The Shape of Water Continued – short story

Zelda and I stood together on the canal bank watching as they dragged for bodies. We cried when they placed the one red shoe into her trembling hands.

We consoled each other after the investigative interviews.

We bonded when we cleaned out Elisa’s apartment. The princess didn’t own many valuable possessions. I kept her egg timer, and Zelda wasn’t parting with that shoe.

Elisa had some money saved. She left a note saying to split it between us.

Our conversations were stilted as we trundled through grief-stricken tasks.

“I think he healed her and took her away with him,” I’d say.

Zelda’s expression was melancholic, “If she were still alive, she would have let us know.”

“How could she? Too many people are still looking for him….for them.”

Our prospects for work dwindled. Zelda was spending nights on the sofa sleeper in my apartment. Though I enjoyed her company and her cooking, sharing a bathroom with her was nearly intolerable.

“Yolanda, from work, cleaned Colonel Strickland’s office.” Zelda offered as she turned hash browns one morning. “She overheard him talking about where he found it. She knew the place; she has cousins near there.”

“Did Yolanda say if her cousins ever heard of a River God?”

“She didn’t.” Zelda compressed her lips. Those words dropped off into a moment that was as deep and broad as the Grand Canyon. Zelda’s stern brown eyes bored into mine. My scalp tingled. I ran my fingers through the hair that hadn’t been there before Aqua Man.

A postcard arrived one day. Not in the mailbox but slipped under my door. There were only two things on it. My street address and a stamp from Peru.

Zelda and I became unencumbered adventurers. No strings kept us tied to any one place. We headed south making discrete inquiries. We were lucky that Zelda spoke some Spanish. She started teaching me too. A year, to the day, after we left, we stumbled on a lead. Iquitos is a hole-in-the-wall-town with a few services. Zelda found a job almost right away teaching English to school children in the afternoons. She dragged me along sometimes.

One of her students, Jhady, is a disfigured girl, the daughter of a local businessman who owns an ‘art gallery’ in the back of his grocery store. Zelda kept nagging me to show my portfolio to her father.

When I did it, he was only expressing lukewarm interest in my work when he came across a piece titled, Elisa and her Monster. Raimee’s eyes went buggy; be began talking so fast that I couldn’t track a single word. He seemed in danger of stroking out, so I rushed to bring Zelda in to translate.

We learned that Raimee had seen the River God, he said his name is Iglootoo. The River God receives pilgrims during harvest moons. Raimee pointed to my sketch, speaking two words I understood, “White Queen.”

“We found her!” Zelda screeched, her eyes filling with tears.

Listening to Raimee and nodding, she repeated, “A small pilgrimage is preparing to leave next week. He says he’ll arrange for us to join them if you will speak to the River God on behalf of his daughter.”

“Why me?”

She pointed to my sketch.

Waving his arm, Raimee encouraged Jhady to come out from behind the curtain where she’d been hiding. She hung her head, letting her long dark hair form a barrier. I could see enough of her face to observe tight, contorted skin around her nose and mouth.

As the date for departure approached, our nerves grew taught. We took it out on each other.

“What if it’s not them?” Zelda worried.

“It has to be! Raimee recognized Elisa in my sketch.”

“It doesn’t look that much like her! If it is her, what are we going to say after all this time?”

“Hello? I’ve missed you?” I suggested in a sarcastic, biting tone.

“Should we take something as an offering?”

“If we don’t, they might not let us go—” I smiled slowly. I knew what I was going to bring.

It would be a four-day trek into the unfathomable jungle. We bought burros to haul our gear. Neither one of us believed that the other could hike that distance, I hoped those burros could carry people.

We headed out at dawn with guides at the front wielding long, thick blades, doing battling plant life.  Zelda and I were the last stragglers in a group of twelve.

We stood at the edge of a small lake. Thick tropical foliage obscured the opposite shore.

An elaborate calling ceremony began with pounding drums and song. Zelda stood to my left. Raimee to my right, his daughter, pressed against his side like melted cheese on beans. Flower petals were cast over the glassy surface.

When bubbles appeared moving in our direction, all grew silent, even the birds and monkeys stopped chattering.

Zelda’s breath caught when a blue-grey be-gilled head rose from the water like a bioluminescent Atlantean prince.

Following the locals, we dropped to our knees, sinking into warm, soft mud. Supplicants displayed their offerings before them.

We could tell he recognized us when his purposeful footsteps halted; his head swiveled in our direction.

The party leader stood, calling the creature’s attention.

“He knows you!” Raimee stated clearly in English.

“Where’s Elisa?” Zelda whispered vehemently.

I didn’t know, but like her, I was searching. In my peripheral vision, I watched our scaly friend picking his way through the line, accepting gifts and laying his webbed hands on heads, feet, and other places the petitioners extended for inspection.

The expressions of those he skipped turned to masks of disappointment. I wondered at his choices, did he not care for their gifts?

As he got closer, he seemed distracted.

Jhady was next in line. The River God dismissed her. Raimee’s face crumbled, “Not again!” he cried.

“Wait!” I called, even though Zelda pounded on my arm.

I held out my basket. Mewling sounds came from inside.

Aqua Man’s gills flared. I think that’s as close as he gets to smirking.

“I remembered,” I said looking him full in the face. “I was going to ask for more hair, but I’d rather you heal this little girl.”

When he pointed to my basket, signing the word for, ‘funny,’ Zelda and I glanced at each other, grinning.

Aqua Man returned his attention to Raimee’s girl.

Peeling her away, Raimee thrust her forward, admonishing, “Sé quieto!”

Clawed, webbed hands cradled the girl’s face. The River God remained in that position longer than he had with any other pilgrim. The girl’s frightened utterings sounded like the kitten cries.  When he pulled away, A dropped to his knees, hanging his head.

‘Leave us,’ Aqua Man signed.

In the awkward moment when no one but Zelda and me knew what he wanted, Zelda took care of business. “He said you should all go now. “Va! Va!” she shooed.

Before the pilgrims departed, Raimee approached us. He grabbed Zelda’s hand kissing it. Thanking me profusely, bowing to the River God, he backed away.

When he could stand, Aqua Man led us over a vine-choked path. The going was slow. He grunted as he pulled at the stalks, so our burros could pass. I tried helping, but he waved me away. I had a waking nightmare that the jungle was a many-pointed sea star grasping and suffocating everything in its path.

He was breathing hard, stooped, and unsteady by the time we reached a clearing. Zelda was steadying him when we heard a, ‘Whoop!’

And there she was! The White Queen, our own dear Elisa. I stared in shock – her eyes and smile were the same, but the rest of her was drastically changed. She was a combination of Jane of the Jungle, a heavily endowed fertility goddess, and an Aqua Woman.

Lumbered toward us, tears streamed down her face, “You found me!”

Another jolt – her voice!

Overjoyed, the three of us were crying and hugging.

After a moment, Elisa pulled away. “Iggy,” she said, “Thank you. Please go now.”

He nodded, turning away. We watched him walk into the water. At thigh height, he dove.

Returning to one another, we replayed a muted version of our happy reunion.

“Let me look at you,” Zelda said while swiping a hand along her cheeks.

Elisa’s hair was hanging in a thick braid down her back. Across the top of her cheeks, along her collarbones and arms, were glittering, overlapping scales.

“How–?” I began, not knowing what else to say. I reached for her free hand. “I saw you shot.”

“It’s a long story,” Elisa replied, her voice lyrical and butter-soft.

Zelda erupted in tears again. “Your voice—it’s just like I always imagined.”

“Me too,” Elisa smiled, “Though I don’t use it as often as I’d like.” Shaking herself, she continued,” Come inside, out of the heat. You’re staying,” It was more of a statement than a question.

Zelda and I hadn’t talked about it, but we’d packed everything.

I situated our burros before following the women into the house. It was a single room building. Two, double beds were pushed up against the walls. A small kitchen counter took up another wall. A table surrounded by four stools stood in the middle.

“Zelda will share with me, and Giles will take the other bed.”

“But what about—?” Zelda asked.


“That’s his name?” I wanted to know.

“His name is Iglootoo. He told me that after I taught him how to spell in our language.”

Zelda nodded. “I never thought about him having a name, but I guess you’ve got to call him something.

“Iggy fits him,” I responded. “Did someone give it to him or did he choose it for himself?”

Chuckling, Elisa patted my shoulder. Leaning in to plant a kiss, she said, “I’ve missed you, Giles. We’ll have plenty of time for stories. Did you bring your art supplies?”

“I never leave home without them.”


Zelda joined Elisa in her small garden picking vegetables for our meal. I sat inside, observing. Sketchpad in hand, I let my pencil capture the scene.

Long shadows, two women wearing large straw hats, their heads together. I couldn’t draw the feminine laughter but wished I could capture it artistically. Their voices carried.

