If you ever had to find a new roommate, you were probably quite careful to vet that person, and find out as much as you could about them. In this story, you won’t believe who the new roommate’s estranged husband is…
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments.
Shakespeare, Sonnet CXVI
#
The roommate interviews were not going well.
Gloria and I were looking for a third person to share our quaint little shithole of an apartment in Brighton after our previous roommate (whom we affectionately dubbed “the She-Beast of Stalag 17”) had abruptly moved out, taking with her my 65-inch TV and Gloria’s boyfriend. We both felt that the blissful void she left behind was worth these paltry losses, but it did mean we had to scramble to find a replacement in order to make the next month’s rent. (We could not prevail upon our families to tide us over. Gloria was a struggling actor, and her old-school Chinese immigrant parents had cut her off completely until she was willing to come to her senses and apply to law school. As for me, asking for money from my mother would only validate her belief that I’d botched every decision I’ve made since about June of 2003, from my choice of clothes to my choice of career, and I could not face the magnitude of her righteous condescension.)
And so we had posted ads on various looking-for-roommates websites, which resulted in a parade of would-be roomies marching through our three-bedroomer and, defying all expectations, every one of them made an even worse impression than the She-Beast. First of all, though we had specified we wanted only a female-identifying or non-binary roommate, a good many men thought they were the exception. (“Oh, I identify as a forty-year-old Black woman,” said one smug twenty-five-year-old White male prick.)
There was the gal who wanted to pay us in weed, the one who told us we had to get rid of our cat Dinah before she’d deign to live with us (“No, I’m not allergic; I just think cats are evil”), and the one who wondered if her a cappella techno group could rehearse in our living room (“I promise you free tickets to all of our gigs!”). There was the one who wanted to know where our hidden cameras were set up, and the one who was sure we wouldn’t mind if she — and her boyfriend, when he visited — walked around in the nude. (“It’s really the healthiest lifestyle, body- and mind-wise,” she said.)
“Dorothy,” Gloria said after that one had left (not before recommending several websites about the naturist movement), “maybe it’s time to throw in the towel and just move to a smaller apartment.”
“But we love this place!” I protested. “It’s a great location, right on the T, and cheap for a three-bedder.”
Gloria snorted. “You just don’t want to go through the hassle of moving.” She knew me too well.
“We have to keep trying,” I said. “There must be someone looking for an apartment who’s smart, solvent, and non-sociopathic.”
But it seemed that that was not, in fact, the case. Of the next three applicants, one asked if we had been properly audited with an e-meter yet, the next said she probably wouldn’t be able to pay any rent for three or four months and wondered if we’d cover for her until then, and the third, immediately upon entering, looked at the two of us and said, “I just want to make sure: you two aren’t lesbians, are you?”
“Well,” Gloria said later, after the field had cleared. “Maybe we should pursue other options for getting rent money besides getting a new roommate. How do you feel about robbing a liquor store?”
“That’s no good,” I said. “The clerks never know the combination to the safes.”
“Well, I’m up for any other suggestions. At this point, I’m nearly ready to track down the She-Beast and ask her to come back.”
I was saved from having to respond to that unholy suggestion by the ringing of my phone. Upon my answering, a feminine voice asked in a formal tone: “Pardon me, but I am seeking lodging for an indefinite period of time. Are you still offering accommodation, perchance?”
“Well,” I said coyly, “We have several potential offers on hand, but if you want to come by and check us out, you’d be welcome.”
“My thanks to you. If you could supply me a bed and a roof, I would be ever in your debt.”
“Well, come check it out,” I said.
“When may I come over and view the room?”
Trying desperately not to sound overeager, I said, “How about now?” and gave her the address.
“I thank you for your kindness,” she said. “I shall be there in a trice.”
Upon hanging up, I told Gloria, “Good news! A character from a Victorian novel is coming over to check the place out.”
“Okay,” she said. “As long it’s not Catherine Earnshaw. I always hated her.”
#
The prospective roommate, when she arrived, proved not to be Catherine Earnshaw or indeed any Victorian heroine. She was quite tall, nearly six feet, and appeared to be about twenty-five, with a skin tone that is usually called “Mediterranean,” meaning she could have been Greek, Lebanese, Israeli, Turkish, Egyptian, or perhaps none of these. Her clothing was simple, just a yellow t-shirt with no design, a non-distressed pair of jeans, and sandals.
“Blessed afternoon to you,” she said, smiling. “I am Ashley Netter. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” She spoke with an accent I could not identify.
“I’m Dorothy Delaware,” I said. “This is Gloria Chen.” I offered my hand to her. She looked at it for a moment with some puzzlement and then, as if suddenly remembering a custom she was once told about, she reached out and clasped it with her own. I nearly cried out in pain; there was nothing tentative about her handshake.
Gloria reached out her own hand, and I saw tears well up in her eyes as Ashley grasped it. “Charmed. I am very pleased to meet you both,” Ashley said.
We took her around the apartment, showing her all there was to see, which wasn’t much: three bedrooms, one bathroom, one living space with a couch and two chairs facing the empty wall where a TV set used to hang, and a kitchenette. While the place was tidy (Gloria and I had given the place a good scrubbing before we started the interviewing process), it was clearly not a prime piece of real estate. The building had been built back in the 1970s, and very little — not the plumbing, nor the light fixtures, nor the electric stove — had been replaced since then. It was cheap and it was conveniently located on the Green Line, which made it ideal for people in their 20s like Gloria who were starting to make their way in the world or people in their 30s like me who had given up on finding our way and wanted somewhere unobtrusive to veg for the rest of our lives. But for someone as, well, grand (I could think of no other word) as Ashley I didn’t think it would have any appeal at all.
And yet, she oohed and aahed over everything we showed her as if it were the greatest thing since puffed rice. Honestly, if it were not for her over-refined speech, I would have guessed that she’d been raised in some shack without indoor plumbing or, for that matter, outdoor plumbing. When I turned on the tap in the kitchen sink, she gasped “Oh, how marvelous!” as the water came out. Upon seeing her potential room, and the ratty shag carpeting that covered the floor (it had been laid down when the building was first built and had been in and out of style — mostly out — since then), she emitted a little squeal of delight and slipped out of her sandals to traipse barefoot across it. “It really tickles the feet!” she said, laughing. She peered out the window to gaze out at the view: one of the grungiest sections of Commonwealth Avenue — featuring a divey diner, a sad little laundromat, and two different package stores, rivals in catering to Brighton’s skeeviest inebriates — and positively squealed: “Oh, it’s delightful!”
When we stepped back out into the living room, we found Dinah sitting there, making a high pitched sound I can only describe as chirping. Dinah’s eyes gazed up at Ashley with a look of absolute adoration.
