"Jules, come

on."

Carlos slumped on Jules’ bed, exasperated. "You have to come with us. It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance!" "Carlos, you can go to Times Square on New Years' Eve any other year," Jules said. "We might die between this year and next year," Carlos said dramatically. “Jesus Christ.” “He’s not wrong, though,” Altair said. He was leaning against the door, seeming a bit nervous to come all the way inside after… well, The Kiss. It had been almost a week since it had happened. Jules had been waiting for him to say something, mainly because she was too nervous to say anything herself, but things had gone on as usual. Jules hadn't dared to tell Carlos or Nailah, as that would only have proved them right about the “chemistry” they kept talking about. "Thank you, Captain Optimism," Nailah said. "I will go, as long as Fintan isn’t there.” "Fintan’s still moping,” Carlos told her. “He’s not going anywhere. So, Jules?" "Please." Altair cleared his throat and looked awkward. "I mean, it'll be bad enough third-wheeling Carlos and Nailah. If you don’t come too, I think I'm going to go crazy." Carlos smirked at Rebecca. He obviously thought that if Altair asked, Jules wouldn't be able to say no. Jules was about to prove Carlos wrong and say no anyway, but she realized that without them around and Akira celebrating New Year’s at her parents’, she wouldn’t have anything better to do. "Okay, fine. Let me change into something warmer. *** It was obvious to Altair that Jules was not used to the weather being this cold. It rarely snowed in her hometown. However, it had been cold in New York City since October. She’d had two months to get used to cold weather "I wouldn't have come if I'd known it was going to be this cold," Jules said, pulling her thick jacket tighter around her. Altair wasn't sure whether she'd let him wrap an arm around her, to try to warm her up. Things between them had been a little awkward since their kiss. Altair could tell she was expecting him to be the first to break the silence, but he had no idea how to do that. "Oh, please." Nailah scoffed and rolled her eyes. "This isn't even that bad. Besides, all of these packed bodies should warm us up." "You should never say 'packed bodies' again, but you're right," Carlos said. He grinned. "Hey! Look, we're on the Jumbotron!" He waved at the camera enthusiastically. He'd mentioned that he’d never been to Times Square on New Years' eve before, so this was a big deal for him.

Altair looked back at Jules, who was shivering and looking slightly grumpy. She looked up at him and asked, “You do this every year?” “Mostly,” Altair replied. “My sisters aren’t really interested in the ball drop, but they like the music.” Jules smiled. “That’s a nice family tradition.” She frowned over at Carlos and Nailah, who were whispering together. “What’s up, guys?” Carlos tried to look innocent, which wasn’t his strong suit. "Bathroom. Be right back." "Take someone with you," Jules said. "Buddy system. In case you get lost." Carlos grabbed Nailah’s hand since she was the closest person to him. "What are you up to?" Altair muttered, knowing enough about Carlos to know that he wasn’t going to the bathroom. "Just my best idea yet," Carlos said vaguely as he and Nailah went past. “You know what? Maybe we should all go,” Jules said. “Come on, Jules!” Carlos whined. “Don’t you trust me at all?” “Not a bit,” Jules chirped, grabbing Altair and Carlos’ hands. “But since you’re clearly not going to the bathroom, we should all go so we know if you get arrested.” As Altair had predicted, they did not go to the bathroom. They slipped right past security and ducked behind the Jumbotron. Nailah popped open the control panel and started messing around with it. Carlos pulled out his phone and started tapping away at something. "You know, this could be considered defacing government property," Jules muttered, glancing around nervously. "Is the Jumbotron even government property?" Carlos asked, not even stopping. "If it's not government property, it's public property,” Altair said. “and I'm pretty sure that's still illegal." Nailah laughed. "If it's public property, then —" a wire sparked, and they all jumped. “Jesus,” Jules muttered. "Sorry. If it's public property, then I'm sure nobody will mind." "I don't know why I let you do stuff like this,” Jules mumbled. “Because deep down, you know you love us." “I’m supposed to be the responsible one,” Jules lamented. “I think we all know Akira is really the only responsible one,” Altair said. “True. She’s got the one brain cell between all of us.” “And now she’s gone.” ”And now she’s gone. She’s abandoned us.” She sighed. “Whatever you two are doing, can you please be quiet and hurry up before we get caught and arrested?” “Can do,” Carlos confirmed, continuing to tap away on his phone. “You got that code, Nailah?” Nailah answered in the affirmative. The two of them finished not long after that, and they returned to where they’d been earlier. They watched the live musicians sing, joining them when they knew the words and having a good time. Altair had forgotten completely about Carlos and Nailah’s plot until he heard Carlos mutter, “Any moment now…” A few moments later, the Jumbotron flickered off, and there was a collective gasp. News cameras who were covering the celebration turned excitedly to the black screen and reporters started chattering fervently about malfunctions. Then, suddenly, the screen lit up again, but this time, the revolving words at the bottom of the screen read "ALTAIR AND JULES, SITTING IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-G ;D" Nailah howled with laughter. Jules socked Carlos in the arm, blushing furiously. Altair wasn’t sure what to do, so he just sighed and shook his head. The Jumbotron, it seemed, could not be fixed. Carlos and Nailah’s message was to light up the screen for the rest of the night. *** Back at the dorm, their friends were congratulating Carlos and Nailah for their stunt. Fintan had come out of his room to tell the guilty party that they were stupid before grabbing a bag of chips and retreating back inside. Akira was back from her family’s house; her little cousins had been ordered to go to sleep and there had been nothing else to do there. She laughed at the duo’s retelling of their antics. "I

