![](\"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/10\/MarthaInTheManuscript.jpg\")
She takes a drag of the cigarette. \u201cThat so? All right then, crazy man, what\u2019s a guy like you doing out here alone?\u201d<\/p>\nSaugerties is a pleasant place; beyond the coffee shops and fruit markets are rows of tall, colorful houses lined along endless concave streets like stretches of rainbows. But it also has the river\u2014the same river. So even though I\u2019m sitting on a bench that\u2019s more than a hundred miles away from the city, except for the lighthouse, the water across from me is no different.<\/p>\n
The lighthouse is tall with a rounded black terrace and a point on top. I watch the people linger around it. Some are inside, their backs against the windows. Others walk across a wooden dock. No one steps onto the terrace.<\/p>\n
The bench also has me in perfect firing range of a breeze that I imagine tumbling down the mountain like little rocks, blowing against the lighthouse so the chimes hanging on the wooden dock whistle along with the rippling water. It hits often, not like the breeze in the city, which only found me between the spread of buildings.<\/p>\n
Suddenly there\u2019s a sound to my left. I turn and see something else that usually doesn\u2019t find me: a tall, attractive woman, brown hair splitting at her forehead. I don\u2019t think she\u2019ll stop, but she does.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou got a smoke?\u201d<\/p>\n
I dig my hand into my pocket, nod, and move over so she can sit.<\/p>\n
\u201cI gotta run,\u201d she says, and looks at the space I made. \u201cBut I could really use a smoke.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t you have a minute?\u201d<\/p>\n
She considers me carefully. \u201cYou\u2019re new in town, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nod.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not crazy are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDepends.\u201d<\/p>\n
She takes the cigarette and sits, leaning in for me to light it. She smells like wine. \u201cDepends?\u201d she repeats, \u201cwhat\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not Tuesday,\u201d I say. \u201cSo you\u2019re in luck. I\u2019m only crazy on Tuesday.\u201d<\/p>\n
She takes a drag of the cigarette. \u201cThat so? All right then, crazy man, what\u2019s a guy like you doing out here alone?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d tell you, but I don\u2019t want to give the secret away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMakes sense,\u201d she says. \u201cCrazy people keep secrets.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow about this,\u201d I begin. I realize I\u2019m still holding the lighter so I put it away. \u201cYou tell me why you\u2019re in such a rush, and then I\u2019ll tell you something about me.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looks at her watch. I think about what I should start with. \u201cIt sounds like a fair deal, and I\u2019d like to, but I really don\u2019t have the time right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably because you\u2019ve got secrets too.\u201d<\/p>\n
She seems taller the second time she stands. I want to stand too, to see if I\u2019m taller than she is, but I decide to stay sitting. \u201cI\u2019ll leave that up to you, crazy man,\u201d she says. \u201cThanks for the smoke. I\u2019m sure I\u2019ll see you again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Considering five minutes ago I was thinking of leaving, I\u2019m satisfied being quiet and watching her body shrink into the distance. I take a deep breath and turn to the river. I knew there was something about this place\u2014that proved it. A boat stops at the lighthouse. It\u2019s the fourth of the day. Then I see someone looking at me from the terrace. I know who it is, but I can\u2019t believe it. I stand to get a better view, but she turns and walks back into the building, and I know I won\u2019t be able to see her again.