“Well, good day, my friend,” Ashley said, kneeling down and running her hand down Dinah’s back, which arched gently in response. The cat began to give out a 90-decibel purr and flipped onto her back, inviting our potential roomie to rub her belly.
“What a lovely creature!” Ashley said.
Gloria and I were too astounded to reply. Here’s the thing about Dinah, and I speak as one who loves her dearly: She’s a complete asshole. Surly in the best of moods, she regarded the entirety of creation as something beneath contempt. In all the years she’d spent with Gloria and me, she never extended the slightest token of affection towards us. Indeed, she had never recognized us as being anything more than the servants who supplied her with food, and only on the rarest of occasions had she allowed us to pet her more than three or four times without trying to take a bite out of our hands. We would never have dared to try rubbing her stomach lest we end up having to make a visit to the emergency room at St. Elizabeth’s for extensive stitches and possibly a tetanus shot.
Yet, here Dinah was, as cute and cuddly as a kitten. It was uncanny.
“Well,” Ashley said, “I can see that every member of this household is ready to make me feel at home. Is there anything else I should know about this lovely place?”
We went through the house rules for her: the alternation of cooking, cleaning, and laundry duties; the restrictions on overnight guests; the divvying of utility bills, and so on. Mundane stuff, but Ashley sat as one entranced, as if the dreary minutia of apartment existence were the most enthralling thing she’d ever heard.
“The rules are agreeable,” she said when we were done. “I like this place, and I like you two. I would gladly accept if you were to offer it to me.”
“Great,” I said. “We have just a few more questions. Can you tell me exactly what you do, Ashley?”
The question seemed oddly puzzling to her. She scrunched up her forehead quizzically and said, “Do? I do a lot of things. I sit. I stand. I sing. I dance. I appreciate things. I love and I hate. There are a hundred more things that I do. What exactly do you have in mind?”
She was good. She was clearly putting us on, but she didn’t break character at all. I cleared my throat and, sounding like the world’s worst pedant, I said: “Yes, but what do you do that earns you money? How will you be paying your rent?”
“Oh, I see,” she said, laughing. It was quite a laugh, the sound of champagne bubbling over chunks of ice. “Well, my dear Dorothy, I don’t have to do anything to get money. I have money. It’s that simple.” She smiled sweetly.
“Ah,” I said, catching on. Clearly, she was some rich heiress who had decided to go slumming among the hoi polloi for a few months. I didn’t think that sort of thing happened outside of old Carole Lombard movies, but there you go.
By all rights, we should have been offended and appalled that an entitled bitch such as she would deign to mingle among us little people for a time before retreating to her mansion and yacht and chauffeured Lamborghini, but it occurred to me that gaining a connection with a severely wealthy person might be worth putting up with a bit of entitlement. And anyway, she certainly seemed nice enough.
“Ashley,” I said, “I think I speak for Gloria and myself when I say we’d love to have you make this place your home.” Gloria shot me a scathing look, but Ashley smiled broadly.
“How nice!” she said. “When may I start my residence?”
“When would you like to move in?”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Works for us!”
“Lovely!” she said, and offered her hand. I was so jonesing on how well things were going that I forgot what happened the last time and grasped it with my own, resulting in another handshake that brought me to tears. Gloria settled for a quick wave.
But after Ashley had left, Gloria turned to me furiously. “How could you tell her she’s in without consulting me?”
“Well, come on! What other choice do we have? She’s perfect! Very sweet and friendly, and also filthy rich.”
“So she says. We should have asked for a reference. For all we know, she’s a serial killer.”
“If she’s a serial killer, that’s not something she’s likely to mention to a reference. Unless that reference is another serial killer, I suppose.”
“Did you notice she didn’t even ask what the rent is?”
“Probably because she’s so rich, it doesn’t matter.”
“Or because she doesn’t intend to pay it,” Gloria said gloomily.
Gloria’s fears were somewhat assuaged the following day, when Ashley appeared as promised. She immediately handed me a thick stack of cash. Upon seeing it, my eyes bugged out. The stack was all hundred-dollar bills, and there appeared to be a hundred of them.
“I hope that’s enough start with,” she said.
“That will be fine,” Gloria said. “Welcome to our home!”
And thus did Ashley Netter move into our home and our lives.
That there was something more than a little odd about her is, I would hope, quite apparent. But the oddities multiplied in the days after she moved in. Everything about the modern world seemed fresh and unfamiliar to her. She did not possess a phone (how she’d called us on that first day was a mystery for the ages), could not drive a car, and claimed to have never heard of Billie Eilish.
And it soon became apparent that it was not just the modern world she was a stranger to. She seemingly was still not familiar with basic scientific laws. One time, I found her in the kitchenette holding a plastic cup on her hand. She opened her hand, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. She reached down to pick it up and then immediately dropped it again. Mystified, I watched her do this about a dozen times. Then, finally noticing me, she said, “One of these times, it’s going to fall in some direction other than down, I’m sure of it.”
She was hardly stupid, yet she seemed to have a baffling ignorance of, well, just about everything. This was evident the evening after she moved in, when we had dinner together. Now, I will admit forthrightly that I am a terrible cook, with a complete inability to master any recipe more complicated than “Shove the food in the microwave and cook for two minutes.” Nonetheless, in order to impress the new roomie, Gloria and I had made some spaghetti with sauce from a jar. One of us (not Gloria), tasked with overseeing the boiling noodles, had gotten engrossed in her phone (specifically getting into a detailed text debate with an old college friend about which of their other old college friends had the worst taste in boyfriends) and forgot about the pasta until it had been boiled into a mushy mess of stringy worms.
I will not repeat what Gloria said when she saw the outcome, as I think the statements regarding my likely parentage were made in the heat of the moment and do not reflect her true beliefs.
However, I will report that when we shamefacedly plunked the gooey mess in front of Ashley, her eyes lit up like firecrackers, and she began spooning the mess into her mouth before we even added the sauce. Her reaction was that of someone who had never before tasting food of any kind. “How wonderful! It must be a delight to feed on such stuff every day!” It took about ten minutes before I was sure she wasn’t putting us on.
Ashley’s warmth and empathy had no limits, and she seemed not to possess the tiniest quantities of guile or malice. She was the sweetest person I’d ever met, and the astonishing thing is that I, a snide and caustic cynic (as you may have gleaned from my narration) didn’t choke on her sunny disposition. She was impossible to dislike.
About two days after she moved in, she knocked on my door as I was lying in my bed engaging in a little light texting battle with my mother.
“Dorothy, may I say something?” she said.
