Meeting (Chapter 13, Story 1)

To Hilda, Saturday seemed to take forever to arrive, but when it did, she put on a red and black gingham dress, baked a pie for her son and his bride, and instructed her husband, Will, to get into the car to leave. Hilda had lived in Scottsdale for a very long time, and knew her way around very well, but the address her son had given her was unfamiliar, so she consulted a map of Scottsdale kept in her glove compartment. "Oh my," she gasped suddenly. "What?" Will gave her a puzzled glance. "It's just that this address is..." Hilda didn't finish her sentence. It seemed that the street her son lived on was the same street she had had to drive down on her way to the police station, the street with the drinking woman and children playing in the busy street. "Never mind," she mumbled absentmindedly, "I'm probably all mixed up." But to Hilda's dismay, she was not at all mixed up. The very same ugly brown apartments that she had hurried past just a few days ago loomed before her as she search for a place to park. "Now, Will," she said, getting out of the car, "I don't really know what to expect, so be polite and try to remember that this is your son we are dealing with." Will just glanced at her and kept walking. Hilda and Will soon found the apartment. The doorbell was broken, so Hilda rapped loudly on the door. No one answered. She knocked again, but still no one came. "Maybe he forgot, Dear," Will suggested, turning to leave. "No, Will is too smart to forget," Hilda replied, and, just as she was reaching to knock a third time, to door swung open. James stood in the threshold, an embarrassed grin on his face. "Sorry, Mom. I couldn't hear you." He stepped aside to allow Hilda and Will into the apartment. It was dark and musty inside, with a distinct scent of beer, cigarette smoke, and window cleaner. There was a lone couch in the middle of the room, and a hallway with a single door on either side of it. "Well, James, this is interesting," Hilda said slowly. "Yeah, It's not much, but it works. Would you two like to sit down?" Hilda eyed the couch, which appeared to have a strange gray film covering it. Will cleared his throat and, grabbing his wife's arm, sat on the couch, pulling Hilda with him. James pulled up a wooden bar stool and smiled. "So, Dad, how are you?" "Fine, Son, and you?" "I'm okay. Thanks for asking." Will nodded. James glanced at Hilda and winced at the dismayed look she was trying to disguise. "The house doesn't usually look like this, Mom. Karen just didn't have time to...you know, clean up." "Certainly," Hilda mumbled. "James, Darling, why does is smell like someone has been smoking?" she asked. "What? Oh, it's the neighbors. The guy next door must smoke five packs a day, at least. Smells up the whole floor. It's terrible." "Uh huh," Hilda grunted. "Then why is there a pack of cigarettes on the floor over there?" "What?" James jumped up, grabbed the cigarettes, and tossed them into an empty flower pot. "Well, the guy comes over sometimes. He always brings those things in here, even though I tell him not to." "Well," Hilda said, sniffing, "you ought to tell him again. He shouldn't be smoking around your wife, especially in her condition." At this, Hilda smiled. "Where is your wife by the way, James?" The color quickly drained from James' face. "Wife? Karen? She's not here right now. In fact, maybe this isn't a very good time. Maybe you both should come by another day, after we've had time to straighten up." James jumped up to lead his parents to the door. Hilda glared at him. A strained silent choked the air for what seemed likes hours. Suddenly, a high-pitched, nasally voice broke the silence. "Jack? Can I come out yet?" "Who is that?" Hilda demanded. One of the hall doors opened and a thin, pale woman with rollers in her hair and a cigarette hanging from her cracking lips appeared. "Oh, dear Lord," Hilda whispered, grabbing Will's hand. It was none other than the old drinking woman she'd seen when she was driving to the police station. James had gone very pale, and he glanced nervously from his mother to the woman who had entered the room. "Well, mother, this is Karen. "What?" Hilda yelped. "Her? You married her?" "Well, yes, Mom, she's really great, really." "How old is she? And why is she calling you Jack?" Hilda stared hard at the woman, appalled by her rough appearance. She guessed that Karen was at least forty, probably ten or twenty years beyond that. "She's twenty-five, Mom. Only two years older than me."