cannot

believe you did that!" "I still can't believe I let you," Jules grumbled. "Carlos do Céu, you are a terrible influence." Carlos was laughing right along with Akira and Nailah. It was obvious he thought he was a genius. To be fair, he was, but it still hadn't stopped Jules from rushing them out of there. They had to leave before someone found them. It wouldn't have been super hard, either, because they'd been right there in the front, in view of the camera, the only ones laughing their heads off. So it was decided that they'd celebrate the final moments of the year back at the dorm. It wasn't terrible; they’d still see the fireworks, and there would be food. And, even better, it wouldn't be exactly zero degrees inside, meaning Jules wouldn't need the coat anymore. The dorm residents were celebrating in the lobby. Some of the guys from the seventh floor were leading a very loud and rowdy version of "Auld Lang Syne." The four of them got into the festivities quickly. Nailah had found a party horn and was taking great delight in blowing it as loud as she could. Carlos had joined in on the singing. Jules preferred to watch the chaos. She grabbed a coke and sat down, taking in the scene. Altair joined her moments later.

"Not into parties either?" He asked. "I prefer watching the party to actually partying,” Jules replied. “Look at Nailah.” Anne had gotten ahold of a second party horn and was blowing them both at the same time. She'd also found some Pop-its and was throwing them at unsuspecting people. "Wait until she finds the sparklers," Altair snickered.

Jules laughed. "We should call the fire department now while we have time." Was it just her imagination, or had Altair gotten closer? Never mind, it didn't matter. "Or maybe we should just hide them." "Yeah. And don't let her anywhere near the fireworks.” Altair was definitely closer now. It wasn't something Jules noticed with discomfort. She hoped he’d finally do something, say something about the kiss. She sort of wanted him to kiss her again, but she wasn't sure she was ready for whatever they had to be public. Suddenly Jules felt Altair’s hand slip into hers.  She looked up at him, and they spoke at the same time. “Altair — "Jules, look, I —" They both stopped abruptly, apologizing quickly, and awkwardly tried to start over at the same time. Then both of them gave up, sinking into awkward silence. "Hey, Jules! Al!" Carlos had a hat with sparklers poking out of it. It looked like a fire disaster waiting to happen. He was waving the two of them over. "Come on, it's time for the countdown!" They all headed to the roof, where Jules could see Times Square. Her hand was still tightly clasped in Altair’s. She figured it was probably a good thing — they would've gotten separated in the crowd if they hadn't been holding hands. They secured a good position close to the edge of the roof. Carlos and Nailah were a few feet away to their right, and Akira was pulling out her phone to film the experience to their left. Altair let go of her hand; he’d probably realized he’d still been holding it. Jules frowned and decided to be brave. She shifted closer to him and linked her arm with his. The countdown started. "10! 9! 8!" Altair looked down at her and she smiled back up at him, hoping she looked encouraging and not uncomfortable. She wanted him to be closer. "7! 6! 5!" Altair grinned back down at her and playfully bumped his shoulder against hers, prompting Jules to laugh. They joined the countdown at the last few seconds. "4! 3! 2! 1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!" The fireworks exploded. A million colors exploded in the sky. Jules and Altair joined the cheers around them. Someone started singing Auld Lang Syne again. Couples turned to each other and shared their midnight kiss. Jules had been hoping she and Altair would be a part of that, but she decided it just wasn’t their time yet. Maybe next year. She turned to Altair to make a comment about the fireworks, but before she could get out a single word, he took a deep breath and blurted out, “Jules, I know this is the most cliche thing ever, but do you think we could maybe —” he cut himself off and shook his head. “What?” Jules asked eagerly. “Nothing. Never mind.” Jules huffed. If you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself. She knew he wanted the same thing she did, and she was tired of him psyching himself out. “Altair, I want to kiss you,” she told him. “I don’t care if it’s a cliche. I like you, and…” why was she at a loss for words now? “Really?” Altair asked. “I wasn’t being too forward last time?” “No, I loved that! I’ve been waiting for you to make a move!” “I thought you were mad at me.” “Of course I wasn’t mad at you, you oblivious —” she sighed and shook her head. The longer they argued, the longer after midnight they kissed, and it wouldn’t be a proper cliche. “Altair… just kiss me. Please.” Altair beamed. He leaned down, then hesitated. Impatient now, Jules took his face and pulled him down so their lips met. When she was younger, she’d read romance novels about a kiss with your true love feeling like fireworks. Jules knew now that that was just another cliche. But that didn’t make this kiss feel any less special. She wound her arms around Altair’s neck, pulling him closer, until the world faded away.


