We sat across from eachother. I was nervous about the whol3 blind date thing, and I hadn’t messaged with her much, either. Her messages seeemed tightly written, perfect, almost. I wanted to see who this perfect woman was. “Hello,” I waved although we were already seated. She smiled and nodded, fumbling with the menu. “How are you?” I asked, wondering if she already wanted to leave when she saw me. Her smile didn’t fade, but she didn’t answer, either. The server came and asked us what we wanted. She pointed to a picture, and I commented on what a great choice it was. She nodded. The rest of the date went similarly. When we parted, we hugged, and went our separate ways. I never saw her again. I guess I need to change the way I look …

I really don’t think I’ve heard Charlie say more than 10 words on this trip, and we’ve been gone from home three days! You know what? I’m going to make her talk. I’m going to annoy her into telling me what she’s thinking. I just need a way to break in. What would get under her skin the same way that her silence gets under mine? I could copy everything she does. Like sit how she does, pretend to be on my phone constantly, stare out the car window into nowhere lost in my thoughts about how I’m so great. Nah, she probably wouldn’t even notice. What would get her attention?

She looked at me utterly confused and yet very determined when I opened the door. As if I was the stranger who just knocked on her apartment door and not the other way around. She was very colourfully dressed in clothes that were completely soaked from top to bottom. It had been raining all week. “Du er sgu da ikke Åse!” She spoke loudly and looked daringly at me as if I was challenging her to a fist fight that she was certain to win. “Hvor er Åse?” I guessed from the rise of tone in her voice that she was asking me a question, but I had no idea what she was saying. “I’m very sorry, I don’t know what you’re sayi-” “ÅÅÅÅÅ-SS-EEEEEE” She said it very loudly and almost in slow motion as if I couldn’t hear properly and that she just had to articulate better on order for me to understand. It annoyed me and made me feel stupid, so I felt the need to defend myself. After all, she was in an English speaking country so she couldn’t really be mad that I spoke English. I was in the right here. My facial expression must have changed or perhaps she simply read my mind because she immediately took a small step back and apologetically put both her hands in front of her body. “Ej, det må du sgu undskylde. Det har været en helvedes tur og jeg magter bare ikke mere lort altså” She half-yelled the last part of her utterance through gritted teeth and kicked the air in frustration. Then she took a deep breath and exhaled through pursed lips in an attempt to gather herself. It seemed to work. She was clearly distraught and I was about to offer her a cup of coffee out of pity when I changed my mind. She hadn’t exactly been nice to me, and I didn’t need any more trouble than I already had. “Du byder vel ikke på en kop kaffe, gør du?” she suddenly said. Then she continued: “Nej, hvad tænker jeg dog på. Jeg har lige stået og skreget dig i hovedet, selvfølgelig gør du ikke det. Jeg ved bare ikke hvad jeg gøre, hvis jeg ikke finder Åse. Hun skulle hjælpe mig i gang herovre. Med sproget og sådan. Jeg har aldrig fået det lært, ser du, og dette er min eneste mulighed for at komme videre” I didn’t understand a single word. It was all one big blurb in my ears. I sighed. “Do you want to come inside?” I opened the door a bit more. She looked blankly at me so I moved my hand in front of my body leading into the room in a gesture to invite her in. She made a movement to follow me but apparently changed her mind because she then stopped abruptly and said “Nu er du vel ikke sådan en af de der seriemordere, er du?” She looked at me, like she was inspecting my character or trying to figure me out. I felt a little uneasy. Then she peeked into my apartment, looked quickly at my cat and then gave a little nod of approval before plodding into the small living room. As she sat on my yellow couch I asked her if she wanted coffe. She looked up at me, laughing in defeat. How did she not know the word coffee? I mimicked drinking from a cup and pointed at her. “Jeg håber inderligt at det er kaffe du mener” She said it in a tired yet light and somewhat cheerful tone. When she realised that I still didnt understand her, she nodded. As the coffee was brewing I went through my closet to find her some dry clothes and a towel. I gave them to her without saying a word. She took them and I quickly left the room so she could change. When I came back with the coffee she was sitting on the couch in my jumper and sweatpants with the towel around her wet hair. She looked kinda nice. I handed her the cup. She looked at me and said “Tak” And I understood.

