Welcome Back

I woke up at 7:09 am, six minutes before my alarm. Normally nothing can ever wake me
up before my alarm. It must have been my dream.
I was in Uncle Andy’s orchard, back in rural Georgia, destination for family reunions. I
was underneath a peach tree, reaching upwards for the fruit hanging ripe and ready. The view
was from above: I could look down on myself. I was wearing my prom dress from senior year,
the salmon colored, strapless one. My shoulders looked so creamy white, and I could even see
my freckles. My hair hung down my back in ringlets, the same style I wore when my hair was
long. The strangest part, though, was that I was standing on Cibo’s shoulders and he was in his
Marine uniform. I could feel his hands on my ankles, holding me there. I don’t know if I took the
peach or not, because I woke up. But the sensation stayed in my ankles.

The commute to Anderson and Hirsch Law Offices took about 23 minutes each morning.
I woke up and showered, sprayed on some Vera Wang grandma bought me for Christmas, dress
in my black-white-and-gray uniform for the office, and leave with an apple in hand. I always
forget to brush my teeth…today was no exception. My mind was focused on remembering
Cibo’s face in the dream. I tried to figure out if he looked the same in my mind as he did in the
pictures on the mantel.
Marla was wearing her pink heels at work. That meant she’d had a good night. Marla,
with her red bob and enhanced boobs, only wore her pink heels after a good night. It seems to
me that since she and Henry split, she’s had a lot more of them. She flashed me a grin as I went
to my desk. Way to go, Marla.
Lori was her usual prim self, sitting behind her desk dutifully updating her Google
calendar. I’ve never understood how she balances so many schedules, between Mr. Anderson,
Mr. Hirsch, and herself. But that is why they hired her, the personal assistant and executive
secretary. Lori, for all her cat figurines and manic calendar updating, knows what she’s doing.
Settling behind my desk, my sigh ruffles the mountain of paperwork Lori already
dropped off for me, and I rev up my old computer. My fingers ski the worn keyboard, and my
eyes play over the picture frames in front of me. Inevitably, my gaze settles on Cibo’s face.

Imagine growing up with the name Charles Brown. The unavoidable nickname is Charlie
Brown, and I know he always hated it. Its not that he didn’t like Peanuts the comic, he just hated
being picked on. He was never a big kid in school, so it was only natural. But being Charlie
Brown, on top of a shrimp, was tough. When we met in high school, he had already changed his
nickname, starting fresh.
Cibo was quiet. Not creepy quiet, like the goth kid in the cafeteria corner, but thoughtful
quiet. Back when we had English together he would sit silent for the whole class, but have an
incredible response for the homework question Mr. Molloy threw out. That was Cibo for you. He
was neighbors with Helena, my best friend. When he asked me to Prom, I said yes. And I was
relieved that he looked good in a tux, and even more relived when he didn’t freak out at me
taking his hand on the way home. He just looked at me with those brown eyes, and smiled long
and slow. I thought I was melting. In the back of my mind, I thought, I can say my boyfriend is
Charlie Brown. I giggled when he first kissed me.

The phone ringing jolts me, and I respond automatically.

“Anderson and Hirsch Law, this is Anna speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi Anna, I need to make an appointment with Mr. Ronald Hirsch.” This guy sounded
tired, and in need of a lawyer. Naturally.
“Sure, one moment, let me transfer you to Mr. Hirsch’s personal assistant.”
I started in on my pile of paperwork, taking my eyes off Cibo’s picture. By midmorning I could
see my desk again, and I had only gotten two papercuts. Around 12:30 I could hear Marla’s pink
heels approaching my desk.
“Hey Annie girl, you wanna go for lunch?” I looked up at Marla’s hopeful smile and
glanced at my diminished pile.
“Sure.”
We went to Peppercorn Café, three blocks away. It was sunny for April, and warm.
Spring weather is Cibo’s favorite, but I like fall more. Marla and I talked about Brangelina,
Easter plans, phone bills.
“I’m just glad tomorrow’s payday, you know?” Yes, tomorrow was payday. How could I
forget?

