Alysse Aallyn

Category: #Family

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Mirabel’s been hard to pin down lately. 

    Then suddenly she changed. This marriage idea.”

    Did he blush or blanch?  I couldn’t

    See clearly in the darkening light but

    His throat trembled raw

    With pent emotion.

    My face must have betrayed 

    My distaste

    Because he hurried to explain.

    “She’s been trying to

    Talk me into seeing her family. 

    A wedding to erase her

    Great Silence. I thought we were 

    Two avatars alone. I imagined 

    A woman to stand with me against the world.”

    How rich, I thought, literally, 

    For a man with a title based on family 

    To disown that very concept.

    But to quarrel seemed

    Perfidious, and once again,

    The youngest person in the room

    I was silenced and shamed.

    He leaned back in his chair

    As beef wellington arrived.

    “I’m amazed you existed, frankly.

    I thought the little sister

    Was another of her stories.

    Kudos to your parents.”

    I stared nauseated

    At beef wellington –

    Perhaps I’m vegan after all.

    This party made me gag.

    “I’m so glad you’re you,

     Just like her but so

    Unspoiled.”

    Never had a compliment

    Felt more like an insult.

    What kind of talk was this from

    A prospective groom?

    And any idea that my parents “made” me

    Is creepy and revolting.

    “Mirabel and I are opposites,” I stressed

    Too angrily before I considered.

    “How can THAT be?”

    He was smug. Superior.

    I schooled him.

    “She cares what others think and

    I just don’t.”

    That should have stopped him but –

    It didn’t. He smiled

    Indulgently.

    “Sisterhood is powerful.

    I see she’s got “the drop”

    On me,” he emphasized the slang

    Like any English lord raised on 

    American movies.

    Unable to be me;

    Unable to read him,

    Know him, change him.

    Is this the dawning of

    Despair? It makes me hate

    The grown-up world. 

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    We were silent in the elevator.

    Feeling naked

    I clutched the fur I’d borrowed 

    Summoning up the nerve for

    Questions but

    Mirabel’s mood seemed depressed.

    Encumbered, perhaps?

    With me? With Verne?

    With family – obligation –

    Tradition – without her help

    I couldn’t map it out.

     “When did he propose?”

    My query’s girlish gaucheness echoed

    Off the shiny doors

    That bent our reflected beauty so

    Unflatteringly we seemed 

    Haunted.

    “It’s not when he proposed,” she said

    “It’s when I accepted. He

    Proposed the first night I met him –

    Five years ago.

    Said he’d marry me

    If I’d change from blonde to red.’”

    Wow. I didn’t know what to say

    To that except

    Why was he never in her pictures?

    What shame could there be? 

    “Was it a secret?”

    “He hates the press – it

    Treats him so unfairly in his own country –

    And he wants me to himself. I was so unready – 

    Seeing other people,

    Savoring my options.”

    We nodded at the doorman

    And the driver of 

    The waiting limo –

    “He slowly won me over.

    He was so suave, so

    International. Adoring.”

    She let me climb in first,

    Then backed away as if she’d seen a ghost.

    “I forgot something. Tell Verne I’ll be along.”

    The car swept away, leaving Mirabel 

    Huddled alone, by the curb in her mink coat.

    Chapter 4 – Cocktailing

    Had I been played?

    It’s what you do to children.

    I couldn’t shuck the memory of

    My own mother through the years –

    Lofty & deceitful –

    Briskly turning “road trip” turned into

    “Summer camp” and “one night” 

    Into seven. 

    I hated being “managed”, but really

    Who could blame Mirabel?

    Quoting Mom: “Guests must

    Be adaptable, obliging – a guest has

    No one to blame but herself

    For her bad treatment.”

    Was it something I’d said? Or

    Something I’d done?

    Or simply one more humiliation as

    Baby sister. Why did she keep throwing me

    Alone together with this man?

    Did I want to get to know him?

    I wanted to get to know HER.

    The driver helped me out of the car

    And I saw his frank expression.

    Another stunner. It was

    Admiration. I looked too good. I

    Was too tall.  Had I insulted the bride

    By overreaching?

    I blame the heels – when

    I towered over her –

    She must have hated it.

    She’d gone back to reposition – 

    To pivot, as they say,

    While Verne sat in comfort at the bar.

    He rose at the sight of me and once again

    I saw that face. Tribute

    To my manufactured beauty and yet

    I saw the calculation – was he 

    Managing me too?

    Naturally, he’d have to be –

    They had a goal of some kind

    Inviting me here –

    Weaseling their way back into the

    Famiglia, the family that gave up on them

    For whatever purpose.

    He seemed satisfied that

    I was alone –

    The arm that contained me 

    Was decidedly un-brotherly:

    Squiring me away from his 

    Desultory conversation –

    He didn’t bother to introduce me. 

    He enjoyed them seeing he was meeting

    Some strange woman.

    “Let’s get you dinner.”

    Anything better than a bar

    That looked me over as if 

    I was some Russian call girl.

    As we turned I was confronted

    By the mirrors: I looked like

    Some Russian call girl.

    Can I blame champagne, allowing

    Mirabel to paint me up?

    Or the society that wants –

    Expects me to look this way.

    None of this is my fault.

    I said in my best-guest manner,

    “Should we wait for Mirabel?”

    He demurred.

    “Waiting for Mirabel’s never a good idea.

    Putting yourself out only encourages her.”

