Diana Kurniawan

Forgiveness is constant as I make it a habit with a dose of salt thrown over my shoulder. The man with an ambitious goal, and a jealous streak, lurking at each corner asking for information and reasons to hate, he deserves forgiveness. The woman with an annoying laugh who dislikes you and wants everything in her power to control your destiny despite your plea for her to stop and let it be, she deserves forgiveness.

 

I find that the more I practice even with the smaller details, it helps to lead me to forgive for the assaults, bullying, abuses and harassments. Excruciatingly difficult for me too, but the girl at the sandwich line doesn't mean for you to consume that much mayonnaise and it isn't her fault you hate white lard. Probable cause lingers in my mind of why the people who doesn't want me to have love will always try to sabotage it, but I finally let it go, and let it be, and let God. Surrendering is often the best medicine and I just don't ask for anymore harm from others by making it easier for them to hurt me. There are laws, and I am protected.

 

Forgiveness has to be done first even if the guilty doesn't know. I can just forgive and let them be and not be hard on myself and my conscience to cause me more anxiety. It is so fluid, and it helps me through, letting them be in the arms of God, and away from my dancing space. I forgive because I don't want anymore traumas. If I don't forgive, it is inside my chest and it lives there forever, as I become bitter and lose my tastebuds. The senseless pain doens't add up to healing or pleasure, because I become the victim once more. 

 

Forgiveness, an art that might take a lifetime, so I'm starting now.

 

Just write.

 

The girl with a bun on her head in a white tanky popped both of her shoulders up and down as she wound her elbows like a ferris wheel. She slided next to me and bumped on to my arms purposely, "Yo!" She kept wounding both of her elbows and walked with a swag and kicked-ball-kicked and walked about and turned. She continued on about me and bumped on to my other arm and said, "Hey!" 

 

I tried to walk straight but she kept bumping into me turning my walk into a sliding adventure side to side and back and forth. "What's up, and what's wrong?" I asked her. She lifted one eyebrow and winked and back on to wounding her elbows as she kept walking as if she waltzed her whole life through. 

 

The little boy catecorner from me had a large oblong head and his eyes squinted as he cried. His head looked balding, but it might be from his illness, or whatever it might be. The crowd of normal people walked surrounding us, dodging our bodies, leaving us six feet apart from the world and the girl with the white tanky looked back and shouted, "Howdy!"

 

The little boy with the oblong head turned to me and stared deep into my eyes with his slanted light brown eyes. What provocation he might have experienced from her shouting, I didn't want to ask. I nodded to him and smiled, but he turned away and sobbed. He was by himself with no one around him. Was he alone? How did he get here in the first place? Where was I? My microcosm looked busy, but I had no knowledge of my environment, only the crowd. What world was this?

 

No one wore a mask, except for one person and he had a uniform of a train ticket attendant with a blue hat. "Where is your ticke? I need to stamp it," he told me, with his palm open. I replied, "I'm not going on a train, I somehow landed here. Where is this place?" The man sighed, "You always need a ticket...everywhere you go. It's the rule." I was flabbergasted and my eyes looked to the left and right, "I didn't know that," I said. The man shook his head and left, "Crazy people," he said.

What on Earth was this dream about?

 

Just write.

Legend told, one mid-day in Calcutta, India, in a small street where the lepers slept and the homeless wept, Mother Teresa came to them to tell stories of mankind.

 

"Mankind is definitely a strange species, all to ourselves," she said.  "On crucial times, although God is watching, we would not acknowledge Him. Thus, committing our greatest sins," she told with such humility, inviting the people to learn from one another.

 

"Do you think man would ever stop, Mother Teresa?" asked a man.

 

"A long time ago, a man thought something very small would help," said Mother Teresa, "this man created a comma (,)."

 

"Did it mean anything to us at the time?" the same man asked the question.

 

"By Jove, it has!" said Mother Teresa, as she was pleased by his response to her story. "A comma, symbolizes a slight rest in our manners of speech." She smiled at him, and opened her right palm. "We seldom pay attention to our own speech and dialects. But, this comma made it so, that we would rest to take note of our words," said Mother Teresa to him.

 

"What does it look like?" Another man shouted.

