She drove over the bridge and parked the car by the side of the road. Boards jumped as she walked to the center of the rustic structure. Rough hewn timers creaked and moaned as they settled into their pilings. Show fell in huge flakes. The only sounds were the pinging of the cooling car engine, a train rumbling in the distance and the occasional burbling of the stream below Peri's feet.

She stood for a long moment recalling all that had happened here: the joyous- Sean's proposal - the tragic - the dusting of his ashes - and the desperate - nearly jumping to her death. And now the healing.

Peri pulled up her left sleeve and looked at her forearm. The white scars that ran from wrist to elbow looked as though someone had tried to stuff her into a paper shredder, failed, and haphazardly glued the pieces back together.

The cuts done to quell the pain swelling inside, were meant to silence her head and not to silence her.

Peri hated these scars yet she knew all of them stemmed from the memories contained in this one bit of Iowa landscape - a landscape etched in her every movement.

This bridge had seen her love, her loss, and now her leaving. It was now a symbol of who she used to be. It was time to cross it and not look back - just remember.

Peri keyed into the silent house. The entry was as she remembered - warm, inviting and beautifully appointed. The whole of the downstairs - from parlor to dining room, from foyer to kitchen - was decorated in coordinating shades of blue, green and burgandy. Everything had been recently dusted, vaccuumed, waxed and fluffed by the maid service that came once a month to keep the place looking fresh.

It seemed the residents were on vacation and should be back any day. However, their vacation home was across town in the Boone County Cemetary.

Peri meandered through the rooms, stopping finally at the dining room. The deep mahgany wood of the massive table looked as though it'd been stained with gallons of blood. The house still smelled the same even a decade later; it smelled of fresh laundry, lemon wood polish with a vague hint of apple pie.

Peri shed her coat and mittens, dropped them on the floor and sat at the table. This was the same chair she'd sat in ten years ago Thanksgiving when Sean told his parents he was sick. She could pictiure it now as she looked down the table. David's face growing red with anger and Maureen spilling Merlot all over the white linen tablecloth that was surely a family heirloom.

"You did this to my son, you fucking whore!" David screamed as he chucked a vase at Peri's head. The crystal slammed into a painting behind her as Peri ducked.

She now turned to look behand her, stood and opened the linen closet. The Khandinsky print and mangled frame sat in a heap on the closet floor. It was no surprise it was still there. Maureen would've left it for the maid. The maid left it for Maureen to deal with.

The realtor siad a new family would be moving in after the new year - a young couple with three little ones. Peri hoped this family would find happiness in this sad house. She knew the only thing in the house that was haunted ... was her.

Peri closed the closet door and wandered up to Sean's childhood bedroom. The room had remained untouched for 10 years. A stack of Will Eisner graphic novels sat next to the plaid bedecked twin bed. The walls were covered in posters of comic books and movie posters from The Crow. Bookshelves were laden with books about drawing. A drafting table was neatly stacked with sketches, paper, pens, pencils and an assortment of rulers.

Peri gathers the drawings and Eisner books and left ... forever.

Spending time in Iowa was like a vacation in outer space: quiet and devoid of life. Peri spent her days alone - writing in a journal, quilting, reading, or driving. The most interaction she had each day was via email and that wasn't enough stimulation to stir a cess pool.

By the third day the silence was getting to her. She considered going to the bar but didn't want to run into anyone from high school especially an ex-boyfrined or two.

After losing her husband, the most logical response her adled brain could come up with was to fuck anything that moved. These actions left many a battered man in her path: hearts were broken, promises crushed, and yet she move on. The need for promiscuity only lasted a few months before she really jumped off the deep end.

She was homeless, living out of her car and surviving on Sean's savings. Much of this time was a blur to her now. The move to Colorado had saved her from her own destructive desires.

Sunday night Peri sat in the McDonalds she'd worked for in high school, eating fries and dreading Monday. Coffee with Grandpa in the morning, a trip tot he OB/GYN, then time to meet with the lawyer with realtor to sell her father-in-law's house.

David dies of staph infection two years ago. All that was left of his estate was the contents of an immovable gunsafe and the house where Sean had grown up. It was the end of a family. The only child of an only child, Sean died of AIDS in 1995. Mother committed suicide six months later because alcoholism was taking too long.

Peri knew she'd held on to the past for too long, now she couldn't be rid of it fast enough. In a year, she'd graduate from college and move on to grad school. Now was the time to heal the scars of the past if she ever hoped to be whole again.

But, is there such a thing? Whole?

"How many of you?" the host asked.

Peri looked behind her to the empty entryway. "Just me."

The host led her through the busy family restaurant to a booth, handed her a menu, told her specials and wandered off as Peri's gaydar was ringing loud enough to disturb the other patrons.