    He snuck an angry glance at his phone

    As the headwaiter flashing menus

    Manhandled us

     Towards a darkened booth.

    Perhaps this engagement was far too long –

    Were they tired of each other already?

    “Turtle soup’s very good here,”

    Said Verne: I longed to claim

    To be a vegan but also yearned

    To sample everything.

    Sucked my water greedily

    As a martini-bearing waiter 

    Assessed me so attentively. 

    “A Virgin Mary?”

    Verne seemed startled but

    The more knowledgeable waiter sped away.

    “Without the vodka.”

    He seemed relieved.

    “Something Mirabel said let me

     Feared you were religious.”

    It was too complex to enlighten him.

    Famiglia’s religious but

    I’m free choice. I’ve yet

    To make up my mind about

    A lot of things. Switched it up.

    “What kind of ceremony will you have?”

    He seemed stunned as if I’d proposed

    Barbarian rites, then vague.

    “Some judge. A ballroom.”

    Shrugged his shoulders.

    “Mirabel says you proposed

    First night you met.”

    He laughed sharply.

    “I was young and stupid.”

    Well THAT was tough to follow up.

    Could both be afflicted with

    Cold feet? But Verne could

    Switch it up as well.

     “I recognize the signs,” he said.

    “What signs are those?”

    Struggling to regain my footing.

    “Mirabel can be very shattering, can’t she?”

    I shrugged, dismissed 

    Disloyalty, opting for

    Vagueness.  As he did.

    “Life comes at us so fast.”

    “I tried to free her from the life,” said Verne.

    “I don’t believe she’ll really let me.”

    Which life was that?

    This was depressing – my parents hoping

    For good news, find a bride and groom stuck

    In mutual complaining.

     “Mirabel proposed to me.”

    He said coldly. “It’s the title.

    They all do that. 

    She was no virgin when I met her.”

    I was stung on her behalf – who wants his

    Moth-eaten old royalty?

    And what cretin expects 

    Virgins among New York models?

    “She said she accepted

    The proposal you’d made long ago.

    And you said yes!”

    My Virgin Mary was 

    Too spicy to be truly virginal.  I

    Almost choked.

    Sipping slowly to wonder

    If I liked it.  Doesn’t hot sauce 

    Wreck your palate?

    As the waiter manifested a fresh martini, 

    I assessed Verne’s subtle desire

    To put me in the “wrong”.

    Lack of breeding?

    Was my hair not red enough?

    Too bad for him –

    I am well used to disapproval.

     “Mirabel said you like red hair,”

    I teased him.

    “I wanted her natural color –

    Yours, I assume?”

    Who could say?

    My memory was of long ago.

    “I think people should make themselves,”

    I defended, arguing

    Too fiercely.

    Soup arrived, bread slathered with 

    Mozzarella, pesto & tomato. Mini-pizzas!

    I sighed ecstatically and felt from him 

    An answering thaw.

    “When you inherit an ancient world,”

    He pontificated, “you learn to value the past.”

    “So you have a castle?”

    I asked through my full mouth.

    Turtle soup OK. Too much sherry for my taste

    Or was that stuff curry?

    Are turtles seafood?  Just like my sister

    I got a bored “I do.”

    He checked his phone.

    “It’s a bit of a ruin with tourists crawling

    Everywhere. Mirabel doesn’t care for it.”

    Phone again. Was Mirabel texting?

    I studied mine to be

    Companionable. My folks again.

    Always, with the questions.

    “She’s not answering,” he sighed.

    We’re not as attractive as

    Her double life.”

    This gave me a jolt.

    “She has a double life?”

    “Probably triplicate by now.”

    He snorted.

    I tried my father’s ploy.

    Get ‘em talking.

    “Why don’t you just tell me about it?”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 3 – The Lost Sister

    I realized with horror that

    I was going to cry.

    Seemed I’d never expected

    To actually see her

    She was a scam  – a myth –

    Like so many ones

    She pleasured to perpetrate

     On our poor parents.

    “Darling!” Threw her skinny arms out

    And kissed the air.

    “You escaped!

    You’re all grown up!”

    She was shorter than me now –

    A tiny person-

    How I laughed.

    Laughed with relief – 

    Suddenly I was initiated into

    Her exclusive club

    Two of us against the world

    Superiority & sisterhood.

    She’d always known – none better

    How difficult parents are.

    They didn’t need me to protect them

    Running my own modest scams

    To engineer breathing room

    Took all the help I could get.

    Could it be time for Mirabel and me 

    To grow up together?

    I’d have a New York City sister –

    Married to a lord 

    Providing escape anytime.

    Mirabel tossed Verne a burning look –

    “Get us drinks?”

    And dragged me –

    Literally DRAGGED me –

    Into a double-doored bedroom where she

    Swept me down upon the white flokati rug

    And gazed deeply in my eyes.

    I felt a bit of a hostage at that point

    To tell you the truth.

    She seemed more desperate for ME –

    A nobody fourteen year old –

    Than I was for her.

    How could this be Mirabel?

     So much smaller than my memory –

    Disappearing before my eyes in fact,

    Running away

    As she had seemed to do 

    The whole of my existence –

    Shoulders folding together

    Over her knees –

    Dress size diminishing

    Smaller, ever smaller.

    How could this tiny thing

    Ever strut a catwalk?

    Blondness was history

    She was a redhead now.

    She caught me staring at her scarred

    Upper lip and covered it

    With a gesture I recalled

    As if moving her hand fast enough

    I wouldn’t see it. “Too many

    Piercings gone haywire,” she explained.