 

"It is a small brush stroke of an India ink, resembling the crescent moon," said Mother Teresa, as she kneeled towards a water puddle on the street to touch it, and stroked the speck of water to a dry wall to illustrate the crescent moon comma.

 

"That is too simple, madam!" shouted the man, as a protest to such a small example.

 

"It is always the simple things in life, such as: clean air, water, and true love that makes us alive," said Mother Teresa to her lovely friends.

 

"May we learn from you, Mother Teresa?" shouted another man from the crowd of people, listening to her story and wisdom.

 

"Of all things, may we all learn good things from one another," said Mother Teresa. She humbly bowed and smiled at him, as the crowds became larger from the gathering of people.

 

"Thank you, and we love you Mother Teresa!" shouted a man she had helped in the past with support, because he felt someone cared to inform him.

 

"Do you have another story?" asked a young man.

 

"I have not yet finished, my love," said Mother Teresa, as she began to laugh. "This time, I know you would like to see a most simple invention." Mother Teresa daubed a spot onto the dry wall again, and said, "This is a dot (.) or a period."

 

"Is this for another pause?" questioned a young woman.

 

"This is for a full stop, to completely pause between our speech," said Mother Teresa, as she became silent for a moment, to symbolize the complete pause she spoke about.

 

"Is this common knowledge, Mother Teresa?" shouted the young woman.

 

"Is this by the Romans?" everyone asked one another.

 

"Does not matter whether Greeks, nor Romans, we have another most unique invention," Mother Teresa said, but this time there was a long silence that gave her a few moments to think before she spoke.

 

"The Greeks have known this too?" asked a young man, who was thirsty for knowledge.

 

"The latest invention is called "semi-colon (;)," she said, "it is for a minor stop between our speech but for differing ideas or perceptions."

 

This time, she spots the dot on the dry wall, along with the stroke of the crescent moon comma, directly underneath.

 

"How amazing Mother Teresa! Mankind invented the most ingenious ways to learn," said the young man, who was completely amazed by new information.

 

"We are greatly intelligent!" said a young woman, who smiled from ear to ear.

 

"We are still lesser than God, my children," said Mother Teresa, who readied to leave the gathering.

 

"Although I know many of you have been enlightened, I still believe it is still the simple things in life we are to be proud of," said Mother Teresa, as she looked down towards the water puddle on the ground, wishing for simplicity of bare necessities for the people she cared for.

 

The people in the crowd began to weep because they were honored by her presence.  They saw how humble, intelligent, and kind her heart shined amongst them on that day.

 

"Remember how small and simple these inventions are.  Yet, they are strong enough to educate us; to learn from one another," she softly uttered, to a little Indian boy as she tucked his stranded curls away from his face, behind his ear.

 

Mother Teresa continued, "I must go now, there are still so much work to be done," as she walked towards another path.

 

The crowd of people subsided and the people of Calcutta still remembered this story, of how one day Mother Teresa taught the world to enjoy life together while learning from each other at its present moment.

 

The End.

 

Just write.

 

Pearsons Rockfield and Giuseppe Baptiste held hands as Karina stepped back from hugging them.

 

"But, you still haven't told us why you chose to abuse your control and power over the people by ending the lives of those families who were important to the world?" asked my Father. "They were helping and you wanted to take their birthrights and sacrifice Karina to have some type of super powers."

 

"It's not a super power, it's favor from God!" said Giuseppe Baptiste. "We needed the extra umph to get God's attention to give us powers and control over the people of the world."

 

Karina, Rambo, my Father and I were baffled, witnessing how they tried to manipulate their words to say the same thing that we meant for them to realize.

 

"Yeah, you hurt the Royals so you can become the top dog," said Rambo. "It's a power thing isn't?"

 

"We wanted to have the best. We wanted to see our people thrive, and the ones we choose to be our people and to succeed," said Pearsons Rockfield. "With the old world, they also had their circles and it was difficult to get there without killing someone."

 

"You should never have to kill anyone, or assault them," said Karina. "I didn't deserve the assaults, but you did that and told your men to do it because you wanted to sacrifice me to gain my soul privilege."

 

"We never had a soul privilege," said Pearsons Rockfield. "I tried to marry twenty times and never gained any privilege from those women. But, with one assault to you, I became a stronger human being, and so did my people."

