Megan Rible

Puzzle
Sara couldn't seem to sit still.  Granted, the splintery wooden park bench wasn't exactly 
the plush leather couch she had her eye on at Levitz, but she was used to it.  She uncrossed her 
legs and turned sideways to lean her left shoulder on the back of the bench, propping the twice-
folded newspaper on her jeans-clad knee and tapping her lower lip absently with the end of the 
pencil in her right hand.  16 Across: Sat and did nothing.  5 letters.  How appropriate, Sara 
thought with a wry grin, thinking uneasily of her current predicament.  She glanced up from the 
crossword to watch two women with strollers jogging past, their tiny neon spandexed waists 
sparking a pang of jealousy.  As they continued down the path, the slap of their expensive 
sneakers muffled by the blanket of damp red and gold leaves coating the packed dirt, she 
imagined herself with that kind of figure, with that kind of willpower.  Then she imagined a 
luxurious slice of Max's Snickers cheesecake jogging along beside them, complete with hat and 
jogging suit, and laughed at her own hypocrisy.  
She returned to the black and white puzzle in her lap, tapping the pencil on her thigh.  
Lazed?  Idled?  She'd have to get more letters first.  A cloud drifted over the hazy sun and she 
zipped up her navy Gap windbreaker to block out the sudden chill.  3 Down: Clairvoyant.  Don't 
I wish, she mused, her thoughts returning once again to the topic she'd been trying to ignore all 
week, but which her contrary brain insisted on replaying over and over like an mp3 player stuck 
on repeat.  Frowning, she shifted once again, turning back to face the path and watch a toy 
poodle, bell jangling, as it waged joyous war on the skittering new-fallen leaves.  With a 
determined hand she filled in the letters, S-E-E-R, sure and bold, as if the straight dark lines 
could cage her errant thoughts or provide the confidence she lacked, but it was no use.  Sighing, 
she dropped the pencil in her lap, leaned back, and closed her eyes.  She could hear the rustle of 
brittle leaves as a breeze touched the surrounding trees, the soft thud of a fallen acorn and the 
chitter of an angry squirrel, the triumphant yaps of the poodle as it bounded away, and above it 
all, the soft droning of traffic on the distant freeway.  There was no escape from her nagging 
conscience.  She couldn't put it off any longer.