Pageant Question: What food best describes your personality?

Spaghetti night meant Ragu meat sauce with thin spaghetti and Lender's garlic bagels, only in this house, they called them "beagles".  A portion of spaghetti was always left to the side in a bowl for Mara, who preferred plain butter to the sauce.  Mara's younger brother ate everything, mixed together.  Dean would even tear his bagel into pieces and mix it into the spaghetti with sauce.  Neither ever wanted to try the red wine vinaigrette salad, and they wouldn't until nearly high school.  "Finger tastes" of Dad's red wine were a must, but only with washed hands.  Finally, all the plates were out, the beagles warmed in the microwave and buttered, the console television turned towards the kitchen table, and Mara waited patiently to ask permission.

"May I?" she finally asked, her hands hovering over her bowl of buttered noodles.

Mom checked that the bathroom door was already open.  "Go ahead."

Mara gleefully grabbed her pile of spaghetti with both hands and bit through the middle, buttering the sides of her face.  Making sure the remaining noodles were back in the bowl, Mara announced, "Be right back!" and she raced off to the bathroom (door open) to wash her buttered hands.

Mom and Dad made eye contact and smiled wryly, while Dean broke his beagle into tiny pieces and dropped them into his sauce.

Pageant Question: Tell me a joke.

It was the fourth time the city inspector had been out, and it was wearing on Joshua's nerves.  Every time the guy showed, there was another repair that needed to be made, urgently, and with a follow-up required.  Joshua had purchased the Victorian mansion at auction, and it had been a mess.  It had been chopped up into seven apartments and was suffering from being uninhabited for three years while in the city's dubious "care".  Replacing windows, plumbing, electric, hot water tank, furnace, and roof had taken Joshua a long time and a lot more money.  He managed to pick up the surrounding lots, emptied of their houses years ago, for only a dollar apiece.  Now he was trying to become self-sufficient and was building himself a rather large garden, complete with chickens.

Mr. Giambro, Joshua hadn't learned the man's first name, paced around the enclosure intended to hold the city's maximum allowed five chickens.  Joshua had built it himself and was rather proud.  He realized it was part of the reason why he felt so annoyed right now; the inspector didn't "ooh" and "ahh" the way his friends did when shown his handiwork.  Mr. Giambro instead made notes and made ticking sounds with his tongue.  Joshua bit his lip and waited.  The inspector looked out of place in the garden, wearing his wrinkled brown suit and vintage 1980s loafers, and pacing off the distance from the house to the enclosure.  He paused, then took out a small measuring tape and circled the enclosure again, making more notes on height, length and width.  Mr. Giambro peered up at the house.  "This is a multi-family?"

Joshua took a breath.  The inspector knew full well he had converted it back into a single.  "No, I..."

"Oh, wait, yes, I see it here."

Joshua felt his jaw muscles straining.

"It appears as if this complies with 341-11 through 341-14.  It will have to be approved by the City Clerk, of course."

"Of course."  Joshua rubbed his face muscles and tried to loosen up.

The inspector walked back over to the enclosure and unlatched one of the doors.  "Do you know why chicken coops have two doors?"

Joshua was surprised by the question.  Was he supposed to prove his knowledge of chicken husbandry?  Now?  He took a gamble.  "No, Mr. Giambro.  I don't know why chicken coops have two doors.  In case of fire?"

"Because," Mr. Giambro latched the door.  "If they had four doors, they'd be chicken sedans."  Joshua's jaw loosened enough to hang open.  "The City Clerk should make a decision within two to three weeks."  The inspector picked his way carefully out of Joshua's yard.  "Have a nice day."

Pageant Question: When you look into the mirror, what do you see?

The big, yellow wrecking machines were at it again, this time on the next street over, but Jenny still jumped when she heard their diesel engines roar to life.  It was her street that had been the most recent victim of the city's progress.  Her block, which in its heyday had shoulder to shoulder houses, was now toothless and grey.  Rocky lots with the tops of filled-in cellars poking through the third-rate fill the demolition crews used to fulfill their city contracts were more common than living houses.  Now the block behind Jenny's house was getting the same treatment; onward the machines would churn, block by block, until they hit the expressway that decades ago replaced what had been an award-winning park.  On the other side of the cement scar, people still prospered.  On Jenny's side, people hung on.

Jenny was lucky that she owned her house without a mortgage and she had enough to pay taxes and bills on time through her unconventional work.  She spent most of her personal days on the upper floors as her front rooms were devoted to her business: fortune telling.  Jenny shoved her feet into work boots and threw on a sweater before setting the house alarm.  Even a lived-in house wasn't safe from copper pipe thieves, even in the daylight.  The early morning dew from a devastated former front lawn dampened her boots as she scanned the last and newest empty lot on her street, created only a week ago.  While she liked to get to the demolition sites before the crews were completely done, she hadn't been able to get out because of a sudden string of appointments.  It seemed like the word-of-mouth was finally gaining momentum.

A sudden sparkle in  the mud caught her eye.  It was a fragment of mirror.  Jenny freed it with her right hand and planted her boots firmly against the rocky clods.  Angling it over her left shoulder, she rotated the piece from side to side, up and down, peering beyond the reflection.

Pageant Question: What would you do with a red crayon?

I used to sit in hospital emergency rooms.  For kicks, and to look at people who had it worse than me.  Like the guy whose girlfriend was holding a baggie of ice with his finger in it while he held his towel-wrapped hand over his head and looked woozy.  Or the lady with a burn on her legs and feet and macaroni in her shoelaces from knocking a pot of boiling pasta off the stove.  Or that stupid kid sitting on his mother's lap who wouldn't stop wailing.  I didn't immediately see what was wrong, so I figured it was a bad earache, but when they were called in, his mother turned enough so I could see the last half inch of a red, Crayola crayon sticking out of one nostril.  Well, it made me feel better.

Pageant Question: If you caught someone stealing at work, how would you react?