 

"We are just in love, and we want to be together," said Giuseppe Baptiste, holding hands with Pearsons Rockfield.

 

Karina took her hand and placed it over Pearson's hands, and told him, "You have a soul privilege, you just never believed you had one." Karina kissed him on his forehead, and also on Giuseppe Baptiste's forehead.They looked to Karina as Karina stepped back again, and she said, "I was not Tier 1. I was lower class, even as a Royal and the last of the Ting Dynasty. But, I worked hard, Pearsons and Giuseppe. I believe you were both born into a good surrounding, and being priests, you had the privilege of a divination and respect from the world. There was no reason for the assault.Yu were the privilege ones."

 

Pearsons Rockfield and Giuseppe Baptiste both looked into each other's eyes, and told each other, "We wanted our friends to be happy with us."

 

"I know you wanted control, but other people's families and body and lives are not yours to control or manipulate, Pearsons and Giuseppe," I said.

 

I realized that just like an over powering human being, they wanted to have power and privilege but they weren't skilled to gain the respects of the people by gentle means, so they resorted to violence. Instead of dialogue, education and work, they took the easy route and forced it upon others and destroyed those were against them with brutality and assaults.  It was a medieval ways of the dark periods of human origins through torture, and this habit never died. 

 

"We should change this behaviour," said my Father. "We have to tell the people that you wish for their respect and earn their support the right way. Through voting rights as was done centuries ago. This way, there is a method that won't harm others with violence."

 

"Besides, Dana has a recording of this dialogue between us," said Rambo. He took his wrist phone and showed the hologram that has been on since the beginning of the concert. 

 

"Hi, Giuseppe, I'm down near Laos! It's sunny here, and just vacationing!" laughed Dana. "But, I never anticipated a show like this before! I knew you were in love, but I didn't know you're both lunatics!" Dana kept on laughing and he replayed the video on his computer at a hundred times speed as it showed the violin performance and fast forwarded to the present moment.

 

Pearsons Rockfield and Giuseppe Baptiste gasped as they palmed their cheeks and shrieked. Pearsons Rockfield, who wore a grey robe and red sash, ran to the tree a few yards away and hugged it, as Giuseppe Baptiste kneeled down and wept. 

 

"Pearsons, we have to talk about this!" said Giuseppe Baptiste. Pearsons looked away as he kept holding the tree inside his arms. 

 

"You're both are actually gentle people," said Rambo. "Why did you choose to work with Black Molly and the Choi Militia? They're brutal!"

 

"Oh my God! We were caught on candid camera!" said Pearsons Rockfield. "I'm not happy at all!" Pearsons cried suddenly, and Giuseppe Baptiste closed his eyes and also wept.

 

"What do we do now? These two are cry babies!" asked Karina to me, Rambo and my Father.

 

"They need to confess to the whole world," said my Father. "Confession will give the world a fair chance to understand them."

 

"And, they have to let Boris and Betina claim their rights to be Royals," said Rambo. "And, give you, Karina, your rights back."

 

"You mean....I will become a Royal?" asked Karina.

 

"Your lineage, too," said Rambo. 

 

"And we have to choose the new leader through Democracy," I said. 

 

Pearsons Rockfield and Giuseppe Baptiste both were found laying on the ground, making dirt angels on the Earth.

 

"We're counting on our last seconds as rulers," said Giuseppe Baptiste. "Are you planning on playing those tapes all over the world?"

 

Rambo held up his wrist watch and Dana was still laughing and said, "Well yeah! You didn't think this macaroni and cheese drought didn't hurt anyone did you? Plus, we've all been living in the dark! It's about time the world knows why."

 

"Oh, honey,....I am all out of morse codes," said Giuseppe Baptiste.

 

"It won't work this time, and besides, the Black Mollies and Choi Militia won't be able to save you," said my Father. "The video was raw and real. We can air it right now all over the world through our wrist watches as an emergency signal."

 

Pearsons Rockfield fainted and his head fell back to the ground, and Giuseppe Baptiste gasped once more, and shook him by his side. "You can't leave me!" said Giuseppe Baptiste.

