Alysse Aallyn

Category: #History

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    I had to ask

    The ultimate question.

    “Did he kill the real Franny?”

    Were we a survivor chain of

    The lot, the disconnected, the

    Threatened?

    Her eyes slid back and forth

    As she repeated her question;

    “Did anyone follow you?”

    I wasn’t aware of anyone

    But in our day and age

    Of advanced surveillance

    Was it possible to reassure?

    “No. No hiding stalkers

    On your tiny island.”

    It worked.

    For the first time she relaxed

    And smiled. But still she

    Whispered as if we could be

    Overheard.

    “I’m sorry for putting you 

    In that position but I knew

    You wouldn’t let him hurt you.

    You were always different

    Born yourself –

    I’m not myself yet but

    I’m trying to be.”

    She began to swing us

    Her thin legs in white gauze reached out

    Pumping us higher.

    “You didn’t answer my question”

    I insisted, “The real Franny

    Is dead. Who killed her?”

     “Verne killed them,” she confided.

    As our swing vaulted heavenwards.

    “My friends were

    “Hiding me from Verne but

    “I still had to work. He stalked me – he

    Broke in – stabbed Franny and Jane.”

    “But missed you?” I prompted. ”Because

    You were in the broom closet?”

    “No,” she said, “He found me

    Covered me with their blood – said

    I was the cause of

    Everything, I was the one who

     Made  it happen.

    He threatened to kill me too

    But slowly. I knew he planned

    To torture me to death.

     I could never get away.”

    “Why not tell the police?”

    Her eyes were so big, pale blue shading

    Into gray – same color as the ocean.

    “They’d lock me up –

    He knows too much about me.

    I tried everything I could think

    To get away but nothing worked

    Till this.” She held my hand

    Me – feeling like the 

    Older sister.

    “Remember the fable I used to

    Read to you – the dog that dropped the bone

    Because he saw a second one?

    That’s my gambit –

    I felt sure that you would recognize.”

    She held my wrists enlaced in

     Skinny fingers.

    “Verne was always telling me

    I was ruined, that I’d spoiled myself

    And destroyed our future.

      I convinced him you were me

    Unscarred – the way I was

    Before he met me –

    Better than I ever was – me without

    The things he hated.”

     I recoiled, disgusted, trying not

    To show it. That bastard! Hating

    Her feeble resistance.

    She smiled the old one-sided smile.

    “I was right too. You were too smart

    To fall for him. 

    “You were born so confident! 

    So good in school! Your brain

    Seemed always working right –

    Reading my schoolbooks

    Helping ME to do my homework!”

    It was funny, listening

    To this different recollection

    Of our years together, so distinct

    From my modest memories. 

    At the very moment I was

    Iconizing her, she was

    Idealizing me.

    The swing slowed. My sister

    Looked away – that far off glance

    That was the skill she’d mastered –

    Disassociation –

    Floating above the rest of us –

    In her inner world of safety.

    I heard my voice –

    “But I’m so plain.”

    “You’re wrong about that, –

    More beautiful than I ever was –

    I think I’ve learned what real beauty is –

    It’s wildness – untamed – and

    Those who want to capture it

    Are killing their desire.”

    My sister, the guru 

    Clutched at me again – fearful

    She could lose me as I’d lost

    Her. She knew the world

    Was full of melting women

    Simulacra who seem

    To be but aren’t –

    Shadow people enlisted

    Replacing those who

    Never came to be.

    I recoiled in horror at 

    The degradation

    So closely missed.

    “And then you found me,”

    She breathed, scaring me

    With confidence in my miracles. 

    “This island’s pictures

    Were the only ones I ever sent 

    To you; I thought 

    That you’d remember.”

    “I almost didn’t! 

    Answer one for me. Did you steal

    Diamonds from Kruptupian?”

    “His broker was cheating him.

    When I gave him the evidence, 

    He sold my ring

    Giving me the cash to get away

    Without informing.

    I’ve been taking yoga teacher training.

    I’m going to give Franny Vallea the 

    Flourishing life she

    Din’t have, without

     Family, without chances.

    All she ever wanted was enough money

    To be safe, to have peace, quiet

    And a lock on the door.”

