The Vast Landscape

By Jacqueline Cioffa

Bold contemporary fiction, The Vast Landscape shares one woman's journey filled with doubt, mistrust, fame, and self-discovery. Join Harrison on her quest to find inner peace despite the harrowing obstacles placed in her way. Will she succeed in stripping away her complex armor to unmask the flawed, beautiful, and strong iconoclast kept hidden for so long? 

Honest to a fault, Jacqueline Cioffa creates a challenging love story sparkling with narrative originality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacqueline Cioffa
• Release date: May 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386310228

Jacqueline Cioffa

Jacqueline Cioffa was an international model for 17 years and celebrity makeup artist. She is a dog lover, crystal collector, and Stone Crab enthusiast. Author of the raw, riveting and brutally honest memoir, “The Red Bench,” and the poignant soul-stirring saga, “The Vast Landscape” and “Georgia Pine,” Jacqueline’s work has also been widely featured in numerous literary magazines, and anthologies. She’s a storyteller, observer, truth teller, essayist, potty mouth, beauty enthusiast and film lover who’s traveled the world. Living with Manic Depression, she believes passionately in using her voice to advocate and inspire others. 

Book preview

In Utero

I AM FLOATING FREELY, in crystal, clear blue water. I remember this weightlessness, the contentment feeling. In utero, I recall the heat of the sun and brisk waters making me do somersaults in mother’s belly. They say the unborn can see colors in bright sunlight. I close my eyes and immediately am taken back, to sherbet orange and familiar, flames of red. I love colors. I live for days filled with happy greens, funny pinks, moody purples, mellow blues and sunny, mustard yellows. I have the distinct feeling I’ve lived this day before. I was happy then, safe, protected, warm and snug in the womb. I prefer life that way, protected by the embryonic fluids. Hidden beneath the depths, fond memories float through the brain.

Today, I forgo the dark and leave her buried beneath the weightlessness of the water.

I turn over, releasing all memory, and dive deep beneath the salty, clean water, refreshing the skin and rebirthing the soul. I leave the bad above the surface. I am mesmerized by the white; water cloud patterns dancing, created by the sun and clouds a million miles away. I hear music playing in my head, a soft, sweet melodic tune, both somber and haunting.

I dance, swim, and float gracefully like a dolphin. Lost in the moment, I almost forget I need air to breath, and swim to the top. I rest just long enough to replenish my lungs and return to the freest, quietest, happiest place I know. Oh my, my father is there, right there sitting and watching. So close I could almost reach out and touch him. Hi, Daddy, I miss you so. Can you please come back, so we could do it all over again? Live a life together, with you? He’s young, strong, handsome. A strapping man, sitting and watching us swim. He’s laughing, so happy to be home. You were always smiling, Daddy; you made everyone’s life filled with so much color. Mommy, you look so pretty, so full of life with your protruding belly. Your belly is huge, and lovely with me in it. Look at Daddy, rapt with emotion. He’s so proud to be married to you and have this family. He can’t see me yet, or the life that will come, but I see him clearly, in colors brighter than blues above. I want to stay in this place, this space, and this rapture memory. I want to stay stalled in this moment forever. I can’t bear it.

Swimming, I meditate, on the gift of imagination and mystic powers, unknown. Touching my Mala beads, grateful for this day, and the life I have been given. I bask in the beautiful, swoosh and sway of the calm, aqua blue. I’m not even here, a mere concept; the fortuitous dream conjured up by a man and his lady.

In utero.

The Candle Burns Sideways

HARRISON’S MOTHER IS FAT. Swollen cankles with a big, round belly. Her eight and five-year-old boys are fast asleep. She bends over to tuck them in, feels a sharp pang in her belly. Exhausted, she shrugs it off and heads to her room to crawl into bed. Blood soaks her nightgown, soiling the sheets. She shakes her husband.

"Wake up, something’s wrong. We have to go. Now."

He springs to action, calls her brother to watch the kids, grabs the hospital bag, helps her dress and starts the powder-blue ’66 Mustang convertible. Good thing the Hospital is around the block. Fast as lightning, Harrison’s dad is quick in a crisis and calm when things spin out of control.

Everything’s fine, try not to worry.            Harrison hears their muffled voices; makes out shadows from the artificial, fluorescent hospital lights overhead. Impatient, she’s been hanging out inside that belly forever. She knows her parents by now, very well. She feels the fear vibrating through her mother’s womb. Scurried off to maternity, her mom’s told to get in bed and stay there, the placenta is trying to come first. Harrison is in a big hurry. Her dad leaves to take care of the brothers. Morning arrives. Her mom tossed and turned all night. The nurse lets her sneak a smoke and a shower. Back then they didn’t have a clue what was good or bad for the baby. Organic? Who had time for all that? The contractions come fast and hard, Harrison’s ready. Good God, she’s been in limbo forever, drifting in and out of the placenta dream state. This baby is not patient. Let’s GO.

