You probably won't remember that day, but I do, just like it was yesterday.

That tree behind my uncle's place where we used to go spend a week every summer since we first met when we were five. Every summer an entire week in that old five-room place in the middle of nowhere with nothing but fields and a stream and a lone tree to keep two young boys busy. And it was more than enough.

Especially that tree.

I think it's still there, though I'm not certain. Last saw it four or five years back when I went to help my parents clean the place out after Aunt Jean died.

And, you know, I had kinda forgotten about it until then. The years will do that, make you forget things that seem so important then. And right when it's almost gone forever there will be one thing, just one little thing that pulls it back out, reminds you, replays it, makes it seem so recent, so real.

I must have stood on that back porch for ten minutes staring at that tree.

The tree we used to climb and hang from.

The tree that started falling apart when we were ten.

What a way to discover how feeble such a large thing could be.

It was huge to us back then, enormous. Its roots must have reached through the world and if we climbed to the top we could have touched the clouds. It was invincible, it was immortal, that tree. And we'd climb it and conquer it and spend all week in it. Such an amazing tree.

Until it splintered.

And there you were, hanging from the branch by your legs like you would always do, swinging back and forth. And me, climbing up to join you. And the branch, giving way.

And you fell.

The ground at the base of the tree was not soft, was never soft. Not even during the rains would that ground soften. It might as well have been rock because it practically was.

They'd always said you had a hard head, they just never knew how right they were.

You bounced. It was the most sickening thing I ever witnessed. My best friend, falling head first, and then bouncing off the ground. I didn't think it possible. No one would ever believe me when I'd tell them.

But you know all of that already.

I screamed and hollered and clamored out of the tree, lucky to not fall out myself in that fit of panic.

And at the bottom of the tree you sat up and rubbed your head. You sat up. You moved. You spoke, said "ow". You were alive. You were unhurt.

We chalked it up to luck.

We always would remember it as nothing more than luck.

And you've probably forgotten.

But I haven't. And now I know it's not luck.

Anthology Two Presents
Bush43/Isiah Rowe: A Friend Indeed
by Jason Kenney

I grew up in Pacific City because I had to. Son of an American woman and an Australian man, she had met him here and opted to stay so they could be married. My mother held on to that damned American culture and fed me on it, took me stateside whenever she went back, but those were one month getaways at a time. I always came back to Pacific City.

It's not that it's a bad city. It's large enough and still growing at a fast enough clip that you can never really know everything about this place, it's always changing. Sometimes when it doesn't want to.

Caverns torn into the city months ago are refilled and built upon, new stores, new apartments, new offices, new blood to the city that has seen so much.

New blood. Christ, why does this city attract so many people?

Okay, its size can be a curse as well. You're never alone in a city like Pacific City. Even in your apartment, in the dark, in the middle of an empty room, the paper thin walls do nothing to separate you from the other apartments, the world outside, the other people.

And with large numbers of people come those that are our 'betters'.

Heroes dance around the rooftops with the villain of the month, putting on a free dramatic show for the teeming masses of the city whose fate rests upon the outcome. No matter how many times this happens, day in and day out, the town never tires of these sights, these events. Not usually.

Sometimes it tires of the plot and throws in its own twist.

Like a trigger happy mayor or a fancy new robot.

A change in main characters, the old thread is forgotten, the old flavors switched for the new, the soap opera continues.

But you can never be rid of characters, no, you keep them in the wings for dramatic comebacks and resurrections and flamboyant, dramatic reentries into the tale that keeps being told.

Everything old is new again, the more things change...

And sometimes the saga becomes an audience participation number.

***

"Jeff?"

You looked like shit that night as you stumbled into my apartment without asking. Not that you ever needed to.

The remains of a suit hung off your body, stuff in your hair and on your face, blood, bruises, I had never seen you like this before.

I actually hadn't seen you in a long time. But I certainly didn't expect to run into you in this state.

"Hey, Isiah," you said, collapsing on my couch, "mind if I crash here for the night?"

And you were asleep before I could even answer.

***

You dreamed of an exploding world that crashed upon you in waves.

You didn't know that I knew this.

***

Your mind registered the pain and spoke to me like a record. This hurts, that hurts, don't move there, don't touch that, I think that part is okay, ow, never mind.