     “Mirabel, you must let me 

    Tell Mom and Dad. They don’t

    Deserve this silence.”

    She turned mulish. Resistant.

    More stubborn than I’d ever be.

    “Mirabel is dead. It’s better for everyone.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 18 – Dream Island

    Isla Ensueno is a resort –

    Luckily Derek’s air miles included the

    Pink stucco hotel.

    “No one by that name,” the desk clerk told me so 

    Patiently. What kind of avatar name would 

    Mirabel choose?  He wouldn’t stand for

    Guessing so I tried describing her –

    But the clerk shook his head.

    Well, I couldn’t leave until tomorrow

    Might as well check in and prowl.

    It’s a very small island.

    My thoughts were uncomfortable –

    That oh-so familiar feeling –

    Dinned into me by every adult I’ve ever met

    That I’m probably doing

     Everything wrong.

    My “great idea” seemed feeble now

    Typical teen impulsiveness.

    This wasn’t far enough away – Florida!

    How could Mirabel feel safe here?

    Smart money said she’d flee

    Ocean-wards – the Maldives or Malta or 

    Some such place – with a whole new

    Passport and some new man in tow

    Whose identity she could hide behind.

    That’s if she wanted to create

    A new persona. But what if –

    This is what I gambled on –

    She wanted instead to uncover 

    The old persona – the person

    Who had always been there?

    It was the only explanation

    For involving me –

    Other than simply feeding me

    To her monster.

    I had one single chance –

    And possibly I’d blown it.

    Dream Island was authentically gorgeous –

     Mirabel hadn’t lied 

     But in the eight years since

    Her photo shoot hadn’t its splendor 

    Diminished, wasn’t it becoming

    Just the tiniest bit shabby? 

    Some people – myself for example

    Like things whose edge has been

    Taken off.  As I circumnavigated 

    The island’s walking trail 

    A certain peace overtook me

    That could have been

    Maturity.

    Was this what it felt like

    Having nothing left to prove?

    If you can enjoy the moment –

    Filling yourself with it and

    It with yourself –

    Then you’ve arrived.

    Questions bubbled. 

    What do you do

    When your game has gone horribly wrong?

    You start over.

    Even if my guess was off

    There was still that intriguing 

    Probability: what if Mirabel evolved

    Until her only desire was having a self

    Worthy of presentation to the magnificent

    Universe this island represented?

    Even at fourteen I understood nostalgia –

    Viewing the confident know-it-all 

    My eleven-year-old incarnation 

    With the purest envy.

    What if Mirabel re-set the game – 

    Made different choices

    Stopped pleasing others by

    Contorting her body into

    Simulacra and challenged the world

    To accept her real being?

    The younger self I knew – hopeful – 

    Gorgeous – naïve, impatient –

    Wasn’t in the Maldives!

    As I walked I systematically

    Searched every nook;

    Old trees shading the privacy of

    Lovers: I broke into – peering under

    Awnings, stared right through

    Sunglasses: but Mirabel 

    Wasn’t there.

    The trail wound around a sand beach cove 

    And right up to the lighthouse; 

    I was unprepared; requiring

     Binoculars, sunscreen and a

    Really big hat;

    Sea breezes made me shiver

    In just cami and jeans – 

    Something put me 

    In the mood to climb the lighthouse.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 16 – The Escort Murders

    “I remember those murders now” says Derek

    As the taxi struggled against downtown traffic.

    “The Escort Murders!  It was talk of the news for months

    Year before last. “

    I’d never heard of it.

    Escorts! Was Mirabel an “escort” or

    Only a “friend?” “Escort” did have a

    “Porn scout” feel. Did I really want to know

    About Mirabel’s life if

    This is what I found?

    Disquiet shading to

    Repugnance. “I remember

    Nothing about any survivor,”

    Derek went on, completely

    Oblivious to my mood.

    He wasn’t perfect. Or maybe he was –

    Too “perfect” ever to worry about

    Mirabel selling herself. I pushed:

    “”But they arrested someone?

    Someone confessed?”

