Mark had a plan to gradually drift away from everything in his life. However it seemed as the days went on, he was gradually drawn in to more and more in that same life he was running--crawling--from. Mark became that frog in the water, boiling with time. His own idea, plan, was proven effective with him as the test-subject. They always describe it as "falling" for someone, but when was it ever so quick? Falling was too sudden, too instant. He took steps down every so often. A stair of curiosity, a stair of amusement, a stair of friendship, a stair of concern. Gradually, gradually, he walked into the trap. He was at the bottom of the staircase, surrounded by feelings that were foreign and confusing. He was at the bottom of the staircase, and, like that fateful day not too long ago, he was there because of Jenni.

  ***       Mark looked down at the number flashing upon his screen. It must be time for the monthly call. He answered it, but the voice on the other end was not the one whom he was expecting. It was a voice he knew, but not a voice he wanted to hear.       "Mark, it's your father."       "Hello, is there something wrong?" That was the only possible conclusion to be drawn. Something had to be wrong, or maybe Mark had unknowingly screwed something up.       "No, not really. I know you're going to be on break soon. We missed you on Christmas because you were so busy studying. We've sent a plane ticket, it should come soon. Won't you visit us? Cassidy is always talking about how much she misses you." His voice was cut with a pleasant tone. It was his campaign tone, pleasantly icy.       "I understand, goodbye." Mark hung up the phone. Eight words. Eight words were all he could muster. Three years--no, seventeen years--worth of anger were always present in the back of Mark's mind. He could have screamed. He could have said 'no.' But all he said were eight words. Two sentences. Christmas? When did missed holidays