All minds do this. The part of the brain that processes the sense of touch reads the nerves, the signs, and responds. The brain does this with sight and sound and taste and scent as well. The mind speaks to ones body, and normally it goes unheard.

Normally.

"Rough night?" I asked you as you hung your head and breathed deeply.

"You could say that," you responded, a smile in your voice. You'd always been good at that, trying to sound happy, always trying to put a spin or a joke on it.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Unless you got some seriously strong pain killers, I think I just need a shower."

And you stood up. I nearly cringed from the screaming of your mind. But you showed no signs of the pain I knew you felt.

"You mind?" you asked, limping towards the bathroom.

"Not at all," I said as you closed the door.

***

I don't normally watch television. The time rarely presents itself and when it usually does I'd rather be doing something else. But the urge presented itself while my friend showered, and I turned it on.

The news was all over the story.

The mayor was dead. His toy was dead. His chosen heroine was dead.

There was a fight. There was a victor. There was another fight. There was a new victor.

And while the focus of the news was on the new, self installed mayor, the return of Millennium Man, the destruction of Alhazred Asylum, the reaction of the government, there was a mention, a blurb of the catalyst. A working theory.

There had been a break out of Alhazred Asylum that created a riot. Word of the break out brought the media and the public to city hall for the mayor's opinion. One of the escapees also headed for city hall, though for a different reason, but for the same man. Battle ensued. Live. In front of the world.

And the escapee was beaten. Severely.

The escapee.

The former hero.

The one who was supposed to be invincible.

The one who I now suspected was in my apartment, cleaning the filth of the beating away.

The one who I grew up with.

The one who fell out of that tree.

And I was not the least bit surprised.

"Anything good on," you asked as you stepped from the bathroom.

"Just the news," I responded, staring at the moving pictures of an ugly fight.

"Anything about me?" you asked, walking behind the couch to watch. "Oof," you said as you watched the masked man go face first into the asphalt. "That looks much worse than it felt."

And that was how you told me.

"Hey, uh, I know it's nasty to share underwear and stuff," you said as you made your way towards my bedroom, "but you got any clothes I can borrow?"

***

We didn't talk about the mask or the day before, just more about old times. I hadn't seen you in over a year. A lot had happened since then.

Significantly your parents' death.

You shrugged it off, in the past, nothing you can do about it, and I didn't push for details. They weren't necessary.

The details were sketchy about the last three months, too. Again, I didn't push for them, I knew you'd tell me in your own time and probably through wiseass remarks that tried to make light of the situation.

"So where are you staying?" I asked finally, figuring three months out of contact with the world isn't helpful with a monthly rent.

"No where at the moment," you said as you leaned back in the chair and watched TV. "I stopped by my place last night but couldn't get in so I came here. I assume they threw my stuff away."

Again, you shrugged it off.

"Do you need a place to stay?" I asked.

"Hopefully I'll be set, just need to find a way to get to my money without my ID or anything."

You hadn't made eye contact with me for a while now.

"If you need a place..."

"Don't worry about it," you said with a dismissive waive. "Sorry to just barge in late last night, I appreciate it. I'll get a place."

"Do you need any money?"

"I've got money, just need to get to it."

"Then let's go to the bank."

Easier said that done.

Who'd have guessed how hard it is to withdraw money without an ID or a bank card of any type.

"I guess I do need money," you said as we walked out of the bank. "How the hell am I supposed to go about getting a new ID without a birth certificate or anything?"

"We'll figure it out," I said as we walked down Bristol Street. "Until then I've got you covered."

"No," you said, shaking your head, "don't worry, I'll figure something out."

And then you perked up as you saw something. I followed your glance over but couldn't tell what you saw.

"Actually," you said, "could I borrow about twenty bucks?"

***

"Jesus Christ, it's Jeffery Carter."

You waived to the man behind the counter as we walked into Al's Magic Shop. One of those places I had always seen but never been it, it was eternally empty but had been open for as long as I could remember.

"How ya been, Jimmy?" you said as you walked up to the counter and I just started looking around. The place was a mess, a store of gag gifts and party tricks. "Jimmy, this is Isiah, Isiah," you said as I turned to see you gesturing to me, "this is Jimmy Smits."

