What would you name your town if you could rename it?

We lived in the city when they first started experiencing sewer problems, like the sinkholes.  I remember Main Street being blocked for repairs, and we even walked by one further up, in the nice neighborhood.  I would stand as close to the curled down blacktop as I dared and try to peer inside.  I even hopped on the edge a little, hoping I could get part to fall in.  Though every day the hole expanded, I couldn't get it to move with my body weight.  Knowing now what happened, it sure was foolish of me to jump near a hole.  I get chills when I think of how ignorant I was, we all were, before the collapse.

What is the one job women cannot do?

"Are you here for testing or deposit?"

"Neither.  Withdrawal."

The medical receptionist looked up from her paperwork.  "Withdrawal?"

"I would like to close my account."

For a moment, James didn't think she would help him, but her hesitation stemmed from a lack of procedural knowledge.  No one ever closed his account.  She picked up the phone and called for one of the specialists.  A smooth, professional doctor arrived, her hair looking freshly brushed.

"I'm Doctor Fallenti, and you are..."  She held out her hand, and James automatically shook.

"James Drevin."

"James.  Nice to meet you.  How can I help you?"

He knew they had met before, but didn't want to point it out.  "I would like to close my account."

He caught the receptionist's incredulous 'I told you so' look for Doctor Fallenti.  "Please, James, come with me to my office so we can discuss your request."

Against his training, James didn't move to obey.  "I won't change my mind.  I would like to withdraw all my donations and close my account.  Right now."

"James," the doctor smiled, "it's not possible."

"Yes, it is.  I know my rights.  I want my donations before any are used."

The doctor nodded at the receptionist who began typing.  James hoped they were sending for his samples right now and he'd be able to leave before the day really started burning.  The receptionist shook her head, reading from the screen, "It's too late.  They've already been used."

James couldn't even swallow.  "What?  When?  I wasn't notified!  That's impossible."

Doctor Fallenti read over the receptionist's shoulder.  "Your sample was used...five years ago."  She smiled at James, "Congratulations!  You're a father."

If you were president, what would be the first law that you would pass?

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."  Tara was sentenced to burn in three days, to coordinate with the Fall Festival.  All the town would be there to witness and pray for their own souls.  Tara's was, to them, already long gone.

How did you develop your sense of morals?

I have eaten from the Tree of Knowledge, and I feel shame.  I'm not religious, it's just that the idea fits my situation perfectly.  I know about religious stuff from the old guy who lives on the fifth floor.  He recites, or shouts, stuff from the Bible at me as I walk by on the stairs to my eighth floor walk-up.  I'm fourteen, but I can call it my apartment because I pay the rent.  The landlord doesn't know that, of course.  He'd be obliged to call social services, and they would ruin my ruined life.  It's ruined.  I see it now.  But it's my life.  Sticking me in foster care again, or forcing me into a children's home, would mean I'm not in control.

The Tree of Knowledge has shown me the lousiness of my life.  The first thing eating from that damned Tree showed me was my smell.  I remember getting into a fight with Candy Booger (real name Bourgan) in fifth grade when I actually hit a girl.  I knew it was bad to hit, but I didn't know it was extra bad to hit a girl.  She said that I smelled, and I punched her.  While I waited outside Principal Morgan's office, I tried to notice smells.  The copy machine next to me smelled like warm paper.  The secretary who walked past smelled like acid flowers.  I kept sniffing and, finally, I smelled it.  Piss.  Body odor.  Maybe mold?  God, save me, Candy Booger was right, and I had punched her for it.  Nobody appreciates the messenger.

If you were a shoe, what kind would you be?

He was beyond indignities.  Whatever could be done to him had been, and he was simply tired of the time that stretched in front of him.  He shuffled slowly, partly because he had nowhere to go, and partly because the shoes on his feet didn't fit.  Cars beeped, but couldn't get him to raise a hand.  He shuffled, and waited for the end of his time.

What is one mistake made by the current generation that you would like to make sure that your generation does not repeat?