 

"The emergency signal was just sent with the video. It will be in everyone's wrist phones in one second," said my Father. Rambo held his wrist phone and we all saw Dana send the video through a worldwide emergency number.

 

I just received mine, and I played it on.

 

Just write. 

If I stop and think, I'd feel prickles inside my gut and they travel up to my esophagus, all the way to my brain and it stops my receptors. I stare at space and nothing will move inside my body, as my tongue freezes and I will mute for as long as I keep thinking of yesterday. The triggers come in so many forms, without warning and often because I yearn so much. For love, for babies, for cuddles with a handsome bear or being in a home full of children of my own. Often, I feel shame for it, because I should contain my emotions and swear it to secrecy to avoid vulnerability to the outside world. 

 

If I stop and think about what happen with him and feel sad about it, the prickles excites sad memories that somehow my Dad can feel miles away and his eyes moistens as he tells me, "I'm still here, honey. And I love you." I wonder about me as a daughter and as a woman, if I make my parents proud and my siblings happy. Some days, I cry, and cry, and cry, because I feel I could do better. The prickles comes down to my stomach again, and my gut tells me, "you have a long way to go. Just keep going, keep working, keep hoping, and keep praying." That's all I can do, as I take it as it comes.

 

If I stop and rest for too long, my body slumps and the bones in my flesh gravitates to my couch and down goes my energy. It creates a habit that is so difficult to break because it creates a thick wall that stops my running from starting. If I let it be, this lazy bones becomes fragile and old, aging and brittle as my hair greys and silvers, and my face is of a bride with white hair. I become a nightmare and even during Christmas, my spirit will not be in joy.

 

If I keep going, with a bit of a rest, but keeping at it, not letting go, striving for it and knocking at God's door. I enter a realm where those prickles becomes energy and it spreads throughout my body, emerging out of my skin with tiny needles flying out, breaking away stale air. If I don't stop to think so much, I focus on my now and live my present for each moment at a time. I will walk my pace and I don't anticipate the future as I try to work my best. The triggers will always be there and the prickles comes up to haunt me sometimes as I keep moving with a gait on a mission. I stop caring about what Satan says about me and the thoughts of what might be. I will not stop to think, only to rest of a moment, even with a tired body.

 

Giving it my all, one day a time. Just write.

The Blind Dog Cafe bustled with customers on Black Friday, because Pearl Street in Boulder was a scene for the holidays each year. The cafe was just a block away from the main strip, as it drew customers from the local neighborhoods. John and Edith* were no stranger to the cafe with this being their tenth year as a blind couple, living in a small apartment on Spruce Street. They walked to the cafe this cold crisp Black Friday evening, holding hands with their white canes in opposite hands.

 

"Do you remember when we first met?" asked Edith, searching with her cane for a safe passage.

 

"Of course I remembered, your voice was tender and I couldn't stop the tingles on my spines," said John.

 

"You sounded like Morgan Freeman. Then you told me your last name was Hesselbeck, so I had to talk to you some more," said Edith. "It was a voice of experience and comfort. It soothed me."

 

"A woman's voice carries her heart, and I can hear a bitch from a mile away," said John, his white cane bumped onto a tree on planted Earth.

 

"Bitches be bitchin. They're in a sound proof room in heaven, that's the truth, so Jesus won't have to put up with them**," said Edith. "If I wasn't blind I would still marry you."

 

"That's the sweetest thing you said today, Edith," said John. "You'd rather marry me than that Beast of a Prince in Beauty and the Beast? The man looked good in Braille."

 

"Of course, honey. He's fantasy, and you know he'd leave me if there was a Belle in the horizon," said Edith. "The fact is, I'm blind, and we are both soulmates."

 

"I wondered why we're the handicapped, when a lot of people are born without a heart. They're missing the most common gene in the world. Kindness," said John.

 

They approached the street light, and Edith's cane hit the light pole. She pressed the button and heard the beeps as John held her free hand tight as they were about to cross the street.

 

"You know how people helped us when we were little?" asked Edith. "I bet they never stopped helping."

 

"I think you're right," said John. "I think the more kindness there are inside a human being, the more love lives inside this world."

 

The crossing signal beeped as John and Edith walked together towards The Blind Dog. There was a barista at the counter as expected, and as usual, John and Edith ordered their favorite cups of treats.