    Apologizing to me

    For the ruin

    Of her beauty.

    Something rattled at our door – Mirabel called –

    “We’re naked!”

    Pulled me into giggles –

    “Leave it outside!”

    She covered my mouth and signaled with 

    Humongous eyes –

    Crawling to the door she –

    Peeked out low –

    Pulled in a

    Champagne bucket and a pair of flutes.

    My face must have showed

    Surprise at his exclusion; but

    She said: “Grooms get in the WAY 

    Of weddings! No one wants them!”

    She lifted an unsteady

    Rock-wearing hand to toast –

    “Men! You know! They want to

    Decide everything but weddings are the

    Bride’s-” She gasped and gagged 

    As if from desert thirst – as if

    She’d never had such wine.

    “You can’t think what pleasure it is

    Finally getting rid of him – too much

    Togetherness destroys

    The hardiest relationship.”

    I sipped sedately, even though

    The brew frothed my sinus

    Parked burning foam

    Behind my eyes.

    How COULD this be Mirabel?

    The way she looked at me –

    Something stank of 

    Imposture and deceit.

    I just can’t say –

    I’m far too new –

    It’s just too weird.

    She was my sister and yet not.

    She leaned too close to

     Touch my hair.

    “They should have named you

    Maribel so we’d be twins.”

    The door opened and Verne stood over us

    Looked reproving as

    Mirabel fell away.

    But he was mild enough 

    Laying dress bags on the bed.

    He winked and

    Then was gone

    Door slightly left ajar –

    Pointedly, I thought –

    Mirabel closed it with her foot,

    Called, “See you at dinner!”

    I felt sorry for the poor groom –

    Then we heard the outer door slam and

    Mirabel unzipped bags briskly after

    Topping off her glass with

    Vodka from a bottle by the bed.

    “Bad champagne,” she excused herself,

    “In Europe, babies drink this stuff.”

    I studied the bottle –

    Beau Joie Brut Special Cuvée –

    “Brute” champagne 

    Sharpened me like

    Winter air when you can

    See farther, fly further

    Or think that you can.

    Mirabel offered her bottle.

    “No thanks.”

    And drained her tulip glass

    And spoke my words.

    ”You’ve changed,” she commented.

    Did I drink vodka at eight years old?

    I said, “So have you.”

    “My hair hated being blonde.”

     “Is he really a lord?”

    Mirabel rolled her eyes.

    “Unfortunately.” At my surprise she added –

    “It’s a cruel trick if

     You can’t do anything you want.”

    Shrugged.

    “At least the restaurants like it.”

    “And you’ll be –“

    “Lady Verne.”

    Unexcited at the prospect.

    Opposite of what

    Old Mirabel would have thought

    She followed the doings & undoings of

    European princelings in 

    Vogue magazine.

    I probed deeper.

    “You just met?”

    “God no, we’ve been together FOREVER –

    And only now we tie the knot. But you!”

    She spun me all around.

    “You’re so tall! And thin!”

    I found myself apologizing.

    “I can’t stop eating –

    “I must grow so fast because I eat

    Whatever I can find.”

     “After the wedding,”

    Mirabel promised

    “We’ll do a purge.”

    Sounds like a great honeymoon

    I thought but didn’t say.

    She was not making out a

    Great campaign for aristocracy &

    Marriage.

    “Think you’d fit a four?”

    The dress she flourished was pale gold,

    A fairytale gown with an endlessly flounced

     Puffy skirt. My gasp 

    Relaxed her. And she smiled.

    Most beautiful dress I’d ever seen.

    “Let’s find out!” I

    Almost dropped my wineglass in

    Excitement. Rapidly

    Stripped to totally unsightly sports bra

    And cartoon briefs.

    I knew we’d try on clothes

    But I owned no decent lingerie.

    “Can’t wear a bra,” said Mirabel.

    “You don’t need one anyway.

    I’ll cinch you in.”

    She gazed too long at my sad breasts

    A man’s gaze I thought –

    This dress had ribbons for corset strings 

    and Mirabel cinched me tight.

    “There!” The mirror exposed a stranger. 

    I was a new person.

    “A little short, maybe” said Mirabel,

    “With the right shoes…”

    From the closet she threw out flats.

    Disappointing – but –

    Bridesmaid shouldn’t tower over bride! 

    Maid of honor harnessing

    The clashing egos! 

    In weird familial telepathy

    Mirabel said,

    “Princess Richenda

     To the Dark Tower came.

    Just like in the

    Tarot cards.”

    In the mirror

    I admired my nude

    Beribboned back.

     “How about your dress?”

     “You’ve seen it.”

    It was like the breath went out of her.

    She tossed it out – they were identical.

    How could that be?

    Wasn’t that too strange?

    I was gobsmacked –

    Never heard of bride and bridesmaid

    Wearing the same dress –

    Think of the confusing pictures – 

    People getting entirely

    Wrong ideas. 

    Sounds like bad luck-

    Guaranteeing

    The groom will see the gown

    Before they’re hitched

    If you believe in that sort of thing.

    Mirabel’s dress was

    Smaller – size “zero” –

    Competitive,

    Combative Mirabel.

    She knocked my phone right out of my hand –

    “No pictures till the wedding.”

    Her pressured speech rushed on –

    “We’ve got to dress for dinner.”

    She checked her phone.

    “What will you wear?”