“How long till Iggy comes back?”

Elisa straightened, raising a hand to her brow, looking out over the water. “He’ll be gone for a while. Those ceremonies take a lot out of him. He needs to go down deep to feel restored. He’s worried about the baby and me,” she rubbed the base of her spine, “so he hasn’t gone as far as he should. With you here, he can take as long as he needs.”

“Honey,” Zelda came to stand beside her, “are you worried about—” she nodded at Elisa’s middle.

Elisa faced away from me, but I could see Zelda’s expression. In all honesty, I’m glad it wasn’t me out there voicing the questions that were on our minds.

They moved into the shade, sitting close. Zelda’s arm wrapped protectively around her dearest friend.

“My child— if it lives. If we both live, won’t have any friends,” Elisa cried.

“If it lives?” Of course, it’s going to live, and so are you! As for friends—that baby already has four people who love it.”

“It,” Elisa repeated, letting the word hang in the air.

Elisa leaned into Zelda; they huddled together. “I’m so glad you are here, Zeldy.”

“Me too baby girl!”

Our days became predictable; meals, naps, tending to the burros and to the garden. For the first time, in possibly decades, I was relaxed and at peace. I noticed, with pleasure, that I’d lost track of the days of the week.

One afternoon, Elisa and I were sitting at the table sipping tea. I’d just finished telling her about the inquiries, the search for bodies, and apologizing for getting rid of all her things. She patted my arm.

“Thank you for taking care of everything. That phase of my life is dead, you did the right thing.”

When Elisa noticed my eyes rapidly blinking, her mouth turned down. She used to read me like a book. I think her skills in that department had deteriorated.

“Take a good look at me, Giles.” She stretched out a leg. Hiking up her skirt, revealing a creamy thigh, and areas covered with translucent scales.

Across the room, Zelda stirred from a siesta, yawning. Swinging her feet to the floor, she hurried over.

Elisa slipped off her shoes spreading her toes. Holding up her hands, she held her fingers wide. Webbing filled all the spaces.

We couldn’t contain our surprise.

Elisa bit her lip; she looked as if she was holding back a smile. Making sure we were looking at her face, she blinked with a set of inner eyelids. They moved vertically from the corners of her eyes toward the bridge of her nose.

“Mary, Mother of Jesus!” Zelda exclaimed, placing a hand over her heart. She puffed up, “I get that gilly thing,” she waved a finger at Elisa’s neck. He had to give you those when he took you in the water and healed your gunshot wound. But he dragged you all the way out here to the middle of the jungle, and he knocked you up,” Zelda’s voice was gaining volume, her gestures gained air space. “Then he leaves you all alone when you’re about ready to drop that kid—” Zelda paused when Elisa started repeating her tirade in sign language. Like a statue, Zelda rotated ninety degrees on her toes.

Iglootoo stood in the doorway, dripping, a puddle forming at his feet. ‘I did not change her or heal her,’ he said in the silent language spoken with his flipper hands.

One of the kittens scampered in around his ankles. Lightning fast, he pounced. Zelda and I jumped. Striding across the room, handing the cat to me, he kneeled at my side, bowing his head. I patted him, remembering the first time he’d encountered a house cat.

That evening as the three of us ate our meal; Iggy reclined on one of the beds playing with the kittens.

‘Iggy’ eats while he’s in the water,’ Elisa explained.

“I like that,” Zelda commented, “a man that don’t need no cooking’s alright by me.”

When the dishes were cleared, Iggy stood, coming to the head of the table. ‘Elisa asked me to me to tell you our story,’ he signed.

He waited for her signal to start. She nodded.

‘Elisa is a lost cousin.’ Going to her side, he lifted her hair, touching her chin gently with a claw, he turned her face left and then to the right.

Her gill slits flared, displaying crimson filaments inside.

Zelda shivered, “I could have gone all day without seeing that!”

Iggy looked to me, I rolled my eyes, shaking my head.

He continued, ‘I was sent to find her, to bring her home. Elisa was designed to be my mate.’

I wasn’t sure if the word he’d used was ‘designed’ or ‘destined,’ but I was too engrossed to interrupt.

‘I was setting out on my journey when I was captured. I did not recognize Elisa when I first encountered her. My sense of smell is not good in the open air and my thoughts were muddled. When our kind enters courtship, we remain in constant companionship. I did not understand how Elisa could come and go. Her unusual behavior was a curiosity that I studied. When we traveled back here, in our liquid environment, we completed the bonding rituals.’ He paused, looking down at her, running a knuckle along her jaw.

Elisa covered his hand, smiling up at him.

‘I’m in you,’ he signed solemnly to her.

‘As I am in you,’ she replied, ‘and we are everywhere.’

Their moment of intense communication drew out.

I could see Zelda bursting with questions; she must have decided to keep quiet too.

As if reminding himself that he had an audience, Iggy continued, ‘When we arrived, we expected to be greeted by the family, but they were gone. All my people were gone. While we wait for the offspring, I tend to the city and search for the others.’

“City?” I questioned, glancing around.

Elisa sighed, “It’s underwater, and it’s beautiful, Giles! I wish you could see it—draw it.”

Just as my imagination was taking root, Iggy bent over, placing a hand on Elisa’s belly. ‘It is time,’ he signed. ‘We will return in three days.’ Scooping her up, he marched outside.

“Wait!” Zelda cried chasing after them, her voice on the edge of panic. I followed too watching Elisa’s crooked smile as she kept an eye on us over Iggy’s shoulder. She waved before they submerged.

While Zelda was unsettled with the latest changes in her friend’s life, I was revitalized. I would bare witness to a new, possibly one-of-a-kind, life form. I wished for gills and webs so I could join Elisa and Iggy in the sea.

And then there were three.

They arrived in the night when the temperature was low and the humidity was high. Elisa cried a little when she described Gemmalyn’s struggle to take her first breath of air. “If we didn’t make her use her lungs right away, they might never develop,” Elisa’s voice shook. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

The nipper is a delight. ‘Darling’ and ‘adorable’ are words Zelda uses when she holds her. ‘Little Monster’ are others she says when she’s sporting a wounded finger that got too close to baby’s sharp teeth.

On a sweltering afternoon when Zelda was in town, and Iggy was away fishing, I sketched Elisa with her baby. It would be another contribution to the baby book Elisa was making. Gemma, still attached to her mother’s breast, had a full belly and was resisting sleep. Elisa rocked, in no hurry to put her daughter down.

“He took me to the city for Gemmalyn’s birth,” Elisa began. “I’ve never had the stamina to make it without help. When we’ve gone in the past, he holds me around the waist; I help kick. This time he carried me, just like when we left. That position creates a lot more drag,” she laughed softly. “It was an effort, but he got us there. It was the first time I felt sad about the place being deserted.”

“He took me to the women’s hall, then, in his language, he gave me the sights and sounds of the city as he’d known it. In that way, I saw his female relatives, and the traditional birthing circle,” Elisa raised glassy eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “It’s almost indescribable, Giles, knowing how it was and watching Iggy trying to make it right.”

Behind the mother and child scene, I began filling in the background with structures. A bustling, underwater metropolis with lots of Iggies.

“He did the work of the women, helping me bring his daughter into the world. It hurt, there was blood, and the sharks circled above, just like buzzards, waiting for a chance.”

“Iggy kept us safe. We stayed in the royal’s suite in the grand palace. While I recovered, Iggy made sure Gemmalyn didn’t swim out of his sight.”

“And then we came home, to you and Zelda,” Elisa sighed, her eyelids growing too heavy to stay open.”

For a moment, I wondered how this mud brick structure compared to a Royal suite, what held such attraction to keep them coming back here.

I put the baby in her bassinette, covered Elisa, then went to cool my feet at the river bank. My mind was churning with things that only aquatic life could experience.

Iggy emerged with several fish on a kelp stringer. Wrapping it securely around a branch, he let our lunch enjoy a reprieve.  ‘What is on your mind, Giles?’ he signed, he sat next to me.

“I’m tired of sitting around,” I said, no longer bothering to sign back. Though he could not speak, he understood our language perfectly well. “I want to go with you, to help search.”

We started my endurance swimming and free diving lessons that afternoon.

I enjoyed my new quest, searching with Iggy sometimes, and on my own.

Nearly a year later, our little clan is still intact. We’ve added rooms onto to Elisa’s house. The Iglootoo family, as I now think of them, is in residence less and less.

Gemmalyn, the most beautiful creature on the face of the Earth, is the best of both her parents, as most children are. She is graceful in the water and out. She’s as curious as our cats and rambunctious as a monkey.

Though there’s been no sign of Iglootoo’s people, he remains hopeful. He is a devoted mate and father, and he’s a first-rate best friend. He’s accepted us as part of his tribe. Our association with him has elevated us as human beings.