Harry didn't like to eat in the break room because it was so dreary.  He preferred to take his lunch back to his cubicle and hang a homemade "Out to Lunch" sign across the opening to prevent anyone from making him work.  Brenda, Pam and Luce loved the break room, and they lorded over the round table like knights.  Or like The View.  Harry hated to walk past them and he hated even more having to warm his food in the microwave and wait near them because they sounded like chickens clucking.

Today, Claudia was bent over, her head in the refrigerator, and it was a glorious view.  Claudia was a new hire and Harry knew she wouldn't be here long.  "Promotion" was written all over her long legs and tight skirts and low-cut blouses.  Harry stopped near the door to wait for his turn in the fridge, and to admire the view.  Into the fridge, Claudia growled, "Where the hell is my lunch?"

Pageant Question: Where do you see yourself in five years? Ten years?

Even all the way out by the maple tree, Cara could hear her things being broken inside the house.  She used to be extremely attached to her belongings.  Even when she was little, she took good care of her toys.  Not one of her Barbie dolls suffered a horrible haircut.  No Memory game card was drawn upon.  She dusted her knickknacks and even kept her clothes in good condition, not wanting to give them up even if they no longer fit.  Her mother knew better than to try to clear out Cara's room after the crying that ensued after the last purge.  Instead, Cara's mother gave her storage boxes and little-used items were carefully labeled and put into the attic.  But now...

As she had become forcefully detached from her belongings, Cara realized she could live without them.  First, her new husband had demanded she not have so much "crap".  She purged like she never had before, wishing to please him and keep a neat house.  Cara had built up quite a lot of money by selling her childhood online.  Clothes, now called "vintage" were snapped up.  Teen magazines had bidders fighting till the end.  Her toys and trinkets and memorabilia sold, one after the other.  At first, it really hurt and she cried as she listed them, she cried as she packed them up, but eventually, she started to feel better.  Lighter.  Her new husband demanded more.  Cara held on to less and less.  And now...

Another crash from the house and muffled yelling let her know that her husband was not done with his anger.  He was never done.  Burning embers needed little fanning to become a flame.  Simply walking past created enough of a breeze to get them going.  Cara's husband was smashing her remaining belongings.  She pictured him emptying her closet and dresser drawers.  Running an arm across her bookshelf.  Throwing her remaining memories against the wall that would again need patching.  She knew he would tire of the exertion, grab the keys to his truck, and squeal away.  He said he went to his mother's house, but she knew he it wasn't his mother he visited.  Cara had found the emails accidentally and the text messages purposefully.  It was that day that she felt the stranger calling himself her husband had killed the man she married.

The backdoor smashed open and closed.  The truck door squeaked open and closed.  The tires spun on the gravel and squealed on the pavement, heading east.  As soon as she knew he was far enough away, Cara moved into action and, not for the last time, wondered what would happen.

Blog Commentary: "All Gone. What Shall We Throw in Now?"

If you've been reading my Once Upon a Time Project blog, you'll know I finished my initial challenge of "never a day without a line" or "nulla dies sine linea" and I followed up with using the 38 pageant questions I have for my public speaking students as inspiration for writing even more story beginnings.  So... now what?

I have more pageant questions!  These, however, are not questions I've used in class because they were either potential too difficult to answer, too weird, or too much like another question.  I have found using them as inspiration to be a lot of fun, so I think I'll keep trying!

Looking back on what I've written is a little freaky for me.  It's like finding the box of your papers from high school or college and reading them, thinking, "I wrote this?  I wrote this?  Well, good for me!  I wonder what I was talking about..."  I will be going back and picking out story starts where I had an inkling of where it might lead and trying to craft full stories.  I usually run into trouble when I start doing that, which is why this blog has been so perfect for me: I don't need to finish!  Ha ha!  Take that, imagination and persistence!  I can stop when you both peter out!

You, Brilliant Reader, should be a part of this.  If you are actually bothering to read this self-absorbed blog, why not comment and let me know which stories you wished would continue?  If you do, I will try!

As always, thank you...whoever you are...who accidentally came here and stayed to read.  You're beautiful.

Karen

Pageant Question 38: The late Andy Warhol once said that everyone is famous for fifteen minutes. In your opinion, whose fifteen minutes are up?

Most people blamed the internet, but it was more than that.  It was desperation.  Making a viral video became a version of playing the Lottery.  The Lottery was always a tax on the poor who wished for a better life.  Casinos were the same, which is why cities that added casino gambling as a way to boost their economies stayed slums.

I had worked at the Hauden County SPCA since I was a teenager volunteering for a church school credit.  I loved the animals and the work so much, when they offered me a job, I stayed.  I stayed all the way through college and I stayed when I graduated.  I was known as The Cat Girl because I seemed to have a way with the felines.  It was two years ago that I noticed a trend in the people who came looking for cats.  They didn't choose them the way people used to choose their cats, and they didn't "test them out" the way people used to.  I tried to describe it to my coworkers, but it was such a subtle change, and people were adopting, so all was good, right?

The economy, which had been on the upswing, had the floor yanked out from under it by gridlock and anti-regulation, "freedom" lovers.  There was nothing free about what they did for the majority of the world.  It was like a roller-coaster drop and the riders were deeply shaken.  Those running the ride took our money and grinned.  The Lottery and casino revenues were higher than ever.  That's when the first couple came into the SPCA and asked for a, and I quote, "a retarded cat."

"You want what?"

The girl snapped her gum and said, "A retarded cat."  She read the descriptions on the cat cages, but kept her distance.  I looked at the guy she was with, but he was peering intently into the cage with Heifer, a huge black and white shorthair, four years old and rescued after his just as overweight owner died.

"What about this one?" he poked his fingers into the cage.  "It's super fat."

"Fat's okay, but retarded would be better," she crossed her arms and looked at me, waiting.

"May I ask... why?"

She chewed and blinked at me.  "No.  Come on, Shawn.  They don't have any here."

As she dragged him out of the cat room, I heard him whine, "I still say a really stupid dog would work!"