 

"Ron, is that you?" asked John. Ron was always there on Friday nights, and The Blind Dog was his usual gig.

 

"Yes, sir," said Ron. "Edith, you want your tumeric ginger latte?"

 

"Now that's the sound of a man who paid attention," said Edith. "Yes, Ron, let me have a cup, please."

 

"John, what are you having?" asked Ron, punching the item on his cash register.

 

"Half calf Americano, please," said John. "Can you pour a two percent at three inches from the top?"

 

"Will do, sir," said Ron.

 

"Let's go to France tonight," said John.

 

"By the Eiffel Tower, and you proposed to me?" asked Edith.

 

"Then we hold hands in the corner and eat something sugary," said John, in a bit of a giggle.

 

"Peppermint, plenty of them. I can smell it. Christmas is a few weeks away," said Edith.

 

"We can cuddle and pretend no one is watching," said John.

 

"We won't care because we're blind," giggled Edith.

 

"We can sip on our treats and think of London," said John. "And talk about that time when the Braille nubs misspelled port into portly."

 

Edith laughed, and said, "I can pretend I'm a blonde. With blue eyes."

 

John laughed, and replied, "Then we can dress up. Me, in a chaplin hat, and you in a red chiffon dress."

 

"Our lives are more glamourous blind than with our eyes," said Edith.

 

"I think that's the miracle of being us," said John. "There is no handicap with imagination."

 

Edith took his hand and kissed it, as they waited in line for their treats at the cafe. Christmas was just a few weeks away, but John and Edith lived in a world where Christmas as well as romance was an everyday tradition. They lived in reality with the light of their hearts and minds, and through them they were never in the dark. 

 

Just write.

 

* - J.R.R. Tolkien and Edith Tolkien

** - Derived from God Help the Child by Toni Morrison.

It was a time of youth that I claimed love for literature in all of its forms, to hold true my heart of its ode to time and languages. I shall never discriminate any form of writings from all spaces and out of all mediums in this planet to educate myself of the true love of literature. 

 

All genres and all styles I shall forever learn, because I was already in love since I was young. And this Christmas, I won't neglect the classics.

 

I knew I was in love and this Christmas, I made a vow to own it to seep all of my juice from literature forever. I covered myself in stories and books since I was a child, and I won't be able to stop. It will forever be my creative habit. As I enjoyed the Christmas season with its lights and sweet flavors, I will return to my one true love, books and words. It might be lonely at first, but the payoff was always more rewarding than heartbreaks. I desired true love in human form, that I won't argue with, but since I found myself without a soulmate, I will keep loving, but in a literary form. 

 

For one thing, I won't have the funds to do otherwise, and with the Christmas season coming, utility bills will be my priority. However, my primary affection will remain literature and the art of it. Creative writings and what I blog will center my soul with grounding efforts to become more than I ever imagined, a good writer.

 

Not just for Christmas, but this true love was always inside me. Believe in me or not, I won't count on others to affirm. 

 

I shall do so myself, and I already started.

 

Just write.

 

My eyes hath seen a world anomaly

Of a love well deserved living inside me

My mind must be of magical sensory

With extraordinary nerves sending miracles

To ordinary beings in words carrying spirits

 

My bosom wishing for a clavicle of a ballerina

But, with profound confidence in between my chest

Wisdom of a life grinded by the mortars of fate

Found in anguish, sadness, but also triumphs

How grateful it was to have lived this life

 

With time as my best friend I walked this journey

Unafraid, bearing steadfast hope for an upside of love

Not wishful but trusting in His plan in all of its forms

Whether with or without, I walked and prayed

Petitioning for a destiny I desire met by His plans

 

It was always a working progress.

 

Just write.

 

 

The rain poured over as I treaded on mud with Treebeard beside me holding his branches protecting me from the rain. The silence of the morning with his breath atop my head gave me a shiver to my bones.

 

"He will come, sit down and pray," Treebeard uttered as his eyes squinted for a view down yonder.

 

"Dreams took me here and I feel lost, yearning for it," I said as I looked up to him.

 

"Patience," said Treebeard.

 

A yee-haw echoed half a mile away, brisking sounds of Tom Bombadil running on my path to journey as he chances. 