I knew the train ride to would be long, which is why I brought a book and a notepad in my bag along with. I didnt consider the fact that I would have to be seated next to someone due to the trains full-reaching capacity. This was one of the lower class trains after all, maybe I should have expected it. Ever the wary kind around people whom I did not know, I observed the man who took the seat beside me discreetly. Tall and male with stubble lining his jaw and lower cheeks. His skin reflected palely from the light above and I took notice of the mans calloused hands and the thick coat he wore. Still, despite my awkwardness, I tried to stay polite. “Hallo.” I watched as the man glanced over at me in acknowledgement, seeming unsure of himself. “Эр.. hello.” In response, im merely blinked. What was that accent? I liked to think myself as a near fluent english speaker, but this man’s accent has thrown me off. “Do you speak english?” I asked, wondering if it was more than just the mans accent that made me confused. The man shifted in his seat, brows furrowing as if he was trying to make sense of my words. His mouth opened and then it shut again. I took that simply as the man was not accustomed to being out of his country, which made me wonder why he was here if he did not understand simple words. I was broken out of my thoughts when the notepad and pen in my hands was gently taken, and I stared as I watched the man flip to an empty page and draw lines. I was confused and a bit insulted that he had taken my things just to draw, until the man showed me the paper. It was a very rough sketch of Earth with almost childlike interpretations of the countries. My eyes found the arrow which pointed to the large country of what I believed was Russia. “Russia?” I confirmed, even with the little english he could understand. If he could understand. “Россия,” the man said, leaving me confused until he tapped where the arrow pointed to on the paper. ‘Russia’. And then he pointed at me and then back at the little rough map of the world. It took me a moment to realise what he meant, and so I made a small arrow which pointed at my home country and showed it. The man stared at the paper as if he was criticising his own hand at ink. “Ах, Германия?” He spoke and the only indication I had was the word ‘Germaniya’. I assumed it meant Germany and I nodded in agreement, giving him a thumbs up. I smiled when he reluctantly gave me a thumbs up in return. (The man = russian with little english and a heavy russian accent The 1st person person = german with a wide understanding of the english language The ‘ ‘ are the translations / pronunciations. :) ) (Kindest russian man fr)

The train squealed to a stop and a hiss rose from the tracks, signaling that the doors were about to open. Tracy turned her attention from the window and watched the passengers as they ambled on from the platform and found their seats. A short, sprightly looking woman in her mid 60s sat in one of the seats across from Tracy, placing several red plastic bags on the floor between her feet. They met each others’ eyes and Tracy smiled, then shyly turned her gaze back to the window. A few stops passed and people came and went. A tired looking man with paint stains up and down his jeans found his way to the seat next to the older woman, and immediately closed his eyes. Three stops later, and he was fast asleep. Tracy sat studying the ads above the woman’s head several times over to avoid unnecessary eye contact. Eventually, she let her eyes drift down to eye level with the woman once again, and saw that the sleeping man had nestled comfortably into her shoulder. The woman looked at Tracy and giggled softly. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, then she raised an eyebrow and gave the man a sideways glance. Tracy laughed, and waved her hands out in front of her as though she was laying out a blanket, almost as if to say “let him sleep.” The woman nodded to her and grinned, putting one hand over heart in sympathy for the hard-working man. Then her mouth opened slightly in sudden realization, she pointed towards the window with a quizzical look. She looked at the man, then looked at Tracy and pointed at the window again, tilting her head questioningly. Tracy tensed her brows, then softened them in understanding and shrugged her shoulders. The two women looked at each other, wondering how the sleeping man might know when to get off. The woman nudged the man gently with the shoulder he was resting on, then cleared her throat. The man would not budge. Tracy leaned forward and clapped her hands, then said “yo!” The man woke up startled, glanced out around and then out the window. He exclaimed what could only be a curse word in a language neither Tracy nor the woman seemed to understand, then ran off the train the moment the doors flew open at the next stop. The woman said something to Tracy that she didn’t understand, and then grinned and gave her a thumbs up. Tracy smiled and put one hand over her heart.