Zelda helps Elisa chase after Gemma when she’s on land. She’s also become my art representative with Raimee, who’s been selling my Iglootoo sketches. (Elisa and Iggy have sworn us to secrecy about Gemmalyn!)

I suspect Raimee’s daughter has been playing matchmaker between Zelda and her father. Zelda nearly glows every time she returns from town.

Elisa has been pushing Zelda into talks with the National Parks system. Her goal is to make sure that their home remains protected and safe, that people like Colonel Strickland can never repeat what happened to Iggy.

Iggy restored nearly all my hair and gave me back the body of a forty-year-old.

I’d be remiss in ending our story without mentioning my fresh start with love…

Iggy believes that the merfolk are fairytales, he’s wrong.

Mermaid Book Links

(in order of appearance in the video)

Descending, Holly Kelly

Shearwater, D.S. Murphy

Ingo, Helen Dunmore

Mermaid: A Twist on the Classic Tale, Carolyn Turgeon

The Marked Ones, S.K. Munt

The Mermaid’s Sister, Carrie Anne Noble

Underneath: a merfolk tale, M.N. Arzú

Deep Blue, Jennifer Donnelly

Lost Voices, Sarah Porter


More Stuff

Click here to read Lisa’s movie review, film themes, a collection of trailers and a “Monsters are Living, Breathing, Metaphors” director discussion.

Underneath: a merfolk tale, by M.N. Arzú book review

Another movie Continued short story – Age of Adaline Continued


Your Thoughts


Did you enjoy the Shape of Water Continued? Did you feel that the story stayed true to the personalities of the characters in the movie?  If you were to write a Continued story, what would be similar or different in yours? Leave comments below.


Digging Up His Brother-In-Law in San Francisco’s Pioneer Cemetery

Humans are the only species that buries thier dead. 

After Phineas Gage died (1860), he was buried in Lone Mountain Cemetery in San Francisco. Six years later, his brother-in-law, David Shattuck, along with two physicians (past mayors) dug him up.

Gage’s traumatic brain injury (1848) made him famous in neuroscience and psychology fields.

Once he learned of his patient’s passing, Dr. Harlow (who treated Phineas) asked to have the body exhumed for the advancement of science. Phineas’s mother received this request and saw that it was carried out.

What is it like to unearth a member of your family?

Excerpt from Phases of Gage: After the Accident Years

David Shattuck (husband to Phoebe Gage / brother-in-law to Phineas Gage)
Lone Mountain Cemetery, San Francisco 1867

On a misty morning in November, I found myself in the Lone Mountain Cemetery looking down at my brother-in-law’s tombstone. Doctor Coon and Doctor J.B.D. Stillman stood at my side, each with a shovel in hand.

Guards stood at the closed entrance gates affording us privacy.

Coats came off as digging commenced. At first, I felt that I was committing an unforgivable sin. But as my back strained and my hands developed blisters, those feelings subsided, until my shovel made contact with something solid.

The other two paused, nodding to one another, then resumed. Once space was clear, the two doctors were about to lift the coffin lid when I interrupted. “Wait! Gentlemen, please bear with my squeamishness. Before you open it, would you prepare me for what I am about to see?”

Doctor Coon looked uncomfortable. He glanced at Doctor Stillman who replied, “Why, David, you need not see anything.”

“No,” I disagreed firmly. “I promised my wife that I would follow it through to the end.”

“She never needs to know,” Doctor Coon replied softly.

“I’ll know. Please, just tell me.”

“Very well,” the man sighed as he wiped his hands on his vest, “By now, all of the body fluids will have dissipated. The clothing will be intact. Likely, dry skin will still cover the skeletal remains. Hair will be present.” Coon paused to see how I was taking it. “Shall I describe what we’ll do next and the skull removal process?”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I nodded.

“Once the lid is off, the first thing I will do is hand you the iron bar. Next, I will test the skull to see if it separates from the spine. If not, Doctor Stillman has tools for that. I will remove any organic matter that freely separates. Doctor Stillman will take the skull and place it inside the box.” Coon paused, waiting for my response.

“Understood. Proceed,” I said gravely.

It took all three of us climbing inside the hole to pry the lid up and place it off to the side. I was surprised to see Phineas’s body exactly as Doctor Coon described.

Mummified-looking remains wore Phin’s clothes. But it no longer looked like the man I remembered. When I hopped out of the hole, Doctor Coon handed up the bar. It was ice-cold to the touch, heavier than I remembered.

Not wishing to watch more of the proceedings, I held it up, running a finger over the words etched on its surface.

This is the bar that was shot through the head of Mr. Phinehas P. Gage at Cavendish, Vermont, Sept. 14, 1848. He fully recovered from the injury & deposited this bar in the Museum of the Medical College of Harvard University. Phinehas P. Gage Lebanon Grafton Cy N-H Jan 6, 1850

I remembered Phin’s story about the engraver he hired to do the work, misspelling his name. I could hear Phineas saying, ‘When mistakes are made, it’s the good man who doesn’t get angry, but figures out how to move forward from there.’

I chose to focus on memories rather than listen to the doctors going on about their ghoulish activity.

“Mission accomplished,” Doctor Stillman proclaimed loudly, breaking into my thoughts. He and Doctor Coon replaced the coffin lid. “Let’s get that hole filled.”

When we finished, Doctor Stillman offered to take the skull with him to process it for travel.

I promised myself at that moment, that ‘the skull’ would remain inside its box until it was delivered to Doctor Harlow. I didn’t care to, ever, look at it, or have any member of my family see it.

Without my noticing, a murky fog had rolled in. The city beyond the cemetery walls had been engulfed in a chilly, dull, gray blankness of a November day. Seagulls could be heard high above in the blue sky that must be up there. Our boot steps sounded muffled.

Doctor Stillman cradled the box in front of him like a wise man on his way to deliver a gift to the baby Jesus. Doctor Coon carried shovels and a bag of tools. I kept pace with the others, Phineas’s bar grew heavier every minute.

A raven landed on a tombstone nearby. It shrieked, raising its wings like it expected a token in exchange for letting us pass.

When the guards opened the gates, the metal hinges let loose a high-pitched protest. I wondered if the flaming gates of hell would sound that way if this deed took me to that entrance.

Worse yet, would Phoebe ever forgive me for this?

The Gage family was one of many who were affected by grave removals in San Francisco.

With growing pressure to make efficient use of valuable real estate, the dead of San Francisco had to make way for the living.

By the end of 1948 bodies in several pioneer cemeteries were moved to a mass grave site forty miles south in Colma, California.

Thousands of tombstones were recycled. Civic uses included; the sea wall at Yacht Harbor, breakwaters at the Aquatic Park and Marina Green, construction of a Wave Organ, as fill bedding for the Great Highway, as paving stones in the storm drains at Buena Vista Park and erosion control at Ocean Beach.

Phineas Gage’s niece, Delia Presby (Shattuck) Oliver’s gravestone appears on Ocean Beach when heavy storms move sand out to sea. It was last uncovered on June 4, 2012. The lettering — still legible — reads; Delia Presby, wife of, F.B. Oliver, Died, April 9, 1890, Aged 26 yrs., 10 mos. 27 days, — Rest –


Wave Organ in San Francisco - photo by Kārlis Dambrāns -
Wave Organ in San Francisco – photo by
Kārlis Dambrāns –


Background Research:

Encyclopedia of San Francisco – Removal of San Francisco Cemeteries

1950 Location, regulation, and removal of Cemeteries in the City of San Francisco by William A. Proctor
Department of City Planning
City and County of San Francisco


A Second Final Rest: The History of San Francisco’s Lost Cemeteries film by Trina Lopez

KQED Radio Program: Why are all of San Francisco’s Dead People Buried in Colma?


History of Erosion on Ocean Beach by Bill McLaughlin Surfrider Foundation, San Francisco Chapter


Delia Presby (Shattuck) Oliver’s Gravestone:


Ocean Beach Headstones – Weird San Francisco History

122 Year-old Gravestone Washes Up on Ocean Beach

Find a Grave

Other San Francisco Cemetery Information:

Still Rooms Slide Show by Photographer Richard Barnes – Bodies found during the construction of San Francisco’s Legion of Honor

Additional Gage Resources

Lisa’s San Francisco History Research Sources on Pinterest:



Inside Out

I wear an invisible cloak. Sometimes it rests on top of my clothes, people could touch it if they bumped into me.

It covers me in the shower when I have no clothes on at all.

It is there when I crawl under the covers at night, especially there, where my husband senses its vague outline. He feels it when it settles over us.