 

"Hah! Morning dew is a merry drink for an ill soul, what creature are ye?" He yelled with his eyes merry and his bright blue jacket as the sky.

 

"Tom Bombadil, be my friend, and teach me thy steadfast ways to withstand the pull of the ring," I said to him, shivering in the rain.

 

Over Tom Bombadil was a perpetual sunshine with a small cloud weaving in and out of vision.

 

"She is lesser than merry, Tom. A sole survivor with a mission to live a warrior's journey," Treebeard said. "Middle Earth is full of her sorts of beings."

 

"Warrior's journey? Why? Have you a sword to battle?" Tom Bombadil asked.

 

"No, just a pen," I placed my hand inside my jeans pocket and pulled out my blue pen.

 

"Looks dangerous," said Tom Bombadil. "But, write your tell-tale as your heart fancies!" Tom Bombadil jumped and merrily danced in a circle and stretched his hands towards me. "Blue!"

 

His big brown eyes at me and his long greying hair rumpled with a feather in his hat and bright yellow boots.

 

"Why haven't you been moved by the ring?" I asked. "What strength have you that I may have some in me?"

 

"I am simply the mightiest creature in all of Middle-Earth!" Tom Bombadil said. "Also, His love endureth, and joy reminds."

 

"She is a weary daugther, weak spirit, and mighty in need of comfort, Tom," said Treebeard. "She might need your hug."

 

"Is that so?" Tom Bombadil said. He jumped and rushed towards me, and ran into my chest as he was but as tall as my belly button. I fell and he cuddled me inside his worn robes and bright blue jacket. His tall hat fell on the mud.

 

"Oh, my feathers! Might suit your heart to be tickled at your nose." He took his feathers and whisped the yellow feather on my nose and face.

 

"Too much," I said, my sounds muffled inside his arm pits. A red robin perched on Treebeard's branch and sang a melodious song for us. I listened and closed my eyes. As the song finished, Tom Bombadil kicked my shin and I fell on the ground once more. 

 

"What? Why?!" I said, a bit angry.

 

"Stop moseying around Middle-Earth as if it was a deathly journey. Join the pilgrimage of the Elves, Hobbitons,  and fight the Orcs! Be attuned to your calling! Stop this!" Tom Bombadil yelled at me. "And might I say, merriest is she who awakens with a purposeful spirit."

 

Tom Bombadil was never moved by the pull of "The Ring," a symbol in my mind of a divine relationship of man, woman, and God. 

 

"Otherwise, it will lead to Necromancy!" said Tom Bombadil, snickering his nose, this time with his fingers, as he shook his bum from side to side. 

 

"I promise myself never to lead down that path, Uncle Tom," I said. I promised the Lord of the Rings, to stand with the divine and to retain control of my subconscious and surrender to the Almighty to not fret about the journey. It was to my benefit to still be kept on guard to work my destiny and place my effort to please Him, than to follow the path of sorrow inside Middle-Earth.

 

"Then, wake up, wake up, O daugther, and solemn no more! Sing into the daylight and nay to tears of worry!" said Tom Bombadil. "And help those who are in need."

 

"My, Uncle Tom, I have a lot to work on," I said, as the crevices of my eyes opened and my alarm beeped.

 

"Until tomorrow, O Daughter! Derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling and welcome the sunny weather and glittering snows!" sang Tom Bombadil.

 

Treebeard and Tom Bombadil disappeared into my dreams and I knew I would dream another dream of a story longing to be told from my journey not long ago.

 

Just write.

 

Accounting could be so cruel some days, with extracts of numbers on the Excel spreadsheets and Sharepoint glitches nauseating his brain. Garrett took one last breath before he closed his briefcase, breathed in and out, and closed his eyes. He took the last scraps of paper from today's balancing budget and tossed them into the recycling bin under his desk.

 

He closed the door to his small accounting firm that he kept up after 20 years. With some clients he made a stabile relationship with, to pay off his rent for the office every month on time. This firm was his bread and butter since he married Cindy in 1992, with just a small business loan they signed up together. He was the boss, the accountant, the clerk and janitor for New Horizons, LLC. Who needed anyone else, when you've got two arms and two legs to do everything yourself? Cindy never understood why he was never home, so she left in 2000, because Jenna, their daughter, wasn't there anymore either. Long story.