The tardy bell rang and Ms. Greer smiled as the last of her students hurried into her classroom. She began to close the door behind Annabelle, but felt resistance as she pulled it shut. “Knock, knock. Happy Monday,” came the familiar nasal tone of Mrs. Anderson, the front office clerk. She had a forced smile on her face that told Ms. Greer that she was absolutely not going to like what happened next. “Good Morning, Mrs. Anderson. Didn’t see you there. Was just going to get my literacy small groups started.” See, I am already busy, you can not ask me to do anything, she thought. “Oh great, I’m just in time then.” Mrs. Anderson stepped slightly to the side, revealing a young girl of about eight Ms. Greer had never seen before. And she knew every student in the school. “This is Camilla, her family just moved here from Tallahassee, and she has been assigned to your class.” Ms. Greer swallowed slowly and made herself very aware of the expression on her face, keeping it pleasant and warm. Her class already had thirty-two second graders. Four children were already sharing cubbies. Her small groups were laughable in size - more mid-sized van than compact vehicles to learning. They were scrapping the bottom of the barrel for paper, pencils and patience. But that was not this sweet little girl’s fault. And truthfully, it was not Mrs. Anderson’s fault either. “Thank you so much for showing her to the room, Mrs. Anderson. Does she have a file or any paperwork?” “Yes, it will be in your box by planning period,” Mrs. Anderson giggled, turning on her heel. Ms. Greer began to bend down to introduce herself to Camilla, but was stopped by Mrs. Anderson turning back. “Oh my goodness, I almost forgot,” she chuckled, “Sweet girl does not speak a word of English. Have a wonderful day!” Ms. Greer’s mouth hung open, watching the secretary’s back skip away. She looked down at Camilla’s face, looking eager and anxious. She shut her mouth and smiled, opening the door wide for her unexpected guest. Of course, there was no cubby prepared, no desk available, no anchoring space she could guide this child to or to make her feel welcomed. The other students were engrossed in their morning work, mostly on task, used to disturbances of visitors and later classmates at this time and thus unfazed by her and Camilla’s ordeal. Ms. Greer scanned the room, considering her options. No desk for her to do independent work at. She had no books in Spanish for independent reading. It did not seem practical to put her in the math small group that was being cooperatively led by other second graders Camilla could not communicate with. Literacy small group it was. Motioning with her hand to Camilla to follow her, Ms. Greer led the girl to an open chair at the half moon table between her desk and the cubbies. She handed Camilla a book with dogs on the cover. (To be continued.)

For the first time in his career as a politician, President Farnsworth had no idea what to do. First contact with an alien species. It had been decided that only President Farnsworth could pull this off. “They don’t have any language-translation gadgets like I always see in the movies?” He asked his aides, as he was tying his tie. “Apparently not,” one aide answered. “They can hardly be superior then.” “Mr. President, they traveled through a wormhole to get here. Their technology is at least a thousand years ahead of ours.” “Hmmph.” *** They faced each other in the Oval Office. The President in suit and tie, the alien in a metallic brocade gown and a stunning gold belt. Farnsworth was unsure if the alien was male, female, or other. “Well, uh, welcome,” the President said, and bowed. The alien looked back at him. It tried to mirror the movement but its dozen legs made this difficult. The silence in the room was deafening. Soon the alien’s attention was caught by something. A sheaf on papers on the President’s desk. A tentacle reached out to touch them. “You can have those,” the President said as he picked them up. The alien took them. Then it took off its gold belt and held it out to the President. Soon the aides were scrambling about for more paper. The alien’s aides gratefully accepted the reams of paper and the President accepted more gold in return. So much gold he was breathless. It could pay for a lot of discretionary projects. The alien seemed breathless as well. As if the paper was worth as much as the gold. They exchanged contact information, and soon the alien was on its way back home.

Platters of gooey deviled eggs jostled congealing casseroles on the overladen dining room table. Grandma’s house was as crowded as the table. Aunts and uncles and cousins he’d didn’t remember huddled in groups laughing and eating. Eyes down, Ryan slipped between clusters. He found his dad first drinking brown liquor in the backyard with his Uncle Mitch. Ryan could tell by the set of his father’s shoulders that it was pointless to talk to him about leaving. Next Ryan looked for his mom even though she was a longer shot than his dad. Ryan found his mom in the kitchen with grandma. He wished for an invisibility cloak. Ryan pretended to be fascinated with his phone. Aunt Lea started making him a plate of fried chicken, potato salad, ham, and her weird broccoli casserole. As he tried to explain he wasn’t hungry Great Aunt Billie added a slice of pound cake and a scoop of banana vanilla wafer pudding to the plate. Desperate Ryan gave his mom the I’m bored and I want to go home face. His mom was hugging grandma at the kitchen table and shot him a look he couldn’t understand. Ryan escaped back into the yard, wandered to the front, and finally decided to eat his unwanted plate on the porch. Sandy was there. The taffy colored Corgi with a fat belly and grey on her snout stood on the porch top stair and ignored Ryan. This was her waiting spot. Ryan patted her head to be friendly. She was grandma’s dog but Ryan knew Sandy loved to sit with Gramps while his grandfather gardened. Patiently Sandy accepted the pat without taking her eyes from the cars driving past the house. It felt good to be ignored, to not be hugged, or make small talk, to not be asked how you are holding up. Sinking into the quiet, Ryan ate the pound cake. Gramps always ate dessert first because life was too short he said. Ryan smiled with a mouthful. What Ryan saw in the hospital wasn’t his grandfather. Gramps was loud and a little rude and his stories went on forever, not sick. Ryan brushed his cake crumbs on the dog and wiped his fingers on the coat before starting to eat his banana pudding by hand. Surprised Sandy looked at the boy but then ate the buttery crumbs. She realized she was hungry and she whined at the boy. Ryan offered Sandy ham and torn off bits of chicken while he ate potato salad. Next Ryan offered Sandy the broccoli casserole. The dog sniffed and growled at it. Ryan laughed. Sandy wagged her tail, which wagged her whole body. He climbed off the porch and buried the casserole under the mulch in Gramps’ garden. Skipping down the stairs Sandy joined him to investigate the burying. On the bright green grass Ryan sat down not caring about his new suit or the neighbors or anything. Ryan rested his head on the dog’s head the way he had done as a little boy. Laying down, Sandy curled around the boy’s head like she did when he was young. Watching over the boy, the dog found comfort in the smell of his familiar skin when so many strangers in her house, so many changes. She was happy to have his company while she waited for her old man to come home.