We used to take such joy in loving each other when we were learning new intimate, landscapes. We had hope, then, that our actions would lead to a new life with ten fingers and ten toes to count and kiss. We made up stories about returning to the countryside on the weekends so our mothers and grandmothers could dote on the next generation.

But hope faded month after month with dripping blood and tears. It became difficult to smile, reach out, and try again.

The cloak clings to me, squeezing like a metal band around my chest whenever we are around parents with babies and small children.

When my monthly cycle stopped, we let down our guard, the cloak went askew. We kept our secret close, not letting anyone know that we were thinking about names.

Our bubble was fragile. It glowed like a bright sun glittering in raindrops sticking to bamboo leaves in spring. And it was oh-so-brief. The gynecologist popped the bubble with a single word, “tumor.”

After that, we couldn’t even fight about our problem, blaming it on drinking, smoking, or wearing tight fashion underwear instead of boxers that allow seed pouches to cool and swing freely.

The cloak was back, making it so that we faced opposite walls, whispering, ‘good night,’ into a dark, desolate emptiness.

By the 1990s, we learned who had manufactured the cloak.

An alternate definition of rape is a violation, plunder, or abuse. What is it called when a rapist is a system, an industry operating with full knowledge about the harm they cause?

I was recruited out of high school, off my family farm in Yongin. They bussed girls into the city, providing housing. I felt so important! My mother would finally be able to buy enough food to satisfy every apatite at our table.

They outfitted us in clean suits and gloves. We looked like surgeons. In air-conditioned rooms, they trained us to etch patterns into chips. But they forgot to mention that the EGE solutions we used would penetrate our gloves and soak into our skin.

Imagine how I felt when the oncologist reported that my blood tests showed EGE levels six-hundred times higher than normal. Poison was the father of my tumor baby.

“They stopped using those in the states years ago,” the doctor said, “when they learned about their effects on reproductive health.” Pity showed in his eyes before he looked away.

I still wear my cloak to bed, it absorbs the tears that used to be for the baby. It wraps grotesquely around me, cradling my growth.


This short story was inspired by the article, American Chip Makers Had a Problem. Then They Outsourced It.

It was written as a Wattpad entry for #MyHandMaidsTale contest.



Quaker Ladies Rubble; What Might Have Been for Phineas Gage


Estimated reading time 4 minutes.

Excerpt from Phases of Gage; After the Accident Years, a novella based on the life of Phineas Gage.









Phineas is aboard the Witch of the Wave with his parents and sister, Phoebe. The ship is beginning to move through Boston Harbor.  It will be traveling down the eastern seacoast to Chagres. From there, the family will cross the isthmus to Panama City and board a steamer bound for San Francisco.

As familiar territory fades from view, Phineas is feeling queasy. He reminisces about what he’s left behind.

Everything changed that day, four years ago, when I became a freak, The Man with his Brains Blown Out.

When I think about Caroline, my insides get agitated. In happier times, we dreamed of our children. I hadn’t realized how fortunate I was when I was just a man, with a girl, working for our future.

Longing and loss shoot through my heart, searing me. I blink back tears. Viewing undulating ocean swells through distorted vision doesn’t help my mood or my wily guts!

I remember a Sunday afternoon like it is perfectly preserved in an unblemished piece of golden-tinged amber. We wandered off by ourselves, walking over the hill to a peaceful meadow, out of sight of the picnic and games. Caroline discovered a patch of Quaker Ladies flowers, tiny things with four white petals and a sunny center. We set to work picking some when she asks me how many children I think we’ll have.

“Coming from a large family,” I said, “I think I’d like not so many that the middle ones are forgotten in the pack.”

She giggled saying she agreed. I chose a flower, twirling it by its stem, sniffing its delicate perfume, “What would you name our first born?” I wanted to know. I reached over, plucking the pins from her hair, watching it tumble over her shoulders. She looks like she used to when she was a girl. Her smile sets my heart a flutter.

Her eyes sparkle, “I think I should like to name her, Susan.”

“Susan!” I was surprised. “You are wishing for a girl first?”

“Yes, silly, girls are a great help around the home. She will watch the other little ones when I am laboring with the next.”

“Come here,” I said. She leaned toward me. I embed the flower stem in her loose hair so it stays in place. “Here’s to the first,” I said, kissing her. For every child we named, I added a flower, following it with a kiss. We’d be breeding like rabbits if the Quaker Ladies were a prediction of our fate!

Before we started back, a gnat flew into my eye— the left one. The hurt that the tiny bug caused was out of proportion to its size. Caroline sat me down. While pulling my lower lid away, she dabbed with a corner of her handkerchief.

“For such a big, handsome man you yowl and complain like a baby,” she observed with good humor.

When she’d gotten the critter out, she wiped at the tears running down my face, kissing the injured eye, then the other one for good measure. I had to thank her for her kind and gentle services… It was difficult to stop thanking her! But a gentleman doesn’t keep pestering a lady once she’s called a halt.

Having Caroline to myself for that space of time, I was itching to finish saving for our farm and for us to be married! The need for money was what had sent me up Cavendish way to work on the railroad.

A chilly wind crawling beneath my jacket brings me back to my place and time. Looking over the Atlantic waters, my mind conjures up my beloved. She stands beside me, her elbows on the deck rail. She leans into the wind. Her eyes are closed but she is wearing a broad smile. “Every day is a new adventure!” she exclaims.

Turning toward me, her long, loose hair, behaves like fine autumn grass overcome by a dust devil. The Quaker Lady blossoms that I placed there come away, pelting my face with such force that they sting like blasting rubble.

My stomach is tight and sour, jumpy. Saliva, like hot water condensing along the sides of a glass pot, seeps into my mouth, filling the crevices below my tongue.

It occurs to me, with finality, that I will never be a father, now. That dream is as dead as my relationship with Caroline.

I hug the rail, opening my mouth, letting my guts erupt.


One of the ‘great’ medical curiosities of all time.

At twenty-five, Phineas’s life changed the instant an iron rod
(like a crowbar, but without the hooked end)
shot through his head.



“My entire life has been lies,” thought JJ as his boots tapped out a rapid tattoo. “It’s a sham, a false reality that everyone has purchased a slice of. There is no path to success. It’s just consumption, power mongering, and environmental destruction.”

JJ had left a monument in the center of his neatly made bed. His diploma from Wharton University, crumbled into a ball, and his wallet. Inside it was $250 in cash, his credit cards, and his driver’s license. JJ’s vehicle registration and passport completed the assembly. On top of everything, he’d left a cryptic note, Mom, you won’t be able to find me where I am going.

At the time that JJ had written it, he’d been seething with anger, wanting to lash out. Even in that highly charged state, he realized that it sounded like a suicide note. He didn’t want anyone to assume that he’d taken the easy way out. JJ added, When I find what I am looking for, I’ll be in touch.

His backpack was light. It contained a Swiss Army knife, a flashlight, a set of magnets his father had given him on his sixth birthday and the tiny ceramic jar (containing his baby teeth) that his mother had saved.

On the deserted road, a car’s approach could be heard from a long way off. Confidently, JJ made a fist with his thumb pointing up, holding it out.

A wind kicked up in all directions. The air buzzed and crackled. But JJ didn’t look around, he kept striding. A bright light appeared in front of him.

That made him stop. A large bubble, about fifteen feet in diameter, emerged. It undulated as if it were alive, growing increasingly fatter, straining at its surface.

With a pop, it burst. In its place, stood JJ’s dream car.

It made no sound as it crept forward, stopping at his side. The driver’s side door opened. When JJ leaned down to peer inside, he only saw darkness. For a moment, he thought about his note, maybe it was a suicide note…maybe not.

JJ got in.


Vistual Writing Prompt:  WritetoDone website – in 350 words or less, write about what happened next – November 2016

Guest Post – Underneath excerpt by M.N. Arzú

short story cover art3

Daybreak usually found Neil Thompson walking down the shore. At this early hour, the deserted Maine beach was his and his alone. Thoughts about everything and nothing formed and vanished in his mind along with the waves. At fifty-two, few were the pleasures left to him from his childhood, and fewer the moments he actually got to enjoy them.

He loved this part of the beach, his own private sanctuary off the beaten path.

Further down the beach, the waves were washing against a large object, but the dim early light and the seaweed distorted its form. Frowning, he wondered if the sea would reclaim it or if he would find trash polluting his little piece of heaven.

Wind beat on the back of his neck as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He left footprints that quickly washed away, while taking his time to reach the mystery item the sea had so generously brought to his feet.

His heart slammed in his chest when he finally realized what he was looking at: a dead body. Frozen to the spot, he stared as wave after wave crested over the white chest and dark trousers of a man’s corpse, and all he could think about was how much he truly wished the sea would take it back.

Holding his breath, he tried and failed to look away. His stomach felt too tight and heavy while his mind navigated a strange mix of morbid curiosity and utter disgust.

