Debra Anastasia's Blog, page 63
February 9, 2012
Disney Trip part #3
Morning comes.
A few very important, time honored rituals are occurring for Anastasias. Remember the scene in the Lion King where sweet, fuzzy baby Simba was held aloft by the creepy monkey with the stick? The music swells, your heart sores, and finally one single tear rolls down your cheek. Replace baby Simba with my periwinkle colored bagallini and you can recreate one of our rituals.
And I guess that makes me the creepy monkey
. Now I am kind of regretting this analogy. Oh well.
I pack it carefully. Extra kid outfits in Ziplocs, sunscreen, little antibacterial dangling from my zipper. I sling it on, stuff my cell phone in its happy little home after I change the ring tone from "Sexyback" to "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes"
. Those are two really different ring tones. I lock eyes with my man. Mickey head pupils look back at me. He is completing his ritual. In a loincloth with hidden mickies on it. There is guttural singing, and dancing. His body is painted with Disney characters. Don't worry, he turns his nipples into Chip n' Dale as God intended. After his camera backpack has been precisely loaded to his exacting standards. He heaves it on his back. We complement each other. Freaky and Weirdo. Our poor kids. He changes his ring tone from silent vibrate to Mickey saying "Hey Pal, it's One of Your Friends"
We are ready. We hop into are van. For this trip we also pack Grandma
. We have a one and half hour ride home to my castle. Mr. A drives and Grandma rides shotgun. The kids are in the middle watching classic Disney cartoons. Mrs. A is by her lonesome in the back, thinking. The Anastasias try and prevent Mrs. A from thinking. Especially around paint cans and hair dye. She is thinking. Past Disney memories. Ahhh.
*****Flashback*****
Our Honeymoon
What a sweet time. We had put off our honeymoon until the end of the school year. Almost a full year after our wedding day, we went to Disney World. On our way to Florida I did not feel well. In the morning I was sick to my stomach. I could not believe I was feeling sick on our honeymoon. We first stopped at my parents. My mother and I got to talking and I thought maybe I should take a test. I did not even tell Mr. A what I was up to. He figured me and Mom were thinking together and we would buy hair dye and paint, as usual. I took my CVS bag into the bathroom. It wasn't hair dye. It was the test that would change our lives. I stood there looking at the positive result. The joy started at my toes and worked its way right into my heart. It has stayed there ever since. Tears, excitement, more tears. I kept hugging my stomach. A baby. A deep breath. Well guess who is going to get a big surprise? Mr. A was happy the last time I saw him when I passed him on the couch. He was watching sports and laughing with my father.
Now mom , on the other hand, knows what I am up to. She knows one of two things are going to happen- I'll either come out of the bathroom shaking my head or I'll call Mr. A in.
Deep breath.
I couldn't see her when I called his name but her happiness filled the air. I told him. We hugged and cried and laughed. A baby. We freak out. "How do we pay for a baby! How do you hold a baby? I've never held one, have you?"
"No."
"Me neither."
Before it can even sink in for Mr. A I know I have to see my mom . She has wanted grandchildren more than she wanted children. It'll be the biggest gift I ever give her. My Father, how will he react? No time to wonder- we are at the door.
We have an announcement, "We are going to have a baby" (See how little I knew, I said "we" instead of "me", he was there, but I had that 8 pound 6 ounce baby.)
My mother is crying and laughing. My father is shocked, but happy and hugging.
Later in the pool I say "I can not believe I am married and pregnant."
My father's response is "Thank God."
We are off the next day to Disney. A wonderful world I'll share with Mr. A. He has not been there since he was a boy. I did not know I was poking awake a beast that could never be satisfied. My favorite memory of this trip is walking into the "Making of Me" that was in Epcot. Martin Short was describing how humans are made. The Kings held hands tightly with eyes as wide as saucers.
**********
"Mom can you open this for me?" My son, he grows every five minutes now. He looks so much like me, but he's much nicer. I ruffle his hair. His head is so huge. (It always has been)
We're almost there. Getting closer. I start getting antsy. I can't hear the adults over the air conditioning and the cartoons. I'm thinking again.
*****Flashback*****
Years after the "Making of me", We made another "me." A sweet, plumpy baby girl with the hugest jewel like green eyes surrounded by thick, long lashes that are usually wasted on boys. She's six months old and Disney is her new playground. As long as her brother is around, she's happy. At her first character meeting, she encounters the nipple chipmunks. After seeing her brother embrace them she's on board. She feels Chip's nose. Dale gets low so he can hold her. She loves him. I go to take her back. Dale won't give her up. I insist. I think if I would have left her to be raised by the Chipmunks she would have loved it.
Little six month old GC is breast feeding. BC breastfed until he was 27 months (I know-ouch
). GC loves it as well. Being a real modest breastfeeder, it was really hard for me to find places to be alone to feed her. We would make it to the baby station as often as possible. Sometimes we were too far. During our lunch at Japan, PS was hungry. I could find no where to feed her in private. I grab Mr. A, give BC to the grandparents and commence looking for "the spot." I don't like people looking at me. BC and GC were always very active feeders so it was hard to stay covered. GC is getting fussy. I am starting to freak out. We head deeper into China (or where ever the frick we are). I see a secluded spot. Behind the huge horse statue with some dude riding it. I head for it. Mr. A is trying to stop me, he,s alarmed. You see there is a rope I have to climb over to get to "the spot." I snap around and tell him to be on lookout. I hunker down behind the angry warrior and feed the screaming chubster. Ahhh. She falls asleep in my arms. My unwilling lookout helps me back over the rope. Annoyed. I crossed a rope. In Disney. What If there were cameras? What if we get kicked out? We were fine. 
***********
I still think there should be about 15 baby spots in every park. Looking back on it now I wish I could tell young, modest Mrs. A to just relax and not care. The Jiggler was in her future. Sometimes older, floppier Mrs. A lets the girls hang out of her bathing suit when getting in a pool just to distract people from The Jiggler . Oh Well.
Is that a sign I see? It is a sign! It is Mickey's sign. I can stop thinking (thank you!)
We are on property. My property.
A few very important, time honored rituals are occurring for Anastasias. Remember the scene in the Lion King where sweet, fuzzy baby Simba was held aloft by the creepy monkey with the stick? The music swells, your heart sores, and finally one single tear rolls down your cheek. Replace baby Simba with my periwinkle colored bagallini and you can recreate one of our rituals.
And I guess that makes me the creepy monkey
. Now I am kind of regretting this analogy. Oh well.I pack it carefully. Extra kid outfits in Ziplocs, sunscreen, little antibacterial dangling from my zipper. I sling it on, stuff my cell phone in its happy little home after I change the ring tone from "Sexyback" to "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes"
. Those are two really different ring tones. I lock eyes with my man. Mickey head pupils look back at me. He is completing his ritual. In a loincloth with hidden mickies on it. There is guttural singing, and dancing. His body is painted with Disney characters. Don't worry, he turns his nipples into Chip n' Dale as God intended. After his camera backpack has been precisely loaded to his exacting standards. He heaves it on his back. We complement each other. Freaky and Weirdo. Our poor kids. He changes his ring tone from silent vibrate to Mickey saying "Hey Pal, it's One of Your Friends" We are ready. We hop into are van. For this trip we also pack Grandma
. We have a one and half hour ride home to my castle. Mr. A drives and Grandma rides shotgun. The kids are in the middle watching classic Disney cartoons. Mrs. A is by her lonesome in the back, thinking. The Anastasias try and prevent Mrs. A from thinking. Especially around paint cans and hair dye. She is thinking. Past Disney memories. Ahhh. *****Flashback*****
Our Honeymoon
What a sweet time. We had put off our honeymoon until the end of the school year. Almost a full year after our wedding day, we went to Disney World. On our way to Florida I did not feel well. In the morning I was sick to my stomach. I could not believe I was feeling sick on our honeymoon. We first stopped at my parents. My mother
and I got to talking and I thought maybe I should take a test. I did not even tell Mr. A what I was up to. He figured me and Mom were thinking together and we would buy hair dye and paint, as usual. I took my CVS bag into the bathroom. It wasn't hair dye. It was the test that would change our lives. I stood there looking at the positive result. The joy started at my toes and worked its way right into my heart. It has stayed there ever since. Tears, excitement, more tears. I kept hugging my stomach. A baby. A deep breath. Well guess who is going to get a big surprise? Mr. A was happy the last time I saw him when I passed him on the couch. He was watching sports and laughing with my father. Now mom
, on the other hand, knows what I am up to. She knows one of two things are going to happen- I'll either come out of the bathroom shaking my head or I'll call Mr. A in. Deep breath.
I couldn't see her when I called his name but her happiness filled the air. I told him. We hugged and cried and laughed. A baby. We freak out. "How do we pay for a baby! How do you hold a baby? I've never held one, have you?"
"No."
"Me neither."
Before it can even sink in for Mr. A I know I have to see my mom
. She has wanted grandchildren more than she wanted children. It'll be the biggest gift I ever give her. My Father, how will he react? No time to wonder- we are at the door. We have an announcement, "We are going to have a baby" (See how little I knew, I said "we" instead of "me", he was there, but I had that 8 pound 6 ounce baby.)
My mother
is crying and laughing. My father is shocked, but happy and hugging. Later in the pool I say "I can not believe I am married and pregnant."
My father's response is "Thank God."
We are off the next day to Disney. A wonderful world I'll share with Mr. A. He has not been there since he was a boy. I did not know I was poking awake a beast that could never be satisfied. My favorite memory of this trip is walking into the "Making of Me" that was in Epcot. Martin Short was describing how humans are made. The Kings held hands tightly with eyes as wide as saucers.
**********
"Mom can you open this for me?" My son, he grows every five minutes now. He looks so much like me, but he's much nicer. I ruffle his hair. His head is so huge. (It always has been)
We're almost there. Getting closer. I start getting antsy. I can't hear the adults over the air conditioning and the cartoons. I'm thinking again.
*****Flashback*****
Years after the "Making of me", We made another "me." A sweet, plumpy baby girl with the hugest jewel like green eyes surrounded by thick, long lashes that are usually wasted on boys. She's six months old and Disney is her new playground. As long as her brother is around, she's happy. At her first character meeting, she encounters the nipple chipmunks. After seeing her brother embrace them she's on board. She feels Chip's nose. Dale gets low so he can hold her. She loves him. I go to take her back. Dale won't give her up. I insist. I think if I would have left her to be raised by the Chipmunks she would have loved it.
Little six month old GC is breast feeding. BC breastfed until he was 27 months (I know-ouch
). GC loves it as well. Being a real modest breastfeeder, it was really hard for me to find places to be alone to feed her. We would make it to the baby station as often as possible. Sometimes we were too far. During our lunch at Japan, PS was hungry. I could find no where to feed her in private. I grab Mr. A, give BC to the grandparents and commence looking for "the spot." I don't like people looking at me. BC and GC were always very active feeders so it was hard to stay covered. GC is getting fussy. I am starting to freak out. We head deeper into China (or where ever the frick we are). I see a secluded spot. Behind the huge horse statue with some dude riding it. I head for it. Mr. A is trying to stop me, he,s alarmed. You see there is a rope I have to climb over to get to "the spot." I snap around and tell him to be on lookout. I hunker down behind the angry warrior and feed the screaming chubster. Ahhh. She falls asleep in my arms. My unwilling lookout helps me back over the rope. Annoyed. I crossed a rope. In Disney. What If there were cameras? What if we get kicked out? We were fine. ***********
I still think there should be about 15 baby spots in every park. Looking back on it now I wish I could tell young, modest Mrs. A to just relax and not care. The Jiggler was in her future. Sometimes older, floppier Mrs. A lets the girls hang out of her bathing suit when getting in a pool just to distract people from The Jiggler
. Oh Well.Is that a sign I see? It is a sign! It is Mickey's sign. I can stop thinking (thank you!)