It was a week after that we received a cat from Animal Control that had been exposed to spray paint fumes on purpose.

Pageant Question 37: Tell me what you think the world will be like one hundred years from now.

The children are broken.  There are few holdouts who would deny it, but the evidence is clear: all the world's children are broken and they cannot be fixed.  Worse, it is our own fault.  Again, there are some deniers, but the evidence convicts humans, irrefutably.

Vita was a beautiful, healthy baby girl.  Adam and I were very lucky because it was our first try.  I was almost sad because I also knew she could be the only one, and I wanted the anticipation to last for a while longer, as silly as that sounds.  Yes, even then children were already broken, but I was wrapped in my own little world of pale pinks and yellows and I couldn't worry any more than I already was.  Besides, she was perfect.  She seemed perfect.  I didn't know it, but no longer were children born unbroken.  We had raced past that line without seeing it.

At 3 months she smiled.  At 9 months she said "kitty" and "mommy".  Following an intense teaching period, she had "daddy", too.  At 18 months she was walking.  By two years old, we knew beautiful Vita was broken.  Her cognitive milestones were taken away, one by one, in reverse order.  She still managed her physical milestones, but added rocking and banging her head until we had no choice but to fit her for a helmet.  No more words.  No more smiles.  Vita's only communication seemed to be screaming.  The world wondered, collectively, "What happened?"

Pageant Question 36: Tell me about the most important decision you have had to make.

The snick and hiss of the helmet locking into place and the rebreather kicking on always made Sam's heart quicken.  This time, however, he was alone.  More than alone.  Sam turned at the waist, the thick suit crinkling, to check the door as his shaking hands went through the motions necessary to preserve his life.  Initializing all the systems was usually done by another crew member and double checked by a third, and Sam hoped that he hadn't forgotten any of the process in his nervous rush.  The gently flowing air in the suit made him shiver.  Sam rechecked each clip and back-up clip that held the precious pack to his suit, his shaking hands made clumsier by the suit's gloves.

He was as ready as he thought he could be without assistance.  This airlock had a small window, and his heart hammered harder, causing the suit's biocheck to beep softly.  Sam took precious moments away from his schedule to breathe deeply until the beeping stopped.  His fingers danced through the procedure he had done a thousand times to open the airlock onto space.  Seal the inside door.  Depressurize the small room.  Release the outside door's quintuple locking mechanism.  Spin the wheel. Magna-lock the door to the hull.

He held his breath, and, while the alarms began ship-wide, Sam stepped into open space.

Pageant Question 35: What three qualities constitute a great leader?

The thruway rest stop loomed in the middle of the road, accessible by traffic in either direction, raised high over the fast-moving traffic.  The overpass tunnels from the parking lots glowed in the dark, a long walk for anyone hurrying from a vehicle with a full bladder.

The news and candy shop was closed, as was the souvenir stand, but the diner kept minimally staffed all night.  A janitor was winding up the long cord to the floor polisher, and the large atrium looked the cleanest it ever would.  Emily was heading west, and had left her sleeping boyfriend in the car.  She didn't want to wake him because he would be irritated that she had to stop, again.  She wanted to keep driving, though, and thought she'd pee and pick up a hot chocolate to go.  Which, of course, would make her pee, but she would deal with Rob, and her bladder, again later.

The bathrooms were enormous and automated at every turn.  There were two long rows of stainless steel-colored stalls on the outside walls; eight sinks to each side of the center, mirrored wall; and two baby changing stations.  During the day, this was a very busy place, but at two-thirty in the morning, it was dead, making it blessedly clean and quiet.

Ears still ringing from the turbo-charged automatic hand dryer, Emily took a moment to sit in the atrium and rest her eyes, breathing deeply.  This drive out west, barely begun, had already been extremely stressful, and the nagging worries she had about Rob were becoming too difficult to ignore.  She remembered thinking he was great, but no longer remembered why.  Another deep breath, and thoughts of hot chocolate made her smile.  She was about to see if the diner could make it to-go, when she heard weeping.  It was definite weeping, too, not just a few tears, and it was coming from the men's room.

Emily stood and walked a few steps closer to the passageway into the bathroom, not daring to get too close.  A female voice behind her made her jump.  "It's okay.  He's okay."

"Are you sure?  Should I..."  Emily wasn't sure what she could do, but she wanted to help.  Rob would have been irritated.

The woman was already shaking her head, "No.  Really.  He's fine.  This happens."  Despite the hour, the woman was wearing a very smart pantsuit, the kind that news reporters and politicians would wear.  Older than Emily, she was very well put-together, especially for a quarter to three in the morning, waiting outside a rest stop men's room for some guy to pull himself together.

Now it sounded like someone was retching, followed by more crying.  "Can I... get you anything?"  The man's sobs were echoing in the empty, stainless steel room.

"No."  The woman stood, fished a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, "Wait.  You can do something.  I've got to have a smoke."  She jerked her head at the bathroom, "Tell him when he gets done where I've gone."  Her heels clicked on the polished floor as she strode to the long hallway to the east-bound parking.

Pageant Question 34: If you could un-invent an invention, which would you choose and why?

My boyfriend is from another dimension.  True story.  He appeared in my bedroom, naked and screaming.  If that's not a fantastic way to start a weird relationship, I don't know what is.  It happened like this:

Me: sleeping, twisted in my ancient Hello Kitty sheets and comforter, drooling onto my pillow.

The sound and feel of a giant vacuum pulling all the air from the room, followed by a loud *pop!*

Han (my boyfriend): writhing on the ground in pain, sucking wind as hard as he can and letting it back out in a hair-raising scream.

My parents: moved to Vegas and left me the house when I graduated high school two years before, so I was alone.

My neighbors: tiredly expect my life to be weird.

Han, which is a ridiculously short abbreviation of his real name, has been living with me for a few months now.  I call him my boyfriend, but that's what I have to do because he lives here.  He is not, technically, my boyfriend.  I don't have anybody who could really care, but, still, it's easier to say "boyfriend" than to explain why this dude lives in my house and is with me all the time.