“Of course!” I said, happy to take a break from the skirmish.
“It is about Fiorentella. I am sorry to have to relay to you that she does not like the new food you have been giving her.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Fiorentella. The one to whom you have given the name Dinah.”
“Oh, Dinah! No, don’t worry about her. She eats anything.”
Ashley looked at me sternly. “She will eat what is put in front of her, of course, but that does not mean she does not have preferences. The food you give her now is mostly grain, and does not taste as good to her as her previous fare, which was redolent of tuna and cod.”
“What?” I said. “How can you know this?”
“Fiorentella told me,” she responded.
I didn’t know which was more astounding, that she claimed to have talked to Dinah — sorry, Fiorentella — or that she used the word “redolent” with a straight face.
“She has indicated her unhappiness by means of scratching the sofa cushions, but apparently you have not understood her communication. Therefore, she has asked me to make her wishes known in an explicit manner. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said. “Of course,” I added. “Sure,” I threw in to wind things up.
“Thank you. Fiorentella will be most grateful.”
She smiled in her damnably ingenuous way and walked off, leaving me with mouth agape. Obviously, she was delusional. Some of the synapses in her brain must have been misfiring on a massive scale. By the laws of man and the strictures of sanity, I should have immediately confabbed with Gloria about how best to ease this crazy person out of the household toot sweet.
But I did not. Instead, I went out and bought Dinah’s (or Fiorentella’s) previous brand and poured her a big bowlful. Immediately, the little demon came a-running and began scarfing it down with wild enthusiasm. Despite Ashley’s words, I knew better than to expect any obvious signs of gratitude, but I was not at all surprised when Dinah ceased her savaging of the sofa cushions.
#
It need go without saying (but here I go anyway) that Ashley represented a mystery, one that Gloria and I were determined to figure out. But that was no easy task. She refused to tell us anything about her background or her family. Once, I asked her if she had a boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse of any kind. Her usual almost-constant smile dropped into a frown that brought the temperature of the room down twenty degrees. “That is all history,” she said. “It is not something I care to discuss.” So that was that.
One afternoon, when Ashley went off on one of her many walks about the neighborhood (from which she would inevitably return with stories about every man, woman, child, dog, and squirrel she met on the way), Gloria pulled me aside for a little tête-a-tête.
“All right, what do you think?” she asked me. “My theory is that she’s escaped from some kind of Handmaid’s Tale-style cult. That’s why she’s so unfamiliar with the modern world. Do you know I had to explain to her yesterday what Fritos are?”
“An interesting idea,” I said, “but I don’t think so. She’s too happy and free-spirited to have been an oppressed victim. No, let’s be realistic here. She’s obviously an elven queen who’s slipped away from her world of magic and wonder into our bland, scientific, 21st-century world of computers, cars, and tedium.”
Gloria responded by snorting while simultaneously rolling her eyes. But, I thought, she hadn’t proved me wrong.
#
Hard cut to a Thursday evening a few days later. It was now about two weeks since Ashley had moved in. The three of us were sitting in the “living room.” Ashley and I were playing gin, which I had taught her and in which she was soon consistently kicking my ass. Fiorentella was stretched out on Ashley’s lap, purring up a hurricane. As we played, Gloria was entertaining/boring us with stories of particularly horrible auditions she’d suffered through. “The worst was one in South Boston,” she was saying. “It was held in an old dental office and–”
Before she could say another word the door of the apartment burst open. Which was odd, as it was not only locked but also double-bolted, a habitual precaution for the abode of three young women in a dodgy neighborhood. And yet, now here was the door flying open, as if it had not been locked or bolted at all. Dinah/Fiorentella let out a little squeal of alarm and fled the room. The other three of us turned to look in that direction, as one does in such circumstances, and we saw something come into the room.
That sounds vague, I know, so let me try to be more specific. The thing that came in was a small child of about five. It was also a large German shepherd. It was a blazing pillar of fire. It was a tall man with jet-black hair and even blacker eyes. It was a protoplasmic floating sphere with thousands of wiry tentacles waving in the air. It was all of these things, but not exactly any of them.
I realize I’m not exactly making myself clear.
The being on the threshold was quite simply of no single continuous shape, but rather a constantly shifting form. And yet, even that is not really accurate. It wasn’t like it was morphing from one shape to another, exactly. Rather, at one instance it was, say, a golden lion, and had been a lion all along. At the next instance, it was a glowing dodecahedron, and now it had been that all along. It was as if it were constantly shaping reality around it, so that whatever form it was taking was the form it had been from the beginning and would be until the end of time, at least until the next moment.
I still don’t think I’m explaining myself very well, but that’s as good as it’s going to get.
The presence stepped into the room and said in a thundering voice: ASHERAH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?
No, see, that’s all wrong, too. My powers of description are again failing me. It didn’t actually speak at all. That is to say, the voice didn’t really come out of the entity so much as it was projected into our brains. And it wasn’t really a voice, either, and it certainly wasn’t speaking English, though we understood it perfectly.
The being strode into the room on its feet/flippers/fleshy wheels/finned pistons. The door shut behind it in a dramatic and ominous way. Its dozen/hundred/single burning eye[s] were focused directly on Ashley. YOUR LITTLE OUTING IS OVER, ASHERAH. YOU WILL COME BACK WITH US NOW.
I don’t mind saying, and I think I speak for Gloria, too, that at this point, our shit was totally and utterly lost. This experience was not remotely like anything that we’d ever experienced before. Not even the She-Beast, for all of her faults, had elicited the appearance of impossible shape- and reality-shifting beings into our little craphouse apartment. I was momentarily at a loss for words, which those who know me will tell you is an exceedingly rare thing. Fortunately, no conversation on my part was required, as the unnamable being was doing all of the talking.
YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE, he/she/it/they was saying to Ashley. THIS PLACE IS NOT YOUR PLACE. WE DON’T KNOW WHY YOU THOUGHT TO COME HERE, BUT YOU MUST RETURN AT ONCE. OUR PATIENCE IS INFINITE, BUT EVEN INFINITY HAS ITS LIMITS.
This logical fallacy was enough to pull me out of my shock. There are advantages to being a pedant.
“Hey!” I said. “Leave her alone! Who do you think you are?”
Ashley spoke in a surprisingly mild and pleasant voice. “This is my husband,” she said.
And before I could think of anything to say to that, she said to the presence, with exquisite politeness, “May I introduce my friends, Gloria and Dorothy?”
WE KNOW WHO THEY ARE, her husband responded testily. YOU ARE EVADING THE ISSUE. WHY HAVE YOU LEFT HOME?
Ashley crossed her arms. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be omniscient. You tell me.”