    “Yes. Some sixteen year old kid 

    From that same building

    Said he crawled in the window like

    Spiderman. They gave him a plea deal and

     They never went to trial because

    Experts say that it’s impossible. He must

     Be bragging.”

    “Who’d confess to a crime

    They didn’t commit?” I asked

    But hollowly, because I already knew

    The answer. Haven’t you ever

    Heard word come out of your mouth

    That amaze you – words

    You deliberately feed the thirsty person

    Standing at your side?

    We toted the boxes

    Up to his chicly forlorn eyrie,

    But he couldn’t let it go.

    On his laptop he summoned 

    Sheaves of bloody newsprint.

    I reeled – nonconversant, I admit, with

    CAPITALIZED TABLOID MURDER.

    I avoid true crime, finding that

    Getting through high school is grisly enough.

    “Crime’s an acquired taste,” admitted Derek.

    “I advise you not to acquire it.

    You can’t unsee some things.”

    Truly helpful and caring or

    Stuffy and condescending?

    I regarded him with freshened

    Disapproval. 

    “Didn’t I invite you on this case?” I chastised.

    “This is my sister’s case.”

    He was suitably repentant.

    “Mysteries without murder are a parlor game,”

    He defended, “But when they bring out the knives

    Everyone’s at risk.”

    Too true. I shivered. Couldn’t feel safe

    Until both me and the boxes 

    Were quadruple-locked behind Derek’s guarded,

    Security-cammed, barricaded front door.

    I made him show me that the only other entry

    Into the apartment (in the kitchen) was

    Barred & sealed.

    I studied the news reports. They didn’t mention

    Mirabel or her broom closet.

    Could it be an urban myth?

    “Do you think Mirabel was really there?”

    I whispered as if we weren’t

    Alone. “But what could she hear

    Locked in the broom closet?”

    “Screams?” suggested Derek.

    “Maybe a name? If they 

    Knew who attacked them?”

    I posed the ultimate puzzle.

    “But why take a year and a half to run away?”

    “If the killer didn’t know she knew –“

    That sent a stab right through me.

    I didn’t want to play this game

    It struck too close to home. It was

    The first good reason I’d heard since my arrival

    For Mirabel dropping out without a word.

    “The alternative theory –“

    Then he stopped. Too late.

    From his expression

    I knew what he was thinking.

    “They got her,” I said as cold as

    I could muster. “Ugh. I hope not.”

    “So now we have another mystery to solve,” 

    Said Derek. “This one 

    With knives. Find the killer – and maybe

    Find Mirabel. Or give her reason

    To come home.”

    Both of us turned to stare 

    At the dusty boxes just brought in.

    I tried not to elevate my hopes.

    Derek was thinking the same thought.

     “What can be valuable if she abandoned them?”

    But I had the answer.

    “She couldn’t return – if

    The place was crawling with police.”

    Derek was comfortable

    Playing devil’s advocate.

    “What if the real Mirabel WAS killed that night?

    And the person you met was an impostor?”

    “Verne would have to be in on it,” I spoke

    Before I thought;

    Antithesis was obvious. 

    “He could have done it. That gives him motive

    For proving Mirabel’s alive.”

    We both needed cups and cups

    Of good hot sugared tea –

    Orange, cardamom

     And cinnamon.

    “If we’re listing suspects,” Derek braved.

    “Maybe we need a murder board.”

    A murder board?

    Didn’t he move too fast for me?

    I struggled with my memory of Mirabel’s eyes –

    Pleading underneath her teasing.

    “I think that was really Mirabel.”

    “Oh well, there’s always confirmation bias.”

    Derek sipped. “People hating to admit they’re wrong.”

    Obnoxious know-it-all!

    I felt the pressure to one-up him.

    “We’re forgetting something,” I suggested.

    “Mirabel could have done the murders herself.”

    I’d shocked him. I was appalled

    By my hypothesis but proud of its result.

    He was silenced.

    “Still, kill her own roommates?” I queried.

    “What could be her motive?” 

    “These are roommates we’re talking about!”

    Derek knew about roommates; he’d been

    To boarding school.

    “They made her stay in the broom closet!

    Who needs a reason?”

    Derek plays to win.