 

He got out of the building five minutes since he turned off the computer. He held his briefcase under his armpits and his lunch bag in his right hand. He searched his pants pocket for his keys with his left, opened the car door, tossed his lunch bag and briefcase to the passenger seat, and started the car. His stomach fit snug underneath the driver's wheel and his weight sunk the car an inch down to the Earth.

 

Forty-five wasn't bad, he thought. I looked 60 but younger in reality.

 

With greying hair, Garrett's older features gave respect out on the streets, because since he last saw Jenna, he has been searching for her all around the streets in Los Angeles, daily, sometimes taking trips on weekends to find her at the outskirts towards Las Vegas.

 

I gotta be there by six, or there will be no parking anywhere, his mind kept working.

 

Monterey Park was close to Los Angeles that he took the side streets on Valley Boulevard and hopped on the 10 West Freeway to get to 101 North towards Cahuenga Boulevard and got off Hollywood. The trip took the usual hour and some twenty minutes, but there was no heavy bumper to bumper, just the overflow and hold ups at the lights. The sky was lavender with pink rays on sunset, but the smog stunk on the street level.

 

Garrett turned left on Hollywood Blvd and drove into a semi-residential street, just before Sunset. He parked a block away from the strip and took out his handicap sticker and his usual note that said, "Out of gas, please don't tow. BRB in 30 minutes." Garrett's thrifty, not stupid. Parking was costly and he'd never stay more than 30 minutes per day. Besides, this area was on the way home to the Valley, so this daily mission was not allowed to cost him more than the pamphlets he was about to give out.

 

Women of the night, was Garrett's main mission since Jenna left home. To look for her and to give out as much pamphlet about the Restitution Program nearby his work in Monterey Park. The program transformed women who went through sex trafficking or prostitution, to change their behavior, lifestyle and perhaps, instilled education for the long run.

 

Word had it, there were more women in the congregation who enrolled in the program last year than ever before, at 25 women. This was his third year doing these daily missions and his 10th year anniversary working for them as their main accountant. Salvation was of the Lord's, or as Garrett liked to say, "Payback."

 

He walked to the strip with his messy hair from sweat and heat. It was 90 degrees again in November, but who's complaining. He had about 10 pamphlets, just in case it was a good night. There were some girls in front of him, standing in their heels and tight leather pants. One woman had long finger nails, holding a cigarette, with silky black hair to her butt and wearing an ankle bracelet. Her ankle bracelet made twinkling sounds like a row of charm bells.

 

"You handsome man. What's your name, mister?" she said. There was a younger girl beside her.

 

"Garrett, and yours?"  He smiled and ready to pass out the goods. He turned the pamphlets over and she noticed.

 

"Ah, man! You a priest or somethin'?" she said as she rolled her eyes.

 

"Do I have a robe on?" Garrett said.

 

"Oh, so you a customer then? Let's go then. What you want, mister?" said the woman, smiling with one leg in front of the other, posing with her hand on her waist. "I'm cuter. She's younger. You pick." The younger girl snatched her cigarette and walked off as Garrett hurried after her.

 

"No, No, don't leave. I want you, too," said Garrett. "You're both gorgeous girls. I'm sorry. I'm not a customer. I just want to talk for a minute."

 

"You are a priest. Damn!" said the girl with silky hair. "I thought I was gonna get lucky."

 

"You need help or something, mister?" asked the younger girl.

 

"Yes, but not what you think. Here, I want to give you both this. I'm helping young women like you," said Garrett. "Take one, just read it, please. You can read, right?"

 

"Yeah! What you think? We dumb?" said the younger girl. "I finished high school. GED, but still finished. Stupid, pamphlet. What is this?"

 

"It's not stupid. Read it. Please," said Garrett, with his eyes pleading.

 

"Magdalena Res-prostution Program," said the woman with long silky hair.

 

"It's restitution. It's a program for young girls and adults. To get off the street," said Garrett. His eyes widened. "They take care of you there, and you can stop working on the street, and get a good job in the future."

 

"Yeah? Then get married, with someone handsome like you?" said the woman with long silky black hair. "You single or married, or in an open relationship, or what?"