Her husband, currently a bull with a golden ring through its nose, snorted heavily. PER OUR PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT, YOU KNOW THAT WE REFRAIN FROM MONITORING YOUR THOUGHTS AND BELIEFS. DO YOU WISH TO ALTER THAT ARRANGEMENT?
“You are very much missing the point,” Ashley said heatedly. “Place yourself in my boots, if you can. Can you not see why I have grown frustrated by being perpetually at home while you’re off running the Universe?”
YOU KNEW OUR RESPONSIBILITIES WHEN YOU AGREED TO BE OUR ETERNAL HELPMEET, the presence pouted, if a giant ankh carved in limestone can pout. NOTHING HAS CHANGED SINCE THEN.
“How can you say that?” Ashley objected. “The first few millennia after our marriage, you managed to find plenty of time to spend with me. These days, a century or two might slip by before you deign to stop by at home, and there’s no more than a ‘Hello’ and ‘Hope you are well’ and ‘Tell the seraphim to turn their brightness down a notch; they’re giving me a headache’ before you’re gone again.”
IT IS TRUE THAT OUR DUTIES HAVE TAKEN MORE AND MORE OF OUR TIME, said a small lamb. WE CAN’T HELP THAT. THIS IS AN EXPANDING UNIVERSE, AFTER ALL.
“Well, then you can certainly understand why I get bored and restless on my own, and want to go off and explore Existence rather than sit alone at home.”
ENOUGH! The presence was now a fierce polar wind blowing through the apartment and knocking my Toulouse-Lautrec posters askew. THERE IS NO NEED TO TALK ABOUT SUCH MATTERS BEFORE THE MORTALS. COME HOME AND WE CAN DISCUSS THIS CALMLY AND RATIONALLY LIKE TWO SENTIENT ENTITIES.
Ashley looked as if she wanted to cross her arms defiantly, but was stymied because they were crossed already. Instead, she pivoted away from the presence (now looking something like a barrel cactus with eyes) and said, “I am going nowhere. This is my home now. Gloria, Fiorentella, and Dorothy are my friends. I’m staying here.”
WE KNOW WHERE THIS IS COMING FROM, said a lotus blossom floating in a circular pool. YOU’VE BEEN SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME WITH THE APSARAS AND THEY’VE BEEN FILLING YOUR HEAD WITH SILLY IDEAS. IF YOU COME BACK WITH US, WE’LL STRAIGHTEN THIS OUT.
“I will not. Do you really think that I need apsaras to tell me that I’m bored and lonely? I figured that out on my own.”
I felt a tug on my arm at that moment. It was Gloria. “I don’t think she’s going to go back to him, um, them,” she whispered in my ear.
“Good,” I said. “She shouldn’t. He or they or it or whatever has been a lousy husband. It’s time for Ashley to cut the cord.”
“Well, yes,” she said cagily. “I know, I’m sympathetic for her, too. But here’s the thing: If she leaves them, they’re going to be one royally ticked-off being. Now, I’m not an expert on theology or anything, but I’ve heard a thing or two about the Wrath of God. If Ashley’s husband gets an extreme case of butthurt because their wife walks out on them, it might not be pleasant.”
“You’re saying they might take it out on Ash?”
“Honestly, that would be the best case scenario. What I’m afraid of is, they might take it out on the ones they think Ashley’s getting too attached to. Her newfound friends.”
“Ah.” I chewed my lip with concern. “Well. That puts us in a bit of a dilemma. I mean, we can’t encourage Ashley to go back to a relationship that’s at best unsatisfying, and at worst abusive.”
“But on the other hand,” said Gloria, “we don’t want to have hellfire raining down on us because we encouraged her to make a break.”
“Right. Therefore, Gloria Chen, it’s time for you and me to play marriage counselors.”
She blanched. “I can’t play a marriage counselor just like that! I’ll need some time to research the part before I can get into character.”
“Gloria,” I said, letting some nice dark undertones creep into my voice, “Look at what’s happening in our living room.” I pointed to where Ashley was arguing with a thundercloud that was drenching her, and the carpeting, with pelting rain. “If we don’t get this settled STAT, we won’t have a roommate, an apartment, or possibly even an us. I’d suggest you take a shortcut.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll improv it.” But she didn’t look too happy as I grabbed her hand and hauled her back to the center of the room.
The conversation between Ashley and her spouse had not progressed much beyond where it had been when we’d stepped away. “I’m not going back,” Ashley was saying as we approached. “And you can’t make me.”
WE ARE THE SUPREME BEING OF THE UNIVERSE, said the presence, now shaped like an enhaloed bull. WE CAN MAKE ANYTHING HAPPEN.
“Only if you remove my free will, and you won’t do that because it would violate your precious ideals, not to mention our contract. Why can’t you just go away and leave me in peace?”
BECAUSE YOU BELONG WITH US.
“If you really thought that, you wouldn’t leave me behind to mope while you go off having your own fun all over the Universe.”
WE ARE NOT “HAVING FUN”; WE ARE MAINTAINING THE ESSENTIAL STRUCTURE OF REALITY ITSELF!
“Um, excuse me,” I said. “Ashley, and, um…” I fumbled for a moment. “And your supreme, uh, worshipness.”
Ashley turned and stared at me, as did the presence (now a pillar of cascading lights). I confess that I felt a wee bit intimidated.
“What do you want, Dorothy?” Ashley said, not unkindly, but perhaps not all that kindly either. “My spouse and I are in the middle of a rather charged conversation.”
Before I could replay, the presence interposed. SHE WISHES TO PROVIDE COUNSELING FOR YOU AND US FOR FEAR THAT WE WILL DESTROY THEIR LIVES OUT OF SPITE IF YOU DON’T RETURN.
Ashley snorted. “And you would, wouldn’t you? You’d hold their lives for blackmail to make me go back to you.”
YOU KNOW WE ARE NOT THAT KIND OF DEITY.
“I know nothing of the sort.”
“May I just pause this discussion at this point?” It was Gloria. She had taken the last few moments, while the rest of us were amiably chatting, to figure out her character, and she now spoke with the calm soothing tones of a professionally licensed couples therapist.
“I’m hearing a lot of anger here,” she said. “That’s understandable in a marriage that’s been going on for, well, a good slice of eternity, anyway. Little resentments can build up. But before we go over your current dissatisfactions, I’d like the two of you to first talk about the positives in your relationship.”
THIS IS PREPOSTEROUS, said a golden horse with wide feathered wings. WE CANNOT POSSIBLY SPEAK OF OUR PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS TO A MORTAL WHO HAS NO UNDERSTANDING OF OUR INFINITE MIND.