    “They were helping her by hiding her, so

    Occam’s razor says

    Whatever she was hiding from

    Came and got her.” 

    I tried envisioning Kruptupian and

    His minions. Derek sighed.

     “What if it was your sister,” I started

    To demand, then recalled how

    Annoying Sierra could be.

    He followed my thought and burst out laughing.

    Proved his devotion to the game. “It’s hard

    Physical labor knifing someone.”

    “TWO PEOPLE,” I corrected.

    Perhaps that meant two killers.

    We spread the boxes out on newspaper.

    My hopes WERE high.

    Whoever it was I’d seen last Friday

    Already a life-time ago – now

    The real Mirabel was ready to 

    Jump out at me.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Was Mirabel just about breaking rules? Or

    Breaking herself against them?

    “Different people have different sets of rules,”

    I suggested.  “She was looking for a different world.”

    “Still looking,” suggested Derek.

    “Probably for a world where 

    You don’t have to lie all the time.

    “She lied to your parents and -”

    “She lied to me and she lied to Verne.

    She said bridegrooms 

    Get in the way.”

    “Wow. And you were with her

    So briefly!”

     “Maybe we’re all impostors,” I suggested,

    “Until we find out who we really are.”

    “Trying to get “it” right without knowing what “it” is.”

    I could really talk to this guy!

    What a relief.

    He googled. “Impostor syndrome.”

    We played dueling phones.

    “No,” I corrected. “I substitute 

    Capgras delusion.

    Thinking everyone’s a fraud.”

    “Neva vu, I call it. When the familiar suddenly

    Seems so unfamiliar.

    What’s that phrase?

    Fake it till you make it?

    Doesn’t that make everyone a fraud?”

     “Adults think kids are easy to fool.”

    “Some teens believe anybody,”

    Derek agreed. “Look at the stuff they post!

    Not me. I’m always ready

    For the universe to turn

    Upside down and inside out.”

    I considered it.

    Maybe I was too. “It makes life more

    Interesting. Trying to see through

    Reality to the reality beneath.”

     “They’re lucky you’re not a snarky Goth.”

    Relaxing guy!

    “Who says I’m not a snarky Goth?”

    Now we both laughed.

    I gave him the Brooklyn address –

    No luck there – far away from traffic cams.

    Spa camera was on the fritz.

    “We need people who knew her when,”

    Derek suggested. Providing an

    Interesting hour

    Of online search.

      Mirabel’s most recent address 

    Was an apartment

    Building on the Upper East Side. 

    We looked at each other.

    “Well, it’s something,”  I said.

    And Derek said,

    “Wanna go see?”

    Chapter 15 – Stage Set

     “Are you here about the rental?”

    One eye peered out at us across a solid-looking

    Door-chain. My voice was raw from unsuccessfully 

    interviewing all the other tenants about Mirabel 

    So Derek swept into the breach.

    “Didn’t Mirabel Marshott live here?”

    The eye rolled, then closed.

    “Who wants to know?”

    “I’m her sister,” I said, but

     Helplessly.

    Just another bust I assumed – yet possibly 

    My breaking voice produced

    Some good; next sound a gasp followed by 

    Unlocking. “You’re the answer to a prayer,” 

    She said. Crazy! “Come in. Hurry.” 

    Reached out an arm to yank us inside.

    We were in a tiny 20th floor apartment

    on the Upper East Side –

    I’m telling you, SMALL – entirely empty. There was

    A highly-polished floor and a fantastic view 

    Of other people’s balconies and terraces.

    “Her stuff’s in the storage bin,” said the girl.

    “We have to make this fast.”

    She was a tiny Filipina with literally POUNDS of 

    Makeup. Any age between twenty and eighty.

    Artily dressed – expensively – I surmised –

    In flowing hand-painted chiffon. Checked her Rolex;

    Opened her Day Planner, plucked out a sticky note,

    wrote BACK IN 5 MINS and slapped it on the door.

    She pulled us outside and carefully locked 

    All three locks. “We don’t want them 

    Finding out about Mirabel,”

    She hissed as she frog-marched us to elevators.

    “She’s a deal killer.”

    Derek and I were both too stunned to speak.

    Me of the short game, found my words first.