A particularly large wave crashed beside him, drawing him from his thoughts and reminding him that the tide forgave nothing on these ever-changing shores. A full minute passed before he resigned himself to the grisly duty of dragging the dead man out of the ocean’s grasp. He would need to call in the authorities on what was becoming anything but a normal day. Quickly, he dialed the number and waited impatiently.

Holding his phone in one hand, he reached for the man’s shoulder with the other. Movement met his touch, and he jerked his hand back in shock. Life still clung to this body. The man was still breathing.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

The voice on the phone caught him off-guard, and he almost dropped it.


“Yes! Hello? I’m Neil Thompson, I’m at the beach. I’ve just found a man here. He was brought in by the tide. I think he’s still breathing, but I—I don’t know what—”… to do…

The words stuck in his throat.

He’d honestly thought those were trousers. Through the dark seaweed, a hundred shades of blue glinted off each scale as the sun rose in the early hour, the sea no longer able to disguise what Neil had ignored before: A tail.

Longer than legs would have been, the tail rolled lazily with the tide, somehow at an odd angle. Instinctively, he took two steps back, almost losing his balance. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to turn around and run, but he was trapped in his fight or flight instinct.

Gentle waves reached them again and again as Neil struggled to breathe. Where knees should have been, a deep gash ran horizontally, torn flesh and scales the testimony of a gruesome accident. Closing his eyes, Neil swallowed bile.

In his ear, the dispatcher kept asking questions, though God knew about what. He wished yet again that the sea would take back what it had brought in.

“Mr. Thompson, paramedics are on their way, but we need an exact location.”

Hysterically, he looked around, a tiny part of his mind deciding this must be a prank. Somewhere, nearby, cameras were recording his reaction and one day soon he would be watching this on reality television, laughing at his gullible self.

And yet, no matter where he looked, or how much he wished it wasn’t, the beach was deserted.

This is real. God, this is real!

“Mr. Thompson? Can you hear me?”

Neil looked down at the man who wasn’t a man, coming to grips with the fact that myth had crossed into reality, and no one but him was witnessing this bizarre twist in his life.

“Mr. Thompson!”

“Yes!” he answered, snapping out of it. It didn’t matter if this was the strangest day of his life, he could only guess the man in front of him was having his worst.

“I’m here,” he reassured the dispatcher, giving his address and a good estimate of how far he’d walked away from his home. “I’m across from Cluney’s store. I’ll stand by to signal the ambulance, you won’t miss me.”

“Okay, Mr. Thompson, this is what I need you to do while help is on the way.”

The operator listed off tasks: get him safe, check his breathing, check his responsiveness to touch. Maybe there was more, maybe Neil only half understood what the woman was trying to tell him, but he had the insane need to correct his early statement. You’re not coming to aid a man.

She kept asking all kinds of questions, expecting him to do all kinds of things.

Placing the phone in his shirt pocket on speaker, he mentally went through the instructions from the dispatcher on what he needed to do. Finally, taking a deep breath, he fixed his eyes on the lifeless face. Several bruises were starting to turn purple alongside the right temple, certainly the product of one hell of a collision. Neil had to talk to him to see if he could get a response.

“Hey…” Neil whispered, his voice deserting him.

“Hey,” he tried again, sounding slightly louder. “Well, crap, I don’t know what I’m doing…” he murmured. Shutting his eyes tightly for a second, he took a moment to get his racing heart under control. He positioned himself above the head, and with trembling hands, he reached under the ice-cold armpits.

“Okay, okay, here’s the deal: I’ll move you out of the sea, and you don’t bite my head off, okay?”

The man was heavy, and with some considerable effort, Neil dragged him out of the water. Part of Neil expected the tail to turn into legs. Part of him expected those eyes to pop open and sharp teeth to start gnashing at him.

None of that happened.

He took his phone out and went back to the dispatcher. Drowning people swallowed a lot of water, she informed him. Neil had to move his unconscious victim onto his side in case he vomited.

Neil stared at the tail on his victim, and almost laughed. This man was the furthest thing from drowning that one could get. In fact, maybe he should be pushing him right back into the sea.

“Mr. Thompson, do you understand?” the dispatcher asked, concerned.

“Yes,” he said, absently nodding.

He’d just found a mermaid—merman—yet no one would ever believe that something so fantastic could happen to someone so mundane.

Turning to look down the road, he strained to hear the ambulance sirens, but all he heard was the sea. He still had time.

Hanging up, he deftly turned his phone camera on and began gathering proof of what he was witnessing. No one would ever doubt what he’d just seen.

* * *

To the untrained eye, the hospital Emergency Room was nothing more than a chaotic arrangement of people shouting at each other and working their shifts on caffeine alone.

Well, that last part is true, Gwen Gaston thought, the last drops of her coffee still tasting like heaven. She’d been crazy for a fourth cup of liquid energy since two patients ago.

From her vantage point on the opposite corner of the ER entrance, Gwen watched gurneys and paramedics come and go, their patients delivered to the capable hands of her colleagues. Being the ER on-call surgeon guaranteed she never got bored, which was the main reason why she’d applied for the position two years ago. She’d been missing the adrenaline from her early days as an emergency doctor, and the intricate puzzles and challenges each ambulance brought to her hands.

Her timer went off, the cue for getting back to work. She threw the empty paper cup into the nearest trashcan and rubbed her hands in anticipation.

She was overweight and out of shape, and she knew she didn’t look like the ideal surgeon to handle the turmoil of the ER; half her diet consisted of an unhealthy dose of soda and chips to compensate for long hours at work, but damn, was she good at what she did. Most days that included patching people up from the inside out, six cups of coffee, and a good measure of yelling.

The speaker overhead chimed and a man called a code blue for the trauma room. Her phone began buzzing with an alert at the same time: they needed her to start prepping for emergency surgery. She walked faster.

“What do we have?” she asked to no one in particular on her route to her new patient, slipping out a pair of latex gloves.

“Some idiot in a mermaid costume half drowned down the beach,” one of the paramedics told her. His partner looked anything but amused. In fact, the guy looked downright scared.

“Okay, he’s stabilizing now. Can someone get that tail out of the way?” Dr. Bill Shore ordered, sounding calm and collected despite such an odd request.

She entered the trauma room and the smell of the ocean hit her before she could even take a good look at the man. She’d been expecting a half-assed costume made out of cheap plastic in pinks and yellows, adorned with shiny fake gems to complete the look. What she wasn’t expecting was how real the disguise looked. It was decorated with hundreds of tiny bright scales, complete with thin lateral fins that were torn everywhere. The length of the tail reached all the way down to the floor where people narrowly missed it with their shoes.

“What did you page me for?” she asked, mentally shaking her head at the crazy things she had to put up with in her line of work. This close, she could see small clusters of scales framing the youthful face and parts of his shoulders, which then disappeared down his back. His ears were pointy, and his skin almost translucent.

“We’ve been having a hard time with his vitals, and I could really use your help figuring out where he’s bleeding. We can’t seem to keep his blood pressure up.”

Gwen’s fingers expertly palpated the abdomen, looking for the elusive internal bleeding. Intrigued at what she felt, she started listening with the stethoscope a moment later, while monitors kept pace with a weak heartbeat and shallow breathing. Bruises adorned the right side of their patient’s head, and she would bet good money that his right wrist was broken.

What the hell is this? She thought as she kept moving down, unable to identify the internal sounds. Something was seriously off, she just couldn’t put her finger on what.

“Can someone page neurology, please?” Bill ordered.

“Are they filming something nearby?” Jackie, the senior nurse on staff asked, while touching the line where skin became tail. “This costume is definitely professional. I can’t find where it comes off.”

Still listening, Gwen’s eyes fixated on the middle of the tail, where she could see sluggish blood pooling onto the gurney. That gash was bleeding real blood.


“It might be painted on the skin,” Gwen absently explained. She stopped listening and started seeking where real muscle became part of the disguise. Her hands methodically felt beside and beneath the smooth texture of the tail, imagining how two legs would be able to fit in the narrow outfit. Where knees should bend, she unexpectedly felt a pulse.

She looked up at Bill, who was busy checking the monitors.

“I need to see what’s going on down here,” she said, signaling the tail.

“Okay, on three!” Bill said, and deftly they moved their patient onto his side. The back was as meticulously decorated as the tail, the blue scales following the spine in a narrow line, all the way to the back of his neck. The deep gash ran from one side to the other, cutting through several layers of tissue.

“Let’s clean this wound,” Gwen ordered to their other nurse, Oscar. It unnerved her that she could be fooled by an elaborate Halloween costume. She pressed down on her newly discovered pulse point, and saw the tail twitch further down. Blinking, she pressed again, sure she was imagining things.

It twitched again.