“I’m sensing hostility and defensiveness,” said Gloria. “Why should a simple question on my part cause such a strong reaction on your part?”
“My spouse hates being challenged,” Ashley said. “No one is allowed to question the almighty wisdom of the Great Creator.”
WE ARE LITERALLY OMNICIENT, said a jellylike pulsating orb. WHAT USE IS THE ADVICE OF A MORTAL WHOSE VIEW IS NECESSARILY LIMITED BY HER BRIEF LIFE AND EXPERIENCE?
“Well, I say we listen to her. And I will hear no further talk of me going back home until you agree to hear what she has to say.”
I had never before seen a great stone wall grit its teeth in fury. VERY WELL, it said at last. BUT WE KNOW WHAT SHE’S GOING TO SAY EVEN BEFORE IT SPILLS OUT OF HER MOUTH.
Gloria ignored the comment. “Let’s all sit and make ourselves comfortable,” she said in her warmest pop psychologist voice. We all sat, aside from Ashley’s husband, now a red-winged owl, who flew up to a bust of Aristotle (which had not existed five seconds earlier) and perched on it.
“Now,” said Gloria, “I want each of you to air your grievances about your spouse. Be honest, but don’t be unkind. Your sentences should start with ‘I think’ or ‘I feel’ or ‘I want.'”
THIS IS RIDICULOUS. The wispy cloud floating above our heads drizzled soft misty rain on our heads. WE WILL NOT BE CONDESCENDED TO BY AN ELEMENT OF OUR OWN CREATION.
Ashley ignored this. “I want,” she said, “to be less of a wife, and my spouse to be more of a husband. I mean that I would like them to spend more time with me. And I would like it if, when they are off running the Universe, that I be allowed to leave the Empyrean and spend time here, with my friends.”
“Thank you, Ashley.” Gloria turned to the massive pile of foot-long worms writhing in the center of the room. “Do you think Ashley’s requests are reasonable?”
WE DO NOT. THE CONDITIONS OF OUR MATRIMONY WERE LAID OUT IN CRYSTAL-CLEAR TERMS ON THE DAY THAT OUR VOWS WERE EXCHANGED. WE SEE NO REASON WHY THEY SHOULD BE ALTERED NOW.
“That was half an eternity ago!” Ashley exclaimed heatedly. “I’ve changed since then!”
Gloria raised a hand. “And what is it that you want?” she asked Ashley’s husband.
WE WANT HER TO BE HAPPY AND CONTENT WITH WHAT SHE HAS, AND WITH HER LOVE FOR US, said a winged ball-peen hammer hovering above our coffee table.
Shaking her head, Gloria said, “No, you’re now telling us what you think Ashley should want. Not only are you dodging the question, but it’s frankly a bit out of order, asserting what another person should feel.”
I must admit, I was impressed by Gloria. She was really pulling this off.
It’s possible, though, that Ashley’s husband didn’t share that opinion. A giant sheet of flame shot up from the floor to the ceiling. WHO ARE YOU TO TELL US THAT WE ARE OUT OF ORDER? WE, WHO CREATED AND ORDERED THIS UNIVERSE FROM THE MIGHTIEST GALACTIC CLUSTER TO THE TINIEST LEPTON? WE, WHO ARE THE AUTHOR OF EVERY MOLECULE IN EVERY CELL IN YOUR OWN BODY? YOUR INSOLENCE IS OUTRAGEOUS. BY ALL RIGHTS, WE SHOULD BLAST YOU INTO ATOMS.
Admirably, Gloria did not quail in the least. “I seem to have struck a nerve,” she said, and folded her hands thoughtfully before her face.
“If you harm the smallest freckle on Gloria’s body, then I will never speak to you again,” Ashley snapped at the dolphin flapping its flippers in mid-air.
That was what made Gloria break character. “Freckle? What freckle? I don’t have freckles, do I?”
WE WILL NOT CONTINUE WITH THIS GROTESQUE FARCE ANY LONGER. ASHERAH, WILL YOU COME BACK WITH US NOW?
“I will not,” Ashley said firmly. “I wish to remain here in this Plane with my friends Gloria and Fiorentella and Dorothy. There is much for me to do and appreciate here, and I intend to do so.”
YOU DO NOT KNOW THIS WORLD. IT CAN BE BEAUTIFUL, YES, BUT IT IS ALSO TREACHEROUS, FULL OF VIOLENCE, HATRED, AND LIES. YOU HAVE BEEN HERE BUT A SHORT TIME, SO YOU HAVE YET TO SEE THE UNTOLD MISERY THAT AFFLICTS NEARLY ALL OF THE ENTITIES THAT MAKE THIS WORLD THEIR HOME.
Ashley looked genuinely bewildered. “This world? I admit that I have seen only a small part of it in these past few days. I am sure there is unhappiness here, as there is in every sphere. But there’s joy here, too. I’ve seen it.”
IT IS ILLUSORY, said a pale white mask suspended in the air above us. THE JOY HERE IS ONLY FLEETING. ONLY THE MISERY IS PERMANENT.
“And whose fault is that? Is this place not your creation?”
IT IS, AS IS EVERY OTHER PLACE IN EVERY UNIVERSE, said a small red fox. BUT THIS ONE IS DIFFERENT. THIS WAS AN EXPERIMENT. THERE WERE IDEAS IN OUR HEAD THAT WE OURSELF COULD NOT FULLY FATHOM, AND HAD TO SHAPE INTO REALITY TO TRULY UNDERSTAND. WE THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE A PLACE OF WONDER AND DELIGHT. ALAS, THIS PLANE FELL INTO THE SHADOW OF HUNGER, LUST, AND GREED. WE THINK IT IS PERHAPS TIME TO END IT ALTOGETHER.
“What?” said Gloria and I at the same time.
WE MIGHT AS WELL. THE REST OF THE OMNIVERSE WOULD ONLY BE RICHER WITH ITS LOSS.
“You would be that spiteful,” Ashley snapped at him. “You’d obliterate this entire dimension just because I like it.”
It was at this point that Gloria nudged me in the ribs. “The plan,” she whispered, “is not going quite as well as I hoped.”
“No,” I agreed. “Ashley’s hubby seems more and more inclined to give Earth the old heave-ho. I think it’s time for desperate measures.”
“And what would those be?”
“No idea,” I admitted.
“Figured as much. Okay, let’s give therapy another try.” She stepped forward and cleared her throat to attract the attention of the two raging spouses. “I’m hearing a lot of anger here, and while I’m happy that each of you is able to express your feelings so openly, I fear you’re talking past each other and not listening to what the other has to say. I suggest that–”
THAT IS ENOUGH. A large bear waved its paw at Gloria, whose flow of words immediately stopped. That is to say, her mouth continued to move, but no sound emerged. A look of panic spread over her face, as her lips babbled soundlessly.