"Heya," said Jimmy with a waive.

"How are ya?" I said with a nod.

And then I went back to looking around.

I had never known you to be into magic, so what you were doing in a place like this was beyond me. At first.

"Just had some come in!" I heard Jimmy state in response to whatever you had asked and I had missed.

And I turned to see the exact reason you would come to a place like this.

***

"Does he know?" I asked as we were once again walking along Bristol Street, you finally smiling like you used to, bag in your hand, George W. Bush mask in the bag.

"About this?" you asked, lifting the bag slightly. "Nah, not that I know of. Jimmy's a good guy but a little out of it."

Your head turned to allow your eyes to stare at a fairly good looking woman who passed by.

Yep, I'd say the mask brightened ya up a bit.

"Ah, it's good to be free again," you said with a huge grin.

***

"What is this?"

"It's Yukon Jack," I shouted over the noise of the club. "It's good for you, puts hair on your chest."

"Yeah, I need more of that," you said as we raised our shots.

You wanted to go out heroing. Your body was saying no. So I proposed drinks first.

You coughed on the shot and I just smiled as I set my glass down.

"Smooth?" I asked.

"Like silk," you croaked, reaching for a water.

"Good, let's do another." I waived down the bartender.

"No, I probably should get going," you said as you tried to stand up.

"Jeff, man, listen, the city's still here after three months, it'll still be here tomorrow," I said. You gave me a look that didn't agree with me. "Look, it's your first night out, enjoy yourself. Old times sake." I held the new shot out to you.

"Fuck it," you said with a grin, and you took the shot just like I knew you would.

You've been a lightweight for as long as I've known ya. Not as bad as our old pal 'Two Can' Dan, but close.

Then again, though, four shots of Yukon in quick succession would get anyone at least a little tipsy.

But you were beyond 'a little' tipsy.

"WHOOT WHOOT!" you shouted from the dance floor as you tried to do something that I guess was supposed to be dancing. It would have been embarrassing were we or anyone else sober, but that kind of jerking was expected by this crowd.

Which might explain how you had that very attractive brunette all over you.

Let's just say that you are not quite the lady's man you like to make yourself out to be. Not normally.

Me, I just sat by the bar, enjoying the show. I've never been as outgoing as you, and I like it that way. It's typical of two good friends, one's a little more stable, one's a little more sociable, they balance each other. Yin to one's Yang, maybe.

"So who's a girl got to fuck to get a drink around here?"

I turned to the voice. She was tall and a redhead and quite attractive. I looked down the bar to see the bartender doing his thing elsewhere.

"I don't know," I said, "I think they prefer to deal in money here."

"God, the barter system's so much more fun," she said, turning to me and leaning on the bar.

"I've never been one for negotiations myself," I said.

"Ah, but there is so much more adventure in bargaining."

"I prefer to know what I'm dealing with ahead of time."

"That's no fun."

"The trip may not be, but I sure like the destination."

She smiled.

"I like you," she said. "I think I'll let you buy me a drink."

"I'll buy you a drink if I get your name."

"Not one for negotiation?"

"That's a non-negotiable price."

"Fair enough." She reached out a lovely hand. "Mary," she said.

I gently took her hand for a moment.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mary. I'm Isiah."

"Mmm, how Biblical."

"Son of a preacher man."

"ISIAH!" you shouted (a little too loud considering you had come up next to me) as I waived down the bartender. "What are you doing just sitting here?" Then you saw her. "Oh, hello..."

Your face changed a bit, like you were trying to remember something.

"Have we met?" you asked, extending a hand.

"You don't remember me?" she asked with a fake pout, ignoring your hand.

"You seem familiar," you said with a grin, "but I'm a little too drunk to remember much of anything."

She stepped towards you, hell, up against you, and brought her lips near your ear.

I was about to be jealous, but then I heard it. It was loud and still building, an impulse I picked up on and quickly identified as wrong.

And with a thought, I canceled it.

Her voice came out as a breath instead of the scream she intended and I was off the stool before she had time to react to her sudden loss of voice.

"Excuse us," I said, grabbing you and starting to push my way to the door.

"Hey, hey," you said, feigning protest but too out of it to really put up a fight.