    “Who’s them?” I asked.

    “Oh, you know,” she whispered, punching the button

    “Anybody who knows the case.

    People fear the killers could

    Come back. If you’re savvy enough

    To afford this apartment you know

     The guy who confessed couldn’t 

    Have done it. So the killers are still out there.”

    Derek was the first to address

    This fray.

    He was more familiar

    With the wayward ways

    Of Manhattan tenantry.

    “Mirabel stayed here unofficially?”

    “Right,” said our hostess, seemingly irritated

    By the elevator’s slowness.

    “She was in the broom closet. It has no windows!

    Six kinds of illegal.

    I mean, she wasn’t actually here that often.

    Probably used it as a mail drop – or

    Stayed with boyfriends while avoiding

    Other boyfriends. You know how that goes.”

    We didn’t. She looked me up and down 

    Realizing far too late –

    She was giving too much away. 

    “I heard your dad was terribly strict.”

    She pursed her lips.

    I wanted to defend my poor dad –

    After all, if you have a lot of boyfriends and

    Play them off against each other

    Won’t you find – eventually –

    One who’s “terribly strict”?

    But I cared too much what Derek thought.

    I muted. Elevator arrived. We rushed inside.

    “She was there that night?” prompted Derek.

    “When the – killing – happened?”

    “MAYBE,” breathed our Latinx, so excited to be a

    Bad news bear she vibrated physically.

    “Stabbed to death in their beds. – Franny and Jane.

    Mirabel just took off – I mean who wouldn’t? So the cops 

    Maybe even the murderers – never knew she was there.

    Now we have to sell the place –

    I’m Dominica –  Jane’s sister.”

    Uncomfortably long elevator ride

    To the basement. Finally she said,

    “You know, you look like her. Here we are.”

    A bump along the basement floor.

    “Mirabel kept her stuff in bins. 

    Here, you’ll need one of these.”

    She slid a trolley at us.

    I gathered courage.
    “Did you know Lord Verne?”

    “We all heard plenty

    About the titled ex-.

    Violent and threatening. But

    I thought he was in Europe?”

     “5106, 5107 – here we are.”

    She unlocked a storage unit. Three boxes piled

    In the center of the floor. Marked MM.

    Our helper watched us load them.

    “Thank God you’re getting these out of here –

    We didn’t know how to contact her.

    I’ve got to get back. Interest

    Has been heavy.”

    “How do you explain the murders?”

    “When you need real estate

    You’re not scared of death. Just

    Don’t say how – they don’t want

    To know.” She nodded fiercely

    “Unbelievable I know – but that’s New York.

    Your door’s is that way.”

    We both stared at her departing back,

    And clattering heels.

    “Wow,” said Derek, “Plenty to chew on.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 8 – The Psychic Link

    Power is some heady thing.

    Maybe it meant I could get some

    Questions answered.

    “You really think she stole his jewels?”

    He pulled away.

    “Loose diamonds were his wedding gift.”

    Well, THAT seemed weird. 

    I envisaged the rock weighing down

    Mirabel’s finger. 

    Had it come from Ravi?

    If he threatened prosecution

    Would that be enough

    To make her disappear?

     “At least he gave us one name.” I offered. 

    “Jacobson’s.” Verne’s face set 

    Mulishly. 

    “A toady!”

    Seemed to me Verne enjoys me pushing 

    As much as he treasures

    His resistance. So I pressed on.

    No more of this false modesty. 

    “How long’d she work for him?”

    Sore subject! He thrashed in his seat

    Like a captured cat.

    “Years. I took her to England

    To make her break things off

    Only to discover

    He was still hounding her with

    Requests.” Requests?

    “What requests?”

    Fingers drummed. “Scouting.”

    “Scouting for what?”

    “Well, he’s a porn producer.”

    Verne touched my knee to

    See into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

    Was this the secret Mirabel

    Did not want me to know?

    Was this why she disappeared?

     “Was there…anything between them?”

    “Definitely at first. I wooed her away.”

    He considered. “He disappointed her somehow.” 

    Not hard for married men to do!

    Verne looked at his hands.

    “In Europe

    He asked her to launder money

    Buying diamonds. I think it was a trap.”