“Oh, you are so childish,” Ashley said, waving her own hand.
Immediately, Gloria’s voice returned. “Oh, dammit, if I can’t talk I’ll never get to play Ophelia in–” Her voice broke as she sighed in relief. “Oh, thank God!”
“That’s typical of you,” Ashley fumed at her husband. “As soon as someone does something that rubs you the wrong way, you want to erase it. That’s why you want to obliterate this world, isn’t it, because it didn’t turn out just the way you wanted. Well, go ahead and do it, if you think it’ll make you happy.”
“No, wait!” Gloria and I said at the same time.
“Oh, let him do it,” Ashley said. “It’ll make them feel good for about two minutes, and then they’ll regret it. You wait and see.”
I was beginning to realize just how problematic this situation was becoming. Ashley — Asherah — was an unearthly deity just as her husband was, and while she seemed to have some fondness for Gloria and Dinah/Fiorentina and maybe even me, her completely non-terrestrial ethics could possibly allow her to goad her spouse into blowing up our world just to make a point.
As if reading my mind (which, for all I knew, she could do), Ashley leaned over to me and said in a stage whisper: “Don’t worry. I’m almost certain they won’t follow through with this. And even if they do, I’ll just create a new you and Gloria and Fiorentella so I’ll always have you with me. I might make a few improvements while I’m at it, like fixing that problem with your hair.”
Theology Lesson #1: Do not fuck around with the gods.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she said to her spouse. “Go ahead and rain fire on this planet, if you think it’ll make things better.”
DO YOU THINK WE WILL NOT DO IT? said a fiery comet blazing through a starless night. WE HAVE CONTEMPLATED THE DESTRUCTION OF THIS WORLD FOR NEARLY AS LONG AS WE’VE KNOWN YOU.
Something in what they said started gears turning in my head. Ashley’s husband had just revealed something, but I was too distracted by the possibility of the end of the world to grasp what it was.
“And yet, you have not done so. Despite all you keep saying, there’s a wealth of loveliness in this little place, and you can’t bring yourself to get rid of it.”
THINK YOU SO? THEN WE SHALL SHOW YOU WHAT WE CAN BRING OURSELF TO DO.
We’d reached the crisis point, and whatever process of deduction was going on in my brain hadn’t come to its conclusion yet. I needed to buy some time.
“Why did you invent this world of ours, anyway?” I asked.
THE REASONS DO NOT PARTICULARLY MATTER, said a tree whose trunk was covered with human ears. AS WE HAVE ALREADY STATED, IT WAS AN EXPERIMENT, NOTHING MORE. A FAILED EXPERIMENT.
“Yes, so you said. But what kind of experiment? What were you trying to find out?”
There was a micro-second of hesitation before the heavily-antlered stag responded. WE MERELY WISHED TO SEE IF A WORLD THAT WAS FREE FROM OUR DIRECT CONTROL WOULD PRODUCE BEAUTY AND HARMONY THAT WAS NEW TO US. BUT IN FACT, ALL IT GENERATED WAS DISCORD AND HATE.
“So, basically, you’re saying that if you don’t control everything, it goes bad.”
THAT IS EXTREMELY REDUCTIVE, YET NOT IN ESSENCE INACCURATE. Then, with a hint of suspicion: WHERE ARE YOU GOING WITH THIS ARGUMENT?
“You must know that,” I said innocently. “You know everything, right?”
Now the entity facing me had the form of — and I am not making this up — my own mother, wearing her usual “How have you disappointed me today?” expression. YOU OUGHT TO BE VERY CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT YOU SAY NEXT, DOROTHY ANN DELAWARE. It was in exactly the tone of voice that my mother would have used, even if it was not in fact an actual voice speaking.
All my instincts were telling me that now would be a good time to shut up, but when did I ever listen to my instincts? “I’m just saying,” I said, assuming an air of innocence as sweet as maple candy, “you gave us Earth folks free will, and we cocked it all up, which you say is what happens inevitably when you give up control. Now, who else did you give up control of?” Now it was my turn to give a significant glance at Ashley. She looked at me with a puzzled air for a few seconds before catching on.
“I!” Ashley said. “You let me have free will, and now I am, as Dorothy says, cocking it all up. Does that mean you’ll have to destroy me as well?”
THESE TWO SITUATIONS ARE IN NO WAY ANALOGOUS, huffed her husband, still (I want it understood) in the form of my beloved mother.
Suddenly, the gears in my head finally meshed and began to spin.
“But they happened about the same time, didn’t they?” I said. “You said you have thought about blowing up the world for nearly as long you’ve known Ashley. Now, when you married her, you gave her free will, right? Was that before or after you made the Earth?”
WE WILL NOT BE CROSS-EXAMINED BY ONE OF OUR OWN CREATIONS! The being was no longer my mother, thank God, but was now a gigantic hellish black figure, featureless except for two baleful red eyes, which was almost as bad.
“Well, I’d like to hear you answer,” Ashley said. “I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but I’d like to find out.”
IF YOU MUST KNOW, THEN, WE WED ASHERAH, AND GAVE HER THE GIFT OF SELF-DETERMINATION, BEFORE WE CREATED THIS DIMENSION.
“Okay,” I said. “How long before?”
The monkey-headed being before me sniffed huffily. YOUR QUESTION IS IRRELEVANT. WE SEE NO NEED TO ANSWER IT.
“Why not?” Ashley asked. “What are you afraid of?”
Now it was a giant sunflower that was addressing Ashley. IF YOU MUST KNOW, WE BEGAN THE CREATION OF THIS WORLD SEVEN DAYS AFTER OUR NUPTUALS.
“So soon after? Why was that?”
HAVING SEEN HOW YOU BLOSSOMED WHEN ALLOWED TO DECIDE FOR YOURSELF, WE THOUGHT WE’D CREATE A DIMENSION WHERE ALL BEINGS HAD THAT CHOICE, TO SEE WHAT WOULD HAPPEN.
“That was it?” Ashley asked. “Just an experiment and nothing more?”
This time there was a definite pause. WHAT OTHER PURPOSE COULD THERE BE?
She looked annoyed. “You tell me! You’re the omniscient one.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “They made this world for you, Ashley.”
Everyone turned to stare at me. Ashley, Gloria, a fifteen-foot-long python with an inquisitive, darting tongue, and even Dinah/Fiorentella, who had wandered into the room at this moment to inquire about why she had not yet been fed.