Her mom is knocked out, doesn’t get to see the birth. Finally, after an eternity, Harry’s free. Something is wrong, nurses scramble, the doctor looks worried. Harrison’s temperature is low, dangerously low. She’s whisked off to an incubator. Harry’s mother wakes screaming.

Where’s my baby? Sure she’s dead. I want my mother, she wails, inconsolable. Her own mother is gone, dead at fifty. The Doc reassures her that the baby is stable, gives her Valium to calm her down. She waits, and waits some more refusing to nod off. She won’t give in to the drug haze, the heaviness of her eyelids, sore body. No, No, No. I need coffee. Hours, and hours pass, she can’t help it, she drifts. Harry’s daddy arrives, pulls a chair close to her mother’s bedside. He’s here. Everything’s going to be all right.

Finally, after the longest night and day of her life, the nurse wheels in some plastic contraption with the baby inside. They taped a stupid pink bow to her head. Her mom lost it. She is, in fact, a girl, her perfect beautiful baby. Harrison Gertrude. Ok, not the EXACT girl she’d dreamt of; they’d make do. There’d be plenty of time for heartache, the mother-daughter learning curve.

Hi, her mom whispers breathing in the familiar, clean newborn scent. She knew. Right then and there. Harrison knew she was exactly where she was meant to be. These were her people, and the life she had secretly, meticulously planned out. Bouncing around inside her mother’s womb for the long, excruciatingly boring ten months. Overdue, she’d had time to map it out. It was happening. Life, whether she wanted it or not.

Dodging Bullets

JUMP! HARRISON IS SURE she can fly. The gleam in her Daddy’s eye, she can do no wrong. There’s not one ounce of fear, remorse, regret living inside her. She’s the wild child, an untamed animal, housed inside a mini- hellcat person. Harry’s happy-go-lucky, free spirit, zest for life was contagious. Summers were spent at camp, by the lake, eating hotdogs, potato salad and snow cones. Catching fish, starting water balloon fights. The days were long, breezy and hot. She convinced the other kids the clubhouse was haunted, made them cry. Dared them to explore the rundown, white and green wooden shutter, musty, cobweb house. The deserted piano had broken keys, plank floors with sharp edges dangerous with every step, the screen door screeched opened. Most of the kids fled. Babies. Only Harrison and her best friend remained, and that tub upstairs.

Don’t be a scaredy-pants. Bet the killer’s victim’s ghost is hanging out. Hurry up, slowpoke.

She pulled her reluctant friend by the hand, in matching bikinis, pink flip-flops and floppy, polka dot hats. Harry ripped the off limits yellow tape defiantly and climbed the stairs, heart pounding out of her chest. Adrenaline shot through her tiny veins. Excited and scared, she flung the rickety, chipped, white door open and there it was. The red-stained, rusty claw tub. Sure it was blood; the killer must be lurking.

MURDER!!! she screamed. The girls flew down the stairs two at a time, landing outside in the grass. Laughing hysterically, flailing their legs and kicking, acting like 5-year-olds. Which they were.

Come on, let’s cool off, Harrison prods.

You know the rules.

Who cares, I’m hot. Harry heads to the docks, sticking her tongue out and hurling a rock. She dunks her toes in the chilly water, it feels delicious, and she’s boiling. The rocks are slimy, eww. A little seaweed never hurt anyone. She walks further out, up to her torso, staying close to the dock. She wants to dunk her head. The next thing she knows Harrison is submersed under the dock in freezing, black water. She’s stuck. Shit out of luck. She can’t breathe. She must have slipped on the stupid rocks. The seaweed tangled around her body, she’s trapped. Harry can almost make out the sun through the slits on the dock. She knows she’s in trouble; her mom is going to KILL her if she ever gets out. Grounded, like forever.

Strange, she’s not afraid. The water feels calm and peaceful. If this is how death is, she kinda likes it. Without warning, big strong hands reach down and grab her scrawny arms. Some blond boy frees her, pulls her out and sets her on the dock. He’s wearing tight, white shorts with a red stripe and whistle around his neck. She’s seen him hanging around. Creep. Darn it, just when things were getting interesting. Uh-oh. Here she comes.

Harrison’s mother squeezes her tight. You could’ve drowned.

Grateful she dodged a bullet; she milks it.

Keeping her alive proves a challenge, no matter the climate. In winter, Harrison jumps off the garage roof into fluffy, white snow mountains. Sleds down the porch steps; that adventure cost her ten stiches and a bloody jaw. It was Christmas; she rang the doorbell. Her mom told her to walk around back, snowsuit sopping wet. She saw the blood dripping down her chin, and chose to ignore it. Harrison’s accidents were a daily occurrence.