    I looked embarrassed at my

    Corduroy skirt

    Discarded like a 

    Shriveled carapace along the floor.

    Mirabel threw open mirrored

    Doors to reveal another bedroom –

    This one stocked with girlish stuff.

    “This room is yours -”

    She told me –

    “He’s staying at The Stanhope.”

    I blushed – I don’t know why

    He’d called it “his” place –

    And these closets were packed

    With Mirabel clothes so

    Where did I fit in?

    My sister unbound my dress –

    I’m not used to

    Clothes that need assistants.

     “You can borrow anything.”

    Tossed out a slinky gown green with

    Scales that matched my eyes

    Still with price tags –

    I’d never had a dress this costly.

    No bra here either –

    I dangerously chose heels that made me

    Six feet tall – but Mirabel

    Didn’t seem to mind –

    She gave me smoky eye, nude mouth and

    Emerald glitter.

    “Verne hates lipstick.”

    But she wore plenty –

    Cherry red to match her dress –

    I felt lucky anyway

    To be transformed.

    Now I was an impostor too.

    “He’s waiting at the Stanhope Bar.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 2 –  @Valerian

    Once Mom had exited

    I fell contentedly into

    Wondering:

    Who would Mirabel be now?

    When I turned ten

    I followed her face &

    Body through

    Inter-space but in

    Three long years  

    But there’s been nothing to see.

    I fully comprehend

    That shiny airbrushed people

    Don’t resemble that really. But

    Mirabel was always gorgeous;

    Swimming through some

    Different air; her

    Huge eyes and Roman nose teased & promising

    Cavernous depths of soul.

    We all want to believe that beautiful people

    Get everything they want out of life;

    Otherwise what’s the point –

    Yet the Mirabel I’d known

    Deliberately evaded us;

    Abjuring the fold

    Unless needing something.

    At eight years old I had learned

    She was a mysterious gift-giver

    Like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy

    In whom it would be unwise to

    Believe.

    So, as my train slid into the darkness

     Of Grand Central tunnel I texted the number 

    They gave me with “Train on time” &

    Happiness emoji. 

    Of course I wanted to delete it

    Immediately;

    But as the sole bridesmaid –

    Wasn’t I 

    The real Maid of Honor?

    Obligated to planning

    If not excitement but

    No response from Mirabel.

    Someone called 

    “@Valerian” tweeted: “I’m meeting you. 

    M. otherwise occupied as usual.

    Look for red hunting coat.”

    Who was Valerian?  Where was Mirabel?

    Did fiancé have charge of her phone?

    Possibly he cloned it;

    My friend Derek does that.

    Forced fresh perspective:

    If parents had known

    There wasn’t a Mirabel

    Would they let me come?

    That was the emotion Mirabel engendered

    I well remembered –

    She was a genius at 

    Preparing the faithful –

    “Softening us up”

    For future hard times. 

    This means never forthrightly

    Telling those Inconvenient truths.

    As the train lurched to stop I vaulted upwards 

    Greeting myself in the

    Mirroring windows. The girl 

    “Valerian” would see

    Passable in gray skirt, shiny thigh high 

    Pink leather boots, subtly highlighted 

    Nut brown hair. Nothing to compete

    With Mirabel’s blond goddess-hood.

    Free from Mom’s diminishing thumb

    I could exaggerate my eyes – 

    Outline my cheekbones

    Use lips to suggest

    Goddess potential all my own.

    The sight of my made-up face 

    Makes me feel hopeful.

    I didn’t answer that text:

    Stranger-Danger ever-present;

    If I didn’t like the look of him

    I could Uber myself – 

    Once I knew where I was going.

    I  bet on my chances;

    There were other girls on this train –

    I had a hat and sunglasses

    I’ve been melting into crowds

    Once I learned how to walk.

    Problem; my idiot mother

    Sent pictures

    Proud as she was –

    Cross-eyed in her fearfulness –

    If he was the one trying to

    Friend me –

    He’d already seen me grow up.

    Ugh!

    How the past follows us!

    Tortures us; cramping our style!

    How I long to be known 

    Yet forever undiscovered

    Wild virginal territory

    The better to project myself 

    Into the brains of others –

    Ultimate Observer.

    I’m aware

    It makes no damn sense

    To wish for admiration and 

    A the same time 

    Disappear – could it be

    We’re all the stalkers of our dreams?

    Threw diary, book, magazine

    Into my capacious carpet-bag –

    Diaries take one

    Only so far –

    Scribble scribble

    Ratcheting up while 

    Tamping down

    All the sharp points of life. 

    Fell rather than walked

    Down ungainly steps and My God

    There he was-

    Guarding the escalators, in his famous

    Red coat.

    Mirabel would NEVER come 

    Way down here 

    “To the tracks” –

    Hoi polloi, déclassé –

    But this sharp face looked eager

    Gladdening to see me.

    Was he

    A sight for eyes too young to be sore?

    Tall physique; you’d say

    “Distinguished,” but 

    Foreign looking, really,  in spite of 

    American jeans and that red down parka.

    The closer I got the more

    Startlingly handsome appeared

    That knife-planed face –

    Curly undisciplined black hair –

    Couldn’t stare long because

    He grinned at the sight of me. 

    No possibility of escape –

    Nor desire really 

    Wasn’t this more fun 

    Than forging some raw

    Uncomfortable relation with

    The long-lost sister?

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    What could excite the most

    Boring of Mothers?