We are on property. My property.
February 7, 2012
Tearing it Down
A million years ago the house was hit with a tree. Today all the paperwork, checks and nonsense had righted itself, culminating in the demolition of my house. This is what it looked like about an hour ago. After I eat lunch I'm going back to take more pictures. I didn't want this job, the documenting. It's important to make sure it is all going well so I've been popping in. I didn't want to see it come down. I knew it would make me cry,which is stupid at this point. We haven't lived there in 5 and 1/2 months. When I hear the word home, I still picture the house whole. I loved its charmingly spastic layout. I felt safe there. We have a bunch of holiday, chock full of memories there. I wrote Poughkeepsie and Crushed Seraphim in that smooshed kitchen.
The people doing the demolition are recycling and donating tons of the interior stuff to Christmas in April (building and repairing homes for needy families) and other places. I wanted to do that, let the house be an organ donor, but I didn't have any ability or access to figure out how to make it happen. But because the demo company also happen to be local, we know them.
The hard work and extra effort to give to charity is all their fault, but still it made me grateful.
This is the beginning of something awesome, I know. Then came the reason I left the site. The crane driver shook his head at me. "You know that house was going to go up in flames next time you lit the woodstove, right?"
No. I didn't know. When he peeled the chimney down, it was built incorrectly. The inside of the wall behind it was charred and warped from the heat. Apparently, when, not if, when the house caught of fire, it would have went right into the roof. When the tree hit we had a very limited time when we could get out the front door. The two others were sealed shut. It was a bitch to get out the front door with the kids, the animals and ourselves in the dark. The door.
In the fire scenario? Those little windows would have been our escape route. They crank open. I've never liked them. Trying to picture safely getting everyone out in the time it takes a fire to spread in a roof? I can't. My brain stops me from getting there. So another blessing. I don't know why on this earth I get lucky enough to have my husband, my gorgeous smart kids. I really don't. But there's not a thing I wouldn't do to keep them safe. So instead of crying from the loss, I'm crying because if the house wasn't being torn down we would have never known about the chimney. Today is a good day. as I stood there watching, I knew I wasn't alone either. My friends from the Internet were holding my hand, I swear it. all the kindness I received really gave me strength. I don't deserve you guys either. Today is a good day.
The people doing the demolition are recycling and donating tons of the interior stuff to Christmas in April (building and repairing homes for needy families) and other places. I wanted to do that, let the house be an organ donor, but I didn't have any ability or access to figure out how to make it happen. But because the demo company also happen to be local, we know them.
The hard work and extra effort to give to charity is all their fault, but still it made me grateful.
This is the beginning of something awesome, I know. Then came the reason I left the site. The crane driver shook his head at me. "You know that house was going to go up in flames next time you lit the woodstove, right?"
No. I didn't know. When he peeled the chimney down, it was built incorrectly. The inside of the wall behind it was charred and warped from the heat. Apparently, when, not if, when the house caught of fire, it would have went right into the roof. When the tree hit we had a very limited time when we could get out the front door. The two others were sealed shut. It was a bitch to get out the front door with the kids, the animals and ourselves in the dark. The door.
In the fire scenario? Those little windows would have been our escape route. They crank open. I've never liked them. Trying to picture safely getting everyone out in the time it takes a fire to spread in a roof? I can't. My brain stops me from getting there. So another blessing. I don't know why on this earth I get lucky enough to have my husband, my gorgeous smart kids. I really don't. But there's not a thing I wouldn't do to keep them safe. So instead of crying from the loss, I'm crying because if the house wasn't being torn down we would have never known about the chimney. Today is a good day. as I stood there watching, I knew I wasn't alone either. My friends from the Internet were holding my hand, I swear it. all the kindness I received really gave me strength. I don't deserve you guys either. Today is a good day.
February 5, 2012
Gìveaway (Int) & Spotlight on Crushed Seraphim: author Debra Anastasia chats with Satan Jack
Gìveaway (Int) & Spotlight on Crushed Seraphim: author Debra Anastasia chats with Satan Jack
Read about how pissed Jack is at me for having him kiss a dude in the sequel to Crushed Seraphim!
Read about how pissed Jack is at me for having him kiss a dude in the sequel to Crushed Seraphim!
February 4, 2012
Tag It Party!
I joined up with an Indie Tag it Party for authors!
Check out more information here:
http://tgunwriter.blogspot.com/2012/01/indie-author-tag-party-blogfest-feb-4.html
Hi Guys! Today I'm in a party that clicks your tags at Amazon for your books. The more certain tags are selected, the higher your book goes in the ranking. You do have to be signed in with Amazon. Did you know you can have a pen name there as well if you are not comfortable having your legal name out there? You can! I just found this out. Where it has "real name verification" click "Choose a pen name instead."
Also, please click "Like" The Facebook button right next to the book titles! If you have read the books, please review as it helps the book as well. Thanks so very much.
I'm going to be clicking and reviewing my ass off today. Below are my two books for party goers. But anyone that does this will get me wiggling my butt around in celebration!
Please tag my favorite for Poughkeepsie:
*Contemporary Romance
*Romantic Suspense*Homelessness*Romance
*Action
Tag Poughkeepsie!
And for Crushed Seraphim:
Please Tag Crushed Seraphim:
*Angels*Paranormal Romance*Romance*Devil
Tag Crushed Seraphim!
I'm off to tag. Thanks again.
Check out more information here:
http://tgunwriter.blogspot.com/2012/01/indie-author-tag-party-blogfest-feb-4.html
Hi Guys! Today I'm in a party that clicks your tags at Amazon for your books. The more certain tags are selected, the higher your book goes in the ranking. You do have to be signed in with Amazon. Did you know you can have a pen name there as well if you are not comfortable having your legal name out there? You can! I just found this out. Where it has "real name verification" click "Choose a pen name instead."Also, please click "Like" The Facebook button right next to the book titles! If you have read the books, please review as it helps the book as well. Thanks so very much.
I'm going to be clicking and reviewing my ass off today. Below are my two books for party goers. But anyone that does this will get me wiggling my butt around in celebration!
Please tag my favorite for Poughkeepsie:
*Contemporary Romance
*Romantic Suspense*Homelessness*Romance
*Action
Tag Poughkeepsie!
And for Crushed Seraphim:
Please Tag Crushed Seraphim:*Angels*Paranormal Romance*Romance*Devil
Tag Crushed Seraphim!
I'm off to tag. Thanks again.
February 3, 2012
Breaking Dawn Twitter Party!
So, I got to thinking that on the day Breaking Dawn comes out on DVD I'll be watching it alone. I wished I could watch it with my online girls. I decided to set a date and time and see if we can all meet up and Twitter watch it!
Here's what to do!
Go to Pinterest.com and make an Account! Then follow me there at Debra Anastasia Here is the link to the party board! http://pinterest.com/debraanastasia/breaking-dawn-dvd-party-9-00pm-est-2-11-12
I will add you as a contributor, just email me your pinterest name and I will hook you up.
Do you need an invite for pinterest? email me at Debra.Anastasia@gmail.com and I will send you one!
Then you pin your things! What? You stuff. Your dress, your date, the car you'll take, your hairstyle, your shoes! Anything you'd like.
On the big day, log onto Twitter (I'm @Debra_Anastasia) at 9:00pm EST and make comments with the hashtag #DawnParty
Questions? Ask me here, on my email or at Twitter.
I have dibs on Mr. Depp.
Here's what to do!
Go to Pinterest.com and make an Account! Then follow me there at Debra Anastasia Here is the link to the party board! http://pinterest.com/debraanastasia/breaking-dawn-dvd-party-9-00pm-est-2-11-12
I will add you as a contributor, just email me your pinterest name and I will hook you up.
Do you need an invite for pinterest? email me at Debra.Anastasia@gmail.com and I will send you one!
Then you pin your things! What? You stuff. Your dress, your date, the car you'll take, your hairstyle, your shoes! Anything you'd like.
On the big day, log onto Twitter (I'm @Debra_Anastasia) at 9:00pm EST and make comments with the hashtag #DawnParty
Questions? Ask me here, on my email or at Twitter.
I have dibs on Mr. Depp.
February 2, 2012
Disney Trip part #2
.
Interviews, food poisoning, my cockroach friend and riding the Maddahorn in Disney world (didn't think there was a Maddahorn in Disney world?? There is!!)
So we check into our Hotel at 10:00 am. I selflessly let Mr. A shower and nap first. He was "the driver" after all. Punching and flicking for hours at a time doesn't exert any energy at all. I feel refreshed, like a day at the spa. I take the kids to the pool (actual kids, actual pool ~ more about my bowels later if you are disappointed about that)
The pool is outdoor, but heated. When we checked the temperature on our way to our room, it seemed like the giant pool was about 101 degrees. I figured my fancy big toe sensor was off a little due to exhaustion (not that I minded skipping a nap, as soon as I borrowed the concierge's stapler and created that "just back from the plastic surgeon I am sooo awake look" I was great. Dandy. Dandilito. Loving it. But that crazy hotel was apparently very happy to lay out $400,000 a day to soak The Jiggler (my butt). It was spa temperature. I thought about an old Oprah show where Dr. Oz said boiling your privates in a hot tub was more dangerous than baring all in Georgia
. Hmm. I think he said you get STD's, pregnant, and a pet monkey . Would that advice translate to a large pool? I am sure I don't care. In we go. It was heaven (sorry Dr. Oz). We soaked, splashed and laughed in the cess pool of germs. After about 6 hours (Mr. A claimed it was 10 minutes) we sloshed up to the room. The kids, our new pet monkeys, and I immediately shower up. I'm pretty sure that hotel soap kills all STD's. I'm more than a little numb and fuzzy at this point. I'm pretty sure we got Oprah pregnant because we went into a pool thinking about Dr. Oz. Make note to see if they are registered in Target so I can send a baby gift
. Tuck the kids into bed and collapse. Really hope they fall asleep…everything goes black. Thank Heavens for room darkening curtains.
Shazzam.
We wake up at 4:30pm. It is so bizarre to sleep that long in the middle of the day. It was like we added an extra day to the vacation. I don't suggest this method though. To confuse our meager brains further we walk across to Cracker Bear (GirlChild used to call Cracker Barrel this so it has been renamed.They just haven't gotten around to switching the signs) to eat breakfast for dinner. Yum. Love Cracker Bear.
You'll find out a lot about me in the upcoming trip report, but nothing is more embarrassing then what I am about to tell you.
I'm a four pegger
. If you hearken back to my Janet Jackson style car wash, you'll remember that I'm a very competitive person. Cracker Bear has a device that has been designed to thwart me. The triangle with the golf tees. I leave four pegs. Sometimes I leave three pegs. Mr. A doesn't do much better. We have two kids egging us on..Big sweet, adoring eyes watching our repeated failures. There must be a trick. I wish I knew it. I wish my mother knew this trick and hoarded it from me for 30 plus years, oh wait…that wish comes true. More on that later. The Anastasias are full on breakfast. Time to go to bed.
