My Cardboard Balcony

In Inverness by Belinda Roddie In Inverness, I drank beside a Scot who voted for his land's independence. It all seemed grim, as we watched each ballot counted. Being foreign, I rode the fence about the issue, admitting the fact that I had too little knowledge to weigh in. I told the man this, attempting tact, and he just sighed and hummed, scratching the gray parts of his beard. "You know, lass," he then said, "I've dreamed for years of Scotland being freed from Britain's brazen chokehold. I have read the writing on the wall - change is our creed." He drank his pint, adding, "If all the 'ayes' aren't worth the 'nays,' at least an old Scot tries."

"You're going to be an aunt," I told my sister, my face flush with excitement, one hand pressed against the belly of my wife who stood beside me. My sister blinked, sat down, and picked up a mug to sip from. When realizing the mug was empty, she exhaled - slowly. Very, very slowly. Then, when there had been silence among us for a good ten or so seconds, she finally spoke. "Forgive me," she said with a small smile. "I'm just a little disoriented."