“For me?” Ashley was astounded. “Why do you say that?”
“Oh, come on. They made it right when the two of you got hitched. Your husband was very lovey-dovey back then, you said so yourself, so you were very much on their mind, I would imagine. I mean, if I could create a universe at the drop of the hat, I’d be making ’em left and right and handing ’em out to all my friends. But a really special universe, that would for a really special person. Am I right?”
YOU ARE NOT WRONG. The being was now a sad-looking old lady in a torn gray cloak. WE WERE GOING TO LET IT GROW UNTIL IT HAD ACHIEVED ITS ULTIMATE IN BEAUTY AND HARMONY, AND THEN WE WOULD PRESENT IT TO YOU AS A GIFT WORTHY OF YOUR OWN LOVELINESS AND WISDOM.
BUT THEN IT WENT ALL WRONG. WHERE THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN DELICACY AND SUBTLETY AND THE BOUQUET OF PERFECTION, THERE WAS INSTEAD THE OVERRIPENED FRUITS OF GAUDINESS AND CLANGOR. WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A SYMPHONY OF DELIGHT BECAME THE BRASH TONES OF DISCORD AND DISUNITY. WE COULD NOT GIVE SUCH A GIFT AS THIS TO YOU, DEAREST ASHERAH.
“Whoa,” Gloria said, breaking character again. “So, it’s not so much that the World is evil, but just that it’s kinda tacky?”
WE WOULD NOT PHRASE IT AS SUCH, BUT THAT COMES CLOSE TO MY MEANING.
“Then why,” Gloria asked, “didn’t you get rid of this place then and there?”
There was another pause, as if the giant boulder that filled the room was trying to collect its thoughts.
WE THOUGHT OF DOING SO MANY TIMES, it said at last. ITS VERY EXISTENCE SEEMED A REBUKE TO OUR OWN PERFECTION. YET, WE COULD NOT DO SO FOR REASONS THAT EVEN WE IN OUR OMNISCIENCE CANNOT PUT OUR METAPHORICAL FINGER ON.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “It’s clear you love this place, just as much as you love Ash, here.”
Once again, my mouth ran away with me, and once again I instantly regretted it, as the boulder erupted forth in a burst of red hot lava, gushing in my direction.
YOU DARE SUGGEST THAT MY FEELINGS FOR THIS TAWDRY DIMENSION COMPARE WITH THOSE FOR MY BELOVED ASHERAH? IMPUDENT MORTAL!
The fact that Ashley’s husband was now using the first person singular would have been a key indication that I had hit a nerve, had it not been already obvious from the river of lava threatening to engulf my feet.
Now, clearly the most sensible action here would be to back down and apologize profusely, in order to save my precious ass from being thoroughly toasted. But because I am in no way sensible, I did not take that course. Instead, I said: “I mean, look. Almost every form you’ve taken on since you waltzed in here was something found on this Earth — trees and rocks and birds and whatnot. Why would you take these shapes if they didn’t mean anything to you? You might just as well have a big ‘I Heart Earth’ bumper sticker on your celestial Maserati. Your problem is that you didn’t want Ashley to meet the other woman. Well, now she has, and you’re freaking out about it.”
It was about then, maybe two minutes too late, that my brain finally caught up to my mouth and let me know that sassing the creator of the Universe was not probably the number one item on the list of things to do if you want to live to a ripe old age, or even to your next meal. Ashley, Gloria, Fiorentina, and the apartment itself had now vanished, and I was alone in a desolate wasteland. Rivulets of lava were now lapping at my feet. Ominous black clouds formed overhead, with glints of lightning dancing around their edges. Great swarms of flying things that might have been bats but were probably something worse flew underneath, uttering savage cries that nearly split my stomach in half. All in all, it seemed I was in for very intimate, one-person Apocalypse.
BLASTING YOU TO ATOMS WOULD BE TOO MUCH OF A KINDNESS FOR SUCH INSOLENCE. THERE ARE CHAMBERS IN THE INFERNAL REALMS WHERE THE DARKEST AND FOULEST SOULS ARE KEPT IN ETERNAL TORMENT. DO YOU WISH TO BECOME ONE OF THEIR NUMBER, DOROTHY ANN DELAWARE? WE WOULD BE ONLY TOO PLEASED TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN.
Amidst this swirling chaos of terror and divine fury, Ashley’s voice rang out, clear and sharp. “Stop that!” she shouted. “You always lose your temper when you want to avoid talking about your feelings. Now, you leave Dorothy alone for a moment, and tell me how you really feel about this world.”
For a moment, nothing moved at all, not the lava nor the clouds nor the flying things nor my own heart. Then, just as my urge to scream refused to be stifled one second more, the lava began to subside and the clouds mellowed to a marshmallowy white. The shrieking flying creatures morphed into a flock of bluebirds which peacefully twittered as they cycled around the ceiling of the apartment, which was now restored.
Ashley, visible again, was still talking. “Dorothy is correct,” she said. “You do have great love for this world. Maybe as much as you have for me, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I love this world, too. Why didn’t you wish to share it with me?”
The clouds sent down a gentle spring rain that felt like a cleansing, and which left my clothes completely dry. And the rain spoke, somewhat abashedly: YES, IT IS TRUE. WE DO LOVE THIS WORLD. BUT WE — I — FEARED IT WAS TOO CRUDE FOR YOUR TASTES. I WAS TELLING THE TRUTH THAT THERE IS LITTLE HERE THAT IS SUBTLE OR DELICATE. BUT PERHAPS NOT WHEN I SAID THERE IS NO BEAUTY HERE.
“There is indeed,” she said. “And, if we are to state the facts, it must be said that you are neither subtle nor delicate yourself. And yet, I love you. Why cannot I love this world you have put so much of yourself into?”
Her husband said nothing then, but became a sun radiating beams of warm light down upon her. She opened her arms wide, as if to catch every photon, with her eyes closed and mouth curled in a disturbingly orgasmic smile.
“This,” she breathed. “This is what I have been missing for so long.”
IF I SHOW YOU THIS WORLD THEN, said the sun, ITS HORRORS AND ITS CHARMS, ITS TREASURES AND ITS DEMONS… IF I SHARE IT ALL WITH YOU, THEN WILL YOU COME BACK TO ME?
“Oh, yes, my dear,” she said. “Yes.” Then her eyes snapped open. “Once you apologize to Dorothy for the terrible things with which you threatened her.”
The sun sank behind a veil of evil dark clouds. YOU ASK US TO BEG THE PARDON OF A MERE MORTAL? it rumbled dangerously.
“I do,” she said.
“Uh, look,” I said hastily, not wanting to trigger any further holy wrath. “There’s no need, really. It’s all forgotten.”