 

"Divorced, but I'm in love with someone," said Garrett.

 

"Who she?" said the younger girl, "She cuter than my girl here?"

 

"No, not cuter, but sweeter. Very sweet. She is the one who turned me around," said Garrett. He laughed and felt like Harrison Ford for a second, because two beautiful girls just took an interest, even if it was just in a simple hook-up sort of way.

 

"So you work with her? She work with you?" said the girl with the ankle bracelet.

 

"I work for her. Yes. Come to the program. Can you get there, to this address?" Garrett asked eagerly, pointing to the address on the pamphlet.

 

"Yeah, I know where it's at. I got a iPhone," said the younger girl with the cigarette in her mouth, lighting it, smoking it, and puffing it.

 

"Come there, and you can get better. So you won't have to turn tricks anymore," Garrett said.

 

"You got a girl? A daughter? Because you sound like a father," said the girl with the cigarette.

 

"Jenna, that's who I'm in love with," said Garrett. "We haven't found her since she was fifteen. She was mad at me because my wife and I divorced. So, she never came home from school."

 

"What happened?" the girl with the long black hair asked. Her eyes grew concerned with her hands on her hips, with angry eyes at Garrett.

 

"I don't know," said Garrett. "I hope I'll see her again one day."

 

"You do this to find her probably, huh?" asked the younger girl.

 

"How old are you?" asked Garrett. "She might be your age." He took out his wallet and slides out a small photograph of Jenna, when she was in high school.

 

"Wow, she's a brunette," said the woman with the ankle bracelet. "She's my age, probably. How long has it been?"

 

"Since 2000," said Garrett. "She'd be in her thirties by now."

 

"Nope, don't know anyone like her that age. We don't talk to no one out of this strip. Territory business. Our man won't let us do that," said the woman with the ankle bracelet.

 

"What's your name?" asked Garrett.

 

"Yuki," she said. "She's Misha. We pretty, huh?"

 

"Yes, very pretty," said Garrett. "We have girls all ages, please come."

 

"Why you so nice?" asked Misha, the younger girl.

 

"I don't know. I guess a part of me wants to see if I'd find Jenna one day or if I can help someone at the same time," said Garrett.

 

"So, you come here all the time? Why not Las Vegas? Plenty there," said Yuki.

 

"Closer to home, and I can do it more often," said Garrett. "Please come, please. They can help you there. Promise. Leave your man. Just bolt."

 

"Misha and I can go this weekend. We have clients waiting, but we can go in the morning. I can go in the morning?" said Yuki to Misha.

 

"Please come anytime. The office is open from 8 to 6, everyday and on weekends too. There are free foods and gift certificates to Starbucks," said Garrett.

 

"Hell yeah! I can go for the Starbucks," said Misha, dropping the burnt cigarette on the sidewalk, twisting her left foot on the bud.

 

"We go, we like you," said Yuki, giggling.

 

Garrett smiled with teary eyes, immediately hugging Yuki as his pamphlets slipped out of his hands and fell on the sidewalk.

 

"Careful! Careful, old man. Gosh, it's just a date," said Misha. Yuki giggled.

 

Garrett stooped down to the ground and picked up his pamphlets, taking each one in a hurry. "I gotta go back to the car," he said. 

 

One more soul at least, with a hope for two at the same time, he thought. Yuki and Misha, those names were memorized in his mind.

 

"Okay, we promise to go. You better show up," said Yuki, poking Garrett on his stomach. He giggled and straightened out his hair. He felt his heart jumped for a minute.

 

"Okay. We'll talk about Maria Magdalena, my girlfriend," said Garrett. Handing another pamphlet to Yuki.

 

"I guess, mister," said Yuki, bitterly taking the pamphlet.

 

"Thank you," said Garrett. "You'll love her." He gave Misha a hug and walked back to the car. He turned around to give them a wave goodbye and saw the girls reading the pamphlet together.  He overheard Misha said, "Free Starbucks."

 

Garrett cried silently, because another day he didn't find Jenna, might meant she was alive somewhere. He found his car in one piece with the note still on it and not a parking ticket in sight. "Phew, risky business," he said.

 

Just write.