Next up is my visit to my Grandfather's house. My Grandfather is amazing
. At 88 years old, he will have you laughing so hard you'll wet your pants and your cheeks will hurt for hours. Besides enjoying a visit with my Grandfather and his third wife (an amazing lady we love from the top of her beautiful head to her sweet toes!) I had an ulterior motive. I wanted interview him on camera. I wanted to ask about his life, parents and brothers. I wanted his laughter, smile, and humor on video. At Christmas time 
we put on a Holiday Show on Christmas Eve. The kids put on skits
, we sing Christmas carols, and most importantly, interview all members attending the Holiday. I had to twist some arms to get this tradition started, but I'm so glad I did. We love to watch the show every year. I wanted to have my Grandpa and his wife in the show, so that was my excuse to get them on camera. I was rewarded with a video that gets tears rolling down my face. It's beautiful. My grandfather being himself saying he would give his left "lug nut" for a Manhattan, seeing my daughter sit in his lap and sing in her sweet voice to him. My son and grandfather talking shop about cars -- their matching passion. I'd drive 17 hours straight again today to see him. (well, make Mr. A drive while I co-pilot)
Next up we storm a brand new castle…Visiting my parents.
Little parent back story. They moved to Florida about 9 years ago. My mother is the queen of "hooking her kids up" with the good stuff. Whatever we dream, my parents have always worked their tails off to try to get it for us
. So Disney came into their picture and ours. Both parents signed up to work at Disney, at one point working seven days a week between Universal and Disney. Character greeters, toll booth collectors, driving busses and boats
. How do you thank you parents for this devotion? The Anastasias get addicted to The World and use every free ticket they get.
They have since changed their status to "seasonal" and made their schedule more manageable. They have also just moved to a new place. On Thursday. We're arriving on Sunday. Nothing says welcome to your new home like the tornado that is my family for a week long visit. We walk in to many hugs and laughs. And a house that looks like they have lived in it for four years. They had been working non -stop to set up the house for us. The house had been vacant for a while before they moved in. 300 plus days to be exact. In those 300 days some other things were setting up their home too. The Jiggler is might be doomed
.
As we normally do, The King and I (haha) dump our kids and try and get some quality time. My romantic husband is going to take me on a date. Dinner and a movie. Awww. How wonderful. So he takes me to the mall food court for dinner . Weird Food court with few name brand stores. Walking past the Chinese food stall, we are tempted by the chicken on a toothpick.
"Yum," says Mr. A.
"Yum," says Mrs. A.
We order our dinner from the Illustrious Farting Dragon 
(or whatever it was called). Without the toothpick delivery system the gelatinous chicken was much less appealing. Mrs. A refrains from the chicken and Mr. A dives in like the man he is. We toast our plastic cups and get giddy about going "Home" the next day. You see the castle is mine; I just let others borrow it most of the time. We say see you later to The Puking Dragon. Little does The Jiggler know that by avoiding the chicken it has saved itself a horrible fate. Poor Mr. A. We go off to where I eat my favorite dinner of popcorn, Rasinets and a wheelbarrow full of Coke. We have a great time and head to my parents. Tuck the happy kids in bed *whisper, "tomorrow we are going to Mickey's house"* And snuggle into bed.
"Did you hear that?" Mrs A says to her love. "It sounded like a gurgle followed by a little scream."
Mr. A thinks it might be his tummy. Mrs. A goes to bed dreaming of Mickey head crocs and Character Connection in Epcot .
Here is Mr. A's story, told by me in his deeper voice (except when he screams like a girl )
Well, I'd eaten the foolhardy chicken that my wise wife avoided. I don't care if it was the consistency of jello and had more hard parts then a boneless chicken should ever have. I ate it. It was dinner. A nice romantic dinner for my hard-punching wife. She loves shopping. I took her to the mall. She loves the mall. Why is she complaining? Woman are so confusing. I think I'll go throw a wet towel on the bed, there now I feel better (insert girlie scream ).
After my stomach realized that eating at the Regurgitated Lizard was a bad choice , I had to be in and out of the bathroom a lot. My wife slept like an angel throughout . She never snores or drools. I had time between the stomach spasms to admire her beauty and grace
. I'm a lucky man. Hour after hour, magazine after magazine, the chicken is still having it's way with me. Mrs. A wakes up to tinkle. She spots a cockroach and I beat my chest and kill it for her. She smiles, wishes my stomach well, and takes the unbitten Jiggler off to bed. Is that birds I hear? Did she just fart pixie dust that smells like roses?
She's amazing.
Oh no. The chicken is knocking to get out again
. Mr A sits down. Ouch. Hmm I sat down wrong. So tired after all the awakness. Sit down, Ouch! (Large Girlie Scream ) Jump up, there's the culprit! Not the chicken trying to get in the way it came out... but a cockroach. He was biting my butt. He's now doing the backstroke. I flush him. Now I have to resume my illness not knowing where this bug came from. Did he crawl out of the toilet? Will he bring his friends next time?
Stomach and chicken still wrestling…Must sit down again. The stress, the anticipation. It is like an evil Fear Factor involving butts.
End of Mr. A's story as told by Mrs. A (I'm sure that he will agree that is exactly how it happened
)
We wake up in the morning and laugh at Mr. A's misfortune because that is how we roll. My mother informs us that the bug is not a cockroach, but a "palmetto bug." Did you ever notice how Floridians rename common things to make them more spectacular? Like the good ol' screened in porch, in Florida it magically becomes a Lanai. Well isn't that fancy. "I just spotted a cute palmetto bug on the lanai." When I retire to Florida I'm renaming "The Jiggler." It will be known as "The General." I hope The General never gets bitten by a palmetto bug on the lanai.
Today's the day. Sure some holes are redder than others, but nothing stops The Anastasias. Not even all night rides on The Maddahorn. That's right, we call the toilet the Maddahorn when we're in Disney. It's our code word. We're very tricky. Mr. A had a fast pass to The Maddahorn, but we'll plunge forward with our one day visit.
Next up..Crowds, magic, and almond failure…
Interviews, food poisoning, my cockroach friend and riding the Maddahorn in Disney world (didn't think there was a Maddahorn in Disney world?? There is!!)
So we check into our Hotel at 10:00 am. I selflessly let Mr. A shower and nap first. He was "the driver" after all. Punching and flicking for hours at a time doesn't exert any energy at all. I feel refreshed, like a day at the spa. I take the kids to the pool (actual kids, actual pool ~ more about my bowels later if you are disappointed about that)
The pool is outdoor, but heated. When we checked the temperature on our way to our room, it seemed like the giant pool was about 101 degrees. I figured my fancy big toe sensor was off a little due to exhaustion (not that I minded skipping a nap, as soon as I borrowed the concierge's stapler and created that "just back from the plastic surgeon I am sooo awake look" I was great. Dandy. Dandilito. Loving it. But that crazy hotel was apparently very happy to lay out $400,000 a day to soak The Jiggler (my butt). It was spa temperature. I thought about an old Oprah show where Dr. Oz said boiling your privates in a hot tub was more dangerous than baring all in Georgia
. Hmm. I think he said you get STD's, pregnant, and a pet monkey . Would that advice translate to a large pool? I am sure I don't care. In we go. It was heaven (sorry Dr. Oz). We soaked, splashed and laughed in the cess pool of germs. After about 6 hours (Mr. A claimed it was 10 minutes) we sloshed up to the room. The kids, our new pet monkeys, and I immediately shower up. I'm pretty sure that hotel soap kills all STD's. I'm more than a little numb and fuzzy at this point. I'm pretty sure we got Oprah pregnant because we went into a pool thinking about Dr. Oz. Make note to see if they are registered in Target so I can send a baby gift . Tuck the kids into bed and collapse. Really hope they fall asleep…everything goes black. Thank Heavens for room darkening curtains. Shazzam.
We wake up at 4:30pm. It is so bizarre to sleep that long in the middle of the day. It was like we added an extra day to the vacation. I don't suggest this method though. To confuse our meager brains further we walk across to Cracker Bear (GirlChild used to call Cracker Barrel this so it has been renamed.They just haven't gotten around to switching the signs) to eat breakfast for dinner. Yum. Love Cracker Bear.
You'll find out a lot about me in the upcoming trip report, but nothing is more embarrassing then what I am about to tell you.
I'm a four pegger
. If you hearken back to my Janet Jackson style car wash, you'll remember that I'm a very competitive person. Cracker Bear has a device that has been designed to thwart me. The triangle with the golf tees. I leave four pegs. Sometimes I leave three pegs. Mr. A doesn't do much better. We have two kids egging us on..Big sweet, adoring eyes watching our repeated failures. There must be a trick. I wish I knew it. I wish my mother knew this trick and hoarded it from me for 30 plus years, oh wait…that wish comes true. More on that later. The Anastasias are full on breakfast. Time to go to bed.Next up is my visit to my Grandfather's house. My Grandfather is amazing
. At 88 years old, he will have you laughing so hard you'll wet your pants and your cheeks will hurt for hours. Besides enjoying a visit with my Grandfather and his third wife (an amazing lady we love from the top of her beautiful head to her sweet toes!) I had an ulterior motive. I wanted interview him on camera. I wanted to ask about his life, parents and brothers. I wanted his laughter, smile, and humor on video. At Christmas time we put on a Holiday Show on Christmas Eve. The kids put on skits , we sing Christmas carols, and most importantly, interview all members attending the Holiday. I had to twist some arms to get this tradition started, but I'm so glad I did. We love to watch the show every year. I wanted to have my Grandpa and his wife in the show, so that was my excuse to get them on camera. I was rewarded with a video that gets tears rolling down my face. It's beautiful. My grandfather being himself saying he would give his left "lug nut" for a Manhattan, seeing my daughter sit in his lap and sing in her sweet voice to him. My son and grandfather talking shop about cars -- their matching passion. I'd drive 17 hours straight again today to see him. (well, make Mr. A drive while I co-pilot) Next up we storm a brand new castle…Visiting my parents.
Little parent back story. They moved to Florida about 9 years ago. My mother is the queen of "hooking her kids up" with the good stuff. Whatever we dream, my parents have always worked their tails off to try to get it for us
. So Disney came into their picture and ours. Both parents signed up to work at Disney, at one point working seven days a week between Universal and Disney. Character greeters, toll booth collectors, driving busses and boats . How do you thank you parents for this devotion? The Anastasias get addicted to The World and use every free ticket they get. They have since changed their status to "seasonal" and made their schedule more manageable. They have also just moved to a new place. On Thursday. We're arriving on Sunday. Nothing says welcome to your new home like the tornado that is my family for a week long visit. We walk in to many hugs and laughs. And a house that looks like they have lived in it for four years. They had been working non -stop to set up the house for us. The house had been vacant for a while before they moved in. 300 plus days to be exact. In those 300 days some other things were setting up their home too. The Jiggler is might be doomed
.As we normally do, The King and I (haha) dump our kids and try and get some quality time. My romantic husband is going to take me on a date. Dinner and a movie. Awww. How wonderful. So he takes me to the mall food court for dinner
. Weird Food court with few name brand stores. Walking past the Chinese food stall, we are tempted by the chicken on a toothpick."Yum," says Mr. A.