Married (Chapter 12, Story 1)

"Oh! Excuse me, sir!" Hilda exclaimed, seeing the large form looming in front of her was a human being. "Mom?" "I'm sorry?" Hilda looked up into the man's face and realized that he was none other than her own son, James. "James!" She enveloped him in a hug. "Oh, James! Your father and I have been so, so worried about you! Where have you been?" "In jail, obviously," the policeman behind the desk muttered. James scowled at him. "Come on, James. This place makes me feel ill. Let's talk outside." Rain was pouring from a dismal gray sky outside the station. Hilda pulled a small umbrella from her handbag and attempted to cover herself and her son with it. She wasn't tall enough to shield her son from the rain, so he held the umbrella instead. "James, why were you in jail? Do you still live here in Scottsdale? Do you still work at the Institute? Why have you been ignoring your father and I for so long?" Hilda wiped at the tears that had begun to leak from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mom. I really am. Things just got a little crazy and it was best for me to leave you and Dad out of the whole mess." "But, son, maybe we could have helped you!" "No," James replied, shaking his head. "There was nothing you two could do. Nothing anyone could do, actually." "Well, I suppose all that matters now is that I've found you again. You can come home with me and we'll have a nice big supper, with all your favorite foods. Your father will be so happy to see you. He's missed you so much." "No, Mom, I can't do that." "Why not?" "Because I have my own home now." Hilda studied her son's face. He had lines around his eyes and on his forehead. His skin had a grayness to it she didn't remember, and his hair stood up in greasy spikes all over his head, as if he hadn't washed it in a while. "Of course, son. How silly of me. You're an independent young man now. You would have your own home." "Yes. And there's something else." James hesitated. "I'm...married." Hilda blinked. "I'm sorry, you're what?" "Married, Mom, I'm married." "Well when did this happen? How could you get married without informing your father and I?" "It wasn't really planned. It was sort of a crazy, spur of the moment thing. Nobody knew." "Well I suppose there's no use in crying over spilled milk. What's her name?" "Karen. She's great, Mom. Really great. I think you'd like her." Hilda tried to smile and patted her son's arm. "Of course I will son. When can I meet her?" "Well I...I don't know, Mom." "What do you mean you don't know? How about Saturday?" "Mom, Karen isn't really much for company these days because she's...pregnant. "James, you're expecting a child? My grandchild?" "Yeah." Hilda sniffed. She hated not knowing the latest news, and the fact that her son had managed to get married to the woman who was carrying her grandchild upset her. "Well, if that's the case, I most definitely have to meet her. And see your house. I won't take no for an answer, James! Where do you live?" James sighed, knowing there was no way to persuade his mother once she had set her mind to something. He scribbled his address on the back of a receipt. "Thank you. I will be there at five o' clock on Saturday. And I will bring your father." After exchanging a quick hug and a final goodbye, the two parted.

Jail (Chapter 11, Story 1)