    I caught on quick. 

    “He set up the theft?”

    In Ravi’s mind was he the only

    Rightful owner and

    Everyone else a thief?

    Verne explained:

    “He wanted people around him

    Who couldn’t get away.”

    Why did that sound like such

    A perfect description of Verne?

    Here’s Mirabel surrounded by

    Men wanting to shackle her;

    Possess her utterly. It’s a

    Horror tale. I shuddered.

    It made ME long to disappear.

    But; it also made it a lot less likely 

    She escaped to be with him.

    “Where’s Mrs. Ravi?”

     “He SAYS his wife lives in Paris. But

    No one’s ever seen her.”

    Could we have two, not just one

    Missing brides? Was marriage itself

    A disappearance?

    As we conversed

    Another limo pulled up, a

    Beaver-coated man rushed from

    The building – Ravi! And off they went.

    I made my decision.

    “Follow that car!”

    Back to Brooklyn.

    Obviously that address meant something

    After all. “Stop here,” I ordered

    At the final turn.  Now that we knew

    His destination why risk

    Confrontation?

    “But he lied to us!” Swore Verne.

    “Just watch,” I argued,

    “He’s one step behind.”  

    Ravi vaulted from the car

    Phone clutched to ear and paced,

    Shaking his fist at the darkened sky.

    “Look. He’s blowing up her phone.

    And see? She’s not answering,”

    I pointed out. “She’s long gone. Maybe

    She kept a vehicle here.”

    “She didn’t have a license,” quibbled

    Verne. But he seemed oddly cheered.

    Slowly, I was becoming his 

    Authority. Already I felt I knew Mirabel

    Better than he ever could.

    So, I didn’t bother telling him

    How easily fake licenses are to get –

    Girls must keep some secrets.

    Verne’s new role was

    To unplug his thoughts 

    And wave them about

    Like a series of semaphores.

    “Maybe it was my mistake to insist

    We be married in New York. But

    I wanted to meet her family.”

    I could HEAR this tale

    Evolving. Hadn’t he said that was 

    Mirabel’s idea? Were the two of them 

    Ever separate in his mind? 

    I flirted with the notion of men as

    Paramecia, seeking islands

    To engulf & absorb.

      “Let’s sleep on it,”

    I suggested. “Give her a chance

    To contact us.” It would take 2 Benedryl 

    To sleep with all this buzz. I wished

    He’d take his hand off my knee

    But I recognized this as a

    Compromise, when I could tell

    By his eyes that what he really wanted

    Was to launch himself into my lap.

    But why say that

    Just when we were getting along

    So splendidly?

    She wasn’t “home” at the unhomeless

    Home. She’d get as far as possible

    From any address associated

    With these two men.

    But what was MY future?

    That was the deepest mystery here.

    Now Verne was trying to hold

    My hand, laying his head

    Awkwardly along my shoulder.

     “You’re such a comfort. 

    Did you share sister secrets?”

    I could feel his inner engine

    Throbbing, luring

    Me to be fake with him.

    I know my parents do it – beg that

    Opiate of reassurance.

    I can’t do it with them

    And I couldn’t with him.

    “Buck up –“

    I braced him, “We’ll

    Find out more tomorrow.”

    He unloosed my hand and

    Glared at me distastefully.

    “I blame this androgyny,”

    He grumbled. “Girls have lost the art

    Of coquetry.”

    Good riddance, I thought.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 7 – Bride & Seek

    In the elevator Verne requested: 

    “Game face only.” I was bemused.

    Which game is that?

    “Bride and Seek” – the ancient

    Party game – requires someone 

    Getting locked in an airtight trunk

    Does not end well, as I recall.

    We decanted on the penthouse floor.

    Battle of the Rich Men, I thought,

    Who knew that’s how my

    Weekend would devolve?

     But this man’s apartment seemed really his

    As opposed to Verne’s

    Antiseptic rented rooms – 

    Each gaudy piece carefully curated, 

    Trucked in from God knows where

     Art deco friezes,

    Naked ebony statues –

    Bows & arrows –

    Lots of brass and torchieres.

    And that’s just the hall.