\n
\nThe chair creaks and I sit up, spreading three pieces of paper on top of the desk. I use a ruler to make sure all are the same distance apart and write \u201cMartha\u201d onto the first. I stare at the letters for a while. The pen pulses against my skin, but nothing happens. She\u2019s not coming back, I tell myself. She\u2019s not coming back.<\/p>\n
I need a reminder, so I walk to the empty bookshelf. It was offered as a throw-in with the house, since the previous owner figured that of all people I\u2019d have the most use for it. The shelf was here, so he tried convincing me the office would be ready as soon as I moved in. It was one of two selling points he kept reverting to\u2014flawed for two reasons. The first was that the office wasn\u2019t ready, since I still had to set up a desk and lay out a rug; the second was that I didn\u2019t want a shelf. But I\u2019m glad I have it now. It\u2019s a good way to relax\u2014a good reminder, which is just what I need. I hum as my fingers glide across it. The wood is nice and quiet. Just like Martha.<\/p>\n
Then I walk to the window to see the other selling point: the creek. The sun is bright against it. The water lets off a strong, yellow hue. It\u2019s not as mystical as he claimed it would be, but it does make for an interesting anomaly. If anything it\u2019s like a long wheat field. I try to imagine what it tastes like, but I start to feel dizzy, so I head to the bathroom and wipe wet towels against my face. It doesn\u2019t make much difference. When all is done, I go to bed.<\/p>\n
A knock wakes me up, but I stay beneath the covers until it stops. It\u2019s still early. It can be anyone. I wait a few minutes, and instead of going back to sleep, I bring a glass of water to my desk. There\u2019s only one person I want to see anyway, and though I hit a small bump, I shouldn\u2019t worry because it\u2019s still working. I take out what I have and look over the proof. Small bumps, small feeling, small Martha, it doesn\u2019t mean a thing. That wasn\u2019t her at the lighthouse. I say it out loud and believe it. And so I say it again and again until I\u2019m ready to continue. It wasn\u2019t her. I\u2019m here and she\u2019s not. It wasn\u2019t her. After years of trying and years of Martha, I\u2019m exactly where I need to be. She\u2019s not coming back. That\u2019s relief not worry. She\u2019s not coming back. It\u2019s relief. Of course it\u2019s relief. It\u2019s not worry. Not coming back. Not back not worry. Relief.<\/p>\n
A mist passes in front of me. The lighthouse is quiet. I try not to watch it, but I can\u2019t help myself. My feet are tapping against the grass, speeding up and slowing down like the breeze. The sky is clear today. For some reason it makes me feel exposed.<\/p>\n
I hear footsteps approaching, so I point my eyes at the grass and don\u2019t move. The sound gets louder. I can feel someone staring at me. I wait until the sound passes and don\u2019t look until it\u2019s far enough away. An old man. Black hat. Crooked back. Probably looking to say hi or talk about the weather. It\u2019s a nice day, but I\u2019m happy I didn\u2019t look. I don\u2019t like talking about nice days.<\/p>\n
More steps and I\u2019m studying the grass again. This time really studying\u2014the petals are thin; I can make out bits of movement between them. When I sit up, I realize there\u2019s no point in putting my head down. I might miss the very reason I\u2019m here.<\/p>\n
Then a sound from behind me. \u201cHey there, crazy man.\u201d<\/p>\n
I follow the familiar voice to the familiar face. She motions for me to move over. Her blouse is cut pretty short, and I\u2019m thinking of how it will look when she bends to sit. I\u2019m not disappointed. \u201cNo rush today?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n
I offer a cigarette and watch her slip it into her mouth. She notices, turns to face me and says: \u201cSo where exactly are you from?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe city,\u201d I tell her. \u201cUpper West Side.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd let me guess\u2014you came here to get away.\u201d She laughs quietly, but sees me look at her teeth and then stops. \u201cOr is that one of your secrets?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSounds like you already know my secrets.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust that you aren\u2019t from here,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd why I came.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen it sounds like I\u2019m more intuitive than you thought.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cActually, I wouldn\u2019t get carried away,\u201d I say, taking it back. \u201cIt\u2019s not very hard to spot the new guy, and I\u2019m sure it\u2019s even easier to figure out why he\u2019s here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou sure, crazy man? I\u2019m the new guy too, and you didn\u2019t spot me.\u201d She takes a long drag of the cigarette. The smoke suspends in front of her. <\/p>\n
The wind blows it to her face. She doesn\u2019t cough. \u201cGirl, actually. The new girl.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t realize,\u201d I say. \u201cI missed it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBad start backing yourself up. But you can recover. Go ahead, crazy man, why am I here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I had to guess,\u201d I say. \u201cI\u2019d bet you\u2019re running from something. Probably a guy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWrong again, crazy man.\u201d She shakes her head with a slight smile. \u201cAny more guesses?\u201d<\/p>\n
I shake my head too.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, actually,\u201d she says, \u201cI was looking for a good place to meet somebody.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow did you decide on Saugerties?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause it\u2019s pretty and pretty people usually live in pretty places.\u201d<\/p>\n