About five years later, James' mother received a perplexing call from the local police station. "Your son has requested to see you, Mrs. Jones," the officer informed her curtly. Mrs. Jones promptly picked up her keys, got into her car, and drove toward the police station. She had no idea what James could have done to deserve being locked up. He had always been a good, obedient son, always telling the truth and rarely getting into trouble. For reasons she couldn't explain, sometimes Mrs. Jones secretly wished that James would do something mischievous just once, but James remained an angelic child until the day he left home. Mrs. Jones turned onto a side street called Dylan Avenue. It was not a busy street, but there was enough traffic to make Mrs. Jones wonder why the mothers of the dozens of children playing in the street didn't make them play in a safer spot. The street was lined with ugly, dirty brownstone apartments, and the sidewalks were littered with cola cans and fast food wrappers. The smell of cigarette smoke and body odor seeped into Mrs. Jones' car. She shuddered when she glimpsed a haggard old woman laughing loudly and lifting a bottle to her lips. As she turned onto a quieter street, Mrs. Jones prayed that her son would never end up living in a place like that. Within a few minutes, Mrs. Jones had arrived at the police station. She had never been inside one before, and she wasn't sure how she should go about tracking down her son. A tall, muscular policewoman approached Mrs. Jones where she stood in the middle of the small parking lot. "Excuse me, can I help you?" the policewoman asked. "Yes, please, my name is Hilda Jones, and I am trying to find my son, James Jones. I was called a little while ago by a policeman who told me James wanted to see me." "Okay, Mrs. Jones, follow me." The policewoman led Hilda into a dismal, gray building. There was a policeman sitting behind a large green desk, and his eyes were glued to a computer monitor. "Ask him about your son," the policeman said. "Alright." Mrs. Jones approached the man behind the desk and cleared her throat to get his attention. "What?" he snapped. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I was called about my son and--" "Name?" "Pardon me?" The policeman sighed. "What is your son's name, lady?" "Oh, his name is James. James Jones." "Sorry, lady, but your son's not here." "Excuse me?" Hilda said nervously, tightening her grip on her keys. "He was released yesterday," the policeman said. "But sir, I was called not even an hour ago, and I was told he was here." "Well somebody made a mistake, because he's not here." "Well where is he?" Hilda asked. "How should I know? Home, maybe." "Can you tell me where that is?" "Where what is?" "His home. Where does he live?" "You're his mother and you don't know?" The policeman raised an eyebrow. "We've been out of contact for the past few years. Would you please tell me where he lives?" "I'm not supposed to do that." The policeman looked back at his computer. Hilda transitioned her keys to her left hand, wondering if he was finished speaking to her. "Sir?" The policeman looked up, seeming to have forgotten her existence. "What now, lady?" "It's very, very important that I find my son." "I'm sorry lady, but even if I could give you that information, I don't have it." "You mean to tell me that you lock people up without asking for their address?" The policeman shrugged. Hilda felt as though she might cry. "Oh dear," she said, her voice cracking. The policeman looked at her for a moment, shook his head, and looked back at his computer. Hilda had been looking forward to seeing her son, and now all chances of that were gone. She opened the door, stepped out of the police station, and crashed into something tall and wet.

Internship (Chapter 10, Story 1)

James had been a straight-A student in high school, and when he graduated as valedictorian of his class, he already knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to be a biologist, researching and discovering all there was to know about life on earth. Like every other graduate of Scottsdale High, he wanted to work at the Scottsdale Research Institute. Even then, no one knew anything about the Institute except for what had been rumored on the street, and most of the rumors concerned the amount of money generated there. People said that even the janitor at the Institute had a six figure income. They said that the floors were made of gold tiles, and the walls were covered in silver paint. James had known better than to believe all the gossip, but he had a hunch that big and important things were going on within the Institutes's cold stone walls, and he knew for a fact that the majority of the scientists employed there specialized in biology. Anyone who knew James Jones knew that he was strong-willed and determined, but everyone in the town of Scottsdale was shocked when James managed to find a job as an intern at the Institute. People came to visit James' parents every day, hoping to find out why James had gotten the job and what he was doing at the Institute, but James' parents informed every visitor that they really didn't know much more than they did. "James isn't supposed to tell us what goes on at his job," James' mother would say, "but we know he's doing wonderful things and we are very proud of him." Whenever people approached James himself about the subject, he would hurriedly end the conversation and hurry away. By the time he had been working at the Institute for a year, he was avoiding all contact with people. He went to work early in the morning and came home late at night, long after the townspeople had gone to sleep. He moved out of his parents' home, neglecting to give them any way to contact him. People whispered about James Jones, making up wild stories about his disappearance, but no one really knew what had happened.

Cooperation (Chapter 9, Story 1)

"What is that, Kella?" Michelle asked. "I don't know. Nothing, probably," Kella replied. The letter was very short and appeared to have been typed on a typewriter. The ink was smudged in places, as if water had been spilled on it. Dear Mr. and Mrs. Jones, it read, We are pleased to inform you that Project Roman is progressing as planned. We appreciate your cooperation. The signature at the bottom was so blurry that Kella couldn't read it. "Kella, can I have that envelope?" April asked. "Sure," Kella said, handing it over to her sister. She wondered why such a short, simple letter had been put in such a bright envelope. It wasn't as if there was any urgent information inside. Kella also wondered why the letter was thanking her parents for cooperating with the Scottsdale Research Institute. Kella's father had hated the Institute, saying that the ugly gray building brought down property values and they were throwing away his precious tax dollars on worthless tinkering. Karen always glared at him whenever he said anything about the Institute, and usually made some snide remark about James wishing he were smart enough to work at the Institute. Kella's father always winced when Karen said things like that.