     Leather paneled, copper nailed door 

    Opened before we even rang the bell and 

    A handsome, shorter, older man

    Stood before us in bathrobe and slippers.

    Mirabel with this guy?

    What is the use of beauty

    If this is all it gets you

    Verne’s at least good-looking. 

    “Why, Verne,” he said in a voice even I

    Recognized as jovially false: 

    “What brings you at this hour?

    Please come in.” Bizarre foreign accent

    I couldn’t place.

    He took my hand, mauling it like many

    An unbalanced teacher at my Special School

    for Introducing Adolescents to Adult Subjects

    Long Before They’re Ready.

    I am practiced at closing my mind

    Against these guys

    Even as they woo me.

     “You can only be Mirabel’s lost sister.”

    “That’s just it,” I said, “It’s Mirabel who’s lost, not me.”

    “I’m Ravi Kruptupian,” said the man, 

    Refusing to let go.

    Subtle power struggle – your manners make no

    Purchase here –

    My first flicker of

    Actual fear – alone in the world

    With two strange men who wore

    Compulsive need like ad logos.

    I can’t fault Mirabel for deciding 

     Better disappear than marry amongst this ilk but

    Where does that leave ME?

     “Welcome to my enchanted forest,”

    Said the man in the bathrobe.

    “Please leave your shoes by the door.”

    He slid the bolt as

    We came through.

     “I know it’s late,” Verne began,

    Ravi said, “Never care about the time. Drink?

    Pot of coffee?”

    Kruptupian’s inner rooms did not reassure.

    Dark, hand-carved, certainly fake

    Tree branches projected from the walls

    Displaying riots of glittering glass objects.

    Coffee appeared from

    A wall recess. Why not? 

    Spiked mine with hot milk and brown lump sugar.

    “Where exactly did Mirabel SAY she was going?”

    Asked this man as if he and Mirabel’d never met.

    “Aren’t you supposed to be

    Honeymooning?”

    Was that a tinge of glee I heard?

    I’m sure Verne heard it too.

    He might go off on any moment –

    I didn’t think he was coping well –

    Game face was NOT in evidence.

    We sat in an upholstered leather booth

    Highbacked –

    Plundered from some café.

    “She didn’t say,” said Verne.

     “She was joining us for dinner,”

    I told this strange new man.

    “I just arrived on the six o’clock train.”

    “Sisters can be difficult,” said Ravi.

    “Or so I’ve heard.

    Your relationship was good?”

    Wow! Mirabel wasn’t great at telling folks

    The basic facts about her family.

    Was he implying

    Mirabel left because of ME?

    Two Marshott girls never breathe at once?

    I decided not to get into it.

    “She seemed fine when we tried on clothes together,”

    I began to feel hopped up on coffee.

    Quit that stuff

    Before the shaking hands. I

    Banged my mug upon his shiny table.

    “I heard you knew her well.”

    Let him think she’d squealed –

    I smiled in a way that forecloses

    Further questions and

    He blinked indulgently.

    “I haven’t heard a word 

    Since her going away party.”

    Ripple of surprise from Verne.

     “Going-away party” unknown to groom?

    Ravi kept smiling. 

    He had a lot of teeth.

    “Maybe she needs a honeymoon alone

    I heartily recommend 

    Fall in love with your SELF first.”

    We did not believe him for a minute –

    He was needling Verne.

    This bad conversation somehow seemed

    To be endlessly getting worse.

    “She certainly had the means –

     I gave her a generous parting gift

    Then found out she helped herself to more.”

    His face hardened, steely-eyed.

    “I didn’t know until she tried to fence my stones.”

    “Mirabel stole from you?”  spluttered Verne.

    “Who knows what went through her mind,” 

    Ravi spread his hands in apology.

    “She may have been confused about my gift.

    No harm done.

    Jacobson returned the stones.”

    What did all this mean? Don’t worry about Mirabel,

    She’s just a little thief?

    Disappearing from humiliation, exposure & shame?

    I felt surge of prosecutorial passion:

    Was it possible to get to the bottom of this?

    Never had “game face” seemed so

    Dangerous and unappealing.

    “She worked for you?”

    I tried to clarify.