Pageant Question 33: What is a dream of yours and what are you doing to accomplish it?

I was four years old when I saw my first motorhome.  It was huge.  A one-piece rv, as opposed to the van-front with overhang.  Probably over thirty feet.  Our neighbors owned it, and invited us over for a walk-through.  I was in love.  Not only with their son who was my age, but with this home on wheels.  As a matter of fact, I loved the motorhome more, and for far, far, longer.  It was a home on wheels.  You were home wherever you went.  It was so neat and tidy with a place for everything and everything in its place.  Hungry?  Cook on the tiny stove with food you took from the tiny fridge.  Entertainment?  Tiny TV!  Tired?  Your tiny bed awaited!

It took me thirty eight years to realize the dream of owning my own motorhome.  It wasn't so big.  It certainly wasn't new.  But it had a tiny stove (working) and a tiny fridge (non-working) and space for a tiny TV (no TV) and a tiny bed (slightly musty.)

Pageant Question 32: How do the clothes you’re wearing right now reflect your personality?

Jeremy had been working in the Army/Navy surplus shop in the Catacombs for one day and three hours when he saw his first Trans.  It had been a very difficult job to get, but luckily his sister Becca had worked there before getting famous, and their name had some pull.  Becca was now "Beccarelle" and fronted her punk band of the same name, even playing in Above venues.  Becca was ten years older than Jeremy and wide age gap meant that he never felt there was a comparison between them.  Despite her persona, she had been a caring sister.  Jeremy didn't mind reaping a few of the side benefits of his sister's fame, though the constant questions about her personal life by the assistant manager were getting tiring.  Becca had said Edgar liked her a lot when she worked in the surplus show, and it was clear he hadn't given up his feelings.

The Catacombs was the hippest place to shop, eat and be seen by the hippest people.  Jeremy glimpsed many of the rich and famous as he elbowed his way through the slow-moving crowds that gawked and stopped at the shoulder-to-shoulder boutique shops.  Homemade Betty's was a favorite of Assistant Manager Edgar's, and he insisted Jeremy run get an assortment of pastries almost every mid-morning.  Jeremy held the ribbon-wrapped box above his head, which was already over everyone else's heads, to keep it out of the way, balanced on his long fingers.

The Army/Navy surplus store had prime real estate on the canal side of the Catacombs.  They got a lot of their business from the canal side, and it was nice to sit during a lull and watch the great variety of sizes and colors of boats float by.  Poling only underground, so there was only a quiet splashing.  Jeremy was minding the store while Edgar went down to the storerooms, taking three pastries for the walk.  It was quiet in the store, and he had already done a walk-through straighten, so Jeremy was vegging out, watching the fashionable bodies wander by without seeing individuals, when he heard a splashing in the canal.

Becca would have been supremely jealous.  She had worked here for eight years and had never seen a Trans out of the water.  She had glimpsed a few, swimming by, and one, she swore, splashed her on purpose, but Jeremy was sitting, slouched and transfixed, as a female Trans lifted herself out of the canal and stood, dripping in his store.

The Trans looked human to him.  She appeared to be about his age, and was completely nude.  Jeremy thought he had been prepared for a moment like this, but it was too surprising.  The Trans didn't seem bothered by his staring, and when the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, he snapped out of his paralysis and grabbed for the store's towel.  Everyone in the Catacombs was prepared to meet a Trans, though few did.  Even the training for this job had included a section on Trans Relations.  He knew to silently offer the towel, but not get offended if she didn't take it; not to touch her, even if she touched him; and that any Trans could take whatever they wanted.

Jeremy hopped off the stool and loped over in two strides, holding the towel before him like a bomb he was more than willing to hand over to the authorities.  Looking up into his eyes, the Trans smiled a little deeper and plucked it from his hands.  She draped it across her shoulders, but Jeremy noticed she was nearly dry on her own anyway.  Her blonde hair was starting to curl up, and he saw her eyes were large, brown and glistening.  She looked at him for far longer than was comfortable before browsing the rack in front of her.  Her long, narrow fingers walked through the hangers, stopping at a small olive green shirt with a screen printed flying saucer.  Before Jeremy could tell what was happening, she was wearing the shirt and had moved on, her bare feet leaving smaller and smaller wet prints on the cement floor.  He scooped up the towel she had left over the rack, and by the time he moved to her side again, she was wearing a pair of camouflage cargo pants.  No matter that she was dressed, Jeremy could only see her naked.  To his mind, the clothes were decoration that floated above her body, careless and unnecessary.

Pageant Question 31: How do you handle stress?

Combating stress is a constant war that requires hyper-vigilance.  One slip of attention from your stress and it will take over your life; you may never recover once you slip.  SO PAY ATTENTION!  What is making you stressed?  Think of it.  Think of it now.  Examine it.  Zoom in on it.  Focus on it and enlarge your stress until it is the only thing in your mind.  If you find your mind drifting, follow the path of darkness on which it has put you.

When you think about the stress in your life, it may cause you to think of the other parts of your life that have gone wrong.  Let those fill your head, too.  More often than not, your stress will also cause you to think of stressful times in your past--times when things have gone wrong, or you took the wrong action, said the wrong words, been embarrassed, hurt someone, got hurt yourself.  These are moments that haunt you and stress you from times gone past.  They are over and cannot be dealt with, so think about them.  Add them to what you are currently experiencing and relive them again and again until the paths become familiar and well-worn.  By waging war against your current stress, bring in the old battles you have lost and wage your war on multiple fronts.

Breathe shallowly.  Inoutinoutinoutinout, repeat.  Look around your room and see what is wrong.  Dusty?  Messy?  To-dos undone?  See them all, no matter how small, and add them as skirmishes to your war on stress.  If your breathing wasn't fast enough when you started, increase it now, and feel your heart pounding in your chest.  Imagine the cortisol surging through your veins, and picture the bodily stress this war is inflicting on you.  You are now wearing your battle armor of hormones, fat and guilt.

