vanishes quickly, but they all felt it. If it wasn’t a wind gust, Lisbeth observes aloud, then maybe the car’s steering system is failing and they’re going to break down soon, spend the night on the side of the road and miss their finals. Her comments are meant to loosen the tension, but they cause Ed to break out into a sweat, his hands clammy, his face wet around the eyes like he’s holding back tears. Jonathan is also unnerved. He loses his concentration and can’t remember the wordstring. He forgets “echelon,” so it’s down to Ed and Denise. “Still playing, Ed?” Denise jeers. “You bet your ass I’m playing,” Ed shoots back. Ed adds “sandman.” Denise struggles through, almost missing “practical,” then adds “tintinnabulation.” She touches Lisbeth on the shoulder. “Twenty words,” she says. She looks at Jonathan, pressing his fingers meaningfully. “Twenty words. We’re getting close.” She squeezes Jonathan’s hand again, and then out of the blue she speaks a word none of them has ever heard. “Precipitevolissimevolmente,” she says. It’s not her turn, and it’s not a word for the game. But it’s a word she has known now for a year, a word that utterly fascinates her. Three times
Stan Lee Werlin | Aspic Bayberry Cathedral
that once graduation is over, the relationship will be too. She brings herself back to the word game. K. She likes Irish green. She spits out her word. “Kelly.” And then, before anyone can draw a breath, “Twenty-six. The only number between a square and a cube.” “Denise, lighten up, huh? We left the multiverse ten miles back.” Jonathan chuckles, trying to alter the mood. He looks at Denise pleadingly, but sees she’s still upset. He adds “louse” to the wordstring, and they’re back in the game. She wishes the word he chose had been “loser.” Her private little joke. Another round goes by. Ed: mesmerize. Lisbeth: noodle. Denise: octopus. Jonathan: practical. Ed again: quell. They’ve reached the point where they usually start to stumble, and sure enough, Lisbeth is the first to go out. She can’t remember the Q word, and she’s gone. She puts her head back to rest. They’re up to eighteen words for Denise. “Aspic bayberry cathedral dandelion echelon felicity guru hijack ingenious jacks kelly louse mesmerize noodle octopus practical quell rotation.” She shouts out the last word triumphantly. When a heavy gust of wind suddenly comes up, Ed fights the wheel for a few seconds and barely avoids the guardrail. The pressure on the car
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