As soon as Luisa opened the nursery door, the winged girl sat bolt upright on the bed, scooting back into the corner. Her brown feathers flared as she hissed at Luisa, showing pointed teeth. It wasn’t as unnerving now as it had been the first time. “You don’t have to do that.” Luisa stepped into the room. The winged girl’s eyes followed her as she crossed the floor and set the tray on the bedside table. “We’re not going to hurt you.” She picked up the spoon and held it out towards the winged girl, who flinched. “It’s not a weapon.” Luisa tapped her fingers on the end of the spoon. “See? Not sharp. It’s for food. You know…” She waved a hand at the bowl on the tray and then rubbed her stomach. “Mmm, soup.” The winged girl’s brow furrowed. Slowly she lifted a hand and rubbed her stomach, a halting imitation of Luisa’s movement. Right over the bandages wrapping her middle. “That’s right. Food.” Luisa held out the spoon again. “Come on, you’ve gotta be hungry.“ The winged girl leaned forward, looking at the bowl. She sniffed the air a couple times before looking up at Luisa. Then she pointed at Luisa, and then at the bowl. “It’s not poisoned or anything,” Luisa said. But she took a spoonful of soup and put it in her mouth. The winged girl watched her closely as she swallowed. “See?” Luisa set the spoon down on the tray and went to sit in the rocking chair in the corner. “We didn’t take you in and clean you up just to kill you. So, you know… eat.” She rubbed her stomach again and shrugged. The winged girl shrugged, too, and put her hand on her stomach, dragging her long nails across the bandage. Then she held out her other hand, palm down, and then palm up. After a pause, she turned her hand again - palm down, then palm up. Luisa held out a hand and copied the gesture. “I don’t know what this means.” The winged girl looked around the room. Then she picked up the spoon and held it to her side, right over the bandage. Her face screwing up in something like concentration, she slowly pulled the spoon away from her, and then pressed her hand over the bandage. Like how Luisa had pulled the arrow out from her side, two nights ago, and then pressed her hand down over the wound. Luisa suddenly found herself regretting her words, even if the winged girl couldn’t understand her. Someone who showed up in the dead of night with an arrow sticking out of her side had no reason to trust that Luisa wasn’t going to kill her. The winged girl did the same palm down, palm up gesture again, staring intently at Luisa, and Luisa had a hunch that she was asking a question - “why are you helping me,” perhaps, or something similar. But how could she answer? On a whim, Luisa put a hand over her heart, and tapped her chest. It was something her mother did whenever someone thanked her, with an air of “it was nothing,” or, “it was the right thing to do.” She had no way of knowing if it translated. But, slowly, cautiously, the winged girl dipped the spoon into the soup, and she began to eat.

A: "I feel lonely." B: "Impossible, you come from a good family. You have good friends. You are constantly surrounded by people. Even now, we speak in a public place." A: "And yet I still feel lonely." B: "No. You don't." A: "I feel... hungry?" B: "No. We're out to lunch, and I'm paying. Be sure to finish the plate." A: "Do I feel subtle? Borderline indistinct?" B: "No. I can see you perfectly." A: "Then I must feel hollow. Like a well-hidden gap." B: "Science would say otherwise." A: "I feel faraway?" B: "No. You're right across the table from me." A: "Miniscule?" B: "No." A: "Untethered?" B: "No." A: "False?" B: "No." A: "Is there any word left to describe me? Any hope for me to grow? I feel like a barren garden. A displeasure made of dirt. I feel like... I feel... like..." B: "You're tired is all. Sit up straight. Finish your food. You'll feel better then."