We were out on the sidewalk before I let you go.

"Jesus Christ, Jeff, who was that?" I asked as you leaned against a wall.

"I don't know?" you said, rolling his head.

"She was about to scream into your ear," I said, and you stopped moving and looked at me. "Loud. Ears bleeding loud."

"And how did you know that?" you asked, somewhat serious, but sounding more curious.

I had never told you about this, about me, about what I could do. You weren't the only one with his secrets.

"I'll explain it later," I said, "but for now we have to go."

"Why?" you asked.

And then the world exploded.

"Hey!" you shouted as I stumbled to the ground, the world blurring around me. I cleared my head and got back to my feet, turning to see you grabbing the redhead by her arms. She struggled, her breaths coming in heaves, tears of what looked to be blood running down her cheeks.

Then she kneed you in the nuts.

You fell to the ground as she turned and lunged at me

It only took a thought to make that useless.

I caught her as she collapsed into my arms, out cold for what I hoped would be the night.

I gently laid her down and looked to you.

"You okay?" I asked as you took deep breaths and laid all balled up.

"Yeah," you said lightly, "just be a sec. Hey, how'd you do that?"

"This?" I asked, looking down to the redhead. You nodded. "Magic."

"I gotta learn me some of that," you said and then groaned.

***

"So what now?" you asked.

"I guess we stick around," I said with a shrug.

"How long did you knock her out for?"

"Uh, I don't know, really. The only other time I did something like this was when I tested it out on my dog back in high school."

"How long was he out?"

"Two days maybe?"

We both stood to one side of the hotel room bed, looking down at the sleeping Mary. Sobered up, you remembered who she was and seemed to want to get away from her. Teapot or something like that. You just kept saying she was nuts, and I believed it. But we couldn't just leave her there.

"Well, you knocked her out with her mind and stuff like that, right?" you asked.

"More or less."

"Well could you think her awake or something?"

"Never tried it and I'm not sure I want to risk screwing it up and doing something worse."

"Like what?"

"Killing her, maybe?"

"Oh."

So we stood there and stared.

"She's pretty hot," you said and I just nodded. "I mean, for being fucked up in the head and all."

"Did you meet her at Alhazred?"

"Nah, I wasn't allowed to see the general populace. You remember the reports of the screaming chick that was knocking stuff down and hurting people with her screams and stuff?"

"Oh yeah. You stopped her?"

"No, that Silver Shadow asshole did, but only because I kept her preoccupied."

"Ah, of course you did."

"Really!" you said. "I was being all smooth so he could just came up and knock her out with some kung fu shit."

"Uh huh."

"Whatever."

And we stood there.

"God, my nuts still hurt," you said.

***

Thankfully it didn't take two days for her to wake up.

You were passed out in a chair and I was sitting on the floor next to the bed, reading through the complimentary Gideon Bible left in every hotel room. Christ, those guys were everywhere.

"Hello," I heard from a tired voice and I looked up to see her eyes open and looking at me.

"Good morning," I said.

She turned over and sat up, stretching with a yawn.

"Where am I?" she asked, looking around, her gaze stopping on you.

"Thurben Hotel. We brought you here last night so you'd be okay." I said as she continued staring at you as you slept. "Are you alright?"

Things were happening in her mind, thoughts, nerve impulses, a hotbed of activity.

I got to my feet as she leapt out of the bed and towards you, grabbing your face and turning it towards her, waking you in the process.

"It is you!" she said, and then she kissed you.

You pushed her off and scrambled to your feet.

"Uh, hey, uh, Mary," you said, your back against the wall.

"Teapot," she said, stepping towards you.

"Okay, Teapot, how are you?" you asked, cringing slightly as she reached up and caressed your face.

What the hell?

"Oh, I'm fine," she said as she pressed her body against yours. You scurried out of the way and she folded her arms and pouted. That was the first time I had ever seen you actively avoid an advance of a good looking woman. "I thought you cared," she pouted.

"I... Uh, I do care," you said, taking a couple steps away from her. "It's just that I just woke up and stuff, ya know? Morning breath and all."

She glared at you and then looked at me.

"Who's he?"

I looked to you and you mouthed what looked like "nutcase" to me and I couldn't agree more.