"Yum," says Mrs. A.
We order our dinner from the Illustrious Farting Dragon (or whatever it was called). Without the toothpick delivery system the gelatinous chicken was much less appealing. Mrs. A refrains from the chicken and Mr. A dives in like the man he is. We toast our plastic cups and get giddy about going "Home" the next day. You see the castle is mine; I just let others borrow it most of the time. We say see you later to The Puking Dragon. Little does The Jiggler know that by avoiding the chicken it has saved itself a horrible fate. Poor Mr. A. We go off to where I eat my favorite dinner of popcorn, Rasinets and a wheelbarrow full of Coke. We have a great time and head to my parents. Tuck the happy kids in bed *whisper, "tomorrow we are going to Mickey's house"* And snuggle into bed."Did you hear that?" Mrs A says to her love. "It sounded like a gurgle followed by a little scream."
Mr. A thinks it might be his tummy. Mrs. A goes to bed dreaming of Mickey head crocs and Character Connection in Epcot
. Here is Mr. A's story, told by me in his deeper voice (except when he screams like a girl
)Well, I'd eaten the foolhardy chicken that my wise wife avoided. I don't care if it was the consistency of jello and had more hard parts then a boneless chicken should ever have. I ate it. It was dinner. A nice romantic dinner for my hard-punching wife. She loves shopping. I took her to the mall. She loves the mall. Why is she complaining? Woman are so confusing. I think I'll go throw a wet towel on the bed, there now I feel better (insert girlie scream
).After my stomach realized that eating at the Regurgitated Lizard was a bad choice
, I had to be in and out of the bathroom a lot. My wife slept like an angel throughout . She never snores or drools. I had time between the stomach spasms to admire her beauty and grace . I'm a lucky man. Hour after hour, magazine after magazine, the chicken is still having it's way with me. Mrs. A wakes up to tinkle. She spots a cockroach and I beat my chest and kill it for her. She smiles, wishes my stomach well, and takes the unbitten Jiggler off to bed. Is that birds I hear? Did she just fart pixie dust that smells like roses? She's amazing.Oh no. The chicken is knocking to get out again
. Mr A sits down. Ouch. Hmm I sat down wrong. So tired after all the awakness. Sit down, Ouch! (Large Girlie Scream ) Jump up, there's the culprit! Not the chicken trying to get in the way it came out... but a cockroach. He was biting my butt. He's now doing the backstroke. I flush him. Now I have to resume my illness not knowing where this bug came from. Did he crawl out of the toilet? Will he bring his friends next time? Stomach and chicken still wrestling…Must sit down again. The stress, the anticipation. It is like an evil Fear Factor involving butts.End of Mr. A's story as told by Mrs. A (I'm sure that he will agree that is exactly how it happened
)We wake up in the morning and laugh at Mr. A's misfortune because that is how we roll. My mother informs us that the bug is not a cockroach, but a "palmetto bug." Did you ever notice how Floridians rename common things to make them more spectacular? Like the good ol' screened in porch, in Florida it magically becomes a Lanai. Well isn't that fancy. "I just spotted a cute palmetto bug on the lanai." When I retire to Florida I'm renaming "The Jiggler." It will be known as "The General." I hope The General never gets bitten by a palmetto bug on the lanai.
Today's the day. Sure some holes are redder than others, but nothing stops The Anastasias. Not even all night rides on The Maddahorn. That's right, we call the toilet the Maddahorn when we're in Disney. It's our code word. We're very tricky. Mr. A had a fast pass to The Maddahorn, but we'll plunge forward with our one day visit.
Next up..Crowds, magic, and almond failure…
January 29, 2012
Blake's Cardboard Piano Stop Two
Hey Guys!
Blake's Cardboard Piano had another amazing stop! Jillian *just* got her Poughkeepsie tattoo on her ACTUAL body! I think this really seals the deal, I'm going to have to get one too.
I think Nise and the girls started a great tradition of a letter to Blake, and Jillian continued it as well. So check out her gorgeous letter and matching pictures! Would you like to join? I'd LOVE to have you along, email me at debra.anastasia@gmail.com for more information.
Dear Blake,
I was beyond excited, and totally teary eyed, to receive your piano in the mail today! It came on the same day I went for my Poughkeepsie tattoo… what an amazing Poughkeepsie filled weekend!
I live in Ambler, PA, a suburb of Philadelphia. I took your piano to all of the places I pictured in my mind when I was reading your story.
My first stop was St. Mary's Villa for Children and Families. The Villa was originally an orphanage for boys. It was run by the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth and moved to the location in Ambler in 1936. Their mission is to empower children and families to lead responsible lives and develop healthy relationships built on faith, hope and love. In the latter half of the century, the children under St. Mary's care required more specialized services. Many were abused, abandoned or needed extra supervision and attention in school and in their residences. Social work services and appropriate therapies continue to be offered to the children placed in the agency's care. Today, St. Mary's Villa for Children and Families is recognized as a preeminent provider of services for abused and neglected children in the greater Philadelphia area. I can't help but have a new appreciation for the spot I have driven by numerous times and had never given a passing glance.
The second spot was the Ambler train station. Years of renovation to the station have recently been completed and it made a fantastic backdrop for the piano!
Lastly, I took the piano to a little restaurant and café across the street from the train station, called Trax Café. This is a quiet little place that I could picture you playing piano in at night or sipping coffee sitting at one of the café tables outside in the sun during the day.
I want to thank you so very much for giving me an amazing opportunity to spend time with your piano. I have truly enjoyed making some great memories with it around my town!
Xoxoxo
Jillian
Thanks so much Jillian for making stop number two so fantastic!
Blake's Cardboard Piano had another amazing stop! Jillian *just* got her Poughkeepsie tattoo on her ACTUAL body! I think this really seals the deal, I'm going to have to get one too.
I think Nise and the girls started a great tradition of a letter to Blake, and Jillian continued it as well. So check out her gorgeous letter and matching pictures! Would you like to join? I'd LOVE to have you along, email me at debra.anastasia@gmail.com for more information.
Dear Blake,
I was beyond excited, and totally teary eyed, to receive your piano in the mail today! It came on the same day I went for my Poughkeepsie tattoo… what an amazing Poughkeepsie filled weekend!
I live in Ambler, PA, a suburb of Philadelphia. I took your piano to all of the places I pictured in my mind when I was reading your story.
My first stop was St. Mary's Villa for Children and Families. The Villa was originally an orphanage for boys. It was run by the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth and moved to the location in Ambler in 1936. Their mission is to empower children and families to lead responsible lives and develop healthy relationships built on faith, hope and love. In the latter half of the century, the children under St. Mary's care required more specialized services. Many were abused, abandoned or needed extra supervision and attention in school and in their residences. Social work services and appropriate therapies continue to be offered to the children placed in the agency's care. Today, St. Mary's Villa for Children and Families is recognized as a preeminent provider of services for abused and neglected children in the greater Philadelphia area. I can't help but have a new appreciation for the spot I have driven by numerous times and had never given a passing glance.
The second spot was the Ambler train station. Years of renovation to the station have recently been completed and it made a fantastic backdrop for the piano!
Lastly, I took the piano to a little restaurant and café across the street from the train station, called Trax Café. This is a quiet little place that I could picture you playing piano in at night or sipping coffee sitting at one of the café tables outside in the sun during the day.
I want to thank you so very much for giving me an amazing opportunity to spend time with your piano. I have truly enjoyed making some great memories with it around my town!
Xoxoxo
Jillian
Thanks so much Jillian for making stop number two so fantastic!
January 26, 2012
Blake's Cardboard Piano Stop One
Okay. I'm so freaking excited about the tour of Blake's Cardboard piano! I had every reason to be. Its first stop was a smashing, creative success. My sweet readers 'nise, Alicia, and Patti took it for a spin. These friends of mine also got the actual Poughkeepsie tattoo ON THEIR BODIES! So seeing the piano with three real tats blew my little mind.
They included a note to Blake so I will let them have at it below. Just a reminder that I will also be cataloging the stops here http://cardboardpiano.blogspot.com/ It will go International, so feel free to become a stop, email me at debra.anastasia@gmail.com for more information.
Take it away Ladies....
Dearest Blake,
It was an honor to provide shelter and respite for your beloved piano during the first stop of its tour.
We live just outside Williamsport, PA, so we took the piano to visit some of our favorite places.
First stop was the Carl Stotz Little League Memorial. The memorial commemorates the site of the very first Little League Baseball game on June 6, 1939. Hopefully, the close-up of the plaque is legible for you. It explains the history so much more eloquently than I ever could. Williamsport is the birthplace of Little League. Little League is all about fostering brotherhood, and we thought it was fitting to include this in your piano tour.
Our second stop was the Michael Pilato mural in Williamsport, Michael is renowned for his incredible murals, and if you go to his website, you can get a better idea of what ours looks like. We took a picture of your piano under the Little League portion of the memorial. The man in the TV set above the Lycoming Little League players is Carl Stotz. As you can tell by the website, our mural is HUGE and would have eclipsed your piano, it was a little overwhelming, but we felt the section we chose best commemorated Williamsport.
Our final stop was at Christ Episcopal Church. Deb liked the picture of the cross we sent her a few months ago, so we returned with your piano. I could almost hear the strains of Ava Maria coming from the organ inside. Incidentally, John Henry Hopkins, Jr, rector of the church in the late 1800's wrote the Christmas Carol "We Three Kings" during his time in NYC in 1857 for a holiday pageant.
Patti, Alicia and I have included several pics of our 'Pough Sisters' tattoo, and a picture of some Pough memorabilia Miss Deb sent us with our books.
We were honored that you would entrust something as special as your piano to our care. Thanks again. I can't wait to see where the piano ends up traveling to.
Blessings,
~nise, Patti, Alicia
Thanks ladies! I'm so honored to have you as readers and friends. You rock. <3 Debra
They included a note to Blake so I will let them have at it below. Just a reminder that I will also be cataloging the stops here http://cardboardpiano.blogspot.com/ It will go International, so feel free to become a stop, email me at debra.anastasia@gmail.com for more information.
Take it away Ladies....
Dearest Blake,
It was an honor to provide shelter and respite for your beloved piano during the first stop of its tour.
We live just outside Williamsport, PA, so we took the piano to visit some of our favorite places.
First stop was the Carl Stotz Little League Memorial. The memorial commemorates the site of the very first Little League Baseball game on June 6, 1939. Hopefully, the close-up of the plaque is legible for you. It explains the history so much more eloquently than I ever could. Williamsport is the birthplace of Little League. Little League is all about fostering brotherhood, and we thought it was fitting to include this in your piano tour.
Our second stop was the Michael Pilato mural in Williamsport, Michael is renowned for his incredible murals, and if you go to his website, you can get a better idea of what ours looks like. We took a picture of your piano under the Little League portion of the memorial. The man in the TV set above the Lycoming Little League players is Carl Stotz. As you can tell by the website, our mural is HUGE and would have eclipsed your piano, it was a little overwhelming, but we felt the section we chose best commemorated Williamsport.
Our final stop was at Christ Episcopal Church. Deb liked the picture of the cross we sent her a few months ago, so we returned with your piano. I could almost hear the strains of Ava Maria coming from the organ inside. Incidentally, John Henry Hopkins, Jr, rector of the church in the late 1800's wrote the Christmas Carol "We Three Kings" during his time in NYC in 1857 for a holiday pageant.