Cibo’s parents don’t have a lot of money, and neither do mine. Our wedding had been
tiny, just sixty people together at First Baptist on the corner of Main and Second. My mom made
sloppy joes and potato salad, and the reception was in Cibo’s backyard on cheap rented dance
floor with my brother’s makeshift bar teetering on one corner serving Jack, Jim and José.
Grandma Louise had a Jack and coke in her hand the whole night, but the only thing I remember
clearly was being in Cibo’s arms on the creaky dance floor. He looked sharp in his perfectly
pressed Marine uniform. Part of that unforgettable first dance were the tears in his eyes, and how
in love he sounded when he whispered “I love you” in my ear. I was a princess in my ninety-nine
dollar gown and Helena’s pearl earrings, and he made me feel that way. Thinking back on it, I
wouldn’t trade that cheapie wedding for anything. It was perfect. Even Grandma Louise’s drunk
yells when we kissed, tongue and all, right there in public.
Three months later we were living in a one bedroom apartment above his uncle’s garage,
and I was working nights at Holcom’s Bar. Cibo had a part time job working security at the
country club. We both made enough, but money was still tight. College kept getting put off. We
knew there was no one to pay for it.
And then Cibo got the phone call. One night later he was uniformed and stone faced,
giving me a soft kiss and then not looking back on his way out the door. Gone to do his duty. I
cried, and then I went back to work. I told myself that crying wouldn’t do him any good. That
was when I cut my hair pixie short. Maybe it was my way of grieving.

Back at the office I had more paperwork, and Lori is in a meeting with Anderson and
Hirsch. Marla and I settled back to our desks, manning the phones and tackling the filing for the
week. My eyes started to feel tired after staring at the neon yellow filing folders, and I took a
break for some coffee. Marla joined me, crossing her tone legs and jiggling one pink heel up and
down. The movement started to give me a headache.

At the end of the day I gathered the recyclable paper from all of our desks. Lori usually
does it, but she had to leave early for a dentist appointment. I tossed the paper into the box next
to the printer, and fdentist appointment. ound Marla chatting with Mr. Anderson by the back
door. She was making flirty eyes at him, and I can’t blame her. Mr. Anderson looks good for a

forty-seven year old widower, and Marla didn’t get a boob job for nothing. I hid my smile as I
gathered my things at my desk, trying not to focus too much on Cibo’s picture, and instead
remembering where I put my keys. Before I got into my car Marla called to me.
“Annie, honey, do you want to go out for a while tonight?” I knew she meant going to
DaSilva’s, the bar downtown. Marla always met the nice men there, and she would go across
town to find the other kind of men. But neither place suits me, with a diamond on my ring finger.
“No thanks. Maybe some other time, Marla.”
“Ok, honey, sure thing.” Marla shrugged and got into her Saturn, quickly fleeing the
parking lot, followed conspicuously by Mr. Anderson’s big black SUV. It must have been a
DaSilva’s night.
Once home I shed my office clothes and change into sweatpants. Cibo’s clothes become
mine when he’s gone. At least they still smell like him. Dinner is a poptart and some applesauce
mom made me. I chew my lip watching Jeapordy and wish for a bigger budget. Before going to
bed I walk past the mantle, and Cibo’s picture again. My fingers trace his smile, and I close my
eyes and imagine him.
I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth when I hear two knocks on the front door. Its
10:43 already, too late for anyone I would normally expect. I quickly rinse my mouth and
approach the door, glancing out of the peephole to see who it is. I swallow a scream. The door is
thrown open, and there is Cibo in his uniform, looking at me with tired, happy eyes. His hands
are warm under my shirt, and I crush myself against his muscular chest, thrilled and relieved. He
picks me up with one arm and brings me indoors.
“Baby,” he whispers in my anxious ear, “I’m home."
And I turn into the melting girl at Prom again, and in my dream I see myself sharing a
peach with Cibo in Uncle Andy’s orchard, as we lick juice off each other’s chins. I smile and
think that, There is no way Marla’s night will match mine.