Only a few days before she died, my grandmother described to me the sound of crickets.  The idea of them, however, terrified me, and my mother scolded my grandmother for telling me stories.  Grandma was Buddha, and smiled, knowing.  I knew, too.

How can you be the change you want to see in the world?

Start with a dream list: what would be the ideal world?  Yes, you can even say, "World peace!"  Try to make a list of at least ten dream items; for example:

1. Ensure clean water for every human
2. Eliminate hunger
3. Eliminate homelessness
4. Convert to renewable energy
5. Stabilize and reverse human overpopulation
6. Discontinue deforestation and begin reforestation
7. Provide opportunities for every human in every occupation
8. Expand space exploration
9. Reform treatment of prisoners and mentally ill
10. Reform and implement free education
11. Reform and implement free healthcare
12. Encourage collaboration and innovation for the benefit of all humankind

I did say at least ten.

Is it odd that my dream world looks like humanity in the age of Star Trek?  It is a worthy goal, and achievable, if humans weren't each so self-centered.  It is rare the person who does not work only to his or her own benefit.  Even those deeply religious are not exempt because while they do work to help others, it is often with the goal of converting other, and/or getting into Heaven, which is still a selfish goal.

Can humankind overcome the desire for power, money, prestige, land, and "being right"?  Not all of us, but some.  Abandon borders (with the goal to abandon nationalism.)  Abandon religious righteousness.  Abandon money.  Abandon power over things, animals, and other people.

There are small ways to begin.  Ways that don't cost any money, but that will show you how far we need to come.  Try this: pick up all garbage, wherever you go.  Catch yourself when you say, "Some jerk just dropped this here!" or "Why should I pick this up when these people don't care about how they live?"  Pick up all garbage, wherever you go, with the goal of making the world a better place.  Acknowledge how difficult it is, how easy it is to become angry and bitter, and how this small act can really change the world, if it can only change the way you see it.

If you could read anyone’s personal diary, whose would you read and why?

14 Sept. - Busy Day
Quite a turmoil at work today.  Veronica gave her week's notice (because of her fiancee) and Mr. Bertrand took it poorly.  So poorly, in fact, that Veronica left immediately, cursing us all.  I asked to be left out of it, but she and Mr. Bertrand were shouting too loudly to be heard.  In addition, I stopped at the grocery (the only apples left of my favorite variety were bruised or wrinkled), the dry cleaners, and Mother's, but she was not answering.  Vegetable soup, buttered roll, canned pears.

15 Sept. - Deadly Silence
Mr. Bertrand has not forgiven Veronica overnight, nor did I expect it.  He has placed a "Help Wanted" sign in the window, specifying the need for a "steady" employee.  The knock on Veronica was clear.  I worked in silence most of the day.  I considered checking the grocery for new apples, but decided against it.  Mother still does not open her door.  Tuna fish sandwich, chips, remaining canned pears.

18 Sept. - Apologies!
I apologize for my delay in writing, but I have had a lethargy come over me.  I am suspecting a lack of nutrition and, perhaps, light sleep.  My upstairs neighbor has been listening to the television all night long as of late, and the murmuring has been getting to me.  Salad with tomatoes and sunflower seeds, carrots and beets.

19 Sept. - Suspicions
I am filled with suspicions, and I do not know who to accuse first!

Which Star Wars character best describes you?

Most stay-at-home types thought that space travel was all action, but in truth it was quite often butt-numbingly boring.  Han had been waiting for what seemed an eternity on this forsaken planet in this no-name system on the rear end of nowhere just to get one crucial part for his ship.  The Millennium Falcon could fly without it, but hyperspace was no-go, and he hated having his secret weapon out of commission.  Chewy had wanted to look around what passed for a city, but Han had a bad feeling that strangers weren't welcome to snoop, and Chewy was stranger than most in this, apparently hairless, planet.

Assuming that you one day become a parent, what one thing do you hope to teach your children?

