday's were the days most frequented for the taxis to be out and about. She had only waited five minutes before a yellow cab came strolling down the street. She got in and speedily told the driver the address of the diner.

The twenty minute drive was dull and over shortly, all to Deb's displeasure. In meer seconds, she would be face-to-face with her depressing 23 year-old sister. Naomi, a college drop-out, was passionate about photography and sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Deb dreaded her sister's overbearing questioning, and as expected it occurred.

Deb entered the small diner, and spotted her sister in an old, lumpy booth facing the kitchen. From the threshold of the door, Deb acknowledged that Naomi hadn't changed a bit. Her clothes were still baggy and dark, her hair long as ever, and she still wore the same insolent and moody expression. The generation that thinks sad is rad, Deb reminded herself, enabling her mind to ignore the truth that Deb was only a short three years older.

"Deb! Over here!" Naomi waved her arms around, like a silly child.

Deb allowed a slight wave of her left hand and trotted over to her impending doom. She took her spot on the opposing seat and crossed her arms expectantly. "So, what is it?"

"Deb, you're looking awful thin. Have you been eating okay? You're so pale, too!" Naomi spoke, her face contorting into several different expressions. She was a person who could never successfully lie, because every emotion was displayed on her face.

"First of all, I've told you this a million times. Mom screwed a ghost and had me. And you know, you're one helluva person to talk, Miss Skinny McThin." Deb kept a cool face, but her words were like daggers, searching to aim at the core.

"I know, I know. I'm your sister-"

"Kid sister," Deb cut in.

"Okay, younger sister, and I have a right to be worried about you. You never call, you hardly ever answer the phone. You look so unhealthy. So alone." Naomi looked into her older sibling's eyes, searching for some small portion of sympathy.

Deb knew that Naomi didn't mean for Deb to perceive it in the way she did, but that didn't stop her flooding thoughts. She was alone, wasn't she? She'd been alone for a while now. That was okay, though, wasn't it? Deb was fine, she felt fine, so that would be the obvious answer. Then why, Deb couldn't understand, did that startle her?

"Deb. Deb? Are you listening? I asked you if you're okay," Naomi said.

Deb longed just to get up and walk out of this place, but something inside of her kept her placed inside that booth.

"I'm fine. Stop worrying, why would I have anything to fret over? Now tell me what the hell you dragged me down here for." Deb casually flicked a bit of a crumb off of the table and glanced at Naomi's face.

"Well, it's just that...Mom. She's just--I don't know if I should tell you, do you think I should?" Deb gave her an impatient look, and motioned Naomi to continue,"Well, you see, Mom's not doing too good."

Now, Naomi was the one looking at her expectantly. There was silence, thick and claustrophobic. "Deb?" Questioned Naomi.

Deb had spaced out moments prior to her question, and focused now on her sibling's probing. "Look, if you're expecting me to break out into tears, you might as well clock me over the head with that salt shaker and then maybe get a reaction outta me. Mom's always sick or in the hospital."

"Deb, this is our mother. How...how could you say something like that? Mom's having a problem with her diabetes." Naomi furrowed her brows and looked at Deb, her eyes pleading with her older sister.

"That's her own damn fault for getting like this. It's her fault." Deb tried to keep her voice steady and her face numb. She loved her mother, but she just couldn't stand seeing her unwell.

"Deb..." Naomi trailed off, uncertainly; meanwhile, Deb had lost control.

"Why does she do it? She didn't need to have that third serving of supper, she didn't have to watch all that T.V. and munch on everything. She knows how Dad is, she knows that we need her." Deb spoke in a low voice, but her emotions were brimming over the flood gates. She paused momentarily, to catch her breath, before she continued in a much more stable voice, "I wish that she would've chosen some drug rather than this. We can send her to rehab for drugs, but there isn't a place you can send someone to get help when they're fat!"

Briefly, there was silence again. It wasn't long before Deb realized that she'd crossed that invisible line.

"I'm ashamed of you right now. You think that just because Mom has some meat on her bones and happens to have diabetes means that she's fat? Your mother--my mother-- is a beautiful woman that worked her youth away so that you and me could have a place to live and eat and sleep. And you call this woman fat? She is a beautifully large woman, no doubt; but never has she ever been fat to me. She's sick, Deb. Sick. And you want to blame her instead of standing up and being a good daughter?" Naomi was livid, her knuckles were clenched tight and her face an intense red.

"No, Naomi. I was never the good daughter, I'm just average. That's fine, I'm not jealous of you. I'm a grown woman, and you should be too. You should be able to realize that I'm afraid of losing my mother, too. Why do you have to make everything into a soapfest? Mom's sick, that sucks. But you know what? I can't fix that. I can't. I'm not some god or magical creature. So she'll either come out of it well, or she won't. I can't change the outcome and neither can you." Deb's voice was matter-of-fact and to the point.

"Shut up. Shut up with your 'blah, blah, blah I can't do this.' You could be there for her, and you know it."

"Naomi, you may be right, you might not be. But here's one thing that I do know: I'm not going. I'll send her a couple roses and a card, and that's it. I'm not the type of person to do those kinds of things." Deb's voice softened as she continued, "Please, just accept that. I love you two, but I'm just not that kind of person."