"Coffee, no creamer, and a piece of apple pie."

"Will you be wanting anything else tonight?" the pregnant, teenaged, acned waitress asked, the hope of a good tip dwindling from her eyes.

So a family was sat at the booth behind her. The youngest daughter prattled on and on about another customer's pea coat and how he must be from England or in-touch with his feminine side.

Occasionally, the girl would turn in the booth and try reading Peri's mad scribblings as she wrote in her journal. Peri was dying to backhand the bitch, tell her to mind her own business, and shut the fuck up. But, instead, she focused on her apple pie and the paperwork the lawyer had Fed-Exed.

Peri started filling out the paperwork for each of the 120 guns that would be sold at auction in 3 days. Such tedious work to sell someone's life aquistions.

Peri visited each of her uncles. Each bitched about Maytag, whispering conspiracy theories about a possible sell-out because the stock had dropped twenty dollars a share in the six months after acquiring a new CEO.

Each of her uncles complained about President Bush in a hell-in-a-handbasket sort of way. Peri laughed and played along even though politics were of little concern to her.

Uncle Patrick made her blood boil by showing his ignorance regarding AIDS.

"That whole gay marriage thing ... it's a bad idea. Just another way to spread AIDS," he said sipping on his Diet Pepsi, half watching a football game with one eye.

"Generally, marriage stops the spread of sexually transmitted diseases," Peri argued. She wondered how someone who hated Republicans so much could dictate their platform so easily.

"It's the bi-sexual population that's really spreading it. Men sleep with men, get infected, then sleep with women."

"The fasted growing population of AIDS patients are heterosexuals 15-24 years old."

"I bet they have a cure. But the drug companies make more money off the medicine."

Peri wanted to throw something at him and walk out. But no one know about her marriage to Sean at to that horrible disease. Because Jean disapproved of the marriage, none of the family was told.

Peri simply smiled and nodded. It was easier this way. She only saw her family once a year, thus arguing was futile.

Jean was making up Peri's bed: fluffing pillows, double checking hospital corners and shaking folds out of the quilt.

"Hi Mom," Peri said. Looking at her mother was like looking into a lake; the image was identical but the ripples distorted the colours. Peri had dyed her hair for years to avoid Jean's mousy
brown mop and continued to don dark makeup as Jean wore none.

"You look tired."

"That I am. Will you wake me up in a few hours?"

Jean smiled and ducked out. Theirs was a relationship of respectful silence. Few words were needed to convey even the most complex feelings. Mom and daughter living a muted life.

Peri shed several layers, dropped then into the cedar chest, and slid between the sheets. She stared at the ceiling as her mind churned. So much to do. Not enough time. Zero motivation. Grandpa's dying. The lawyer is whining about retirement. Mom's not well. And all Peri wants is to be back in Colorado where she can ignore the spirits of the past. However, the ghosts were now taunting her: making faces, blowing raspberries and pulling her hair. She finally fell asleep imagining her return to Colorado and looking into *****'s eyes again: hazel, haunted and home.

Waking Peri from a hard sleep, Jean crawled in bed next to her and nestled into her arms. The roles were reversed; Mother was scared, the child wore a brave face and offered comfort.

The agoraphobia had started slow - a bit of anxiety while grocery shopping. It was magnified by Jean's position as an in-take nurse in the local emergency room. She'd seen the pain humans inflicted upon each other. She refused to be vulnerable and refused to leave the house.

Jean still worked full-time at the hospital. However, that was the extent of her excursions outside the house. A cousin - who was struggling to make ends meet - earned extra cash for an assortment of chores Jean was unable to perform.

Peri snuggled into her like a child holds a doll.

"You need to see your grandma."

The ride across town was a trip through regretful reverie.

Peri drove past a small west-end grocer. She could picture her grandfather sitting in the parking lot in his green Ford LTD, scratching a handful of lottery tickets praying the next one would be the last he'd have to buy. She passed the skating rink where she'd first been kissed by David O'Leary, the hospital where she was brought screaming into this world 27 years ago and where the nuns counseled and consoled her after Sean's death.

Grandma Betty hadn't moved in 15 years. The ranch house was a shadow of its former glory and where lawn ornaments came to die. Each year Grandma would get a new trinket for her yard and each summer it was either stolen or destroyed.

Grandma whooped when Peri walked in. The first grandchild and the family's last hope, she was a welcome sight. The other grandchildren were either in prison or on too many drugs to remember this lonely woman.

Normally, Betty was the image of grandmotherly perfection. Today, however, her hair had a weird blue-white glow like snow under a full moon.