Patti, Alicia and I have included several pics of our 'Pough Sisters' tattoo, and a picture of some Pough memorabilia Miss Deb sent us with our books.
We were honored that you would entrust something as special as your piano to our care. Thanks again. I can't wait to see where the piano ends up traveling to.
Blessings,
~nise, Patti, Alicia
Thanks ladies! I'm so honored to have you as readers and friends. You rock. <3 Debra
January 25, 2012
Valentine's Blog Hop!
I'll be participating in a blog hop for Valentine's with prizes! It will be from Feb. 1st to the 14th. This post will hold my place!~Debra
More Information... among the prizes will be a $75 gift card and a pedant!
January 22, 2012
Crushed Seraphim Outtake
Rum on Her Lips
Kiki was driving and crying. Crying and driving. Her hands were shaking as she tried to control her sobs. Her father would have told her to pull over. Her mother would have told her that the bastard wasn't worth the tissues she was using to blow her nose.
Three years!
She had wasted three years. This was prime time to get a husband.
Hell, that's how it was supposed to be, go to college, meet your man, marry him, and stay that way for forty plus years. Just like Mom and Dad.
She was nineteen when she had met Zack. He was her first real boyfriend. All those college years with his name and her name engraved on her heart-shaped mirror keychain, she turned down invitations to join friends at parties. Friday nights were spent on her stair stepper and doing crunches on the floor of her bedroom. Never mind that she had bought the keychain for herself. Never mind that he had sneered at it like it was a dog load when she shyly showed him her purchase.
She continued to call him her boyfriend with big, stupid doe eyes. She was heartbroken when he chose to transfer to a college in North Carolina. He never shed a tear. He never held her hand, but he was her identity. Whenever she carried her keys, Kiki knew she belonged to someone.
The phone call that had rocked her to her core was brief. Zack did sound genuinely regretful as he told her that he had found someone else. She even tearfully, desperately asked about the option of "friends with benefits." Zack mulled it over for a few beats before he agreed, that if the new girlfriend didn't work out, he might possibly sleep with her again.
Kiki had waited to sob between exits ten and eleven on the interstate. The sounds of her loneliness shook the inside of her car. She was crying so forcefully, she wound up just letting her mouth hang open so she could maintain her ear-splitting volume. Passengers in the cars that sailed past hers turned in their seats to stare at the silent (for them), screaming spectacle, Kiki looked like a horror movie on mute.
Her cell phone beeped with an incoming text message. It was from Zack! He changed his mind; she was sure of it! She blinked her tears away so she could focus on the font.
Hey babe, dumped the whiner, want Outback 4 dinner?
She tried to twist the words to make sense. They refused to bend into a phrase that made her important again.
Who was the whiner?
Almost immediately there was another text:
Sorry about that text. Was meant 4 someone else. Later.
Kiki tossed the phone across the car like it was a poisonous spider. The tears and guttural sobs ratcheted up a notch.
She tried to put her agony into words.
"Heee Waaanntss Outtbackk wiiith herrr!" She got violent hiccups, bringing her as close to puking as a person could get without actually vomiting. It could have been the speed, the fact that it was rush hour, or the way she let the grief loosen her hands on the steering wheel, but Kiki rubbed her car's front bumper against the sixteen-wheeler barreling down the highway in the next lane. She didn't have enough leverage on the wheel to try and right her wrongs.
The twisting of metal was the most awful of sounds, followed in a close second by that of screeching tires. The tires seemed to be begging for their lives. At the point when her Camry was launched off of the exit ramp, her system became confused. Because for all the horrible Twister her car had just played on the highway, she was still okay. Kiki was still okay when the sound stopped and the car was mid-air. The hang time was forever, and she knew she was going down and soon. The second the car hung she pictured her loved ones. Twenty-two was too soon to die. Twenty-two had seemed too old to be without a boyfriend mere seconds ago. Twenty-two years was all she was going to get. Gravity demanded its due, and Kiki's stomach turned into an oily snake in her belly.
She was quiet as the inevitable came. She had cried so hard over Zack, and now, she had only silence to offer for her own demise. She gritted her teeth and waited for the worst pain of her life. The accident didn't disappoint. The impact was a meteor hitting the earth. Her brain was reptilian as it noted the water collapsing her windows. The car had landed in the icy cold river she had crossed over every day to school on a plain bridge. This stretch of road had never called to her. It had never warned her that it would be the last sight she would ever behold. Her last thought was pathetic, even in her final gasp of breath.
Zack's going to feel awful guilty about this accident.
Pain became her only sense and time stopped. There was only black and she was done.
It was over. She was over.
Kiki still had awareness, though she wasn't quite sure she had a body anymore. The next drop was more vicious than the last. She wished she could see, but she could only feel. Her soul took what seemed like the first drop on a roller coaster for an endless amount of time. She could see no bottom. She the felt the fear that should accompany a fall catch up with her and hit her in the chest.
And all it once it stopped. She looked down, and despite the trauma, what seemed like her body was intact, unscathed. She was wearing a hospital gown with a dizzying pattern that was meant to be generic. The breeze hit her bottom, and she reached behind her to cover her nudity.
She was in a cement hallway and her naked feet were cold. Behind her there was a great void. Nothingness, blackness. A utilitarian metal door creaked open, and a soft, red light beckoned her like a welcome mat. She inched forward, looking behind her. She heard a loud machine kick into gear and it spooked her. Kiki took off running as fast as she could while holding the gown together. She shimmied through the door and stopped short. The room was filled with a heady smoke. The dim lights set a romantic mood. The huge door she had scurried through slammed shut, blowing her gown up so she was forced to hold it down like an awkward Marilyn Monroe.
"Welcome, Kiki. I've been waiting for you." The voice sounded sexy and lazy.
She tried to be very quiet, hiding amongst the smoke. She could not find the man the voice belonged to.
"Um. I can see you." His voice revealed his smile without Kiki seeing his mouth.
She heard the distinct noise of someone getting out of a chair, the wooden legs scrapping along the cement floor. Kiki decided to crouch; going fetal was her body's only defense at this point. The steady cadence of footfall became the most dominant thing in the room.
"I can still see you, even when you've made yourself into a tiny ball." He sounded amused.
The smoke parted like a curtain, and she got her first glimpse at her predator. He was gorgeous. He had long, brown hair and high cheekbones. His sharp jaw line demanded that attention be paid to his kissable lips. His perfectly distressed jeans and white t-shirt made her feel even more undressed in her wimpy excuse for clothes. He was carrying a glass of red wine like a professional.
"Princess, can I help you off the floor?" He held out a hand to her.
She stayed in her ball and looked at his hand like it might bite her. "Where the hell am I?"
He dropped his hand and swirled his wine. "Right answer on the first guess. Aren't you a peach?" He tilted the wine towards his mouth. Kiki couldn't have been thirstier. Her throat felt like brittle sandpaper. She tried to swallow.
"I'm confused. I was in my car, and then I was in an…accident. This makes no sense. I thought I was going to die." She hugged her knees harder.
He frowned at his empty glass and put his gaze back on her face. His deep, brown eyes were sensual. He nodded an assent and then shrugged. He crouched down so he was at her eye level.
"You did die. This is… how should we put it?" He tapped his finger on his mouth. Kiki found his every movement compelling, smooth.
He smiled showing her his ridiculously white teeth. "Well, gorgeous, this is Hell. And I'm Satan. I'll be your host for eternity."
Kiki looked at him for a long, hard time. He kept his serene, confident demeanor. He set the empty wine glass on the floor.
When she figured out he was most likely telling the truth, she was furious. She stood and abandoned her effort to keep her bum covered.
She held a shaking, pointing finger at him, "Oh no you don't."
He raised an eyebrow and stood as well, stepping closer to her as she wound herself into a tizzy.
"That would be absolute bullshit. I went to church every Sunday! Every Sunday! Father Brennean was so boring; I had to listen to my digestive system, because it was more interesting than his sermons." She put her hands on her hips.
Satan shook his head and reached into the haze that surrounded the two of them like a cloak. He plucked out a cigarette and a lighter.
"Would you care for a smoke? I roll them myself." He put it to his lips and took a long, slow drag. He exhaled the smoke into a ring that formed a heart. It floated right in front of Kiki's face.
She slapped at the smoke like it was his face. Satan chuckled.
Kiki narrowed her eyes. "You can take your hand-rolled nonsense and shove it up your ass. I'm not going to Hell. I'm not." She tried to gather the back of her gown with as much dignity as she could muster and stomped over to the door. When she yanked on the handle, it refused to move. She spun to glare at him.
He gave her a sarcastic salute. "That's going to be locked, because we're in Hell. You and I?" He pointed from his chest to hers. "In Hell."
"No! Okay, enough playing around, Mr. Smoky the Bear. Seriously. Let me out." She was slipping from angry to scared like her sanity was sliding through an hourglass.
"Princess, I'm not lying to you. I won't lie. That you can count on." He reached down and picked a bottle of rum up from the floor. He watched her as he took a swig.
Kiki's tears were not the same ones she had shed in the car. These tears were from a deeper place, a younger place. She thought of her parents, who loved her with everything they had. What if they knew their little girl was in Hell?
I'm so, so sorry. What did I do that was so bad?
Satan put his bottle down, the cement protested the glass with a harsh noise. The more time she spent in the room with him, the clearer things were becoming. The room was vast and littered with dozens and dozens of empty alcohol bottles.
He took a drag of his cigarette as he walked slowly towards her. "Oh, crap. Don't cry; I hate that."
She looked away from him. The one way to make her cry harder was to tell her to stop. The tears were falling faster, and she started to sniffle. He was toe to toe with her soon. She looked down at his billion-year-old motorcycle boots. Satan tucked a handkerchief into her angry fist. She took it reluctantly and dabbed at her tears. Kiki didn't want to look in his eyes this close. But when he didn't move a fraction, she gave into temptation and locked her gaze with his. He was so, so sensual. The walloping sex appeal he had hit her between her legs.
He bit his lip. He knew the effect he was having on her, and he liked it. "There, there. See? I knew you could stop crying."
His lips moving were pure, hot-baked evil. Kiki held his handkerchief and twisted it in her two hands. Trying to avoid him was impossible; he was so there, so vivid. Satan tossed his cigarette in the direction of the floor, but it disappeared in the hazy smoke before it hit.
"I don't want to go to Hell. And you don't seem scary enough to be the devil." She said it quietly, like she was convincing herself the monster under her childhood bed was fake. His smile was deliberate. He reached out a hand and put his fingertip on her thigh, just above her knee.
He leaned in so he was just a breath away from her lips. "I might be exactly what you're afraid of."
Her heart pounded wildly, her instincts sensing the danger that her head refused to acknowledge. The door was locked. It was just her and him in this crazy, smoky room. She felt herself start to shake involuntarily.
He took a step back, giving her space. "Come, let's drink wine and talk." He was a few paces away when he put up a finger signaling that he had an idea. "I bet you hate that get up?"
She nodded skeptically. He motioned with his hand, and she felt the change instantly. She looked down to find herself in the black, thigh-high boots, bootie shorts, and a corset.
She tugged at the tight-fitting clothes. "I was thinking maybe a robe? Or yoga pants?"
He ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it as to be more alluring. "I wanted your beauty framed in leather. Can you blame me?"
He turned and picked a path through the bottles that he obviously knew very well. Despite trying to copy his steps she managed to knock over a few bottles. An almost-full Cabernet upended when the toe of her ridiculous boot hit it. The deep red wine stain flowed so freely, she was mesmerized by it.
Her brain snapped for a moment and catapulted her into the back of an ambulance. Kiki was above her lifeless, bruised body. She could barely see past the EMTs pounding away at her, interspersed with shocking her bare chest with paddles. The same color red as the wine was seeping through the white blankets wrapped around her middle. Her body was bleeding to death.
Kiki felt a hot hand hold hers tenderly. Blinking, she was returned to the smoky room. The devil was on one knee, peering up at her with a smile. She felt a bit dizzy, and the tall heels on the boots set her to swaying.
He stood quickly and pulled her into a tight hug. "Went back for a bit, didn't you?"
She let his face come into focus. "I'm dead. They're trying so hard. There's so much blood."
"You know what time it is?" He walked with her a little farther and helped her sit in a large, velvet couch.
She expected a lecture on the in-between, the way she seemed to be in two places at once. She received nothing of the sort.
Satan grabbed another bottle of rum from the floor, "Time to drink, Pretty Child."
She knew this was all absurd. Kiki also had a soaring hope that this might be a dream. She took the glass he offered her and drank deeply. The rum tasted disgusting, but her throat was so dry, she couldn't help herself. He poured a glass for himself as well and ran a finger over the rim.
"I bet you had fun in college; you drink like a sailor." He eyed her empty glass as she took the rum out of his hands. After a shrug, she took a deep swallow from the bottle itself. He began laughing outright.
"What're we going to talk about?" Her mind was blurry. She knew she was stupid for taking anything from him, but now Kiki's tongue felt loose and honest.
He reached up and clenched one of her long, brown curls, "Why you're here, of course."
She looked at his skilled fingers and imagined them in other places on her. Kiki sighed out loud before she caught herself and covered her mouth.
He moved her hands from her lips, "It's okay; I know I'm irresistible. You'll melt in my mouth and my hands."
Satan was looking at her like she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. It was addicting and an experience she had never had with Zack. An old conversation came back from the dead to run over her self-esteem again.
"Don't you think I'm pretty? At least a little?" Kiki had waited on edge for Zack's answer.
Zack rolled his eyes, "Well, I mean you're not model good-looking. But you're cute, most of the time."
She felt herself blush under this Satan's ardor.
Maybe it's the rum. Maybe it's being dead, but this feels freaking great.
"Tell me, Kiki, why do you think you're in Hell?" His gaze went from her eyes to her lips and back again.
She took a cue from him and swirled the alcohol in the bottle, "I haven't a clue. I've been honest and loyal and good. You wanna know something? I took a test in religion class on the Decalogue in tenth grade, and I was wearing my Ten Commandants charm bracelet, and I didn't even cheat."
She was getting a buzz; her words were a little slower coming out of her mouth than they were forming in her head. He trailed a finger from her hand to the inside her elbow and across her shoulders, finally resting his hand on her throat.
He looked fascinated by her little tale. "Who wears a Ten Commandants bracelet anyway? Quite the little fashion maven, huh?"
He was teasing her while smiling into her eyes. She wanted to kiss him. His lips looked like they would treat her so nicely. But Zack hadn't been a fan of kissing and avoided doing it with her as often as he could. She had blamed herself, of course, for not being kissable enough.
"You're very desirable. He's a fool; did you never know that?" He leaned in slowly and gave her a chance to back away. She didn't take it. She should have been alarmed that he knew what she was thinking, but she wasn't.
He touched his lips to hers, and his tasted so good. Satan put chocolate to shame. Kiki brazenly and hungrily kissed him back. He changed his grip so he was holding her close to him.
She put her hand on his chest. So intent in her pleasure, it took a while for her to notice the lack of the familiar thudding. He had no heartbeat.
He's not alive.
Satan ended their kiss and put a hand over hers. "No, princess. It's been so long, I feel like I was never alive at all. I'm a monster, but kissing you feels a little like breathing. Fresh. Important." He lifted her hand and opened it, so he could kiss her palm.
That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.
He smiled at her thoughts. "That's a load of crap. Your parents tell you beautiful things all the time."
She closed her eyes and was flung back above her dying body; doctors had taken over for the EMTs. They wheeled her quickly on a gurney past her mother and father. They were absolutely despondent with worry, clutching each other like they were drowning.
She felt his hand on her cheek, and opened her eyes to him again. He had an "I told you so" look on his face. Before her flash, she was going to say, "My parents don't count," but she couldn't now. They did count. They mattered so very much.
"I want to go back, Satan. I need to get back to them." He obviously had compassion but shook his head.
"You need to tell me why you're here. Time's running out. Soon things will be settled. Things that we can't change." He put a distracting hand on her thigh.
She racked her brain, but could come up with nothing she had done that was Hell-worthy. He sighed and tilted his head. The answer was clear to him, whatever it was.
"A little help here? You obviously know something." She was getting frustrated with him. It was so easy to sit here, drinking rum and acting out her passion with him. It seemed like a quicksand of lackadaisicalness was washing over her.
I could stay, I guess. Right? Do we always drink rum?
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. "Focus, Hot Stuff. We don't always drink rum. Tell me about your accident."
Maybe she had been blocking it out. That seemed natural enough. The end had been so tragic.
"Zack had broken up with me, and I was upset while I drove. I lost control and…" Thinking about it was unsettling. She felt the need to cry again. She didn't like it and shook it off. She leaned in to kiss him, trying to put off thinking about the freshly minted tragedy.
He moved his lips to kiss her on her nose instead, thwarting her effort. "Did you lose control? Did you? Think for me."
He held her face in his hands and she was distracted.
I wish you were my boyfriend.
"No, you don't. You're not going to get it. Think. Tell me." He looked worried now, which was perplexing.
Shouldn't the Devil be torturing me with pain and fire?
He knelt in front of her. "Just a few seconds left, Kiki. Did you lose control of the car?" He squeezed her hands, begging her with his deep brown eyes. She could see herself reflected in them like a mirror.
And then she knew.
She knew why she was in Hell. Despite living a short life filled with perfection, she was being judged by her last apathetic decision. Satan's eyes perked up like a fisherman getting a tug on his line.
"I stopped gripping the steering wheel because I wanted Zack to feel hurt. I wanted him to mourn for me."
He nodded sorrowfully. "That, Pretty Child, is one of the worst sins I've ever heard. Look at you. Look at who you are. If you ever doubt what a miracle you are, ask those parents of yours."
He stood up and held out a hand to her to grasp. She accepted it and felt such a plunging remorse.
Mom and Dad. God, I'm so sorry. To hurt you over that pussy, Zack.
"You have one more person to apologize to, quickly, Princess." He bit his lip in anticipation.
She looked around the room wildly. She heard the sudden ticking of a loud, insistent clock.
Who? Tell me who? Please.
He leaned in and smiled. "You. And mean it."
She took a deep breath and ignored the screeching urgency of the clock.
"I'm sorry to myself. I deserve to be somebody even when I'm standing all alone. I have to be my identity." She was earnest. And he was right. Time was up. Their smoky room filled with the tight, clinical voices of the people that were fighting God's battle for her life. The doctors' were putting her parents' love into their scalpels to save her.
The smoky room was fading, but she held tight to his hands.
"You're not really the devil, are you?"
She felt him kiss her forehead, "Yes, Sweetheart, I am. And to prove it, Zack's new girlfriend's going to come down with a very contagious STD."
She was whispering "thank you" to him as his hands disappeared. Kiki faded to the familiar dark of slumber, and it was days before she awakened. Pain was everywhere. The deep aches and the surface wounds all had their own unique brand of ouch.
When she opened her eyes to her parents' loving eyes she knew what to say. "I love you guys so much."
Her voice was raw from disuse. Her mother was almost boneless with relief. Her father hugged her head as tight as he dared.
"Kiki, oh Kiki. We love you too. Always. Forever." Her father kissed the top of her hair and welcomed his wife in the love huddle.
Days later a bouquet of wildflowers were delivered to Kiki's hospital room. Her mother read the card. They were from Zack. Kiki's father rolled his eyes. How often had Dad done that and she'd thought he didn't understand the way she felt about Zack?
Too many.
She saw it now. Zack was a punk, and her dad had known it from the beginning. Her dad knew Zack didn't love his daughter.
The hospital room phone often rang, and her mother would take the call. Kiki shook her head no, refusing to speak with Zack on the phone. She caught the hopeful looks that passed from her mother to her father.
The day Kiki was due to leave the hospital, she had an unexpected visitor. Zack peeked in the room looking stiff and out of place.
God, he always looked that way; how did I never see it?
She forgave herself because that's what Satan would have wanted.
"Kiki, you look…alive. Can I have a word with you? In private." He motioned his dumbass head towards her parents. He had been a priority over them for three years. He was used to it and expected her to ask "how high" when he said "jump."
She nodded at him, and asked her parents for this time with him. Kiki noticed that Zack didn't offer his hand to her father for a shake. Such simple stuff that was important, she had ignored. So many signs.
He waited until the door was closed before he sat down with a goofy smile. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a black velvet jewelry box. She lifted her eyebrow, making no move to open it. He wasn't good at reading signs either, apparently, because he opened the box to let her to see inside. It was a pair of Tigger earrings. Kiki looked from the earrings to him and back again. A few weeks ago, she would have worn them relentlessly. Delighting in the fact that her boyfriend had given her jewelry. Now she saw it as a childish gesture from an asshole.
"Why are you here, Zack? You broke up with me." Kiki liked how she didn't feel self-conscious about her messy hair or the fact that she didn't have any make-up on.
Screw him, and go, me.
He squirmed. "Well, I think the accident has made me realize you're important to me. And you're supposed to be with your best friend. And you're that. So, yeah." It was an awkward admission. It fell as flat as a pancake. Kiki pictured the Devil's stare, how alive she had felt when she was dead.
She let Zack's tension build as he waited for an answer. He expected her to come running back to him with arms and legs spread wide open. She tilted her head against the headboard and sighed.
Then she took a chance with a smile, "How many STDs does your new girlfriend have?"
He was in shock, she knew, as he stammered. It was proof to her that her date with the Devil had been real. The tiny dancing dust in the room imitated falling snow in the stream of sunlight coming through her hospital window.
"No. I …. She… we broke up…we weren't serious... I …"
Kiki started laughing quietly and finally looked at him expectantly. "Must be something pretty awful for you to come crawling back to me."
Maybe it was her new confident demeanor. Maybe it was the knowing look in her eyes.
He decided to be honest. "She says it'll take about six months for the scabs to crust over."
They both shivered with the mental picture.
"Dude. That 'friends-with-benefits' thing? The warranty on that ran out." She batted her eyelashes at him.
He tightened his thin lips, not liking the way she was acting.
"Are you dating another guy?" Zack's back was ramrod straight; he couldn't imagine she would ever turn him down.
Kiki pictured sexy Satan, his white teeth and deep eyes. "No. No other guy. I just want to be alone. Spend some time with my parents. Put me first for a while." Her answer pleased him.