Elon Musk spent his whole life inventing amazing things, his final 7 years were thought to be the best though. He wanted to create a rocket that could fly at the speed of light! He passed before finishing it at the ripe age of 102. He put the project into the hands of his son, X Æ A-12, and grandson, Jesse. Who gladly took over and finished the first model within 7 months. Elon was thought to also be working on a mystery project before he passed. Some thought it was a message for everyone who bought the first tesla. Others thought it was something, much, much bigger. Like a spaceship that could travel through time. "He can already go the speed of light, why not travel through time? The flash did it, so why can't Elon?" Is what some thought, but those people also thought the earth is flat, so obviously no one is going to believe them. We call them The Thinkers. A year before Elon passed I actually got to meet him. And even call him grandpa because I married Jesse, his grandson. Jesse and I have always been interested in space. We met in college. Randomly got paired up for a project and hit it off immediately. Jesse kinda kept his family a little bit of a secret, which I can understand now, but back then it was just a little fishy. I still couldn't help myself, I fell in love with him anyway. Even just the sound of Alex Musk and Jesse Musk is music to my ears. We got married in 2073, a year before Elon died. One of the last things he told me was that he is proud to call me his granddaughter and to never stop pursuing my dream. I still hold this close to my heart. For the next 5 years after the first rocket ship to fly at the speed of light was made, it was mass produced, until there were over a billion made! Enough to hold everyone on the overpopulated Earth and more. This is when nuclear power plants just started blowing up all over the world. There was no rhyme or rhythm to it, it was completely random. This was slowly causing earth to be uninhabitable because of the toxicity. They sent out my crew and I to find a new planet to inhabit. My crew was made up of six amazing people, Caleb Lowes, John Hickory, Eddie Johnson, Barb Lynn, Jannet Ross, and Jenne Aura. These six people are the most loving, caring, and helpful people on Earth. I’m so glad to have them in my life, and on my team! We loaded up into the space shuttle. We were lucky enough to be able to travel in the first one made; the best one. We got sent out on July 14th. I remember the feeling of the shuttle shake, a harl itself into the atmosphere. It was unlike anything I've ever felt before. Once we hit the atmosphere it was like everything stopped for 10 seconds. Just silence and beauty. Until Eddie announced “We did it guys, we're in space!” Everyone cheered. Caleb noticed that NASA put in a coordinate, all we had to do was put the shuttle into the ‘lightspeed’ setting and go. Jenne asked if we were ready, we all responded with “Affirmative.” She pushed up the leaver from normal to lightspeed and pressed the green button saying “Everyone hold on!” We sped into the abis. It was so fast I couldn't even feel it. It was like we didn't even move. We all saw a huge flash of pure white, then a gumble of dots and colors. As if I rubbed my eyes too hard. But the colors weren't colors I've seen before. A color no one can explain. Almost like an absence of color, but it was there. It came with a wave of extreme anxiety and terror. I hope we never have to feel that ever again, even if it was only for a few seconds. Within just a few seconds we were at our destination. Everyone kinda just looks around at eachother like ‘holy crap, what the heck just happened?’ Yet, we all stayed silent. Until Caleb said “What kinda Milano type ship is this?!” He thought he was being funny, but none of us knew what he was talking about. So he explained himself “You know, the spaceship in Guardians of the Galaxy?” None of us understood but he continued, “2014? Marvel? Avengers? Quill flew it to Morag to get the Orb for-” “SPOILERS!” Eddie interrupted. We all just giggled in confusion. Barb sarcastically said “You all are a bunch of idiots.” We all laughed. Caleb asked “You guys do know what I'm talking about though, right?” Laughing John replied “No.” Caleb was the type that could live off of old movies. He even says “Everything after 2021 SUCKS!” Basically, he’s a weirdo. I look outside and say “Well, we’re here.” Jannet asked “We gonna park it, or what?” Jenne pulled the switch into normal while John figures out a good place to land. We successfully landed the ship and tried to contact NASA. Nothing. “We must be too far away.” I said. Everyone agreed. Jenne asks “So, what are we going to name it?” Since we are the first people on this planet we get to name it. I blurted out “ReMusk!” Everyone looked very confused. Eddie hesitantly spoke up and asked “ReMusk?” Happily I explained to myself “Yes! ReMusk! Re, as in a redo of earth. And Musk, because it's the Musk space ships that got us here. Soooo ReMusk!” Silence. Pure silence. “No objections?” I ask. still nothing. They all just look at eachother, waiting for someone to say something. “ReMusk it is.” I say walking towards the door. I open the door and Caleb puts on some music he