"Do you need a toothbrush?" Grandma asked instead of the customary hello. "I was cleaning out the bathroom today and found five of 'em. It's even still in the package."

"Sure, a toothbrush would be nice," Peri said lacking any other response.

Grandma was the queen of bizarre presents. While Peri was at college, Grandma would send random gifts and cards: she'd sent cold and flu medicine in the middle of summer, Halloween decorations at Easter, and Polaroid Instamatic film when Peri took a 35mm photography class. The gifts had stopped in recent years as Grandpa was disable by asthma and his gambling debts had tripled due to boredom.

Betty handed off the packaged dental device mid-hug. "What are you doing out there in Colorado?"

"Same thing I was doing last year. Working, going to class, trying to graduate."

"You still haven't met anyone out there?" Betty asked.

And there it was. Peri's most dreaded question. The inquiry that stopped all conversation and left her fumbling for words.

"I haven't had much luck."

"There's got to be someone in your life. What happened to the guy you were dating a few months ago?"

"How's Grandpa?"

"He should be home on Sunday. The doctors say he's recovering but I just don't know."

The town hadn't changed much, it just seemed older and sadder. Lay-offs at the factory put many residents out of work, lowering the tax base; therefore, injecting holiday cheer with an overdose of Valium. The baby boomers were dropping dead from a particularly virulent strain of the flu.

Peri stepped from the Nissan onto the cracked asphalt. Behind her amber lenses her eyes stung from exhaustion and too many cigarettes. Crisp, humid air tickled the skin not covered by an oversized pea coat.

Peri stood staring at her mother's house. The agoraphobia had apparently gotten worse in the year since she'd last been in Iowa. This was the first year without Christmas lights hung from every eave.

She walked up the driveway to the back of the house and entered through the garage.

"Mom?" she called dropping her small suitcase in the kitchen. Movement could be heard from upstairs. Peri climbed the creaky stairs. Although she hadn't lived in the house for ten years, nothing had changed in her room since she was seventeen, including a half-packed box of vinyl.

Peri had ridden a ribbon of concrete cutting through Nebraska and Iowa to arrive at this obscure destination. Most people fled Newton on vacation, yet she'd sat behind the wheel for 14 hours to face the town that had nearly caused her ruination.

To cheer Kyla, Marc rented Mystery Science Theater 3000-Pod People. He giggled manically through the whole terrible experience annoying Kyla to no end; however, she was unable to leave the room. Marc’s presence was calming and reassuring while the suicidal, sadistic amusement park of Kyla’s mind spun her in circles, turned her stomach, and blurred her view.

Kyla’s mind was her most loathed enemy. Negative thoughts spun a sticky web; each time Kyla tried to find her way back to the ‘real world,’ the web tightened making escape impossible. Often, a self-destructive act was the only way to break the web: razor down the shin, reckless driving on winding mountain roads, new tattoo.

Most days Marc was incredibly considerate, able to walk the treacherous path of Kyla’s frailties bearing flowers. Tonight, however, he ignored her needs completely. Sitting by his side, all she wanted was some sort of reassurance. Yet, he was unable or unwilling to see her need. Kyla hated that she needed him. Some days she wished she could cut off all contact and learn to deal with the world on her own again. She couldn’t remember what she’d done before he’d fallen into her life. Yet, he was one of the few people she’d ever let into her life. She knew if she kicked him out of her life she’d never let anyone else in. Yet, she had to consider why she’d granted him entry. Kyla rarely allowed her mind to stray to these thoughts; however, with the mindless dribble now spinning in her DVD player her mind had to go somewhere for refuge.

Why had she let him in? She looked at him. The answer was as obvious as the Human Rights Campaign logo emblazen on his t-shirt. He’s gay. Marc was no threat to her sexually. She’d never let any man know her both sexually and emotionally. There have been many sexual escapes in the past but she kicked men out of her bed before they were able to ask questions. That’s what scared her about Josiah. She could see herself opening her life and her bed to him. Josiah was a beautiful, sensual man. However, she wondered if he could handle the incredible complexities of her life.

“I’m sorry your feelings for me hurt that much, but I’m emotionally unavailable right now,” Mark said to Jessica sat on the sofa cradling her Pepsi.

“What exactly do you mean you’re emotionally unavailable? You spend most of your days pining for an ex-girlfriend, who totally fucked you over, I might remind you.”

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t figured out how I feel about Elizabeth.”

“While you’re sitting there trying to figure out how you feel about her, she’s out there feeling Mike. They’re back together,” Jessica said throwing up her hands and walking out of the room.

Jessica ambled home, kicking all the snow in her way, throwing snowballs at empty windows, and trying not to cry. She’d waited for two months to tell Mark how she felt and he danced the fucking mamba on her heart.