    Lacking hypothesis –

    Unshouldered my headphones–

    Grateful because

    Geometry’s a notorious paralytic –

    Playing the

    More interesting

    Guessing game.

    “We won Powerball?”

    “Your sister! Your

    sister’s coming home!

    To get MARRIED!”

    Invisible Mirabel –

    ten years my elder 

    Unseen lo these

    Eight years at least.

    I barely remember her.

    Lifetimes ago. 

    “Why?”

    Mom – never invited in –

    Unable to break my force-field 

    Leaned against my door.

    Thin edge of the wedge

    Is an article of her religion. 

    “It’s all forgiven.

    Making up for the past.”

    Who can make up for the past?

    Especially when they’re so busy making UP

    The past.

    Mirabel just wants a free wedding.

    Mirabel was ALWAYS

    Always always always

    About the money.

    That much I DO remember.

    “Who’s she marrying?”

    “I think his name  –

    Something like Rupert Golden.” Said mother –

    “I couldn’t ask her to wait while I got a pen.

    Said she’d send details. She’s so fussy about

    Snoopers.”

    Everyone loathes snoopers, I thought because

    Everyone loves to snoop.

    It’s addictive.

    People usually won’t

    Reveal themselves without help. What

    Mirabel really hates is

    Accountability.

    I know it – 

    We’re all that way at first till 

    Forced to grow out of it –

    Taking our medicine; 

    Surviving

    Tongue-lashings

    Dressings-down,

    Bad grades –

    Teachers who hate you

    Disappointing boyfriends 

    Etc. etc. etc. 

    Most of us move on.

     “Rupert Golden sounds so unreal,” was my

    Only contribution.

    Mom gave me her

    “Like you’re the expert” face.

    But fourteen year olds DO

    Know everything.

    Then we start to forget because

    We’re distractible.

    Mother sighed gustily –

    Almost obscene – I 

    Looked away, politely

    Embarrassed for her. She said; 

    “We’ll be a whole family again

    First time in – ages.”

    Just so Mirabel can leave us 

    One final time, I thought –

    Cynical me.

    It’s all coming back to me.

    Attuning to Mirabel – she’s the one 

    Who made me so cynical –

    Looking for groupies –

    “Murble”

    I called her

    When learning to speak, 

    She was my dazzlement,

    Goddess of my

    Dappled infancy.

    Parents may be incomprehensible and

    Downright nonsensical.

    Caring only for appearances –

    Pretense

    Our manse is

    Copacetic.

    That’s why we – the

    Ungratefully sane –

    Greet their

    Lectures on truth-telling with

    Stink-eye and sour-mouth.

    “When’s this happening

    Happening?”  I asked a fair question.

    “Unsettled,” says Mom.

    “She wants your help buying The Dress.”

    “Me?” Here’s something unexpected.

    Amazing adventure, in fact.

    Up to that second I’d  been a

    Peeper, a commentator, a satirist 

    Unthankable critic of

    Our Family Drama.

    Now I’m  color coordinator?

    Was there a choice buried in this?

    “You’re her only bridesmaid so your

    Dresses must match,” 

    Mother pronounced –

    Completely unrealizing

    What idiocy she spoke.

    Mirabel had certainly

    Not sacrificed

    Edge.

    “You travel tomorrow 

    and both come back Sunday.”

    These plans were

    Gobsmacking.

    How had she been inveigled

    Into agreeing to this

    By a kid on the outs

    Unseen in eight years.

    I could see she wasn’t quite  happy.

    Something was niggling.

    Probably the fear that

    White slavers will get me

    It’s usually that.

    “Unless… maybe I should drive you?”

    I alerted like a drug dog.

    Time to finish Mirabel’s work.

    This was nothing less than

    A prison break.

    There’s a first time for everything

    Grab it when you see it.

    “I’ve taken trains before,”

    I said maturely, suppressing my

     Own edge; announcing –

    In case she’d forgotten –

     “I’m fourteen years old!”

    “But it’s the city,” wailed my Mother

    Both of us panicking 

    For different reasons.

    “I’ve been to the city,” I said,

    Blessing disgusting school field trips

    I’s tried to get out of.

    “I know where things are.”

     “She’ll meet the five o’clock.”

    Mom’s face was a study –

    Obviously wondering

    In what hell had she agreed to this?

    Some strange woman

    Calls up my Mom 

    Securing more freedom 

    Than I’d ever managed?

    It’s a gift.

    Keep the horse’s teeth out of it.

    “It won’t even be dark,”

    I said blithely,

    Knowing that, after white slavers,

    Parents dread darkness. 

    “So that’s where she lives?  In the city?”

    Rumors of international travel reached us

    when Mirabel’s modeling died.

    (I recall her yelling that fashion 

    Is shit.) And

    All this time she’s been

    Twenty miles away?

    Mom still seemed unhappy,

    Realizing how few facts she’d extracted.

     “Maybe it’s where Rupert lives.

    I’ll trust your good sense.”

    First time for everything!

    Who trusts Mirabel,

    Under what misbegotten star?  

    Someone needs to commit 

    To some serious snooping –

    And I’m the right person with my

    Fierce curiosity to

    Ferret out truth.

    That very night a person

    Calling himself

    Philip Valerian

    Accosted me on Instagram.

    But I was well-trained

    Media savvy –

    I shut him right down.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Why would a bride vanish after pushing her fourteen year old sister into the spotlight?