NOTE: I am terribly sorry for today's post!  It is making me panic a little just reading it.  Definitely find a real article somewhere about how to relax.  Maybe go for a walk.  Breathe deeply.  Try yoga.  Relax.  All is well.  All is well.  Ommmmmm.....

Pageant Question 30: Besides your family, who have you learned the most from and what did you learn?

From my piano teacher, I learned that mocking someone does not make them want to improve.
From my third grade teacher, I learned that rocking the boat makes people nervous.
From my general practitioner, I learned that a great deal of education does not necessarily make a person smart.
From the family who took my old truck for scrap, I learned that people can live on next to nothing.
From my first boyfriend, I learned that looks aren't everything.
From my landlord, I learned that you can't always tell who's a bigot.
From an old man I passed on the street, I learned that you can live right up to the moment you're dead.

What have they learned from me?  What should they have learned from me?

My piano teacher learned that his students are lazy, but he should have learned that students yearn to be good.
My third grade teacher learned that bullying works, but she should have learned that children remember forever.
My general practitioner learned that his wisdom was rarely heeded, but he should have learned to listen.
The family who took my old truck for scrap learned that if you ask, you may receive even more than you hoped for, and they should have learned that the world needs to know how the poor survive.
My first boyfriend learned that I wasn't right for him, but he should have learned that girls desperate for a boyfriend have no idea what they're doing.
My landlord learned that his audience will listen, but he should have learned that I thought he was wrong.
The old man learned that people stare at illness, but he should have learned that I wished him safe journey.

Pageant Question 29: What are you most afraid of?

The path had turned to dust under her feet, and Janine had only just noticed.  She had been walking for days, and was running out of both food and water.  A shimmer to her left heralded the arrival of her spirit guide, Ham.  She swallowed hard around her dry tongue, "It's about freaking time, buddy.  Where've you been?"

The shimmer gathered density, but never quite became full.  It had been a long time since Ham had appeared to her, much less in his full form.  The blazing sun made him sparkle and difficult to look at.  His voice came as if from a distance and, as always, she suspected it was only in her head.  "Caution."

"Caution?" Janine wheezed a laugh.  "All this way, and now you say 'Caution'?  Listen, bub, I can't stop walking.  I gotta get me through this before I can rest, and if I stop, I'm not moving again.  Caution is what I should have had before I started."

Ham's indistinct form kept pace with her.  "Stay to the right."

Janine looked up properly at the specific direction and saw, to the left of the path in the distance, a black object of some sort.  It was smooth and tall.  As she neared she saw it was made of giant blocks of blacker than black stone, stacked on one another, five tall, with a cross beam near the top.  A cross.  "What in this blazing desert is that?"  The blotted cross was coming up faster than she expected and she felt why Ham had instructed caution.  It hummed with a pulsing beat she could feel at a distance.  It emanated a feeling of evil, of fear, of agony, of yearning, and as she closed the distance, she thought she heard human voices.

Ham glimmered brighter and stayed firmly on her left side, staying between her and the cross.  "You are safe with me," he hummed in her head, and she wanted to believe him.  Janine wanted to quicken her pace, but found she couldn't, and so she trudged slowly by, wishing she could run.  Looking out just the corner of her eyes, and mostly through Ham, she noticed the towering cross had windows, though they revealed and reflected nothing.  She involuntarily whined, but kept moving, which she felt was her only hope.

Pageant Question 28: How have you been active in protecting the environment?

Albert Einstein was wrong.  When the honey bee population died out, humans did not go extinct.  At least, we haven't yet.  Life did become infinitely more difficult, however.  Of all the disaster scenarios predicted by climatologists and anthropologists and sociologists and any group that conservatives would have called "tree huggers", none contained the mass extinction of so-called lesser animals in so short a time period.  None contained the scenario that other animals and insects that normally wouldn't be problems would suddenly surge in population and become deadly to humans.

Pageant Question 27: How would you describe the colors red, blue, and yellow to a blind person?

I was slightly frightened by being given a tour of Chicago by my cousin Yvonne.  It was a walking tour of the downtown shopping district and she was walking so fast, I could barely keep up.  She kept pointing out the sights, but I was madly looking back and forth across streets and dodging pedestrians and simply trying not to lose her.  The most frightening part, however, wasn't the fear of being lost, but it was that Yvonne was legally blind.

I had just spent the previous half hour hanging out in her highrise office with what was an extremely impressive view.  Yvonne had been the one to point it out to me, though I knew she had never seen it.  She hadn't been born blind, and perhaps that was why she was so confident.  She also could see if she held whatever she wanted to look at so it touched her nose.  I watched her put on a pair of, not joking, one inch thick reading glasses, put her nose to her desk, and sign a contract.  That was the only way she could see where to put the pen.  And now I was running across four lanes of traffic behind her and she pointed to her favorite stores.


Side Note:
This the questions my students would hear and grumble that it was impossible to answer.  I say, no way!  It's actually one of the easiest, IF you know the trick!  If you're reading these for the questions and you'd like to know the trick, post a comment and I'll tell you.  (*sneaky way to see if anybody cares*)

Pageant Question 26: Tell me what I'm going to eat today. Begin with breakfast and end with dinner.

I recently saw a picture of what the people of the 1960s thought life would look like on Mars.  I laughed when Professor showed me because I thought he was pulling a joke.  It seemed extra funny because Professor never pulled jokes; he never laughed; he never broke his programming.  Professor was relentless in teaching me, and I was just as relentless in my quest to get him to break protocol and have fun.  I thought, irrational as it may seem, that he had finally busted loose.

"What is amusing you, Tetra?" he asked in his politely modulated voice.

"You're serious?  This is how people used to think they'd live on another planet?  Like this?"

"The photo-realistic drawing was created in 1961 by an unknown artist.  Space exploration was becoming very important in the 1960s for several reasons.  Can you tell me why?"

Professor turned every moment into a Teachable Moment, but I wasn't in the mood.  "Professor, you're saying that people in the 1960s predicted that there would be life on Mars, and that they would be living in these pods and growing all their food in hydroponic bays?  Like this picture shows?"