"I'm Isiah," I said.

"Isiah, why doesn't Bush love me?" she asked, looking to you and pushing her lower lip out farther to emphasize her pout.

"Bush? Uh, Bush does love you," I said as her mind was screaming with activity. She was gonna blow. "He's a very loving person, that Bush. It, uh, it was his idea to get the hotel room last night cause he didn't want to leave you where you might get hurt."

"Really?" she asked, her pout lessening and her eyes brightening up.

"Uh, yeah," you said, looking to me and then to her. "Yeah, I didn't want you to get hurt so I said to Isiah, 'hey, Isiah, we really should get this lovely lady a room and keep an eye on her, you know, to make sure she's okay. I'd hate for anything to happen to her.'"

She smiled at that and ran towards you, throwing herself at you and, luckily, being caught by you. She wrapped her legs around your waist as she forced a kiss on you.

Your face looked like you'd just eaten a lemon.

You pulled your head back but had trouble unwrapping her legs from around you.

"I knew you'd come back for me!" she said. "Oh, they were so mean to me, Bushie."

"I'm sorry," you said as you stumbled towards the bed with her still latched onto you. "But they aren't going to bother you anymore."

"I know," she said. "They're all dead, now, they can't hurt anyone anymore!"

You tried to set her on the bed but she leaned back, her weight pulling you on top of her onto the bed.

"You won't hurt me, will you?" she said softly with a purr.

I don't think I had ever seen you so uncomfortable before. It was kind of funny.

"Of course not," you said, pushing yourself up and off of her. "Uh, hey, I'm gonna go, um, use the bathroom, okay?"

"Okay," she said, scooting herself up the bed and stretching in a manner that said hurry back.

Oh my.

"Hey, Isiah, could you, um, join me for a sec," you said as you grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the bathroom.

"To use the bathroom?" asked Teapot/Mary/nutcase, suddenly sitting up. I was about to ask the same thing.

"I need help aiming," you said, and you shut the bathroom door behind us.

I covered my mouth to hush my laughter.

"Fine," you said in a whisper, "fucking laugh, meanwhile I got a sex crazed nutcase hanging off of me thinking I'm her freakin' abusive father or something."

"How's it feel to have a fan?" I asked. You flipped me the bird.

"Christ, what the hell are we gonna do?" you asked, sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

"We? It seems like you're the one with the problem."

"And you're my best pal who's gonna help me out of this mess. Can't you just knock her out again and we can bail?"

"What, and leave her here? What makes it okay now but it wasn't last night?"

"Well she's more freakin' nuts now!"

"And when she wakes up, what then? She screams half the city down?"

"Fuck."

"That's what she wants." I smiled and got the finger again. "Look, say you have to go to work or something and I'll take over from there."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, but it'll at least remove you from the situation and maybe calm her down or something."

"Christ, okay, fine, and if that doesn't work?"

"Well, then I'll have to go to the bathroom," I said and you just shook your head. "I'll work something out."

"Fine," you said, standing up and opening the bathroom door.

We stepped out to find the room empty, the hotel room door wide open.

"What the hell?" you said, running to the door and looking up and down the hall. You looked back to me. "She's gone."

"I guess that solves that," I said with a shrug.

***

"You get that often?" I asked as we were walking back to my apartment.

"Get what? Crazy ass chicks throwing themselves at me? Yeah, too damn often really."

"Huh," I said, shaking my head. "I never thought I'd live to see the day that Jeffery Carter was a playa."

"Don't hate the player," you said, "hate the game."

"The game's not the one getting all kinds of ass."

"Whatever."

"Well, I must say, that's quite an interesting life you lead," I said.

"That's not even the worst of it," you said. "My arch-nemesis looks to be a moron who's powers are static cling or something like that."

"You're kidding me?"

"I shit you not."

"What's he call himself, The Clingster."

"Nah, Stacy," you said.

"Stacy?"

"Yeah, Stacy." I had to laugh at that. "Pretty stupid if you ask me," you finished.

"What a moron."

"I've tried to tell him that, but he never listens."

"What, you mean he's not taking the guy running around in a George Bush mask seriously?"

"Low blow, man."

"I'm just sayin'..."