Cabinet (Chapter 8, Story 1)

"I'll come too," Kella said, following her sister into the den. Laura was sprawled on the dingy beige carpet, holding one hand in the other. Blood trickled down her arm. "I fell," she said simply, her voice shuddering. Michelle bent over her younger sister, asking to see the cut and telling Laura that it wasn't too bad. There was a filing cabinet in the den which was used predominately as a skyscraper when the younger girls played Barbies. None of the children were sure if anything was inside it; it was kept securely locked at all times. Apparently, Laura had climbed on top of the cabinet and it had fallen over, causing its two drawers to burst open and their contents to fly all over the room. Kella began to clean up the myriad of papers and envelopes that littered the floor, examining everything as she did so. Most of the papers were credit card bills, but there were also report cards, letters from the landlord, and receipts. Kella had no idea how all the contents of the filing cabinet had been organized, so she simply began to stuff the papers back into the cabinet's drawers. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the last bill had been put away and both drawers had been put back into the cabinet. Kella pushed the heavy cabinet back into the corner, praying as she did so that her mother wouldn't notice that it had been tampered with. "Kella," April said, "you missed one." There was a bright red envelope on top of the TV. Kella wondered how she's missed it. Picking it up, she noticed that it was addressed to James and Karen Jones, whereas the other letters had been addressed only to Karen. There was no return address on the envelope. It's probably just another bill, Kella told herself. But, just to be sure, she lifted the envelope's flap and pulled out a folded piece of white paper. Unfolding the paper, she saw that the Scottsdale Research Institute letterhead was at the top.

Cooking (Chapter 7, Story 1)

"Will you look at the time?" Karen huffed, glancing at her watch. "I'm late. You'd better get in there and watch those kids now. Don't forget to give them dinner." With that, Karen turned on her heels and walked back down the corridor. Kella sighed and entered the apartment. Usually, her siblings used any time that their mother wasn't home to wreck the house, but today the apartment was in relatively good condition. "Hey everybody," Kella greeted them. The little kids smiled and waved, and Michelle went into the kitchen to help Kella. Kella went into the kitchen herself and began to pull food items from the shelves on the wall. There were some spaghetti noodles, a can of tomato sauce, and some canned green beans. Michelle pulled out two pots and she and Kella began dumping the canned items into them. "How was the doctor?" Michelle asked. "Okay, I guess. He was really nosey," Kella replied. "That's his job," Michelle reminded her. "I guess." "The debt collector came by again." "Oh yeah?" Michelle nodded, stirring the green beans. "He said something about jail this time. Of course, I couldn't hear much of what he said, since Mom always makes us go in the back when he comes." "Don't worry, Michelle. Everything is going to fine. Mom will get a job, and she'll be able to pay off the debt." Michelle shrugged. "Kella," she said quietly, "you don't have to lie to me. I'm not a little kid anymore. I understand what's going on. It does scare me sometimes, but I'd rather know the truth." Kella didn't say anything. She knew treated Michelle like a baby, even though there was only a two year difference in their ages. There was a loud crash followed instantly by the wail of a small child. "Laura's crying. I'll go see what happened," said Michelle.

Apartment (Chapter 6, Story 1)