I am shadowed by the ghost of my unconceived daughter.  She was never born, nor even a glimmering.  There was no opportunity, nor time enough, nor even retrospect opportunity.  She wasn't, except in my wishes for myself and for her.  Her name is Alaura.  She is my daughter who never was.  She missed all that I would teach her, and I missed all that she would give me.  My body is unchanged, except by time.  My legacy is mine and mine alone.  I will not create life to remember me.  I am only here to remember.  And I remember my daughter who never was.

If you could change one thing in the world, what would you change and why?

It was nearly Pandemic Day and we were very excited because this was the Bicentennial and it was going to be extra special.

What have you done to make a difference in someone's life in the past three days?

As we grow older, it becomes harder to feel the mystery and wonder we had as children.  It is not, however, a result of having grown out of the need for desire for mystery and wonder; it is, rather, that adults have far more practical experience.  Practical experience answers questions, and it also implants fear, worry, jealousy, and other negative emotions.  Adults become so wrapped up in the day-to-day that they push out mystery and wonder.

Many people believe that children have some special ability to appreciate mystery and feel wonder, but that is untrue.  Children simply have no bills to pay, no work life to balance, comparatively weak social pressures, and little imagination when it comes to "things that can go wrong and leave us homeless and hungry".  Adults have the exact same ability they always had, but their mystery is "How will I make it through the end of the month?" and their wonder is "I wonder if that spot is cancer?"

What adults need to do is to cultivate the mystery and wonder they once felt and use it to live a more exciting inner life.  One way we are helping to instill this kind of mystery and wonder in random adults is through The Tiny Art Project.

The Tiny Art Project is where we create tiny pieces of art, any medium, and putting it into tiny frames (2" or smaller.)  These tiny frames can be pinned or stuck in unlikely public places where adults can see the art, appreciate the beauty, wonder how it was made, and marvel in the mystery of how it got there and why anyone would do such a thing.

Specifically how do you handle confrontation?

An easy target: young girl, alone, burdened with a bag and coat, walking and distracted.  He came out of nowhere, it seemed, and hooked his arm through her bag, which was slung crosswise across her body.  Using the strap and his greater weight, the man in dark clothes pulled her into the dark space between the buildings without a sound.  He swung her by the bag, intending to stun the girl against the brick wall, but he found himself spinning in a full circle when the counterweight disappeared and he was left holding the girl's messenger bag.

Bewildered, the would-be mugger and, quite possibly, rapist, scanned the narrow corridor for his prey, wondering why he didn't hear her fall or cry out or slip on the garbage.  The girl's bag dropped from his flailing hangs when his head was jerked back by a strap around his neck and he found he was incapable of anything but a wheezing, choking sound.  His feet flew out from under him, and he hit the ground hard, his remaining air whooshing out of his lungs and his head ringing with the impact.

What are good qualities in a friend? Boy/girlfriend?

Amy helped me bury the body.  She was such a good friend.  I miss her terribly.

I guess I should back up a little.

Even though high school students desperately want to fit in and have loads of friends and dress "right" and know all the right pop culture, they each live in a tiny, selfish bubble.  I suppose some don't, but I sure did.  My bubble swirled around me reflecting me back to me and showing me that I was put-upon and I was unique and I was suffering like no one else had in the history of the world.  I didn't notice, or care, that friends of mine, like Amy, were suffering, too.  I was suffering worse.  No one could understand... except, maybe, that strange, elusive creature: a boyfriend.

I wanted, more than anything, a boyfriend.  The desperation began in earnest during 8th grade.  At The 8th Grade Dinner Dance (the first time we all got dressed up and behaved like gentlemen and ladies), I wore a skirt with my shorts hidden underneath, a pair of sneakers, two pairs of socks, and some horrid shirt with a cute collar.  I boogied without moving my feet with my group of girl friends.  Amy looked fabulous, and she wore pink heels.  At one point during the evening, Amy let me borrow them and I strutted around, trying to get a boy--any boy--to notice.  I would have danced with anyone if he had asked me, including the band director, who, in hindsight, was surely gay.  Mr. Phillips said to me as I clicked by, "Tonight's your night!"  I believed him.  He was wrong.  Amy asked for her shoes back.  I went home still having never been kissed.