"Well how long is that stupidity going to take? Because I have needs, you know." He snapped the lid on the Tigger earrings shut. She kicked her feet so he had to get up from her bed.
"Zack?" She closed one eye, enjoying what she would say next more than he would ever know, "I'd rather go to Hell than fuck you ever again. Get out."
He stomped out the door like the diva he was, and she snuggled down deeper in the hospital bed. Her parents settled in around her legs, her mother brushing her hair away from her face. Just before Kiki fell asleep she swore she could taste rum on her lips.
Kiki was driving and crying. Crying and driving. Her hands were shaking as she tried to control her sobs. Her father would have told her to pull over. Her mother would have told her that the bastard wasn't worth the tissues she was using to blow her nose.
Three years!
She had wasted three years. This was prime time to get a husband.
Hell, that's how it was supposed to be, go to college, meet your man, marry him, and stay that way for forty plus years. Just like Mom and Dad.
She was nineteen when she had met Zack. He was her first real boyfriend. All those college years with his name and her name engraved on her heart-shaped mirror keychain, she turned down invitations to join friends at parties. Friday nights were spent on her stair stepper and doing crunches on the floor of her bedroom. Never mind that she had bought the keychain for herself. Never mind that he had sneered at it like it was a dog load when she shyly showed him her purchase.
She continued to call him her boyfriend with big, stupid doe eyes. She was heartbroken when he chose to transfer to a college in North Carolina. He never shed a tear. He never held her hand, but he was her identity. Whenever she carried her keys, Kiki knew she belonged to someone.
The phone call that had rocked her to her core was brief. Zack did sound genuinely regretful as he told her that he had found someone else. She even tearfully, desperately asked about the option of "friends with benefits." Zack mulled it over for a few beats before he agreed, that if the new girlfriend didn't work out, he might possibly sleep with her again.
Kiki had waited to sob between exits ten and eleven on the interstate. The sounds of her loneliness shook the inside of her car. She was crying so forcefully, she wound up just letting her mouth hang open so she could maintain her ear-splitting volume. Passengers in the cars that sailed past hers turned in their seats to stare at the silent (for them), screaming spectacle, Kiki looked like a horror movie on mute.
Her cell phone beeped with an incoming text message. It was from Zack! He changed his mind; she was sure of it! She blinked her tears away so she could focus on the font.
Hey babe, dumped the whiner, want Outback 4 dinner?
She tried to twist the words to make sense. They refused to bend into a phrase that made her important again.
Who was the whiner?
Almost immediately there was another text:
Sorry about that text. Was meant 4 someone else. Later.
Kiki tossed the phone across the car like it was a poisonous spider. The tears and guttural sobs ratcheted up a notch.
She tried to put her agony into words.
"Heee Waaanntss Outtbackk wiiith herrr!" She got violent hiccups, bringing her as close to puking as a person could get without actually vomiting. It could have been the speed, the fact that it was rush hour, or the way she let the grief loosen her hands on the steering wheel, but Kiki rubbed her car's front bumper against the sixteen-wheeler barreling down the highway in the next lane. She didn't have enough leverage on the wheel to try and right her wrongs.
The twisting of metal was the most awful of sounds, followed in a close second by that of screeching tires. The tires seemed to be begging for their lives. At the point when her Camry was launched off of the exit ramp, her system became confused. Because for all the horrible Twister her car had just played on the highway, she was still okay. Kiki was still okay when the sound stopped and the car was mid-air. The hang time was forever, and she knew she was going down and soon. The second the car hung she pictured her loved ones. Twenty-two was too soon to die. Twenty-two had seemed too old to be without a boyfriend mere seconds ago. Twenty-two years was all she was going to get. Gravity demanded its due, and Kiki's stomach turned into an oily snake in her belly.
She was quiet as the inevitable came. She had cried so hard over Zack, and now, she had only silence to offer for her own demise. She gritted her teeth and waited for the worst pain of her life. The accident didn't disappoint. The impact was a meteor hitting the earth. Her brain was reptilian as it noted the water collapsing her windows. The car had landed in the icy cold river she had crossed over every day to school on a plain bridge. This stretch of road had never called to her. It had never warned her that it would be the last sight she would ever behold. Her last thought was pathetic, even in her final gasp of breath.
Zack's going to feel awful guilty about this accident.
Pain became her only sense and time stopped. There was only black and she was done.
It was over. She was over.
Kiki still had awareness, though she wasn't quite sure she had a body anymore. The next drop was more vicious than the last. She wished she could see, but she could only feel. Her soul took what seemed like the first drop on a roller coaster for an endless amount of time. She could see no bottom. She the felt the fear that should accompany a fall catch up with her and hit her in the chest.
And all it once it stopped. She looked down, and despite the trauma, what seemed like her body was intact, unscathed. She was wearing a hospital gown with a dizzying pattern that was meant to be generic. The breeze hit her bottom, and she reached behind her to cover her nudity.
She was in a cement hallway and her naked feet were cold. Behind her there was a great void. Nothingness, blackness. A utilitarian metal door creaked open, and a soft, red light beckoned her like a welcome mat. She inched forward, looking behind her. She heard a loud machine kick into gear and it spooked her. Kiki took off running as fast as she could while holding the gown together. She shimmied through the door and stopped short. The room was filled with a heady smoke. The dim lights set a romantic mood. The huge door she had scurried through slammed shut, blowing her gown up so she was forced to hold it down like an awkward Marilyn Monroe.
"Welcome, Kiki. I've been waiting for you." The voice sounded sexy and lazy.
She tried to be very quiet, hiding amongst the smoke. She could not find the man the voice belonged to.
"Um. I can see you." His voice revealed his smile without Kiki seeing his mouth.
She heard the distinct noise of someone getting out of a chair, the wooden legs scrapping along the cement floor. Kiki decided to crouch; going fetal was her body's only defense at this point. The steady cadence of footfall became the most dominant thing in the room.
"I can still see you, even when you've made yourself into a tiny ball." He sounded amused.
The smoke parted like a curtain, and she got her first glimpse at her predator. He was gorgeous. He had long, brown hair and high cheekbones. His sharp jaw line demanded that attention be paid to his kissable lips. His perfectly distressed jeans and white t-shirt made her feel even more undressed in her wimpy excuse for clothes. He was carrying a glass of red wine like a professional.
"Princess, can I help you off the floor?" He held out a hand to her.
She stayed in her ball and looked at his hand like it might bite her. "Where the hell am I?"
He dropped his hand and swirled his wine. "Right answer on the first guess. Aren't you a peach?" He tilted the wine towards his mouth. Kiki couldn't have been thirstier. Her throat felt like brittle sandpaper. She tried to swallow.
"I'm confused. I was in my car, and then I was in an…accident. This makes no sense. I thought I was going to die." She hugged her knees harder.
He frowned at his empty glass and put his gaze back on her face. His deep, brown eyes were sensual. He nodded an assent and then shrugged. He crouched down so he was at her eye level.
"You did die. This is… how should we put it?" He tapped his finger on his mouth. Kiki found his every movement compelling, smooth.
He smiled showing her his ridiculously white teeth. "Well, gorgeous, this is Hell. And I'm Satan. I'll be your host for eternity."
Kiki looked at him for a long, hard time. He kept his serene, confident demeanor. He set the empty wine glass on the floor.
When she figured out he was most likely telling the truth, she was furious. She stood and abandoned her effort to keep her bum covered.
She held a shaking, pointing finger at him, "Oh no you don't."
He raised an eyebrow and stood as well, stepping closer to her as she wound herself into a tizzy.
"That would be absolute bullshit. I went to church every Sunday! Every Sunday! Father Brennean was so boring; I had to listen to my digestive system, because it was more interesting than his sermons." She put her hands on her hips.
Satan shook his head and reached into the haze that surrounded the two of them like a cloak. He plucked out a cigarette and a lighter.
"Would you care for a smoke? I roll them myself." He put it to his lips and took a long, slow drag. He exhaled the smoke into a ring that formed a heart. It floated right in front of Kiki's face.
She slapped at the smoke like it was his face. Satan chuckled.
Kiki narrowed her eyes. "You can take your hand-rolled nonsense and shove it up your ass. I'm not going to Hell. I'm not." She tried to gather the back of her gown with as much dignity as she could muster and stomped over to the door. When she yanked on the handle, it refused to move. She spun to glare at him.
He gave her a sarcastic salute. "That's going to be locked, because we're in Hell. You and I?" He pointed from his chest to hers. "In Hell."
"No! Okay, enough playing around, Mr. Smoky the Bear. Seriously. Let me out." She was slipping from angry to scared like her sanity was sliding through an hourglass.
"Princess, I'm not lying to you. I won't lie. That you can count on." He reached down and picked a bottle of rum up from the floor. He watched her as he took a swig.
Kiki's tears were not the same ones she had shed in the car. These tears were from a deeper place, a younger place. She thought of her parents, who loved her with everything they had. What if they knew their little girl was in Hell?
I'm so, so sorry. What did I do that was so bad?
Satan put his bottle down, the cement protested the glass with a harsh noise. The more time she spent in the room with him, the clearer things were becoming. The room was vast and littered with dozens and dozens of empty alcohol bottles.
He took a drag of his cigarette as he walked slowly towards her. "Oh, crap. Don't cry; I hate that."
She looked away from him. The one way to make her cry harder was to tell her to stop. The tears were falling faster, and she started to sniffle. He was toe to toe with her soon. She looked down at his billion-year-old motorcycle boots. Satan tucked a handkerchief into her angry fist. She took it reluctantly and dabbed at her tears. Kiki didn't want to look in his eyes this close. But when he didn't move a fraction, she gave into temptation and locked her gaze with his. He was so, so sensual. The walloping sex appeal he had hit her between her legs.
He bit his lip. He knew the effect he was having on her, and he liked it. "There, there. See? I knew you could stop crying."
His lips moving were pure, hot-baked evil. Kiki held his handkerchief and twisted it in her two hands. Trying to avoid him was impossible; he was so there, so vivid. Satan tossed his cigarette in the direction of the floor, but it disappeared in the hazy smoke before it hit.
"I don't want to go to Hell. And you don't seem scary enough to be the devil." She said it quietly, like she was convincing herself the monster under her childhood bed was fake. His smile was deliberate. He reached out a hand and put his fingertip on her thigh, just above her knee.
He leaned in so he was just a breath away from her lips. "I might be exactly what you're afraid of."
Her heart pounded wildly, her instincts sensing the danger that her head refused to acknowledge. The door was locked. It was just her and him in this crazy, smoky room. She felt herself start to shake involuntarily.
He took a step back, giving her space. "Come, let's drink wine and talk." He was a few paces away when he put up a finger signaling that he had an idea. "I bet you hate that get up?"
She nodded skeptically. He motioned with his hand, and she felt the change instantly. She looked down to find herself in the black, thigh-high boots, bootie shorts, and a corset.
She tugged at the tight-fitting clothes. "I was thinking maybe a robe? Or yoga pants?"
He ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it as to be more alluring. "I wanted your beauty framed in leather. Can you blame me?"
He turned and picked a path through the bottles that he obviously knew very well. Despite trying to copy his steps she managed to knock over a few bottles. An almost-full Cabernet upended when the toe of her ridiculous boot hit it. The deep red wine stain flowed so freely, she was mesmerized by it.