put on a CD before coming here. He would not survive without music. He probably made 100 CDs, all with 10-50 songs. The CDs range from 1920’s classics to 1980’s rock to 2000’s pop all the way through to 2040’s country. He likes everything!! Even “Yummy” by Justin Beiber, you have to be some kind of crazy to like that song! We unload everything and get settled in. Two days pass and we still haven’t been able to send out anything to NASA or have gotten anything from them. We all decide to take a nature walk. It’s all so beautiful. So peaceful. Every animal we have seen has been a herbivore, fearful, but curious. One animal was furry, fluffy, and looked almost like a dog. but walked on two legs, straight up, but had a third leg. The feet were like monkey hands. while eating it would stand on its smallest leg and use its longer, stronger, legs to grab and eat food. It was super friendly and wanted to stay around us the whole time. We named it Frank and kept it as a pet. Named after Frank Sanatrua, Caleb’s idea. Whilst on this nature walk we saw something move. Then a girl yelled “Hello?!” Confused, I yelled the same thing back. She frantically screamed “Please, don’t hurt me, I’m safe!” Still screaming, I replied “It’s ok we won’t hurt you. Are you injured at all?” She replied “No.” I ask her where she is and we meet up. All of us are very cautious, even Frank. Once we were within 10 ft. of each other Jannet stoped everyone saying “That’s close enough for now” Frank ran twards her super exited, like it knew her. She freaked out saying “Oh my gosh Frank!” Caleb asked what we were all thinking “You know it? And it’s name?” “Yes, I’ve known it since I’ve been alive. It’s mine actually. I lost it about a week ago, thank you for finding it! And as for the name, it’s name has always been Frank. My mom was always the best with coming up with names.” She said while petting Frank and looking at us. “Speaking of names, what’s yours?” I ask. “Oh, Ashley!” She replied. “And yours?” I answered for everyone, pointing at them when I say their name. “Now intruductions are over, I’ll ask what everyone else is thinking. How did you get here and how do you know english?” Jannet said. “Well I’ve lived here my whole life, my mother and her friends raised my freinds and I here. They all spoke english, so I do too.” Ashley answered with a pause “Do you think you guys can help me; I’m kinda lost. Sorry for the inconviounce.” We all ponder the desion. John wispers to all of us “How do we know if we can trust her?” Ashley heard and answered by saying “Well i know this planet better then anyone, so i can help you guys too. I can show you what you can and cannot eat, what is frendly and what isnt. You guys can learn from my mistakes! Please help me, so I can help you!” I ask if she remebers what direction she came from. She said “No, I’ve been looking for Frank and I have no idea where I am now. I think I’ve just been going in circles for awhile” I ask “Do you just want to follow us back to our base and if you see anything familiar, tell us and we will go that direction. If you don’t, just keep going with us and you can stay at our base.” “Yes, ok.” She responds. “This way” I say as I turn around and walk towards our base. We talk about our lives the entire time we walk. About my crew and I from earth. Ashley talking about her life on ReMusk. We get about ⅔ of a mile away from our base and Ashley notices something familiar and screams, “There! That way! There’s my base!” while pointing right. We start walking in that direction while Frank wags his tail at your dog when you get home after a long day at work. Once we get to Ashleys base we see 3 other people. Ashley and Frank run towards them and give them all big hugs, almost crying. She must have been gone for awhile. Ashley introduced everyone. “This is Cale, Jesse Jr., and Bethoney.” She says while pointing to them. I did the same with my crew. Everyone shook hands. I notice they kids look kinda familiar but i don't say anything. We all get to know each other and end up moving our base to theirs. I am honestly so glad there are other people here and we aren’t alone. Such a relief. We spend the next few days getting closer, researching, playing games, and simply just experiencing this new world. One day I noticed that Ashley has the same pearl necklace as me. This necklace is one of a kind. My grandma made it when she was little. Then I gave it to my mom when she turned 16. My mom did the same with me. I asked her about the necklace. She said that her mom also gave it to her when she was 16. Which I found kinda weird, but it probably just blew it off as a weird coincidence. There is one thing that I just couldn't get off my mind; how they look familiar. Then i figured it out! Cale looks like Caleb. Bethoney looks like Barb. Jesse Jr. looks like Jesse, my husband and a little like me. Same as Ashley. I don’t say anything to anyone, yet. I want to test something. I make a sharpie mark on my pearl necklace to see if anything happens to Ashleys. Nothing. I’m still unsure. So I chip the necklace with a screwdriver. I look at Ashleys and hers now has a chip in it when it didn't before. This is the same necklace. These are our kids. We are their