The program paused for a moment, and I knew he was searching the data banks for a more in-depth explanation, which is what he thought I wanted, but what I really wanted to know was how those people of the past predicted what life would be like on Earth, and why they didn't see it coming.

"Professor," I interrupted, "show me actual photographs of the outdoors, decade 1960."

He thought for another moment, and I could practically hear him deciding whether or not I was wasting time again or if I really wanted to see to enhance this Teachable Moment.  When I wanted to drift away and imagine, I would often ask Professor to show me photographs of the outdoors from the past.  He knew they fascinated me, but he had a schedule and he stuck to it.  I guess he decided that if I was interested, I'd be more likely to learn, so a great file of photos appeared that I could swipe through as he spoke.


Side Note:
If you are interested to know you would go about actually answering this pageant question (or any of them!) please send me a message or post a comment.  Pageant Question #26 is deceptively simple and most people's first instinct would result in a too-short and uninteresting answer.

Pageant Question 25: If you were given ten dollars, what would you do with it?

Perspective, thought Gabe, picking through a recycling bin.  It's all about perspective.  He pulled out one last returnable liter bottle and dropped it in his bag, being careful to lower the lid of the recycling bin quietly.  He didn't want the cops to chase him away again because next time, they might not be so friendly.  Perspective again.  Gabe thought about how he used to hear sirens and bask in the security of his warm home and silently thank the security forces that kept him safe from all the junkies and drunks outside.  Perspective.

Back in the day, Gabe never even returned his own bottles.  Hoisting the nearly-full garbage bag over his shoulder, he cursed his past self for wastefulness and cursed himself again for wallowing in what he couldn't change.  Change was what his life was about now, wasn't it?  Change from what it was and what had been pocket change that now meant food or the special treat of a cup of coffee.  He used to have a pot of imported coffee every morning, ground and brewed just for him.  Gabe balanced himself on his bike, one bag of cans and bottles perched sideways across the handlebars and the other he held with his left hand, balanced on the narrow, improvised platform on the back, and began the treacherous ride to the bottle return.  When both bags were full, he could guarantee at least ten bucks as long as there weren't too many of those liter bottles.  Ten bucks.  I'm rich, he thought, and, surprising himself, he meant it.  Perspective.

Pageant Question 24: Name one possession that you cannot live without and why?

The beat officers had called in the disturbance before they arrived, so the Chief was prepared, but he was not ready.  The entire precinct could hear the officers struggling with the suspect, even through the thick, oak doors.  It sounded like they were trying to drag a mountain lion up the front steps.  The Chief motioned to the officer on desk duty with his chin.  Brody hurried to open the doors and as soon as he slipped the latch, two harassed officers burst through, dangling what looked like a churning bundle of rags between them.

"What the hell are you bringing in here, gentlemen?  Brody!  Open the door let them through.  Bring, whatever it is, into Interrogation Room One, and strap it down!"  The officers followed directions as their charge kicked and screamed.  "I thought you radioed that it wasn't drugs," he accused, watching them attempt to control the flailing limbs of their suspect.

"It's not drugs, Chief," panted Officer McIntosh.  "I swear... Now hold on, sister!  Just calm the heck down and we can help!"

"Schaffer, did McIntosh say this is a woman?"

The other officer stood from strapping padded Velcro restraints around the suspect's bare ankles, "Yes, sir."  Schaffer rubbed his shoulder as if it ached.  "The orneriest woman I've ever run across, and that's counting both my ex-wives."

Once she was fully strapped into the metal chair which was, in turn, bolted to the floor, all the officers and the Chief backed out of the room, closing the door on the woman's furious scream.  "If it's not drugs, gentlemen, then what the hell is wrong with her?"

McIntosh reached into a pocket and pulled out a silver-colored necklace with a blue stone pendant.  "It's about this."

Pageant Question 23: What is your feeling about the saying, “The grass is always greener on the other side.”

The first death I attended was that of my cat, Iggy.  He was old, but in such great health right up until the end, it didn't seem right that he had to die.  He was clearly unhappy about it, too, but there was nothing left to do but sit by his side.  I was ten, and he was eight years my senior.  I was compelled to keep watch and stroke his back; everyone else was at the Harvest Fair, but I had refused to go.  My step-sisters laughed at me, and I remember it was the first time I applied the word "heartless" to anyone.  I knelt over Iggy as he hissed, drew his last breath, and exhaled gently one final time.  I don't know why I did it, but as he exhaled, I leaned over Iggy's face and breathed in deeply, pulling his last into me.  At that moment, a light flared in my mind, and I saw his soul.  It's the only way I can explain it.  It was not a version of my cat in my imagination, nor was it a ghostly film, but an impression in my mind of Iggy's essence, and I knew that what made him Iggy was forever.  My ability has developed since, and it has been both a blessing and a curse at times, but I will always remember my beautiful furry brother and I will always be proud that he was my first connection to the other side of life.

Pageant Question 22: If you won the lottery for ten million dollars, what would you do with it?

Niagara Falls, New York is a natural wonder surrounded by a slum.  The city used to be a jewel brilliant enough to match the dramatic setting, but no longer.  After the closing of many companies and selfish mismanaging by mobsters, people moved out.  Homes and buildings and general infrastructure aged without repair.  Out of town businessmen own properties, but hold them empty and crumbling, possibly for tax deductions, but also because they're asking ridiculous amounts of money for them.  The City of Niagara Falls has been left to rot.  Most people remaining, either living in the city or running it, are struggling.  City managers recently called for a meeting, asking for ways to bring Niagara Falls back from the brink of poverty and despair.  I firmly believe the answer lies in two areas: helping those who are living in the city to stabilize their homes, and getting faster turnover of empty properties into new owners' hands.