Her brain snapped for a moment and catapulted her into the back of an ambulance. Kiki was above her lifeless, bruised body. She could barely see past the EMTs pounding away at her, interspersed with shocking her bare chest with paddles. The same color red as the wine was seeping through the white blankets wrapped around her middle. Her body was bleeding to death.
Kiki felt a hot hand hold hers tenderly. Blinking, she was returned to the smoky room. The devil was on one knee, peering up at her with a smile. She felt a bit dizzy, and the tall heels on the boots set her to swaying.
He stood quickly and pulled her into a tight hug. "Went back for a bit, didn't you?"
She let his face come into focus. "I'm dead. They're trying so hard. There's so much blood."
"You know what time it is?" He walked with her a little farther and helped her sit in a large, velvet couch.
She expected a lecture on the in-between, the way she seemed to be in two places at once. She received nothing of the sort.
Satan grabbed another bottle of rum from the floor, "Time to drink, Pretty Child."
She knew this was all absurd. Kiki also had a soaring hope that this might be a dream. She took the glass he offered her and drank deeply. The rum tasted disgusting, but her throat was so dry, she couldn't help herself. He poured a glass for himself as well and ran a finger over the rim.
"I bet you had fun in college; you drink like a sailor." He eyed her empty glass as she took the rum out of his hands. After a shrug, she took a deep swallow from the bottle itself. He began laughing outright.
"What're we going to talk about?" Her mind was blurry. She knew she was stupid for taking anything from him, but now Kiki's tongue felt loose and honest.
He reached up and clenched one of her long, brown curls, "Why you're here, of course."
She looked at his skilled fingers and imagined them in other places on her. Kiki sighed out loud before she caught herself and covered her mouth.
He moved her hands from her lips, "It's okay; I know I'm irresistible. You'll melt in my mouth and my hands."
Satan was looking at her like she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. It was addicting and an experience she had never had with Zack. An old conversation came back from the dead to run over her self-esteem again.
"Don't you think I'm pretty? At least a little?" Kiki had waited on edge for Zack's answer.
Zack rolled his eyes, "Well, I mean you're not model good-looking. But you're cute, most of the time."
She felt herself blush under this Satan's ardor.
Maybe it's the rum. Maybe it's being dead, but this feels freaking great.
"Tell me, Kiki, why do you think you're in Hell?" His gaze went from her eyes to her lips and back again.
She took a cue from him and swirled the alcohol in the bottle, "I haven't a clue. I've been honest and loyal and good. You wanna know something? I took a test in religion class on the Decalogue in tenth grade, and I was wearing my Ten Commandants charm bracelet, and I didn't even cheat."
She was getting a buzz; her words were a little slower coming out of her mouth than they were forming in her head. He trailed a finger from her hand to the inside her elbow and across her shoulders, finally resting his hand on her throat.
He looked fascinated by her little tale. "Who wears a Ten Commandants bracelet anyway? Quite the little fashion maven, huh?"
He was teasing her while smiling into her eyes. She wanted to kiss him. His lips looked like they would treat her so nicely. But Zack hadn't been a fan of kissing and avoided doing it with her as often as he could. She had blamed herself, of course, for not being kissable enough.
"You're very desirable. He's a fool; did you never know that?" He leaned in slowly and gave her a chance to back away. She didn't take it. She should have been alarmed that he knew what she was thinking, but she wasn't.
He touched his lips to hers, and his tasted so good. Satan put chocolate to shame. Kiki brazenly and hungrily kissed him back. He changed his grip so he was holding her close to him.
She put her hand on his chest. So intent in her pleasure, it took a while for her to notice the lack of the familiar thudding. He had no heartbeat.
He's not alive.
Satan ended their kiss and put a hand over hers. "No, princess. It's been so long, I feel like I was never alive at all. I'm a monster, but kissing you feels a little like breathing. Fresh. Important." He lifted her hand and opened it, so he could kiss her palm.
That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.
He smiled at her thoughts. "That's a load of crap. Your parents tell you beautiful things all the time."
She closed her eyes and was flung back above her dying body; doctors had taken over for the EMTs. They wheeled her quickly on a gurney past her mother and father. They were absolutely despondent with worry, clutching each other like they were drowning.
She felt his hand on her cheek, and opened her eyes to him again. He had an "I told you so" look on his face. Before her flash, she was going to say, "My parents don't count," but she couldn't now. They did count. They mattered so very much.
"I want to go back, Satan. I need to get back to them." He obviously had compassion but shook his head.
"You need to tell me why you're here. Time's running out. Soon things will be settled. Things that we can't change." He put a distracting hand on her thigh.
She racked her brain, but could come up with nothing she had done that was Hell-worthy. He sighed and tilted his head. The answer was clear to him, whatever it was.
"A little help here? You obviously know something." She was getting frustrated with him. It was so easy to sit here, drinking rum and acting out her passion with him. It seemed like a quicksand of lackadaisicalness was washing over her.
I could stay, I guess. Right? Do we always drink rum?
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. "Focus, Hot Stuff. We don't always drink rum. Tell me about your accident."
Maybe she had been blocking it out. That seemed natural enough. The end had been so tragic.
"Zack had broken up with me, and I was upset while I drove. I lost control and…" Thinking about it was unsettling. She felt the need to cry again. She didn't like it and shook it off. She leaned in to kiss him, trying to put off thinking about the freshly minted tragedy.
He moved his lips to kiss her on her nose instead, thwarting her effort. "Did you lose control? Did you? Think for me."
He held her face in his hands and she was distracted.
I wish you were my boyfriend.
"No, you don't. You're not going to get it. Think. Tell me." He looked worried now, which was perplexing.
Shouldn't the Devil be torturing me with pain and fire?
He knelt in front of her. "Just a few seconds left, Kiki. Did you lose control of the car?" He squeezed her hands, begging her with his deep brown eyes. She could see herself reflected in them like a mirror.
And then she knew.
She knew why she was in Hell. Despite living a short life filled with perfection, she was being judged by her last apathetic decision. Satan's eyes perked up like a fisherman getting a tug on his line.
"I stopped gripping the steering wheel because I wanted Zack to feel hurt. I wanted him to mourn for me."
He nodded sorrowfully. "That, Pretty Child, is one of the worst sins I've ever heard. Look at you. Look at who you are. If you ever doubt what a miracle you are, ask those parents of yours."
He stood up and held out a hand to her to grasp. She accepted it and felt such a plunging remorse.
Mom and Dad. God, I'm so sorry. To hurt you over that pussy, Zack.
"You have one more person to apologize to, quickly, Princess." He bit his lip in anticipation.
She looked around the room wildly. She heard the sudden ticking of a loud, insistent clock.
Who? Tell me who? Please.
He leaned in and smiled. "You. And mean it."
She took a deep breath and ignored the screeching urgency of the clock.
"I'm sorry to myself. I deserve to be somebody even when I'm standing all alone. I have to be my identity." She was earnest. And he was right. Time was up. Their smoky room filled with the tight, clinical voices of the people that were fighting God's battle for her life. The doctors' were putting her parents' love into their scalpels to save her.
The smoky room was fading, but she held tight to his hands.
"You're not really the devil, are you?"
She felt him kiss her forehead, "Yes, Sweetheart, I am. And to prove it, Zack's new girlfriend's going to come down with a very contagious STD."
She was whispering "thank you" to him as his hands disappeared. Kiki faded to the familiar dark of slumber, and it was days before she awakened. Pain was everywhere. The deep aches and the surface wounds all had their own unique brand of ouch.
When she opened her eyes to her parents' loving eyes she knew what to say. "I love you guys so much."
Her voice was raw from disuse. Her mother was almost boneless with relief. Her father hugged her head as tight as he dared.
"Kiki, oh Kiki. We love you too. Always. Forever." Her father kissed the top of her hair and welcomed his wife in the love huddle.
Days later a bouquet of wildflowers were delivered to Kiki's hospital room. Her mother read the card. They were from Zack. Kiki's father rolled his eyes. How often had Dad done that and she'd thought he didn't understand the way she felt about Zack?
Too many.
She saw it now. Zack was a punk, and her dad had known it from the beginning. Her dad knew Zack didn't love his daughter.
The hospital room phone often rang, and her mother would take the call. Kiki shook her head no, refusing to speak with Zack on the phone. She caught the hopeful looks that passed from her mother to her father.
The day Kiki was due to leave the hospital, she had an unexpected visitor. Zack peeked in the room looking stiff and out of place.
God, he always looked that way; how did I never see it?
She forgave herself because that's what Satan would have wanted.
"Kiki, you look…alive. Can I have a word with you? In private." He motioned his dumbass head towards her parents. He had been a priority over them for three years. He was used to it and expected her to ask "how high" when he said "jump."
She nodded at him, and asked her parents for this time with him. Kiki noticed that Zack didn't offer his hand to her father for a shake. Such simple stuff that was important, she had ignored. So many signs.
He waited until the door was closed before he sat down with a goofy smile. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a black velvet jewelry box. She lifted her eyebrow, making no move to open it. He wasn't good at reading signs either, apparently, because he opened the box to let her to see inside. It was a pair of Tigger earrings. Kiki looked from the earrings to him and back again. A few weeks ago, she would have worn them relentlessly. Delighting in the fact that her boyfriend had given her jewelry. Now she saw it as a childish gesture from an asshole.
"Why are you here, Zack? You broke up with me." Kiki liked how she didn't feel self-conscious about her messy hair or the fact that she didn't have any make-up on.
Screw him, and go, me.
He squirmed. "Well, I think the accident has made me realize you're important to me. And you're supposed to be with your best friend. And you're that. So, yeah." It was an awkward admission. It fell as flat as a pancake. Kiki pictured the Devil's stare, how alive she had felt when she was dead.
She let Zack's tension build as he waited for an answer. He expected her to come running back to him with arms and legs spread wide open. She tilted her head against the headboard and sighed.
Then she took a chance with a smile, "How many STDs does your new girlfriend have?"
He was in shock, she knew, as he stammered. It was proof to her that her date with the Devil had been real. The tiny dancing dust in the room imitated falling snow in the stream of sunlight coming through her hospital window.
"No. I …. She… we broke up…we weren't serious... I …"
Kiki started laughing quietly and finally looked at him expectantly. "Must be something pretty awful for you to come crawling back to me."
Maybe it was her new confident demeanor. Maybe it was the knowing look in her eyes.
He decided to be honest. "She says it'll take about six months for the scabs to crust over."
They both shivered with the mental picture.
"Dude. That 'friends-with-benefits' thing? The warranty on that ran out." She batted her eyelashes at him.
He tightened his thin lips, not liking the way she was acting.
"Are you dating another guy?" Zack's back was ramrod straight; he couldn't imagine she would ever turn him down.
Kiki pictured sexy Satan, his white teeth and deep eyes. "No. No other guy. I just want to be alone. Spend some time with my parents. Put me first for a while." Her answer pleased him.
"Well how long is that stupidity going to take? Because I have needs, you know." He snapped the lid on the Tigger earrings shut. She kicked her feet so he had to get up from her bed.
"Zack?" She closed one eye, enjoying what she would say next more than he would ever know, "I'd rather go to Hell than fuck you ever again. Get out."
He stomped out the door like the diva he was, and she snuggled down deeper in the hospital bed. Her parents settled in around her legs, her mother brushing her hair away from her face. Just before Kiki fell asleep she swore she could taste rum on her lips.