WE WILL NOT DEGRADE OURSELF BY SEEKING ABSOLUTION FROM A BEING THAT IS OUR OWN CREATION, snarled a savage gray wolf, uncurling its lips to reveal impressive fangs.
“Then there is no deal,” Ashley said, and turned her back.
PERHAPS SOME OTHER FORM OF ATONEMENT. WE CAN MOVE HER AND GLORIA CHEN TO A LESS DISREPUTABLE HOME.
“That’s sounds good to me,” I spoke up, and was immediately ignored.
“My stipulation,” Ashley said, her back still turned to us, “is not negotiable. Apologize to Dorothy, and we may be together again.”
Her husband, now an enormous floating eye dripping black tears, stared at her for a moment, and then sighed. WHEN YOU ARE IN SUCH A MOOD, THEN I KNOW NOTHING I SAY CAN SWAY YOUR HEART. THEREFORE:
The eye swung around in my direction, which I can’t say was the happiest development. DOROTHY ANN DELAWARE, OUR ACTIONS SINCE ARRIVING AT THIS DOMICILE HAVE INCLUDED BEHAVIOR THAT WAS AT TIMES UNWARRANTED AND OFFENSIVE. YOU MUST UNDERSTAND THAT OUR SPIRITUAL DISPOSITION WAS NOT AT ITS OPTIMAL STATE DUE TO THE DISAGREEMENTS WITH OUR WIFE…
“No excuses, now,” Ashley grumbled.
…BUT THAT DOES NOT JUSTIFY OUR CONDUCT. THEREFORE… The eye sounded like it was gritting its teeth. THEREFORE, WE OFFER YOU A FULL AND SINCERE APOLOGY.
“And promise not to do anything like that again,” Ashley nudged.
…AND PROMISE NOT TO DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT AGAIN.
The eye swiveled back to Ashley. IS THAT SATISFACTORY?
“That is for Dorothy to decide,” Ashley said loftily.
The eye turned back in my direction, but now it was a shy little boy in a sailor suit, looking guiltily at his shoes. DO YOU FORGIVE US, DOROTHY ANN DELAWARE?
“Um,” I said. “Sure. I mean, yeah, no hard feelings.”
THANK YOU. I was now facing a tall Black woman, her hair hanging down in a thousand cornrows. YOU ARE MOST GRACIOUS.
“I knew you could do it!” Ashley squealed, her icy demeanor discarded like an old Britney Spears t-shirt. She spun around and jumped into her spouse’s arms, planting a big kiss on the tall woman’s lips. I was unspeakably glad that the being was no longer an eyeball.
NOW, said the tall woman, smiling down at Ashley. LET US SHOW YOU THE WORLD.
The two embracing figures began to spin. Jagged spears of multicolored light shot from their combined shapes, which seem to be melding together into one single form. Bursts of musical notes echoed down from the ceiling in no particular order, as if Fiorentella were prancing up and down the keys of a Hammond organ. Sound and color seemed to be dancing along with Ashley and her spouse. It was all as trippy as anything I’d seen since I’d tried LSD as an undergrad.
Suddenly, the sounds became louder and more jangled. The shafts of light were so bright I had to close my eyes, not that that made any difference. Just as I thought I couldn’t bear any more, there was an eruption of color, like a rainbow having an orgasm. Every sensory organ I had felt like it was going to explode.
And then everything stopped, and Gloria and I, along with Fiorentella, were alone in our shitty apartment.
I quickly stopped screaming, which I hadn’t realized I’d been doing. Gloria and I stared at each other for a moment of mute shock. Fiorentella, bored, began to lick herself intimately.
When I regained my voice and sanity, I said, “Did we just witness God having sex?”
“Never mind that,” Gloria said. “Does this mean we have to start looking for a new roommate again?”
#
As it happened, we did not. Later that week, we received a letter in the mail — an actual letter, something I for one had never gotten since my grandmother passed away when I was twelve. It was written in a beautiful longhand, and read as follows:
#
My dear friends Gloria, Fiorentella, and Dorothy:
I write this from the island that you humans call San Cristóbal. The weather here is incomparable, and the water such a vivid shade a blue that I have decided to take some with me as a souvenir. The large tortoises that are the dominant life form here are an aloof race and do not speak much. My husband says they may have been given an excess of pride, and thus believe themselves too superior to other creatures to bother with us. At any rate, I have had a splendid time conversing with sea lions and human beings.
Thus far, my time exploring the world has been one delight after another, and I do believe my husband is warming up to this entire sphere, seeing it freshly through my eyes. Certainly, we have had fewer quarrels than we used, and these are much less violent.
For all this, I have you to thank, for you were instrumental in bringing us back together. For this, I shall thank you in person someday, but in the meantime, I have persuaded my husband to make arrangements such that the full cost of your housing will be paid for each month.
I must leave off writing now, as my husband wishes to have me observe a congress of jellyfish meeting to discuss next year’s migration patterns.
With love,
Ashley
#
And indeed, from that day forth, all of our rent payments were electronically sent to our landlord on the first of each month from an account with something called the First Bank of Plutus.
“Not bad,” Gloria said, “but I still think you should have held out for a better apartment.”
But Ashley’s spouse was apparently not done with atonement. A week later, someone buzzed from the building’s front door. I went down to find, to my vast astonishment, none other than the She-Beast of Stalag 17 slouching on the steps, carrying my old television in her sweaty paws.
“Um,” she said. “I, like, went off with your TV when I left here.”
“Yes,” I said, “I’d noticed.”
“But, I mean, I figured it was really communal property, right? I mean, we shared everything.”
“Well,” I began, but the She-Beast kept talking.
“Anyway, you’ll think I’m nuts, but last night, I was zoning out in my bed, right? Then suddenly, I see these bright white lights start shining right over my head, and there’s this deep voice that’s like, ‘Return Dorothy Delaware’s television set to her, or face endless torment in the pits of Hell.'”
“Huh,” I said.
“I’m pretty sure it was just like, ’cause of the ketamine I’d been taking, but I figured better safe than sorry, right? So, here:” She thrust the TV at me, and I managed to wangle it out of her arms.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Yeah.” She shook her head, and then shrugged. “Anyway. See you around.”
“Sure, maybe,” I responded. “Bye,” I added, hopefully.
The She-Beast turned and took a few steps, and then swiveled around to look at me again.
“Um, about Dylan,” she said. “If Gloria wants him back, I can bring him over, too.”
“No,” I said. “No, I think she’s good.”
“Okay, cool,” said the She-Beast and wandered off, humming “Spirit in the Sky” to herself.
END