I give her time for an addendum, but when she doesn\u2019t take it, I ask: \u201cIsn\u2019t there more to it than being in a pretty place?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen what about being pretty?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNope. It\u2019s all you need.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hear a crash from the water. There\u2019s a boat mounting at the lighthouse. Two men climb out of it. One of them says something that I can\u2019t hear. No one\u2019s at the terrace.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I guess it\u2019s fine to assume that you came here alone?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that your way of asking if I\u2019m single?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can do better than that, crazy man. What do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think if you weren\u2019t single then you wouldn\u2019t be hitting on me.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughs and her head moves with it. The hair falls into her eyes. \u201cForget what I said before. You were right. There is more to it than being pretty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need to be aggressive too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAggressive,\u201d I repeat. \u201cInteresting. I would have thought it\u2019d be intelligent, funny, something like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNope,\u201d she says. \u201cThose are nice. But you can\u2019t get anywhere if you\u2019re not aggressive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAggressive,\u201d I say again. \u201cI\u2019ll keep that in mind.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t just keep it in mind. Keep showing you\u2019ve got it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou think I\u2019ve got it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know you do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, maybe, but there is a problem\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
She leans forward. \u201cSounds like I might hear another secret.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot at all,\u201d I tell her. \u201cIt\u2019s hard enough being aggressive with someone when you don\u2019t know their name.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t be worrying about names anyway,\u201d she says. \u201cNames are too important to be rushed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNames are the first thing we get,\u201d I remind her.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot true, crazy man. When the name comes we\u2019ve already got everything else. The name comes last.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen what comes first?<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatever we want to,\u201d she says. A bird lands on the grass and looks at us. \u201cA movie\u2019s someone else\u2019s, so how about that? We can see what\u2019s playing tonight. Do you have plans?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re asking me? I thought I was supposed to be the aggressive one?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can be aggressive too, crazy man. Do you have plans or not?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, but\u2014shouldn\u2019t we wait?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStop thinking so hard,\u201d she says and then stands. \u201cYou\u2019re acting like you\u2019re new to this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust out of practice,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen get back into it,\u201d she says. \u201cShow off a little.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m trying. It\u2019s just that I hardly know you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd unless you want it to stay that way then stand. Otherwise you really are crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n
And so I do\u2014though something doesn\u2019t feel right. The good news is that I am taller than her.<\/p>\n
She starts walking to Main Street, and I follow slowly. She turns back to me twice. As we turn the corner, she grabs my hand. Hers is cold. Then I see someone following us from across the street. It\u2019s Martha. I walk faster, but so does Martha. She mirrors us on the other side until things start to blur, to shake, soon I can\u2019t see anything. Then I hear a voice, and everything is still.<\/p>\n
I walk to the window, look at the creek, and shut the blinds. I pushed my luck. I know I did. But I\u2019ve been here before; if I wait a day or two it\u2019ll come back. I can\u2019t let it go to shit again. Not after all I\u2019ve done. I\u2019ll just take the rest of the day off, and then I\u2019ll have nothing to worry about. I\u2019m still in control. It\u2019s me. Not her. Me. Not her.<\/p>\n
The next thing I know I\u2019m in bed with my eyes closed, and entire worlds are starting from three directions in front of me. On one side there are dizzying mountains\u2014hardly salient through a storm. On another there are wide corn fields bouncing off the ground into small hills. On a third there are quiet lakes with red and yellow trees hanging over them like long arms. I can\u2019t believe all this is surrounding me. I start walking closer to the lakes, but then the trees start to shake, and a swarm of macaws emerge. One of them lands on my shoulder. We look at each other, but it takes off. When I look ahead again, the lakes aren\u2019t there. Nothing is. Everything starts to go black. I run to each side but discover I\u2019m trapped. The walls are wet. Water drips onto my head. I scream for help but there isn\u2019t an answer. Then I see a streak of light and walk over to it. It\u2019s blocked by rocks, and despite heaving my entire body against them, they don\u2019t move. I\u2019m too tired to scream. I\u2019m too tired to stop my body from sinking to the floor. Then the ground shakes, and a faint light starts to slide across the black like water. Finally, I\u2019m able to look up. A person stands against the light. I realize its Martha. She disappears into the brightness. I stand and follow, but the light goes away again.