    Chapter 1 – Surprise Wedding

    I’m Richenda

    Fourteen; I

    Thought myself bored.

    Winter break’s glacial dullness

    Broke just recently –

    Right before dinner, when

    Mom

    Harried as usual 

    Put her head around my door :

    “You won’t believe what has happened!”

  • Purrsiflage – Daily Cat Zen with Alysse Aallyn

    Feb 26

    The Multiverse is Blossoming – You are awakened to the magical possibilities that surround you. Can you dream of eternal bliss? Are you floating in connectedness? In Love the boundaries of the other disappear; all is forgiveness. Merge fearlessly, knowing you will be able to get yourself back any time, soothed, improved, and healed.

    We Are Purrsons for Love – Love is the spirit that animates the empty spaces between creatures.  Once charged, these spaces become a powerful force for growth and change –  uncharged they are so much dead air. This is the space that Purrsons protect. Love is the longing to be truly alive and to share life with the Blissed, Blessed Others.

    Our Yearning Defines and Connects Us – As children we thought we knew about miracles but it seems we have forgotten. As Purrsons we fight for our ancestral memories of trust and closeness. How we long to be reminded of the ecstasy of selflessness, to re-experience the borderlessness between creatures that makes a dead multiverse come alive.

    Love Is Our Being – Life is a spiral, our labyrinth, remember? We can’t go back, we can only go forward. We practice techniques and invent others as we design and redesign purposeful maps in a threatening and uncertain world. We have the collective confidence of all the brilliance of the Purrsons who came before us. Someone loved us once, eternalizing the golden moment, now we can re-create and perpetuate that magic by creating our own miracles.

    Purrson Danger – Danger lies in narrowing, exclusionary definitions of what ‘can’t” happen, what “won’t” work. Purrsons explode restrictions all the time. Love must ever open outwards. As soon as we turn Love into a zero-sum game with a shut-off valve focused on our own narrow gratification, Love dies.

    Purrson Opportunity – Love Is always a Miracle – It can restore the dead to life.  It can open minds, it can awaken hearts. The possibilities of a Purrson are endless because we have chosen, with our flexibility and our sympathetic understanding, to be all-encompassing. Close your eyes and assume yoga’s starfish pose. We are open to what the multiverse longs to teach and once we commit to pass it on, we form an unbreakable chain, free at last from the bonds and the limits of selfishness. Clasp the hand (or paw) that generously, trustingly takes hold of yours. Let’s venture forth together.

    Models & Mentors – ‘to love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides”

    – David Viscott

    “Miracles don’t happen to you, they happen through you.” – Mary Davis

    “Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get, only what you are expecting to give, which is everything” – Katherine Hepburn

    “Love gives you a piece of your soul you never knew was missing” – Torquato Tasso

    “You’ve got to see the miracle to be the miracle.” – Jandy Nelson

    “Love is the gift of oneself” – Jean Anouilh

    “I love you for who I am when I’m with you”

    – Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  • Purrsiflage – Today’s Zen for Your Inner Cat with Alysse Aallyn

    Feb 23

    Day Seventy – Two

    Today the Multiverse Decides – Time to make peace with your elders.  Have you been dreaming of old people? Funerals? Aging in general? Gurus atop mountains?  Dreaming about Buddhas, caves, palaces of wisdom?  Or are you fixating on a specific elder who had an influence – bad or good – on your young life?

    Purrsons’ Effort Is Sacred – Failure is when you don’t try. Experience is the great teacher. Bad Judgment leads to Experience which leads to Wisdom which leads to Good Judgment.

    You Are Wiser Than You Know –– Contrast elders you admire with those you avoid. Aren’t the latter complainers who stress to everyone they meet what a bad hand life has dealt them? They complain about their health, politics, the weather, other people – whatever crosses the windscreen of their increasingly tightening minds. In their world children never call, doctors don’t help, media is lying, weather’s getting worse, food is adulterated and we are all going to hell. This person is clamoring ever more loudly for ego strokes without apparently noticing the discomfort and distaste of those around them. Rather than trying a new strategy, they step up their whingeing.

    Read the Room! Is what you want to scream at them but you realize they can no longer “learn.” This is the opposite of wisdom. This is senility. A brain is shutting down, a personality is beggared and no one wants to be around it.

    Think of an Elder you Admire. Nelson Mandela, Joe Biden, St. Joan, Desmond Tutu, The Dalai Lama, Deepak Chopra, Oprah Winfrey, Pema Chodron, the Pope? These persons are Ego-Less.  Someone who talks about others, not themselves. They authentically care for others. They discuss ideas rather than gossip and have a long memory of problems, solutions, trial and error. They keep themselves “young” in all the ways that matter. People flock to them.

    There’s an Old Cherokee Story about how each of us is born with a good wolf and a bad wolf inside of us. The one that gets stronger and takes control is the one you feed.  Your challenge is to figure out how to practice your increasing wisdom every day. Accepting your dreams and encouraging their deepening understanding is the beginning of wisdom.