     “She was my scout. She brought me – 

    Things I might want to buy.”

    Verne’s boil burst.

    “She never for anything with me!”

    He sounded ready for a fight

    But defending his money, his charm or

    My sister?

    Ravi skirted the issue

    With old-world politesse.

    “Women keep some expenses private.”

    That’s true as dirt;

    My mother calls it “mad money”.

    A hundred dollars tucked inside

    Your bra. Verne would never best this man

     Except in hotness and

    Eligibility. Someone

    Needed to tell him he was “enough”;

    Probably that was Mirabel’s job

    And she got tired of doing it.

    I was not the one to explain to him.

    I pursued investigation.

    “Did she call you?”

    Ravi pulled out his phone. 

    Flicked through content. “I don’t see it.”

    “She took a car to the wilds of Brooklyn,”

    Verne asserted, coming back up

    Like a Bobo doll.

    “Know anything about that?”

    He was overly combative – this

    Wouldn’t get us anywhere.

    “What address?” At least

    Ravi seemed interested.

    Luckily Verne recalled it.

    Ravi remained impassive.

    “I’ve got no information.”

    Verne stood up. This felt bad.

    “Sure she isn’t hiding here? Using some old key?”

    Ravi rose too. 

    Short but still impressive.

    “She never had a key. She couldn’t enter

     Without my knowing. I’d rather

    My house guests weren’t disturbed.”

    Verne veered away. Fisticuffs avoided.

    Ravi walked us  – miming helpfulness

    Towards the door.

    “I suggest missing persons.

    Get police involved.”

    He seemed to know this would insult Verne further

    And it did but Verne shook it off, 

    A punch-drunk fighter.

    “What good are they?”

    Ravi pushed his luck.

    “Troll the basics – hospitals and morgues.”

    Verne’s face melted into gargoyle. 

    Turning to me Ravi backtracked –

    “Likely bridal nerves?  The engagement was

    So sudden.”

    “We’ve been together forever!”

    Verne barked. I took his arm.

    “Sorry if we’ve inconvenienced you.”

    Somehow the door got opened.

    “No problem. Let me know if she turns up.”

    I shoehorned Verne outside.

    “You’ll tell us if she calls?”

    “If that’s what Mirabel wants.”

    I got the door shut before Verne

    Attacked him.

    “I hate that guy! He’s so disgusting!

    How I wish we hadn’t come!”

    I thought he might weep.

    The elevator opened without a

    Summons. This whole place seemed

    Intent on ridding itself of us.

    But Verne resisted. “I bet she’s in there.”

    He looked back longingly.

    “I bet she’s not.” I muscled him

    Into the elevator.

     “How do you know?”

    He looked at me as if I had

    Magic powers.

    “He accused Mirabel of stealing!”

    Verne blew that off.

    “Mirabel’s light-fingered.

    He steals from the world, she steals from him.”

    He didn’t seem to realize 

    This philosophy could apply to him.

    Why marry someone you can’t trust?

    One more thing I still don’t get

    About Adult World.

    I reassured him.

    “She burned that bridge. I could tell.”

    Verne taxed me with how I knew –

    Sneering, “Woman’s intuition?”

    Since he couldn’t trust Mirabel

    How could he trust me?

    Needing me made him hate me.

    I would have to manage him 

    Like a parent. Like poor

    Mirabel herself. Luckily

    He relaxed into the car without more fuss.

    I said, humoresque – “I’m psychic.”

    I say that to my folks because

    They’re just so clueless about

    Others’ vital signs –

    How else explain the obvious? But

    Verne’s whole face changed. He became

    Pathetically excited.

    “Of course!” he said.

    “The sister thing! It creates

    A Psychic link. I have no siblings. 

    Tell me what you feel?

    Where’d she go?”

    The driver also needed to know:

    Where to?

    We put him on pause while

    I equivocated. 

     “I haven’t seen her in so long,

    The connection’s fogged.”

    The only thing I knew for sure was

    Mirabel must hate Ravi just like I did.

    “I need to get to know her again.”

    “Tell me where to go,” said Verne.

    Then he invoked the magic words.

    “I’ll do anything.”

  • 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