Free Prerequisites for Sleep by Jennifer L. Stone Page A

the arrangements, right down to choosing her pretentious wedding dress and ridiculous shoes. She lifted her dress to show us her feet, red with blood from where the crystal pumps were cutting into her skin. We searched our purses for hankies and mother gently padded them under the sharp edges.
    After the wedding, the image of Syd in her tattered clothes appeared in the paper next to the official wedding engraving. The corresponding article served to propagandize the event as a valiant rescue of an ill-treated maiden by a noble, but perhaps starry-eyed, prince who could be forgiven any future transgressions.
    A few months later, Jo reverted to Smith and took off with an artist who delighted in connecting the dots of her freckles to form constellations. The two of them run a travelling tattoo parlour. Her letters say she misses us but enjoys the anonymity of her lifestyle. Within two years, Mother died of a mysterious illness that I can only attribute to depression. She bequeathed to Frank her secret recipe.
    There have been many times that I have thought about visiting Syd, just as I am sure that she has frequently thought about visiting me, both of us deterred by the fact that getting in and out of the castle alone is a bureaucratic and security nightmare that only a select few know how to navigate. I know her only through castle proclamations of births and visiting royalty. Poor Syd. I feel that she, stuck on the inside without an ally to escape with, as the three of us did when we braved the night to spy on the musketeers, is unable to navigate alone and spends her days treading water.
    A few years ago I married Dwayne, the dragon master. He fell in love with me upon discovering that I could stand, look the creatures in the eye and they would allow me to wash behind their ears without breathing fire. He is a giant of a man and we are equally matched. Last week at our fundraising dragon wash, the proceeds going to the castle upkeep fund, since chivalry is now dead and tourist numbers are down, I saw Syd again. She was accompanying her children on an outing to see the dragons. She had miscarried four babies and laboured over five princesses before the obligatory prince was born. It is said that her husband no longer visits her at night. Frank often sees him at the pub. He doesn’t hide his identity and he’s not there for meat pies. Syd’s father, and the only father I have ever really known, does not go in for gossip. If he makes a statement, it is true. It obviously pained him to make this one.
    The dragons were uneasy with so many children about. Two things you can’t trust together are dragons and children. Dwayne double-checked the cable fencing that kept the spectators at bay and filled buckets of water on standby. Sydney approached with my nieces and nephew, all holding white-gloved hands, from smallest to largest. From under the velvet of the girls’ dresses came the rustling of crinolines and petticoats. Crystallized sunlight reflected from the tiaras in their hair and the jewelled buckles of the prince’s shoes. When they stopped in front of the pen, the air was still, except for the occasional snort of a dragon. The crowd was silent. Waiting. Expecting.
    I noted that Syd had acquired a couple of rolls around the middle. She took in the crow’s feet that now radiate from the corners of my eyes and the chiselled lines at my mouth. I saw the edge of her lips twitch on one side as if she was about to break into a giggle, then her eyes moisten as if she was going to cry. We remained there, the thick wire of the pen between us, two women quietly acknowledging the fact that we were still sisters and friends, until the dragons and the children became restless.

Double Exposure
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    Why is it that you are always the last to know? It’s two in the morning. You’re thirty-six years old and you realize that your five-year relationship is in trouble. Your girlfriend stands before you in a