Jesus Christ, again Harry?

The doctor uses green and red thread. Harrison thinks that’s cool. She doesn’t cry, not a single peep. She’s tough. Not like her brother, big sissy. Broke his arm falling off the garage. Cried like a baby, big dummy. Guess he didn’t have magic powers. Harrison could fly, superpowers dwindling with each birthday.

By the age of ten, her vocabulary had multiplied. She knew what trust, disappointment, regret and jealousy meant. Everything was changing too fast, inside and out. Harrison’s feats grew disastrous. Risks came with a price, less reward. Bye-bye carefree life, welcome to the real world. Parents. Even the good ones can only shield so much. Harrison keeps her mom awake most nights.

Virgin Ties

HIGH SCHOOL SUCKS ASS. The boys are rotten, girls stupid cows. Harrison isn’t unpopular. She splits her time between drama geeks, nerds, cheerleaders, and popular seniors. Secretly, she hates them all. That stupid jock she had a mad crush on. Felt her up at a keg party in a barn, ignored her at school. Prick, she’d show him. She’ll show them all.

Harry never fit in. She’s mouthy, loud, outspoken, pretty and smart. Harry counts down the remaining months. Bitches with bleach blond, feathered hair and mountains of hairspray try to goad her. Harrison doesn’t fall for it. Her long, auburn locks with blond highlights Def Leppard style, scream do not fuck with me.

She’s not a virgin, no way in hell, the cunt, snooty ringleader declares loudly at lunchtime.

Harrison squirms, straightens, sits defiant, staring her down, gave a kid a blow job at recess.

The girls turn away, getting back to their gossip.

Gross; it so wasn’t true. Harry’s virginity was very much intact. She wouldn’t give those bimbos the time of day. Sluts, pretend prisses. They were the ones smoking dope, drinking and getting laid. Fucking hypocrites. They couldn’t figure her out, whether she was lying or telling the truth. Harrison didn’t have a tell; she hid her disgust. She couldn’t wait for the day she was a star. They’d be green with envy. Fat, unhappy, married with six kids to their high school sweethearts in boring, dead-end jobs. Losers.

Harrison runs home from school and sprints up the stairs to her bedroom. Slamming the door, locking it behind her. Her sobs muffled by the pillow held tight against her face. Why couldn’t she be like them? She would never be like that, she’d die first. The pathetic notion of trying to fit in made her cry harder. Monday through Friday was excruciating, pure torture. Heart palpitations started around six on Sunday. Harry was doomed if she didn’t get out of that hellhole. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

Thank God for the few teachers who actually gave a shit. She flunked Trig by one point. Fucking douchebag wouldn’t pass her, wouldn’t even tutor her. Said he spent his summer sailing. Can you believe that shit? Harrison hated the scrawny, white-haired beady-eyed monster from day one. He was such a phony. Summer school, perfect. What else?

She cried all the way home in her little red Colt, flipping the FM stations finding nothing but static. You have to pass; no math credit means no college. Hell, no. She asks her mom to find a tutor. She studies for hours and hours. She has no idea what the hell she’s looking at, stoked she has a photographic memory. Test day. Harry gets a wicked stomachache. She takes two Tums and blocks out the pain. The auditorium is hot, sticky and oddly quiet. She grabs a desk up front, making sure no one can accuse her of cheating. Douchebag hands her the test; Harrison rolls her eyes. FUCK OFF, hope you capsize and drown. Two hours later she raises her hand, satisfied. She’s done her best.

The next two weeks suck ass. She checks the mailbox 20 times a day.

Her mother yells, Jesus Christ, quit opening the goddamn door every five minutes. You’re letting the flies in.

Flies? Seriously?? Hello, we’re talking LIFE and DEATH here, Harry screams, slamming the front door. Fine, I’ll sit on the steps.

Harrison prays it comes soon, her chaffed ass burning from the hard cement. Holy hot. She recognizes the maroon return address emblem immediately. Harry doesn’t wait; she rips open the envelope. There it was, the future staring her in the face in bold red. Seventy-Eight! Three points above passing, she’ll take it. Yeah, baby! Harrison never thought about Trig again. Senior year flew. Harrison opted out of math, took electives, didn’t get asked to prom and didn’t give two shits. She skipped out on graduation.

New York University was the only college Harry applied to. Her mom took her to the city for the interview. She borrowed a scratchy, grey tweed suit from her cousin praying she looked smart. She got in, the Journalism and Creative Writing Program. She couldn’t believe her luck.

Harrison loved New York; she finally fit. The crowded streets, people, taxis, buses, hot dog vendors, boutiques she couldn’t afford, the bike messengers. The hustle and bustle was exhilarating, she felt like a character straight out