Kella and her family lived in an old brownstone apartment on the southeast side of town. Most of her classmates lived in the same building, but Kella never spent any time outside of school with them; her siblings and mother kept her too busy. The apartment would have been a tight squeeze for a family of three, so it was nearly bursting at the seams from the exertion of containing Kella, Karen, and the six other people who lived there. The house was always in a shambles. Books, Barbies, and popped balloons littered the hallways. Milk, eggs, oatmeal, and tomato sauce dripped from every surface of the kitchen. The trashcans were always overflowing with dirty diapers, unpaid bills, and broken shards of glass. Even if Karen had been able to afford nice furniture, there wouldn't have been any room for it. But the family did what they could with what little they had. There was one small table in the center of the kitchen. There should have been four chairs placed around it, but they were always being used for makeshift tents or TV stands, and when one of the table legs had been broken years ago, Karen had sawed the remaining three legs off and, since then, the family ate Asian-style, on the floor. There was also a small oven and a sink in the kitchen, which were seldom used since no one in the house cooked and paper plates were almost always used at meals. There were two other rooms, a den and a bedroom; both were used for sleeping. There was a double bed in bedroom where April, Laura, Kailey, and Joshua got to sleep, since they were little. The rest of the family took turns sleeping in the love seat in the den. When it was Karen's turn to sleep there, Kella, David, and Michelle put on their socks, gloves, and winter coats and slept on the floor, but if it was one of their turns, all three shared the couch. There was no bathroom in the apartment, so in the mornings the four older children had to walk out of the apartment, down the corridor, and up a flight of stairs. The bathroom, which served two floors, was nearly always occupied, so when it became vacant, they all had to attempt to brush their teeth, wash their faces, and comb their hair simultaneously to avoid being late for school.

Karen (Chapter 5, Story 1)

"Kella?" Kella!" Kella turned to see her mother heaving her hefty body toward her. She was usually in a bad mood, but she seemed even more upset than usual. Kella glanced at her watch. She had told her mother she would be home half an hour ago to babysit. For a fleeting moment, she felt a pang of guilt, knowing that she had let her mother down and possibly caused her to miss an important engagement. But Kella knew her mother far too well to feel guilty for long. Most likely her mother had spent the morning draining booze from a coffee mug and gossiping about nothing in particular to her friends, and it was likely that she had planned to do the same things in a coffee shop or bar while Kella stayed at home and tried to control her six younger siblings. "Kella, you selfish brat, what are you doing out here? I know I told you to be home so I could go out this afternoon. But of course, you could only think of yourself. It probably didn't occur to you that I do like to go out and have some fun now and then, did it? Of course, you wouldn't understand. You go about all day, doing whatever you want, never thinking about your poor mother." Karen grabbed Kella by the arm and, still complaining about Kella's selfishness, dragged her home.

Institute (Chapter 4, Story 1)

Kella was in no particular hurry to get home, where her younger siblings were sure to be crying, fighting, and begging to be held, and her mother was sure to be angry for some reason or other, so Kella decided to take the long route home. Since the town was so small, it never took more than fifteen minutes to walk anywhere, but if she walked behind the psychologist's office into Shady Stream Park, behind Scottsdale Research Institute, and through the used car lot, she could add five minutes to her trip. Kella was intrigued by the Research Institute. There was nothing particularly interesting about it on the outside; it was just a large cement building with a large parking lot filled with cars. It was the inside of the Institute that interested her. She had been inside only once, on a field trip with her third grade class. There hadn't been very much to see at first. The walls were bright white and scientists in white lab coats roamed about the building. None of the scientists spoke, and, since the children had been told to be silent, there were no sounds, except for the clack of shoes against the linoleum floor and a faint humming that seemed to come from the rear of the building. Kella had gotten bored within minutes of entering the building, so she's snuck off with another classmate, Tommy Hodges. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Tommy, who was, at the time, Kella's best friend and constant companion. "Of course it is, Tommy," Kella had replied, and, taking Tommy's hand, she led him down a hallway toward the humming sound. The humming grew louder and louder, until Tommy wrenched his hand from Kella's and covered his ears. The walls began to take on a strange gray color, there were fewer scientists milling about, and the lights were getting dimmer. The hallway went on for a little while longer, until Kella and Tommy reached a set of large metal double doors. A sign on the right door said "DO NOT ENTER" in large red letters. Looking around, Kella realized that she and Tommy were all alone. "Come on Tommy, let's go in." "But Kella," Tommy whined, "the sign says not to." "There's nobody here, Tommy," Kella said. "Nobody will know. Are you scared?" Tommy hesitated. He was, in fact, very frightened, but he couldn't tell Kella that. "No, of course I'm not scared. Are you?" "Me? No, I don't get scared." Kella winced, realizing that she had just told a lie. Her father hated lies. "Well, sometimes I get scared, but I'm not now. Come on Tommy. We'll just take a quick peek inside, then we'll go find the others. Okay?" Tommy looked nervously around at the dingy, barely-lit hallway. What had once been a barely-audible hum was now a loud thwack thwack thwack that made the ground beneath his feet quiver. There was a bright light seeping beneath the doors; maybe his teacher was on the other side. "Fine," he said.