“We really need to get this thing off,” she heard Bill saying, but he sounded so far away. “Gwen, how bad are his legs?”

“I can’t find—”she started to say, sounding equally far away. The gash hypnotized her, forbidding her to even blink. Some forty percent of the tail had been cut deep, and her surgeon’s brain automatically calculated the odds of keeping the limb or amputating it.

For the first time, Gwen saw that tail as part of a body.


“It’s not a costume,” she muttered, bewildered, but only Oscar turned to look. Everyone else kept going at it as if they were treating a human.

“What?” Bill asked while he listened to the lungs with his stethoscope.

“It’s not a costume,” she repeated louder, turning to look at Bill with round eyes. “It’s—it’s real!”

Only Oscar understood her, moving away immediately, his eyes going as big as hers.

“What are you talking about?” Bill asked, forgetting his stethoscope.

“The ta—tail is bleeding,” she forced herself to explain. “There’s a pulse, even a reflex. Bill, I can’t find any legs in here.”

This time, Jackie moved back. Frowning, Bill moved next to her to take a closer look.

“X-rays,” they said at the same time.

Hesitantly, Oscar helped her and Bill to place their patient on his back. Two seconds later, they cleared the room to evade the momentary radiation.

“I’m sure this is perfectly logical,” he told Gwen, looking through the door at the impressive tail that still touched the floor.

“Birth malformation?” she offered, equally locked on their patient’s body. “With that length?”

“Someone’s playing a prank on us,” he muttered, entering the room once more. Behind them, only Oscar entered willingly.

“Or maybe he was playing a prank on someone else and it went horribly wrong…” she reasoned, looking at the monitors, “You can’t fake these vitals.”

By the door, Jackie made the sign of the cross. On the hall outside the room, the paramedics argued with each other about who’d been right.

This is becoming a circus.


“We’re not dealing with a Disney character!” he snapped. She silently agreed: she doubted she’d ever seen a Disney character with abs like those. She chuckled at the stupid thought, barely containing a full blown hysterical attack.

“Get the labs done,” he told Jackie, the poor nurse looking paler than their patient while she fled the room.

“Get another gurney,” Gwen ordered Oscar. “We need to level off that tail.”

More people crowded the door, blocking anyone who was actually trying to work. The news of what was going on in the trauma room was spreading like wildfire.

“This is getting out of control,” she warned Bill, for the first time chaos taking over their highly tuned and efficient ER.

“Listen up!” Bill roared, walking towards the door, towering over everyone. “This is not a mermaid, and this is not a freak-show! Get back to work and let us save this man! NOW!”

They cleared out in two seconds flat.

“Are you sure?” Oscar asked, bringing the gurney Gwen had asked for into the room.

“YES!” Bill shouted, impatience showing through. “And whoever suggests otherwise—”

He didn’t finish, but the meaning hung in the air. Silently, Oscar helped her get the tail up.

“Here, let’s see…” Gwen murmured, clinical eyes looking for a better angle into the wound. They turned their not-mermaid onto his side again, and methodically she assessed the damage.

“He needs the OR,” she said aloud—for his not-tail, she privately added.

“He’s going to need a whole lot more than that when he wakes up and explains what the hell is going on here,” Bill murmured under his breath.

She couldn’t agree more.

The excerpt that you’ve just read is the first chapter the book Underneath, a merfolk tale.  If you liked it, there’s more!

I had the pleasure of reading the entire manuscript as Michelle was creating it. It’s fast paced and good to the very last drop.

Follow the links below to learn about M.N. Arzú and how to get her books.


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Author Interview

More by this author – The Librarian Book Review





An injured merman is found washed up on a beach in Maine.

Merfolk have been hiding in plain sight for centuries. Now they are now torn between sacrificing one of their own—or telling humanity the truth.

Underneath, a merfolk tale takes the reader on a journey through secret societies, conspiracy, investigation, parental love, and coming-of-age

The Age of Adaline – the Romance Continues

*Fan fiction. A continuation of The Age of Adaline (movie) story.

New Year’s Eve 2015

“Wow!” Ellis beams as Adaline strides into the room draped in a floor-length golden gown.

“I just need a zip,” she says, presenting her back to Ellis. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Adaline turns to her daughter.

“I’m positive,” Flemming says, “I’ve got my date right here.” She bends down to pick up the tiny King Charles puppy near her feet.

Adaline leans in to place a kiss on Flemming’s weathered cheek, “Love you,” while she gives the puppy an affectionate pat.

“Love you too,” Flemming replies.

“I forgot my clutch…and my camera,” Adaline calls over her shoulder. She heads back down the hallway. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she does a double-take. Adaline reaches up near her temple to pluck at a single gray hair.

Holding the strand between her fingers, she marvels at its significance. Adaline doesn’t look a day over twenty-nine. She’s been that way since 1937.

“Adaline, you OK?” Ellis calls.

Smiling thoughtfully, she whispers, “Yes…perfect.”

Ellis holds out Adaline’s cloak and helps to settle it in place. He grins at Flemming, “Don’t wait up.” Flemming holds out a hand. He grasps it and gives it a brief squeeze.

He ushers Adaline toward the door.

“What are you two up to?” Adaline wants to know.

“Nothing! Have a wonderful evening, Mama.”


In the taxi, Ellis pulls Adaline close to his side. He kisses the top of her head then inhales her scent, “Mmm… you always smell so good.”

Adaline purrs a response, “I think that you are the most handsome man that I’ve ever known.”

He chuckles, “That’s because you’ve got love colored glasses on.”

“Maybe,” she reaches for him. It’s something she likes to do whenever they are alone in the dark.

Ellis captures her roaming hand, holding it still. He doesn’t want her to discover the surprise he’s got hidden.  They arrange themselves comfortably for the forty-minute ride to the Fairmont.

He focuses on appearing relaxed, though his toes are tapping inside his dress shoes. He leans his head back against the neck rest and closes his eyes, leaving them open in thin slits. The city lights become rainbow-colored starbursts moving through his vision.

He is sure of her, now…mostly. It’s funny how familiarity numbs astonishment. His lips curve when he remembers this time last year. He was newly in love and adapting to all of the extraordinary circumstances surrounding Adaline. Her true age, her seventy-eight-year-old daughter, and her name.

It was his dad who first figured out her mystery. He called her Adaline the moment he laid eyes on ‘Jenny.’


Mind Games

Ellis had brought Jenny home for the weekend to celebrate his parent’s fortieth wedding anniversary. His father, William, couldn’t stop staring.

“Adaline was my mother,” she’d explained, flustered.

“The resemblance is extraordinary. We were very close.” William kept repeating as he recounted the details of his first meeting with Adaline near London in the 1960s.

The following day, William noticed a scar on Jenny’s hand. Jenny failed to recognize the state of panic that his observation triggered.

“I’m going out for a walk,” she told him.

Once she was gone, William tore into the garage to frantically search through dusty boxes. Standing there like a statue, he held a faded photograph of the two of them. A bandage on her hand concealed seven stitches that he’s sewn over fifty years ago.

Jumping in his suburban, William raced after her. He found Jenny, alone, on the dirt road a few miles from the house. “Adaline!” he yelled as he got out of the car.

She halted, regarding him with concern. ” William, are you alright?”

“No! I’m not alright ─ I know.”

“What? ─” her face turned ashen. She started to shake.

He grabbed her hand, pointing at the scar. “It is you. I couldn’t forget that!” he ground out through labored breaths.

“Oh, William,” she cried softly.

His hard expression softened. He stepped closer, tipping her chin so that he could examine her face, “How? How is this possible?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is this why you left me?” His unruly eyebrows steepled.

She nodded, her brow furrowed. “I can’t tell you how painful that was.” Adaline’s voice sounded distraught.

“Oh, I know something about that,” he replied gruffly, “I was on the verge of proposing.” William looked puzzled as he continued to lightly trace the contours of her face.

Adaline closed her eyes. He could tell that she was holding back tears. “I wanted to stay with you, William, but I… just… couldn’t.”

He pulled her against him, cradling her in his arms. “I would have protected you if you had trusted me.”

She nodded, crying harder, “I know…”

William pulled away. Digging in his pocket, he brought out a handkerchief. Handing it to her he said, “Here, sop it up, Della.”  His weak smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I take it that you make a habit of running?”

She nodded, still dabbing at her face. “It’s the only way to stay safe. I don’t usually get involved with people or put down roots. You were the first man I loved after my husband died. That was in 1937. Ellis is the second.”

“That’s a long time. Do you have anyone that you confide in?”

Adaline pressed the cloth to her eyes as a fresh wave of grief washed over her. William reached out to steady her.

“My daughter. She is the only one who knows.”

“You have a kid?” he was surprised.

Adaline chuckled, “She’s older than you are, Will.”