Tops and bottoms: the two most important parts of any building.  Neglect the roof, and you ruin the structure.  Neglect the foundation, and you ruin the structure.  These are also the two most expensive parts of a house to repair.  In a city like Niagara Falls, most of the housing is well past the point where they have needed new roofs, repaired gutters, stabilized foundations and improved drainage.  Most of the homeowners cannot afford such repairs and, therefore, let the homes deteriorate past repair.  My proposal would start a "Tops and Bottoms" homeowner grant to make these repairs before more properties are destroyed.  Another path to property destruction is when a property is in the hands of the city itself.

The City of Niagara Falls allows properties under its ownership to crumble.  Their negligence has allowed thieves to vandalize properties and to steal basic house systems, making the homes unaffordable.  Their negligence has allowed roof and foundation problems to slide for years making demolition the only option for many properties.  I believe that unfocused solutions and lack of foresight on the part of the city government has exacerbated Niagara Falls' problems.

Pageant Question 21: If you could be on the cover of any magazine, which would you chose and why?

I disliked phys workday mainly because seeing to many live people reminded me they were there.  Luckily, my biz only required me to have a phys workday once a month.  The CEO was old-fashioned that way.

As always, the Walks were jam-packed with barely any space between riders.  I didn't know how people did this every day, or why, since telework had an even smaller impact on the eco.  I saved myself extra space by wearing my convection coat and extra-wide brimmed hat.

A great tragedy had happened that morning and I could feel everyone on my Walk go rigid when the news alert popped.  The singer Escelladee was found dead in her home on LA Island.  My Feed didn't usually accept Newstainment stories, but this had graduated to NewsNewsAlert status.

Pageant Question 20: What is one thing you wish you had learned in high school?

How to Recognize a Sociopath

My name is Sara, and though I am not a psychologist, I am qualified to tell you the secret to identifying the sociopath in your life.  I consider myself fully qualified because I dated a sociopath in the prime of my socially formative years: from tenth grade through the start of college. Hopefully, you don't have a sociopath in your life, much less as your boyfriend or girlfriend, but if you do, the tell-tale signs will be there.  For ease of readability and because of my personal experience, I have used male pronouns, but the same signs apply to female sociopaths.

1) First glance: he is super-charming.  He is "the life of the party".  He is hilarious.  Others pay attention when he speaks because he's interesting and confident.  Being super-charming does not automatically qualify someone as a sociopath, but it is best if you are aware that these people do not appear as monsters.  This quality will allow you to be drawn in, but here's the important part: do not be blinded!  First impressions stick, but make sure you stay aware when the other signs start to appear.

2) He is self-absorbed.  You can see if he basks in the attention his charm brings him.  Does he allow others to be charming around him?  Does he listen to others' stories and laugh with them?  Does he constantly clamor for attention when it wanes?  These are closer observations you can make during the super-charming faze.  The self-absorption will be revealed in more dramatic ways if you allow yourself to be sucked in, so don't.  Further self-absorption includes: ignoring you, believing others are against him, laughing at other people, making others feel bad for what he does, forcing others to always do what he wants...or else.  The "or else" is frightening, but it is often very subtle at first and, therefore, often dismissed.  It is a true sign of a sociopath, and it is...

3) He has anger management problems.  He lashes out.  He yells.  He pouts.  He is passively aggressive.  He blames others for his problems and will tell them so.  He may throw things, punch walls, and destroy property.  He gets into fights.  The clearest sign is that he hits you, but many sociopaths are smarter than that and the hurts aren't as clear as you might think.  He is emotionally manipulative and he uses guilt to make you do what he wants.  He experiences "road rage", and doesn't even have to be the one driving to have it.  BEWARE: he will apologize.  He will explain it away as his cultural heritage's temperament or his family's temperament.  He will exude his charm like you haven't seen it since you first met, and you will want to fall for it.  This is also insidious because he may seem extremely caring and thoughtful, but if he experiences these uncontrollable outbursts of anger, no matter how justified they seem, you are with a sociopath.

Pageant Question 19: Would you consider yourself to be an optimist, a pessimist or a realist?

It is not true that there is a finite amount of happiness a person can have.  When good comes to you, there is no reason why more good should not follow, and furthermore, there is no reason why the good should be interrupted for any reason in the future.  Often, people who find themselves benefiting from what they perceive as "good luck" will assume that it is a one-shot deal.  They may even believe that the good luck must be balanced by bad.

Untrue!

Good may follow good may follow good until you finally realize that none of the "good" is happening separately from any other part of life: it is life.  At this point, many happy people living a good life may feel a sense of guilt.  There is no reason for guilt because happiness is infinite.  Because you are happy doesn't mean anyone else will be unhappy.  Because you experience a good event doesn't mean it needs to be balanced with bad somewhere else.  You can be happy and experience good, and so can everyone else.  It is infinite.

Plus: it is always within you.

A person has a very small sphere of influence--it is only him or herself.  You control how you think and react.  Thoughts, however, can be habits, and you may need to re-groove paths in your brain to realize the happiness that lies within.  It will take work.  It will take patience with yourself.  You will have setbacks, but it will work.

Pageant Question 18: What are three adjectives that best describe yourself?

"We're all here for a reason, so you might as well just say what yours is.  The counselors will get it out of you anyway."  Jack leaned in on the slight girl, a newcomer, who was sitting as far away from the other two as possible.

"Leave her alone, Jack," warned Christiana.  "She don't have to tell us."

"Speak!" he bellowed in a deep voice.  "I command thee in the name of the Lord!  Speak!"

"Don't worry about him.  He's always this way.  He never stop."  She paused to check a message on her phone before abruptly slapping it face down on their side of the U-shaped table configuration.  "My name is Christiana."

The other girl raised her eyes, but not her head, and seemed to take a moment to get her mouth working.  "Gabby."

Jack bellowed with laughter.  "Gabby?  Gabby?  That's the opposite of you."  Christiana's hand whipped out so fast, Jack never saw the back side of it coming.  It made a hard thwack on his nylon jacket.  "Hey!  What's that for?"

"It's for you being you, and you know what that is.  Keep your mouth shut for once or twice.  Gotta give everyone else a chance."