\nI wake up, take a cold shower, and somehow find myself right where I left off.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you want to eat first?\u201d I suggest.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you hungry?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you are.\u201d<\/p>\n
I look across the street again. Everything is still. I take a few short breaths and grab her hand. \u201cWe\u2019ll eat,\u201d I say. \u201cKnow anything good around here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not the person to ask,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
I nod when I remember. \u201cWe\u2019ll find something. Are you up for exploring?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNow you\u2019re getting it, crazy man,\u201d she says. \u201cKeep the ideas coming.\u201d
\nWe turn a few corners, but everything we pass is closed. Then I see a little boy walking over. At first I figure he\u2019s heading to someone behind us, his parents, probably\u2014filling obligations with Mom to see Grandma or to go with Dad to the store because the basement light is broken\u2014not the way a little boy wants to spend his day. I feel for him. He walks like the day is dead. I\u2019m ready to meet his eyes when he passes, but when we reach each other, he stops.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me,\u201d he says in a quiet voice. \u201cWe\u2019re selling lemonade. Twenty five cents for one cup or two cups for fifty cents.\u201d<\/p>\n
The boy points to a table at the corner of the sidewalk. There are two girls standing behind it. There are a pile of cups and a pitcher on top of it. One of the girls points to the pitcher.<\/p>\n
\u201cWould you like some?\u201d the boy says again. \u201cIt\u2019s for a good cause.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the cause?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re raising money for the library.\u201d<\/p>\n
I feel the pressure. \u201cA cup for each of us.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hand is free now, so the boy grabs it and leads me over. I drop my change into a little jar, and one of the girls places two cups onto the table. The other fills them with lemonade. It doesn\u2019t taste right.<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly fifty cents for another two,\u201d the bigger one says.<\/p>\n
My head starts to spin, but I nod. The boy smiles at the girls. I put more change into the jar, and she fills the cups again. I can feel the lemonade drop into my stomach. When I put the cup down, I turn back to my date and see Martha instead.<\/p>\n
I try to smile at the kids. There\u2019s a voice, but I can\u2019t make it out. I turn my head. The woman is back.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you all right?\u201d she asks.<\/p>\n
I nod. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I thought you were\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThought I was what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing,\u201d I say. \u201cSorry. Did you want to keep looking for food?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course. Lemonade isn\u2019t enough for this girl.\u201d<\/p>\n
We start walking again. The street is bright. Shadows lay against the sidewalk.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about this place?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
There isn\u2019t an answer. When I turn again, Martha\u2019s there. I quickly look to the floor, close my eyes, and start counting. My eyes open. The woman is back.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing,\u201d I say again. \u201cIt\u2019s nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t tell me that it\u2019s nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is, really it is. But can we skip the food and go straight to the movie, please? I\u2019m not hungry anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
She\u2019s quiet when we start walking. I take her hand and hold it tight. Aggression. A good thing. Aggression. Then I feel it. I know it\u2019s going to be a short night.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a light coming in from the window. The sun has been out for a while. It shines against the creek so the water\u2019s yellow again. I follow it outside.<\/p>\n
My hands are cold when I touch the water, and I think of my first night with Martha. I saw the power I had then. I saw what I could do. I saw what she could do. But it still didn\u2019t stop me. And now it doesn\u2019t matter how far I go or how much I write, because she\u2019ll always be there. It\u2019s all the same. She\u2019ll always get in the way. She\u2019ll always come back.<\/p>\n
I take a long shower and breathe in short spurts. The water gets into my mouth, but I don\u2019t care. It makes me tired enough to lie in bed, but it\u2019s all like Martha. Martha in the bed. Martha on the floor. Martha at the creek.<\/p>\n
A crash causes me to sit up. I run to the window and see someone walking at the far end of the water. A woman. Her back is to me, so I can\u2019t make out the face. Twice she dips her feet into the water.<\/p>\n