Blinking rapidly, he took a step back, “Ellis,” he sighed.

Her eyes widened. William could see that a flight reflex had been engaged. Clutching at her arms he pleaded, “Adaline, don’t go! Don’t do that to my son!”

Wrenching away, Adaline darted into the woods. She ran like rabid wolves were nipping at her heels. Maybe they were.

bruce lee




Ellis Holds On    

Right now, in the prime of their lives, they are perfectly matched. They are well educated, cultured and confident. Will we stay that way? Ellis wonders.

He thinks about Flemming and her troubled story of the time when she and her mother switched relationship roles in public. Will I do that with Adaline?

Arriving at their destination, they hurry up the steps to avoid the evening drizzle. They wait among other party goers for an elevator, “The entire world celebrates your birthday,” Ellis grins down at her.

“Don’t remind me,” Adaline says with sarcasm.

They step into the small square space. Adaline moves to the back to make room for the others who will follow. Surprised to see that they are the only passengers to load, she catches Ellis’s movement as he passes a bill to the attendant. They hear complaints as the double doors glide shut.

Adaline looks at Ellis suspiciously, “You’ve been acting funny all day, what are you hiding?”

Taking both of her hands he says, “I wanted this birthday to be more memorable than most.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small black velvet covered box. He hears Adaline suck in a breath.

Ellis’s hands shake, uncertainty suddenly grips him, but he forges ahead. Going down on a knee, he says, “Adaline Bowman, will you marry me?”  The lid makes a cracking sound as he opens the tiny package. Resting on a pillow of white satin twinkles a large square cut emerald framed by rows of tiny diamonds.

Adaline remains silent, but stands there alternately looking at him and then down at the ring.

“Well?” Ellis says.

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to answer?”

She leans down placing a hand alongside his face, “Sweetheart, you are magnificent.”

“And?” he squeaks.

“That,” she indicates the ring, “is magnificent.”

“Adaline! Are you going to say, ‘no?’” Ellis can’t keep the tinge of desperation out of his voice.

“No,” she shakes her head, eyes sparkling.

His forehead wrinkles and he stands, “No as in ‘no’ you don’t want to get married, or ‘no’ as in yes you will?”

Laughing, Adaline says, “Absolutely, Ellis, I‘ll marry you!”


The doors of the elevator open to reveal the couple still locked in a passionate embrace.

“Aw, common, get a room!” someone comments. Adaline thrusts out her left hand, flashing her ring and wiggles her fingers. “Oh! They must have just gotten engaged,” a female voice says.

Ellis and Adaline exit to a small round of applause.


They spend the evening lost in a bubble of contentment broken only by intermittent congratulations and well wishes from people they know.

They are swaying to the music of a slow dance when Adaline says, “Ellis, there’s something that I need to ask.”

“Uh oh, I can tell by your tone that it’s something serious.”

“You do know me,” she demurs. “This is going to sound strange.”

“Now you’ve got me worried.”

“Would you…” Adaline bites her lower lip and glances away.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Ellis encourages.

“Would you adopt Flemming?”

“What?” Ellis barks out laughing. Seeing Adaline’s hurt look, he reigns in his mirth as quickly as it escaped.

“I don’t want her to feel left out when we tell her the news.”

“I love you, Adaline,” Ellis says tenderly. “We can do whatever you want. Whatever Flemming wants.”

at rest


Adaline Chips at the Ice

Ellis mentions that his dad is going to an astronomy conference in Greece, so Adaline makes a trip out to their place to see if she can negotiate a truce.

The smile on Kathy’s face dies the instant she sees its Adaline. “Go away!” she snarls while retreating to close the door. Adaline plants a hand in the center, leaning on it with most of her weight.

“You have to deal with me if you don’t want to lose your son.”

“First my husband! And now my son! What kind of a monster are you and why are you stalking my family?”

“I had no idea they were related. Both were chance meetings. But I’m in love with Ellis now, and I’m not going away.”

“What are you?” Kathy’s asks rigidly.

Adaline’s tone quiets, “Honestly, I don’t know ─ I’m just a woman for whom time has stopped.”

They stand staring at one another. Adaline is the first to speak, “I can see that you have questions. I’ve spent lifetimes running from those, but no more. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Kathy sighs, stepping back, “Come in,” she says reluctantly. “I’m sure you can understand that I don’t want my son to be hurt.”

“I’m not planning to hurt Ellis.”

“You did a number on William…”

“That was a different time ─ a different me. The only option I could see, then, was to leave.”

“I can’t wrap my head around the idea that you’ve stopped aging,” Kathy frowns.

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not, it’s true. William accepts it as fact.”

“Well ─ I consider William’s viewpoints, but I form my own opinions.”

Adaline looks down, hiding a smile. “I can see why he fell for you.”

Kathy opens her mouth to say something, then changes her mind. After a few moments of silence, she says, “You know, Adaline, if what you say is true….and I still think that’s a big ‘if’…. there are a lot of people who’d like to get what you’ve got.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Adaline replies, picking nervously at pills on her sweater. “But it’s not as glamorous as it seems. Youth and beauty are meaningless if everyone you love moves on without you. I’ve lived decades wishing that I could grow old like everyone else.”


It was very late by the time Adaline drove back to the city. She’d stopped along the way to phone Ellis so he wouldn’t worry. They’d had a terse conversation about the last time she’d been on this route at night. He suggested that she find a hotel and finish the trip in the morning.

“No, I promise I’ll be careful. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”


Her key was barely in the first lock when the door opens under her hand. Ellis pulls her to him. She strokes his back reassuringly. When Adaline can get a word in, she says, “See? I told you that I’d be alright.” She winks. “It’s extremely rare for lightning to strike twice.”

Ellis growls, leading her toward the bedroom. Once inside, he kisses her, hard. Lips, teeth, tongues, and facial hair mash in a ravenous welcome. Between words of love, they peel off clothes. Moaning with arrested desire, they stoke the fire that readily ignites. They move in an arousing dance as old as time.

When the storm of intensity is expended, the lovers remain entwined, gently caressing and kissing. Ellis asks about the meeting with his mother.

“She’s a tough nut,” says Adaline. “We spent a long time talking, but I couldn’t guess what she was thinking.”

“She’s always been that way. When she’s bent-out-of-shape, it takes a long time for her to work her way out of it. It sounds like you made it past the front door…” he comments dryly.

“At first, she didn’t want to talk at all, but I told her that if she didn’t want to lose you, we had better make peace.”


“I’m a mother too, I know how to aim punches.”

“You are such a bad ass,” Ellis says before leaning down to capture her lips.  A leisurely love-making session sparks to life.

Later, they get up for a snack of crispy red grapes and a variety of Sonoma County cheeses. Chilled glasses of wine, cultivated in the same region, accompany the simple fare.  Adaline continues her recap, “Eventually, her curiosity outweighed her annoyance when we started discussing the changing roles of women in society since the 1920s.”

“Not surprising. She’s Dean of Women’s Studies at Stanford. I’m sure she’s the reason that I am interested in history.”

“Having a career like that and raising two children ─ that’s impressive.”

“That’s my mom,” he states proudly. “Do you think she was thawing by the time you left?”

Adaline shakes her head, “I don’t know. She was quiet…thoughtful.”

Ellis sighs. “I’ll call her in few days to see if anything’s changed.”



Parental Predicament

Kathy hadn’t been speaking to her son. Ellis knew that she’d been frosty and cross with his dad too.

He is understandably nervous as he waits for his parents to arrive. He’s finished construction on his apartment, but since the engagement, they’d been adding on a connecting unit for Flemming, complete with every geriatric safety accouterment available.

When the doorbell rings, he plasters on a smile and goes to greet them. “Mom! Dad! Thanks for coming! Please, some in.”

“Hi, son,” his father grabs him in a bear hug. “It’s good to see you!”

His mom stands on the threshold looking like she isn’t sure if she will cross. “Hey, Mom,” Ellis says quietly, waiting.

She reaches out to cradle his face between her hands. “My baby,” she whispers.

“I’ve missed you,” his voice cracks.

She gives him a dubious smile. A single tear falls.

Once he’d given them a tour and explained everything that has been remodeled, they arrive at Flemming’s space. “What’s this?” his mom asks when she notices the handle grips near the commode. “It’s kind of you to be planning for us, but I don’t think we’ll be needing anything like this for a while.”

“Ahhh….” Ellis raises a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s not for you. It’s for Flemming.”

“What?” his mom looks confused. “Who is Flemming?”

Ushering them out and back toward the kitchen, Ellis attempts to salvage the situation, “Let me get you something to drink. You guys go relax in the living room while I take your bags to my room.”