Pageant Question 17: Sell us your favorite product.

"Here's to good friends," Tony said, raising his glass, "tonight is kinda special."  The work group from Consolidated Conglomerate approved of the sentiment and drank from their Glassworx glasses or mugs, available in many different sizes to suit their needs.

George was new, so before standing with his own toast, he asked John, "Canai?"

Tony was surprised the new guy wanted to speak to the group already, but there was no reason why not.  "Yes you can."

George stood, clearing his throat.  "There's something special in the air," he began, and everyone began nodding, feeling it.  "We're doing what we do best and we try harder.  We think different.  Manly, yes, but women like it, too."  The others in Meyers' Clothiers Suits and Work-Wear laughed. When the laughter started to die down, George asked, "Can you hear me now?"  When they were silent and attentive, he continued, "With imagination at work, oh, the possibilities!  We bring out the best, and anything less would be uncivilized.  Thank you for your support."

During the rousing round of applause for the new guy, Tony stood and shook George's hand, "I love you, man."

Pageant Question 16: Tell us about a book you’ve read that has influenced your life, and why?

Jamie's toes had gone numb from the cold and her knees would have bruises from  scuttling around the Circle of Power she had drawn on the stone slab floor in her workroom, but she couldn't stop until the Summoning was finished.  She had worked for months leading up to this moment, and her discomfort was nothing compared to the agony Falk must have suffered all this time.  Jamie used her fear for her mentor's life as motivation to learn the most complicated and dangerous spell she had ever attempted.  If it went wrong, the best possible scenario was sending herself into one of the various hells that could open within the Circle.  The second best possible scenario was sending only half her body and bleeding to death.  The other scenarios were worse.


Because I was inspired to think about which books have influenced me, I include here for you a partial list, from earliest read to most recent, and I heartily recommend them all:

On Beyond Zebra, Dr. Seuss
The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins, Dr. Seuss
The House with a Clock in Its Walls, John Bellairs
The Haunting of Cassie Palmer, Vivien Alcock
I Will Make You Disappear, Carol Beach York
The Silent Tower and The Silicon Mage, Barbara Hambly
The Talisman, Stephen King
The Dark Tower series, Stephen King
It's Always Something, Gilda Radner
Cruel Shoes, Steve Martin
The Time Traveler's Wife, Audrey Niffenegger
Ready Player One, Ernest Cline

Pageant Question 15: If I were to visit your hometown for one day, what would we do?

The kids in the neighborhood called them "The Fields", but it wasn't just fields; there were trees and creeks and even small hills.  It was Joelle's favorite place to play, with or without anyone else.  Although it was against her parents' wishes, she would often go out to The Fields to play alone, exploring, spying, listening, imagining, building.  While there were many improvised "forts" in the woods, they were group activities.  Joelle was proud to be building one of her own, and she called it her home base.  It was from this base that she intended to do further exploring.

To a nine year old, The Fields were huge, quite possibly never-ending.  Joelle wouldn't connect the fact that they lived on an island with the idea that the woods could not possibly go on forever when there was a river surrounding their town until she was ten, and by then, she had discovered a secret about The Fields no one else knew.

Pageant Question 14: If you could be someone else, who would you be, and why?

I was twenty-seven years old when I realized how close thirty was.  I had told myself since I turned twenty that thirty was my new mile marker.  It had been twenty, but the dreams of my teen years were pretty lame and clearly weren't working out.  I had wanted to be a famous drummer, but I never set aside enough time to practice on the secondhand Ludwig set in my room.  It wasn't all my fault; I couldn't play when anyone was home, but many opportunities I did have I lost to video games.  If I had been more determined to achieve my dream rather than simply being attached to the idea of it, I would have found a way.  My other teen dream was to get laid by Megan Huggs, and that didn't work out, either.

At twenty-seven, I had my own apartment, and I still had my drum set, though it was filthy with dust.  I had nearly gotten an associate's degree in Criminal Justice, but it turned out that while I enjoyed watching television crime shows, I despised learning about actually doing it.  I worked as "Collections and Recovery Specialist" for a bank, which means I called people on the phone asking for money they owed.  It was sucking the life right out of me.  I wasn't even good at it because on a great many calls, despite management's training intervention, I would still just apologize profusely and hang up on them.  I was not motivated.  I was not a team player.  I did not have a positive and friendly attitude.  I was not a self-starter.  I was not even detail-oriented.

One morning, when my alarm went off as six for my bleary-eyed shower and cereal breakfast, I turned it off.  Not snooze.  Off.  I didn't go back to sleep, either.  What I did was ponder that in three years, I would be thirty.  I also pondered that if I didn't formulate a new plan for my life, I would find myself at thirty-seven looking at forty.  Then forty-seven looking at fifty.  Then... well, what?  Would I be looking back on my life instead of forward and wondering what I ever did?  I pondered in bed for an hour as the sun rose without any answer then I must have fallen back to sleep because I dreamed.

First I dreamed I was a woman.  Now get this straight: I'm not transsexual and I don't cross-dress.  It was just a dream.  I had just come home from shopping and I was taking off my heels and my husband and kids came to greet me.  The house was spectacular, and I knew we had a maid.  I was looking forward to our upcoming vacation to the Virgin Islands and the new bikini I bought.  This dream was hyper-realistic, unlike my normal, bleary dreams, and it switched me smoothly into someone else.  A man this time, with a beard, which I have never had because my facial hair is the sad, patchy hair of a seventeen year old.  I was sitting on the porch of my cabin smoking a pipe and all was well with the world.  I had a feeling of contentment I had never had in real life.  My dream switched me one last time into a kid.  I'm not sure if I was a boy or a girl, but, man, I had talent.  I played piano and I was giving a concert in what I knew was Carnegie Hall, though I'm sure it didn't look quite like the real thing.  When I finally woke it was nine and with utmost certainty I knew what my dream meant.  It was a dramatic representation of change.  I needed to become someone else to be happy.