parents. Everyone is playing poker. I pull Caleb aside and tell him, he might understand. He does, but he is very shocked. He agrees with me. “Do you think they time traveled somehow?” Caleb whispers to me. “What if it was us that time traveled? I mean, you remember what happened in the space ship when we were coming here.” I suggest. “You said we’d never speak of that again!” Caleb says sternly. “I know, but, comon. Are you really telling me that wasn weird?” I ask. “I’m not saying that, I just, is it really possible to time travel?” Caleb replies. “Yes! I know it sounds crazy, but just hear me out. What if The Thinkers are right. What if Elon was able to make a shuttle fast enough to travel through time. Think about it. If you can travel a LightYear in a tenth of a second, or faster. We could have possibly just gone so far it was as if we time traveled.” I say frantically. “Well I guess that kind of makes sense.” Caleb says, still kinda confused. Cale comes out of the hut and sees Caleb and I talking. “Whatcha guys talkin’ about?” Cale asks. “Oh just asking him about a certain song” I reply hoping he doesn't ask any more questions. “Okay?” Cale says laughing. “Let's get back to Poker then guys.” Caleb replies “Yeah, Poker.” We walk back to the hut and play until everyone gets tired. Everyone goes to bed, but i can’t sleep. I bet Caleb can’t either. I go to the bathroom, which is in a different hut about 100 ft away from the main base. While leaving the bathroom I hear something making noise a little ways away. Its Cale and Caleb! I hide behind a tree to listen to what they say and see what they are doing. I’m like a spy! I can’t really hear what they are saying but i know they are arguing. Then I see Cale punch Caleb in the side of the head, knocking him out intimately. Cale drags his emotionless body to almost complete darkness, but my eyes have already adjusted to the darkness so i can still see them. Cale pulls out a knife, stabbing Caleb in the chest, and drags it down to his hips. Killing Caleb. I watch cale slowly fade out of existence. So it is true. Cale is Caleb's son. I ran back into the bathroom trying to pretend I didn't see anything. I eventually go to the home hut to try and sleep, but i don't think anyone can sleep after that. I lay still staring at the ceiling until morning. I act asleep as everyone wakes up. Once about two others are up I ‘woke up’. All day I had to act like nothing's wrong all day. Just pretend nothing happened. Everyone is drinking at the bar. I tell Jenne what happened because i just couldn't hold it in any longer, I NEEDED to tell someone! I made the mistake of telling Jenne because she told everyone else. Making everyone very mad. Causing a huge bar fight to erupt. But it was more of like a murder fest, because they just kept killing eachother. Bethoney killed John. Jesse Jr. killed Jenne. Jannet killed Jesse jr. Ashley killed Eddie. Finally Bethoney killed Barb, killing herself in the process. All in that order. I am hiding during all of this. Just watching all of my loved ones die right in front of my eyes. Leaving just Ashley, a bunch of dead and bloody bodies, and me. All I can think about is Jesse. I have to make it home to him. It’s just Ahshley and I, and I can't let her win! I have to kill my own daughter, who I haven't even raised yet. She is still looking for me, while she is turned around I pull out my gun and shoot her in the back of the head. I did it. I really did it. I killed someone. As all the blood floods out of her body, so does a letter. I grab it, it has my name on it. “Dear Alex, If you are reading this, my plan failed. I lost, you won. I bet you have a lot of questions. So i think i can answer a few. For starters, you were right, I am your daughter. Cale is Caleb's son, and Bethoney is Barb's daughter. You are very smart, I must say. I was born with a condition that leaves me in inimaginable pain every second of every day. You knew about it before I was even born. Yet you still had me. So you have to pay for what you have done. I decided to kill you before you can even have me. I know I couldn't just go back in time and kill you while you're sleeping. That's too easy. I had to get you to love me first. Give you hope. So I could rip it away from you. Make you in pain like you've done to me. You Did this to me mom! IT’S YOUR FAULT I’M LIKE THIS ALEX! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!! So I made a plan. Jesse would go back in time and blow up nuclear power plants all over the world after all the space shuttles were made. Then leave his time travel ship there, calling it The First Elon Musk Space Ship and assigning it to you and your crew. He stayed on the ship until you got here. He would then escape and come to our base. We would become close, giving hope. Then I would kill you. I’m guessing it didn't go like that though. So you won, I hope it was worth it. I'm sorry mom. Love, Ashley <3 P.s. turn around ;)” I turn around, Ashley is standing right behind me. With the gun pointed at my head. “Ashley, baby, you don’t have to do this! I can make it all better! I’m sorry” I plead. “Yes I do” Ashley says while pulling the trigger. As life fades out of me, Ashley’s entire existence does too.