Even though I\u2019m not dressed, I run to the door and kick it open.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know you\u2019re here,\u201d I scream, moving to each side of the yard. I leap over the water and push through the maze of trees. I know what\u2019s coming. A dog starts to bark, but when I stop, and when it stops, everything is silent.<\/p>\n
I shuffle inside and go to my desk. I don\u2019t deserve this. Not after all I did. For me. For Martha. I look at the paper. It never comes out like I want it to.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t hear footsteps, so the voice takes me by surprise.<\/p>\n
\u201cLong time no see. Where have you been?\u201d<\/p>\n
As soon as I see her, I don\u2019t want to tell her. A part of me still thinks it can work.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was sick,\u201d I lie. \u201cCaught a bad cold.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStill got city nostrils,\u201d she says. \u201cYou\u2019ll get over that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sits. I don\u2019t speak. She turns away. She doesn\u2019t smell like anything today.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can try it again, you know. I know that it\u2019s hard.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s hard?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour secret. Getting over someone. I know what it\u2019s like. I mean, I\u2019ve never really experienced it. But I understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not getting over anyone,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you still love her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not like that,\u201d I tell her. \u201cThat\u2019s not it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen what is it, crazy man. Is it me? Not exciting enough for you? No story here? Is it the\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
I try to say no, but I know better by now. I just put my head down until it\u2019s quiet.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a light breeze behind me, rolling down the mountain like little rocks. The sun lies against the river\u2014the same river. So even though I\u2019m more than a hundred miles away from the city, the water across from me is no different. The Hudson followed me, working its way up the valley like I did. I can\u2019t get away from it.<\/p>\n
Then a sound to my left and I see something else that I can\u2019t get away from: Martha. She walks to the bench, sees the space next to me and sits.
\n\u201cYou got a smoke?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
I dig my hand into my pocket and nod, handing it over.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust like we used to,\u201d she says. She leans in for a light. \u201cDon\u2019t you love that it turns out like this?\u201d<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a shadow across the desk. It\u2019s just like I remember it. I rub my finger against it until it moves. Then I feel her head against my shoulder. \u201cJust promise me a happy ending this time. Please?\u201d<\/p>\n
Shawn Rubenfeld was a finalist for the 2011 SUNY Thayer Fellowship for Outstanding Achievement in the Arts, and for the Patricia Kerr Ross Award. He received the 2010 Vincent Tomaselli Award in Creative Writing and performed archival work on the Ernest Hemingway manuscripts in Boston. He is currently an MFA Fiction student and teaching assistant at the University of Idaho.<\/p>\n
The Colored Lens is a quarterly publication featuring short stories and serialized novellas in genres ranging from fantasy, to science fiction, to slipstream or magical realism. By considering what could be, we gain a better understanding of what is. Through our publication, we hope to help readers see the world just a bit differently than before. <\/p>\n
If you’ve enjoyed this excerpt from the Autumn 2011 issue of The Colored Lens<\/a>, you can read the publication in its entirety by downloading it for only $0.99 in e-book format for Kindle or Nook<\/a>, or you can read a free sample of this issue<\/a> in your Google Chrome<\/a> or Safari<\/a> web browser by clicking here<\/a>.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Saugerties is a pleasant place; beyond the coffee shops and fruit markets are rows of tall, colorful houses lined along endless concave streets like stretches of rainbows. But it also has the river\u2014the same river. So even though I\u2019m sitting on a bench that\u2019s more than a hundred miles away from the city, except for …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,15],"tags":[1337,16],"class_list":["post-96","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-1-autumn-2011","tag-fiction","tag-the-colored-lens-1-autumn-2011","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/96","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=96"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/96\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139732,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/96\/revisions\/139732"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=96"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=96"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=96"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}