"I...Deb, we love you, too, but I won't stop nagging you to come and visit, either. I just won't. I hate that you won't even see your mother, but you're my sister. Let's just forget this happened and move on." Naomi acquiesced.

"Agree to disagree it is, then." Deb offered a half-smile.

"Gimme a hug, you big dummy."Naomi stood up and opened her arms, allowing Deb to follow suit. They hugged momentarily and broke away.

"I do have to go now, Deb," said Naomi.

She left shortly thereafter, forcing Deb into promises about calling more and being healthier that they both knew Deb wouldn't follow through on. Deb soon found herself drinking a recently ordered lemon water and eating a couple pieces of toast in the family diner that no one in her family actually worked at anymore, alone with no one she knew. What a world we live in today, Deb thought wearily.

Chapter One

It was a Sunday afternoon; the sun was out in the open, bathing the world in a warm, rich lather. At a distance, seagulls were devouring leftovers near a concession stand located in an extravagant amusement park. You could hear the birds cawing and squawking to one another.

Not far from the amusement park was a sandy beach, occupied with thousands of relaxing people. Children were preoccupied with building sand castles and sand pies, while others were utilizing the warming sunlight or had delved into the deep, crisp waters.

Somewhere in between the two landmarks, was a thin woman walking across the boardwalk that lodged between the locations. She was moderately short in stature with fair skin and gaunt cheeks. The woman wore her shoulders slumped and her head drooped downward. Her frail hands were positioned into her jean pockets, securely covered by the fabric. Her tawny hair blew left and right, back and forth as the wind pushed the strands around her small head.

At midpoint down the boardwalk, the scrawny woman paused. She slid her pale hands from her pockets, and assumed a spot on the railing of the boardwalk facing the beach. Her eyes appeared to glisten, giving the impression of a far away mindset. The woman's eyes focused on a young father, burying his small toddler under the sand. The toddler boy squealed with delight with every scoop of sand placed upon him.

What a strange brat, she thought tentatively, just as an older, scrubby looking man threw a red plastic cup on the ground and walked away.

"Hey, you old bastard!" She fumed. He didn't turn around, or even acknowledge the woman. Prick, she retorted mentally, before climbing over the railing and stomping over to the place where the cup lay. She picked up the littered trash and brought it back to the boardwalk, where a trashcan was conveniently located.

When she returned to the boardwalk, her spot was occupied by a middle-aged man. His hair was salt-and-pepper black. His strong jaw was covered by dark stubble and his eyes were colored a stormy brown. He wore casual attire: jeans, a loose-fitting shirt ,and sandals.

"Dad," she acknowledged, giving a curt nod.

"Deb, honey, you got the...money?" He anxiously eyed the woman.

Deb reached into her back pocket, pulled out a leather wallet and brought out a decent bundle of bills. She placed the money into his now open palm and went to turn away, before a strong male hand grabbed at her forearm.

"Thank you; you don't know how much I appreciate it."

Deb scoffed, followed by rolling her eyes. "Don't think I don't know that you'll just blow it on booze."

Once, maybe twice, every three weeks she would get a phone call from her father. It was always the same reasons and the same excuses. The last time that Deb could recall her father calling her for anything other than money was on her birthday, six years prior. On that occasion, his girlfriend of the month had pressured him into it.

She ripped away from her father's grip and stomped off, leaving her booze adoring father standing on the boardwalk. She heard her father calling her name, but she didn't give him a second glance. Her feet carried her back to the place she called home. Deb's home, a one bedroom apartment, was on the third floor at the end of the hall.

When she entered her homely residence, a small, wrinkly, white English bulldog attacked her feet. The dog jumped, rolled over, and jumped once again, attempting to gain Deb's complete attention.

"Jack! Alright, Alright!" Deb shoved the dog off of her leg. Jack began a low bark, and Deb dug into the cupboards of the kitchen and pulled out some food and put it into his bowl.

The dog greedily ate his food, while Deb noticed the blinking lights on her phone, which signified new messages. Deb kicked her shoes off and pushed them to the side and decided to check the messages. She wasn't surprised when the messages were all from bill collectors and advertisers.

With a big huff of oxygen, Deb lazily sat down on her beige couch and flicked on the television using the remote. It was barely three in the afternoon, and she was sitting in her house watching re-runs of a show she didn't even enjoy.

Deb was used to this routine. Every day, she'd come home to her overzealous bulldog. She would feed him, check any messages left on her voicemail, and retire to the couch where she would watch television until she couldn't take it anymore; she would go into her kitchen and make herself a measly meal consisting of broccoli, white rice, and plain chicken; or some variation of it. After dinner, she would shower, dress and depart to bed.

Alternation just wasn't part of Deb's vocabulary. Her life was simple routine, and she couldn't be happier about it. She loved her job, working as a low-pay magazine company's secretary. She worked at a nine to five pace, five days out of the week. Every day she arrived to a neat array of compulsively organized lifestyle. She wouldn't change it for the life of her own, or so she would like to think.