Ellis returns to find his parents standing near the breakfast bar in the middle of an intense, but hushed exchange. “Hey, guys,” he calls with false cheer. He pours himself a cup of whiskey, then joins them. “So, I have some big news…”

“Oh, God, no!” Kathy cries.

Ellis compresses his lips, goes to his mom, puts an arm around her shoulders, and walks her to the couch. “Mom,” he begins once they are seated, “nothing you say or do will change the fact that I am in love with Adaline.”

He looks to his dad for help. William shakes his head. Ellis stands and approaches his father, “Dad, do you share Mom’s feelings about my relationship?”

William seems perplexed, “No ─ I completely understand. I loved her once, hell, a part of me will always be fond of Adaline. But what she and I had is long gone.” He pulls a footrest over so that he can sit directly in front of his wife. He says, “Remember our favorite Robert Browning quote? ‘Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be. It’s the last of life, for which the first was made’… Kathy, you and I are written in permanent ink. We’re unshakable, babe. You don’t have to protect me or Ellis from Adaline. She’s not dangerous, she’s just lost.”

same person

“Oh, William,” Kathy sighs. She leans forward to press her lips against his.

Ellis takes a long sip of his whiskey as he lets the dust settle. A knock sounds at the door, followed by, “Hellooooo!”

Fleming comes in. She has a shopping bag in one hand and Deer’s leash in the Aid4other. The little Prince Charles prances delicately in front of her. “Ellis! I found a few more things that I wanted to drop by for the apartment.” She stops when she spots his guests, “I’m so sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realize…”

“That’s alright!” Ellis exclaims taking the bag and leading her toward his parents. “Guys, this is Flemming. Flemming, I’d like you to meet my parents, William, and Kathy.”

Thick silence fills the space as everyone stares. William is the first to close the gap. He stands and offers his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, mam.”

“Oh…” she mutters, “I’ve heard so much about you.” Flemming’s concerned gaze travels over William and comes to rest on Kathy. “I can’t tell you how much I think of your son.”

The two women shake hands, “Thank you,” Kathy replies, “How do you know Ellis?”

Flemming looks to Ellis. “Do they know?”

Ellis shakes his head. He’s starting to expire.

Catching the exchange, his mom says, “Know what?”

Ellis sets his cup down, rolls his shoulders and extends to his full height. Taking a deep breath, like he is stepping in front of a firing squad he states, “I’ve asked Adaline to marry me. She’s agreed. Flemming is Adaline’s daughter…”

“Oh dear! I’ve spoiled everything,” Flemming exclaims. She presses a trembling hand to her mouth. Ellis catches her as she starts to sway. His parents help get her to the couch. She is having trouble breathing.

Kathy loosens the neckline of her blouse while William scoops up the dog to keep it out of the commotion.

Kathy feels for a pulse and asks questions, “Can you speak? Are you feeling light headed?” Over her shoulder, she directs Ellis to call 911.

Ellis and Kathy go in the ambulance with Flemming. William brings Deer and follows in the car.

Flemming is still on oxygen but resting comfortably when Adaline comes rushing in. “Darling! Are you alright?” Mother and daughter hug, hold onto each other, and cry. Adaline pulls back, “I was so worried.”

Kathy moves forward when Flemming removes her face mask, “No,” Flemming shakes her head eyeing Ellis’s mother, “I don’t need it, take it away.”

“But…” Adaline looks confused.

“Mama,” Flemming rests a hand on Adaline’s shoulder, “we both know that sooner or later my time is going to come.”  Adaline squeezes her eyes closed and shakes her head. Flemming grabs her mother’s chin to still her movements, “Listen, young lady,” she says in a commanding tone.

Adaline frowns, “Hey…”

“I’m old─”

“But I don’t see you that way! I only see my little girl,” Adaline’s eyes glisten.

“I know, and I love you for that, Mama, but take a good, hard, look at me ─ I have age spots everywhere. My memory is going, my eyes aren’t what they used to be, and neither is my hearing.”

“We can get your hearing aids checked.”

“You’re missing the point. I’ve lived a full life. I don’t’ think I am going anywhere today, but when it’s time, I want you to let go.”

Adaline cries, “Never. Never.”

“You will,” Flemming states firmly, “and our new family is going to help.” She looks at Ellis and his parents. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to know that you will be there for her.”

Adaline buries her face in Flemming’s lap. Flemming strokes her hair while making soothing noises.

Ellis watches different emotions play across his mother’s face. There is a softening in her expression when she meets Flemming’s gaze.

Kathy inclines her head in answer to the older woman’s unspoken plea.

silver hair



Going Home

After they’ve all gotten settled and buckled in William’s car; Flemming and Deer in the front seat, and Ellis, Adaline, and Kathy in the back, Flemming asks, “Has Deer been out to tinkle lately?”

Blank looks pass between them. Ellis groans and unbuckles his belt, “I’ve got it.”

They watch in silence as he patiently follows the little dog while she chooses the perfect bush.

“I apologize for being so bitchy lately,” Kathy speaks up.

“I understand, Kath. I thought I was losing it until I figured it out,” William says.

“How did you?”

William looks into the rearview mirror. He makes eye contact with Adaline, “Dell?”

Adaline gives a stiff nod.

“Dell? As in Della?” Kathy screeches, “William! Did you name that comet after her?”

“Sheath the claws, Kathy cat.” William turns in the seat so he can look back at her, “It’s not as if I haven’t been naming heavenly bodies after you and the kids all these years 

Kathy crosses her arms, uttering, “Huh!”

“Back in the day,” William continues, “Adaline cut her hand. I sutured the wound. When she and Ellis were up for the weekend, I saw the scar…” He looks pointedly at his wife, “Are you going to give me grief over that too, woman?”

“Nope,” Kathy glowers back at him.

“You better watch out,” William’s voice lowers several octaves. He points a finger at her.

Adaline can’t help but notice that the edges of Kathy’s mouth turn up slightly.

“Oh no!” Flemming blurts. Everyone follows her gaze to see Ellis rolling his eyes and slapping his thigh. She digs in her purse. Flemming rolls down the passenger window and waves a blue poop bag.




Tower Bells

San Francisco repays its residents with occasional, spectacular, days of sun ─ enough to keep her population increasing but never enough to put coats and sweaters in permanent storage.

The Chronicle of San Francisco: Church bells rang on the afternoon of June 6th, 2016 when Adaline Bowman married Ellis Jones. The ceremony was held at St. John’s church. The bride wore a stunning trumpet style gown with a sweetheart neckline. A chapel length train completed her attire. The groom looked dashing in a traditional black tuxedo with burgundy trimmings.sweet fast

The groom’s father, William Jones, escorted the bride down the aisle. Kikki, the groom’s sister, was the best woman. She wore a sleeveless black three-quarter-length dress accessorized with a burgundy bow tie choker and bracelets that mimicked shirt cuffs.

The bride was attended by two matron’s of honor; the groom’s mother and the bride’s grandmother. Both of their gowns were made of jersey fabric that matched the burgundy theme.

One-hundred-and-fifty guests were in attendance. A reception was held at the Cliff House were traditional San Francisco fare was served.

When asked about honeymoon travel plans, the couple only said, “We’ll be going someplace we’ve never been before.”

The groom’s parents, however, were happy to share their second honeymoon itinerary; they will be spending two weeks in the Maldives, a week in Sri Lanka and a week in Madagascar.




One Year Later

Adaline clenches her jaw in an attempt to stifle a yawn. She leans her head against Ellis’s shoulder. He pats her thigh to encourage her to hold on just a little while longer.

He is about to receive a plaque from the Museum of Underwater Archaeology for work that his grant supports ─  the excavation of a historic ship breaking yard.

He returns his attention to the speaker. “The Candace was a whaling ship that sailed into San Francisco in the 1850s. It was dismantled and used for parts in foundries and for other ships. Her story tells about the whaling industry and the development of commercial enterprise in the city. It also provides information about the Chinese workforce. Fisherman who were excluded from other jobs were employed on Spear Street….”

Adaline puts a hand on her rounded belly and whispers in Ellis’s ear, “Maybe we should name her Candace?”

“…or we could call him, Spear,” Ellis rejoins, teasing. Adaline swats his arm.

That night as they are getting ready for bed, Adaline plays a game she’s become enamored with. “I’ve gained another pound and my waist has grown by three percent.” She records this information in her pregnancy diary. “I’ve found another gray hair today. And look, Ellis! I’m starting to get crow’s feet!” she laughs in delight.

There can’t be another woman on the planet who is happier than Adaline about showing her age.

mark twain


I enjoyed The Age of Adaline movie so much that I wanted to dive in deeper, crawl around inside the character’s heads. I went searching for the book. Unfortunately, this movie was not based on a book, so I satisfied my desire by writing a continuation of the story.


Click here to read Lisa’s The Age of Adaline film review.

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