    The Pursuit of Gurus is Inherently Dangerous because there are a lot of con artists out there seeking hostages and slaves. You require an experienced hostage negotiator to help free you. Avoid dominance/submission games and people who use any of the following interpersonal techniques:

    1.  They’re never “wrong.” They refuse accountability. Nothing is ever their fault. Only they know what is fashionable, appropriate and right. You are always wrong.
      • People only capable of hierarchical –  vertical, not horizontal relationships. Someone needs to be “on top.” It will never be “your turn.” You will always be dragooned into doing their bidding.
      • Blanket statements and generalizations – Thick layers of protective blather will keep you from getting through to discuss any task at hand.
      • Misrepresenting your thoughts and feelings to the point of absurdity – You are a poorly educated simplistic thinker and a deficient reasoner and they are in on all the secrets and are the source of all wisdom. There’s no “cooperating” with these people.
      • Nitpicking and moving the goal posts – Different rules for everyone and every day.
      •  Changing the subject to evade accountability – “This is your fault – You shouldn’t have given me that job to begin with.”
      •  Covert and overt threats –“If people know what you REALLY are, say, do, no one would be your friend.”
      •  Name-calling , stigmatizing, limiting– “Identity politics.” “You are a ___” Fill in the blank. And that’s all you’ll ever be in this guy’s eyes.

      2.  Destructive conditioning – Abuse, frustration and disrespect are this person’s calling archetypes but it’s never their fault that they live in a cloud of toxicity. They want you in there, too. Decline.

      • Smear campaigns and stalking – Endless power struggles. “Office politics.” Need I say more?
      •  Playing the Martyr – “Everyone’s lying about me. I have so many enemies!”
      •  Demands Immediate Unthinking Fealty – When someone stresses the fact that they are a “nice guy” or girl, that you should “trust them” right away or emphasizes their credibility without any provocation from you whatsoever, WALK AWAY.
      •  Baits and badgers you – testing your limits. Can you be made to lose control?
      •  Boundary testing –  “You owe me”  – “You’re committed” – “Everyone does it” to drag you into unethical enterprise
      •  Aggressive jabs disguised as jokes – “Can’t you laugh about yourself? Everyone else is laughing.”
      •  Condescending sarcasm and patronizing tone – Know-It-Alls

      No One Using the Above Techniques has your best interests at heart.

      Our Scars Define Beauty – You can see this is all about Control. Avoid those who seek to control or dominate you. Revered Elders such as those mentioned above would not do that. Treat others with respect and expect respect yourself.

      Purrsons Know Their Allies – Purrsons don’t fear becoming experienced. We seek it. People come and go, but the right ones stay. Time shows you the difference between the strength and honor of another’s heart. Purrsons share their knowledge.

      Purrsons Can Read the Signs – If you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will. Train yourself to trust yourself. You can read and write maps, you can interpret Nature, you see Red Flags before they wave for others.

      Purrsons Earn Peace – Random acts of kindness make everyone feel better. Purrsons’ “can do” attitude spreads peace. Purrsons welcome other peaceful spirits. We challenge the troubled to take their drama elsewhere.

      Models & Mentors – “You can’t control the wind but you can learn to adjust your sails.” – Jimmy Dean

      “It always seems impossible till it’s done.” – Nelson Mandela

      “Knowledge speaks but wisdom listens” – Jimi Hendrix

      “I am thankful to those who said No. Because of them, I did it myself.”

      – Albert Einstein

      “Experience is not what happens to you, but what you do with what happens to you.” – Aldous Huxley

      “It is never too late to be who you might have been” – George Eliot

      ‘Wisdom is the journey no one can take for us” – Marcel Proust

    • Purrsiflage – Today’s Zen for Your Inner Kitten with Alysse Aallyn

      Feb 22

      The Multiverse Runs on This Super-fuel – Do-overs. Clearing the slate completely. Letting go. Accepting fresh creation and creating freshly.

      We All Need to Forgive… and be Forgiven. We transgress again and again against our own hearts, our own souls, and the heart and soul of the universe. It is the essential state of being human, and Purrsons do not reject their humanity by encompassing our cat-like qualities. We intensify it.

      How Can We Go Back? Doesn’t forgiveness involve repair? Where can we go to trace exactly what went wrong? 

      Do you Dream of Home?  Often we dream of a home that no longer exists, or never existed. “Home” represents the state of psychic absolution where all mistakes are forgiven and forgotten.

      Purrsons Create the Future – We must commit to the ultimate compassion that we are all in this together. Jesus suggests that understanding doesn’t arrive until we learn to be the “forgivers”. Obviously, this means we must learn – somehow – to forgive ourselves.

      Purrsons Create Heaven – Such forgiveness helps us achieve the state of spiritual lightness that allows a Purrson to float through time, history, even the multiverse.

      Purrsons Are at Home in the World – What’s your “dream home”? A Purrson’s training emphasizes understanding and managing the fragility of the human body and the objective world, and accepting our healing and unifying mandate. Once we have scoped out the terrain and the inhabitants, Purrsons are at “home” anywhere.

      Purrsons are About Justice – But not the kind that leaves more brokenness behind. Purrsons achievements and physical selves display the triumph of thought, will and love.

      What Does It Mean to “Start Over”? – We don’t wish to be free of “consequences”. We want to learn and grow from our mistakes but not be humiliated and punished for them. Pretending consequences didn’t happen doesn’t free us. Seeing our mistakes as moves in a dance we are all contributing to frees us from painful rumination and helps escape and explain the prison of blame. “I did this because you …”  Cats live in the Now. Human interactions are a tar-pit in which we trap and tar ourselves. We realize we need to forgive every chain in the event pattern if we are ever to have any peace.