He hated the drive-thru. Every Wednesday after work, he would get into his hot and stuffy car and make the 15-minute drive from the office to the local McDonald's. Now, that's not to say he doesn't love McDonald's. Who doesn't? He was partial to a Big Mac or some Chicken Nuggets, but one thing he was not partial to was the drive-thru. No matter what time he left work, the drive-thru was packed. On this particular scorcher of a day, he took the cramped elevator down to the parking lot and got into his 2008 Ford Focus. It was a serviceable car, no bells or whistles, and at this stage, no real rhyme or reason as to how it still ran. It was hot as hell in the car, and he was starting to sweat through his office shirt. He tried the ignition. Once. Twice. And finally, a third time, and the car came to life. He glanced at his watch, almost 6 pm. The drive-thru line was going to be around the corner. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and started to call his wife. Every Wednesday was their night free of cooking, and Dad would bring home a McDonald's. A simple tradition, but one the kids loved even after all these years. I guess Happy Meals really do work he thought and rolled his eyes. "Hey hun," answered his wife with kids screaming in the background. She had an impressive ability to act so serenely when the kids were losing it. He did not have that gift. "So I'm just about to pull out of work now. The usual?" he replied. After 12 years of marriage the formalities of greeting your wife vanish. "Actually, Mikey would love a McFlurry. He's still on that kick of eating dessert before dinner. I need to get him out of that habit, but this can be one last treat." "A McFlurry? In this heat? How am I supposed to keep that from melting in this heat, Carla?" The heat always got to him. He could be having the most straightforward normal day, and the moment he started to overheat, so did his anger. She was used to it. "I don't know, but I'm sure you can figure it out, honey. Drive safe," she said and hung up the phone. It was always best not to argue back with him when he was like this. Just step away. A quiet life is a good life. He sighed and popped the phone back in its dash holder and pulled the aging Focus out of the asphalt parking lot and onto the main street. Traffic was surprisingly light for the time of day, and the cool breeze coming in the window was calming him down. Stopped at a red light, he switched on the radio. "Oh boy, it's a scorcher out there today. Temperatures could be hitting the high 30s, and that's probably going to continue all week. Make sure to find some shade, folks, and of course, avoid the McDonald's drive-thru," said the stereotypically upbeat DJ. The operator of the depleted Ford hardly noticed a word he said. He was busy staring off into the distance, lost in a daydream when the sounds of horns honking behind him brought him back to life. Glancing in his mirror, he gave a half-hearted apologetic wave to the car behind and continued through the intersection. Some other days it might have been a middle finger instead. He’d found himself day-dreaming quite often these days. Days that all seemed to roll into one. He turned the corner onto Sussex Street and could see the restaurant at the end of the road. Well, restaurant was a loose term, he thought to himself. More like an assembly line of synthetic and unidentifiable materials. Sussex Street was your classic North American strip built strictly for cars. Long gray stretches of concrete and asphalt lined on either side by the odd tree or bus stop. The town was an endless copy and paste of industrial business parks and car heavy streets. It was not the most scenic drive, and that heat was really beating down. He squinted in the hot sun and couldn't believe what he saw. There was no queue! How long had he been coming here? He couldn't remember, but he sure as hell remembered that he had never, not once, arrived after work to find the drive-thru completely free. Traffic seemed to have really died down in general. Even with sweat now starting to make its way down into the ass crack of his x-large trousers, he felt a small tinge of happiness. He pulled the car up beside the speaker that was in the shape of a large burger with Ronald McDonald standing directly behind it, with the menu on a board just to the right. It was clear the owner of this McDonald's prided themselves on it still looking the exact same way as it did when it first opened its doors in 1982. The Ronald statue was about 7 feet tall, and he was looking a little worse for wear. Most of the paint had started to come off, and some of his facial features were chipped. It was almost as if he was looking down on you as you were placing your order. "Welcome to McDonald's, what can I get you?" buzzed the voice from the burger speaker. They sounded strange, as if the voice was coming from far away or underground. "Hey, how are ya? So yeah, let me get eh... a Big Mac Meal with 2 Happy Meals, please," he was already looking down, fishing his wallet out when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly and could have sworn he saw Ronald's eyes dart back to their original position. No. No. It was the heat. Work had been stressful. Andrea had been all over him since that slip-up at the Fisher presentation. Life had just been a bit much lately. "Are you still there, sir?" asked the retro speaker. "Eh, yes, sorry. What did you say?" "What drinks with the meals, sir?" "Eh, Coke is fine... thank you," he answered while looking at Ronald again out of the corner of his eye. The statue's eyes were facing down, towards the speaker. He could feel sweat run down the side of his cheek. "Okay, sir, that'll be 7 dollars. You can drive to the next window." He watched the statue in his rearview mirror the entire time he rolled the Ford forward. Taking off his glasses to clean them, he saw how much sweat was on his hands. Why didn't the damn AC work on this hunk of junk? Looking into the payment window, he couldn't see anyone. It looked empty, which was incredibly strange for this time of day. Glancing in the mirror again, he still didn't see any cars in the queue. It was just him. After a couple of minutes, a shadow began to come to the window. Pulling the sliding hatch open with a snap, a middle-aged woman was holding out her hand and a receipt. "7 dollars, please, sir. Here's your receipt," she said while handing it to him. She took him by surprise. Her hair was permed so high that the McDonald's hat sitting on her head seemed to just be balancing there. She also seemed to be wearing some very intense pink eyeshadow and blusher. Long dangling earrings swayed from her ears as she took the cash and closed the hatch. Walking into the back of the restaurant it also looked like she was wearing leg warmers. "Odd... really odd," he said to himself as he put his wallet away. Glancing again in his mirror, it was still all quiet on the drive-thru front. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and wiped the sweat from his brow again. I just need to get home and take it easy, he thought to himself. That's all it was. A moment later, the Flashdance inspired McDonald's employee was back with his food. She handed him a white bag that looked incredibly retro. He took the bag and placed it under the passenger dashboard. When he was a kid, his Dad would always turn on the foot warmers to keep the food warm; he had continued that tradition. Leaning out his window he glanced back at the Ronald statue again. It was lifeless, as it should be he thought. He pulled back out of the drive through and turned right to again join Sussex Street and rejoin the inevitable traffic, except... there wasn't any? Looking around, the entire street was a ghost town. Sitting at a red light, he couldn't spot another car on the road or even people out walking. Not even a dog or bird in the sky. He rolled his window down fully as the combined heat of the high sun in the sky and the Ford's heater blowing was really starting to make him cook. Thank God there wasn't any ice cream in the bag. "OH SHIT," he said while simultaneously doing a U-turn in the street. Any other day, and that would be a dangerous maneuver. Why did he always forget this type of thing? Always with Karla too. Christ, if he had arrived back home without the goddamned McFlurry, there'd be a World War right inside his 3-bedroom semi-detached. He killed the heater as beads of sweat started to run down his face. Racing like a maniac he didn’t even notice that he was swearing and muttering to himself. He did however catch himself in the mirror shaking his head like the bobblehead on his dash. He let a long breath out. He turned back into the narrow drive-thru, and in front of him there was a car at last. He couldn't really explain it, but this comforted him somehow. Usually the sight of another car in the drive through would send him into a frenzy. However, the empty streets, the heat and that weird statue had started to make him feel…off. This car restored some sort of order to proceedings. The car in front was a large pink Chevy, a real retro classic. It must have dated back to the late '50s or early '60s. The windows weren't exactly tinted, but all he could see was the outline of a head in the driver's seat. He was never a big car enthusiast, but it was hard to argue that this wasn't a beautiful car. Massive but impressive. The driver ahead moved up to the next window, with the Chevy's exhaust coughing loudly. He didn't notice the black plume of smoke coming from the pink monstrosity as he was so transfixed with the McDonald's drive-thru speaker. "Evening, sir! How can we help you today?" said the voice coming from the window. He just sat there. Mouth open. Gone was the creepy Ronald McDonald statue and the burger to boot. In their place was a new window, before the cash window, and a human. He leaned out his window to get a better look and suddenly realized the entire building was different. It looked like something straight out of a 1960s TV advert about the American Dream. The person standing behind the window was looking at him puzzled, possibly because that's exactly how he was looking at her. She was wearing a red and white striped collared shirt with what looked like a triangular paper hat on top of her head. She was much younger than the girl from earlier but looked strangely familiar. "Everything okay, sir? You look like you've seen a ghost." "Sorry, I just... where's the Ronald statue and burger gone?" She looked like she was talking to someone still wearing a straitjacket. "Ronald? I don't think anyone works here called Ronald, sir. We do still have burgers, though. Can I get you something? Our Hamburger and Shake combo is only 50 cents." "No, you see, there used to be a burger... wait, sorry, 50 cents? For the whole meal?" "Eh, yes, sir, you can see right here." She tapped the menu beside the window. It did indeed say 50 cents. He read through it, confused. Starting at this menu he really started to feel he was losing his grip. He could have sworn the building looked different and there was no way they just replaced the statute in the time it took him to drive back. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes and rubbing the bride of his nose, he took a deep breath. He just needed to get home. "Sorry, it's the heat today. I'm not great with it. Can I just grab a McFlurry? I forgot to get it the first time around." She seemed perplexed and looked around her as if she was looking for someone to help her out. "Eh, I'm not sure what that is, sir. Is that a dessert? Maybe I could interest you in a Malt Shake or a Fudge Sundae?" "What do you mean you don't know what a McFlurry is? I've gotten them here a dozen times. Here, take this and just ring it all through, okay? I'm not in the mood for games today or these pranks you guys are pulling. It's this damn heat," he said while handing over his American Express. She took it and turned it over several times. Looking even more confused now, she gestured for him to wait a minute while she vanished deeper into the restaurant. Sighing, he again rubbed the bridge of his nose and wiped even more sweat out from his eyes. This day couldn't end soon enough. Glancing up and squinting in the sun, the driver of the Chevy was now looking back at him through their back window. He couldn't make out any details on their face, but they sure were staring. "What? What are you lookin at? Eyes front, pal!" he shouted out the window. He could feel the usual anger building now, just on the