Town (Chapter 3, Story 1)

The receptionist smiled at Kella as she walked past the front desk. "Would you like me to make an appointment for next week, Hon?" she asked. "No, thanks," Kella replied, "I'm busy." "Well how about the next week?" The receptionist raised an eyebrow at Kella. "I have to check my calendar," Kella replied, turning away from the desk. "I'll let you know soon." Kella breathed a sigh of relief when she finally exited the building. The warm rays of the afternoon sun caressed her face, and Kella could hear birds chirping and a dog barking somewhere in the distance. At one time, Kella had despised living in this small town. She hated how everyone knew her name--and her business--without ever formally meeting her. She hated the regularity of the town, how it never seemed to change, and how everyone living there had the same ideas about everything. But the town had grown on her, and now she couldn't imagine being without its quiet tree-lined streets and old-fashioned buildings.

Cuts (Chapter 2, Story 1)

"Are you sure about that?" the psychologist asked, leaning forward in his creaky chair. "Of course," Kella mumbled. The shrink's office was small, dark, and cold, and it smelled like tuna fish. Kella hated that smell. It reminded her too much of her father; he had loved tuna. "Alright then." The psychologist--Brian was his name--leaned back and formed a tent shape with his hands over his immense gut. "If there's nothing wrong, then why have you been cutting yourself?" Again, Kella almost laughed aloud. Is that what her mother had told this man? That the scars on her arms and legs were self-inflicted? Kella knew her mother, Karen, would never admit that she was the one who hit Kella with electrical cords and sliced her wrists with kitchen knives. She would never tell anyone that she threw dinner plates at Kella's head and screamed at Kella to leave home and never come back. Kella should have known that when the social services lady came by the other day, Karen would blame everything on Kella. Kella didn't understand why her mother hated her so much. She loved all her other siblings to death, smothering them constantly with affection and tender loving care. But the woman treated Kella like a dog, and now the truth was beginning to seep out. Kella couldn't hide the evidence of her mother's abuse forever, and it frightened her to think of what might happen if the authorities ever found out. "Do you have anything else to say?" Brian asked. "Time's just about up." Yes, Kella agreed, it probably was. But of course, she kept the thought in her head. This stranger wouldn't understand her predicament. "No. Can I go now?" "Sure, go ahead." Kella hopped up from the leather seat and strode to the door. "Don't forget to come back next week," Brian called after her. Fat chance, Kella thought. "Yes, sir. Goodbye."

10 Dollar Bill (Chapter 1, Story 1)

Kella's father once told her that the most important thing in life is honesty. "Kella," he said, "no matter what happens to you, be honest. Even if telling the truth hurts someone or makes your life more complicated, good things always come to the honest people in the end." Kella wondered, as she sat on the big, black leather couch in the psychologist's office, if her father was honest. She wondered if anything he ever told her was true. He told her he would never leave her, didn't he? And yet, here she was, avoiding the psychologist's beady eyed stare, all alone with her father nowhere to be found. He'd left her, her mother, and her other 6 siblings in an old broken down motor home with nothing to remember him by but a note that said, "I'm sorry" and 10 dollars. At this thought, Kella almost laughed. Really, Dad, 10 dollars? What's a single woman with no job and seven kids supposed to do with that? Kella had decided that the money would be of no use to her mother, so she took it. She told herself that she didn't want her mother to be hurt by her father's stinginess, but in reality, she just wanted--no, she needed--something to remember him. Tattered and ripped, the bill still resided under her bed in a small shoebox, and Kella took it out of the box, closed her eyes, and wished for her father to come home every night. Every morning, she awoke hoping he would be down at the kitchen table, joking with one of Kella's little sisters or kissing Kella's mother, but every night she was left with nothing but a steadily fading image of his face in her mind. Kella remembered the psychologist sitting in front of her and glanced up. What had he asked her? Oh yes, he wanted to know if she had ever been hurt by anyone close to her. "No," Kella said softly, "never."