      It’s All About You – Robert Frost defines “home” as a place where, when you show up, they have to take you in. Defining “they” defines your group, your original home. Philosophy may provide an answer. Buddhists see history as a circle, Christians as a spiral. The question for Christians is, which direction is the spiral headed and do we have time to learn what we need to know before there’s a cataclysm?  Can you define the mess we’re in and intuit your behavioral contribution? Is it possible to detach from the mess? In what group – or even in what “moment” can you detach from the mess?

      Purrsons’ Danger – We can’t afford to get mixed up about right and wrong. “By their fruits shall you know them.” Think it through. One avenue leads to health, dignity and growth; the other leads in the opposite direction.  Don’t make the mistake of “fundamental attribution error”. The threat is NOT coming from inside the house. Martin Luther King Jr. made the wise comment that our specific brand of capitalism tends toward is “socialism for the rich and rugged individualism for the rest of us.” It certainly suits corporations to lecture their employees on building a better world without incorporating any of those ideas into the bigger picture, where we personally have no control while they demand absolute freedom to do whatever whimsy directs.

      What Is the Bigger Picture? Health and safety for all living things to achieve their growth potential as part of a harmonious, non-exploitative whole. It is key that our resistance – which is necessary and life-giving – not embitter us.

      Forgiveness Is Our Armor – Forgiveness doesn’t require ignoring the past or accepting bad behavior. It’s part of an interaction where forgiveness is a request, not a demand. Usually there is a recognition of fault or an expression of remorse: “I’ll never do that again!” When the requesting party instead seeks permission for the suffering to continue, “I can’t change – that’s the way I am” — that’ a different request. “Home” is not re-created that way. Hell is. Your opportunity is to point this out – if necessary, (because of safety) only to yourself. “If I’m not willing to try giving up my participation in this suffering because I think I’m not able to, then this pattern will continually get worse.” Time to construct a better – more intelligent map.

      Models & Mentors – “It’s not an easy journey to get to a place where you forgive people. But it’s a powerful place, because it frees you” – Tyler Perry

      “The practice of forgiveness is our most important contribution to the healing of the world”

      – Marianne Williamson

      “The weak can’t forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong” – Mahatma Gandhi

      “To forgive one another, we must understand one another” – Emma Goldman

      “Forgiveness does not exonerate the perpetrator. It liberates the victim. It’s a gift you give yourself” – T.D. Jakes

    • Purrsiflage – Welcome to Your Daily Cat Zen with Alysse Aallyn

      Feb 21

      When You Wake Up This Morning – You realize, the future weighs on you. Will you be found wanting? 

      This is a Message from the Multiverse – these oppressive anxieties match with universal preoccupations. The planets slow when we don’t acknowledge their power. Let’s make friends with our anxieties. Uncertainly beleaguers us. Is there a way to divine the future? 

      Consult Your Dreams. The Number One question people have about dreams is, Are they prophetic? And the answer is of course YES. We KNOW the “truth’. We fear the truth.  We don’t want to face the truth. We tremble at the continuing “losses” of age because the accretions are so hard to see. But our dreams – and the collective unconscious – KNOW what is going on. We are weaving straw into gold on a daily basis, transmuting the physical into the spiritual. 

      Dreams are also Art, and art – especially good art – is as forcefully mysterious, meaningful and evocative as any living thing. It changes as you change.  It changes depending on how you look at it. 

      If Purrsons Need Truth. Purrsons Must Accept Revelation – Dreams tell us when to be afraid. Dreams warn when something is missing. Dreams uncover all the secrets you have been keeping from yourself.  

      The First Obligation : Purrsons Accept is that the truth will set you free.  The second, is that although it can be terrifying, the truth is necessary. Purrsons spurn the hiding, lying, misrepresentation, that substitutes for truth. 

      Purrsons Can Handle the Truth – We are human, we are imperfect, and we need each other. Humans need governance and law to regulate our natural blindness and selfishness (which some would call original sin) into peaceful accord. The truth also is also that humans who lust only for power will eternally angle to get themselves into positions of control, exclusion and punishment. These impulses must be identified and weeded out and it is courageous, difficult, and really unwelcome work, because we Purrsons, we loving, generous Purrsons also have our own lives to live. 

      Purrson Danger – Our dreams notify us when one of these lethal persons is in our midst. Our maps & models offer a variety of plans for confrontation and escape, and a recipe for courage. At the present time, the Lethal Persons are banding together and hoarding weapons to give themselves even more guarantees for power and opportunities to welcome our despair. 

      Purrson Promise – Jesus said evil will not win. The challenge is to explore what ELSE he said, indeed, what is the message of all the great teachers? People who tell you to hate one another and go to war with one another are agents of evil. The first challenge is to create peace in our own hearts, peace in our own lives, peace in our own homes, and then start developing compassion for those who are not so lucky. 

      When Brutal Tactics and Empty Promises are Exposed as family destroyers, peace destroyers and community destroyers, we see clearly that efforts to spread and share despair come from an innate desire to surmount despair, but also that this has never worked and is not working.  It allows the torturer (and the tortured) only the briefest respites. Only when the goal of increasing world suffering is finally given up can we welcome penitents back into the communion of equality. 

      Models & Mentors – “We write the future moment to moment” – Pema Chodron 

      “The best prophets lead you up to the curtain and leave you to peer through for yourself” – Frank Herbert 

      “The greatest thing a human soul can accomplish in this world is to see that poetry, prophecy & religion all are one”– John Ruskin 

      “The best way to predict the future is to create it”– Abraham Lincoln 

      “Yesterday has gone, tomorrow has not come, let us begin” – Mother Teresa