precipice. The driver slowly turned back around in their seat and started to exit the car. A McDonald's employee handed them their food through the window, but they merely brushed past them. He was tall with curly red hair and had a face that had severe acne damage. He was dressed almost like a vagrant from the past, a heavy brown overcoat, some brown slacks, and what looked like shoes that were much too big for him. He made his way down the drive-thru staring the entire time. Bending down toward the driver's open window of the Ford, he placed his hand on the inside of the door and stared at the driver. The driver leaned back as far as he could. "Alright, man, sorry for shouting at you. I've just had a hell of a day, alright? No offense," he said while holding his hands up in a defenseless manner. Looking down, he noticed the hand on the frame of the door had splotches of paint on it. The tall man continued to stare. "Oh, hello, sir. Would you mind getting back in your car?" said the McDonald's employee, returning to the payment window. He turned around to look at her slowly, said nothing, and bent back into the car. "18, The Grove, Crescent Drive," he said and walked back to his Chevy and got in. His breath reeked of stale cigarettes and greasy burgers. The Chevy took off around the corner and out of sight. "I'm so sorry about that, sir. People aren't allowed out of their cars in the driveway. Thank goodness he's left. I asked my manager, and he's never heard of a McFlurry either or what this is. Maybe you're at the wrong restaurant?" she said while handing him back his card. He took the card back slowly. He was frozen with shock. 18 The Grove, that was his address. He'd never seen that man before in his life. Putting the card back in his wallet, he noticed he was shaking. Christ. Had he driven to the house? Surely not. Reaching for the phone, he called Carla and waited for the dial tone. Nothing happened. He had no signal whatsoever. It made no sense. "Eh, I'm sorry, sir, but is there anything else I can get for you? You still need to pay for your order." Before she even finished the sentence, he was speeding out of the drive-thru. He needed to get home. A terrible feeling had started to grow in his stomach. Things just didn't seem right. Everything seemed different. Turning back onto Sussex, traffic was still nonexistent, but the road seemed narrower? He didn't have time to think about that now. Pressing his foot to the floor, he pushed the Ford as hard as it could go. There was just something about that tall man that made him worry for Carla and Mikey. He had the look of someone who had the ability to be violent. Who had been violent before. Speeding past his office building, he couldn't help but notice that it was half the size it usually was. What the hell was going on? He tried Carla again on the phone and once again, nothing but a dead signal. Even though everything was passing by in a blur, it was clear to see the street and buildings were all different. Everywhere he looked, he saw something that reminded him of his parents' time. Passing a billboard for Old Spice that looked like it was ripped straight from the '60s or bus shelters that looked suspiciously clean and well-kept. He wasn't sure what was going on; all he knew was that his family being in danger took priority. He finally turned onto Crescent Drive and saw the pink Chevy parked right outside his house. Well, where his house used to be. What was in its place was the original house they bought before fully remodeling it. "Shit! Shit! Shit! Come on, Carla, be safe, goddamn it," he shouted to himself while pulling the car up behind the Chevy. Running across the front lawn, he started to slow to a walk. The front door was slightly open. He tried looking in the front window, but the curtains were drawn, which was doubly strange seeing as they didn't have curtains. This didn't look or feel like his house. He considered calling 911 but checked his phone again, no service. He needed to go in. Looking through the slit of the open door, he could see into the kitchen. Standing face-to-face with the door now, he tried to peek through and see into the living room on the right, but the door was closed. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, and the sweat that had covered him nearly all day was starting to go cold. He could hear nothing but silence from inside the house. He pushed the door slowly open until he could see fully into the house. It felt empty. It also felt like a stranger's home. "Hello? Carla? Mikey, you there?" he spoke into what seemed like a dark void. Moving into the hallway, he noticed a strange smell hanging in the air. He recognized it almost instantly. That terrible mix of cigarettes and greasy food. He moved his way down the hall and stopped outside the open kitchen doorway. Leaning into the unfamiliar room, he saw nothing and heard nothing but the humming of the fridge. The back door was closed and looked locked. Turning behind him and trying to move as lightly as possible, he moved out of the kitchen and back towards the front door. He peered upstairs and could see nothing but darkness. The blinds must be shut in each of the rooms. Looking back towards the sitting room door, he decided to try there first. He wished he was anywhere else but here. He wished that Carla and Mikey were just sleeping on the couch when he opened this door. Turning the door handle slowly, he pushed the door open, and every creak of the hinges made him twinge. The room began to light up from the hallway, and it took a full five seconds for him to fully comprehend what he was looking at. The room looked nothing like the sitting room he watched TV in the night before. Red and yellow garish wallpaper was end to end, and the room was centered around an old high marble fireplace. A chunky TV was sitting in the corner by the window, and across from the fireplace was a floral-patterned couch. Between the couch and TV was a bright green-colored rug. On top of the rug were two very bloody and bludgeoned bodies. One, a woman with blonde curly hair that was now matted with blood and what looked like small pieces of brain and bone. Beside her, the still body of a young boy whose head was fully face down in the rug. His body was contorted in an unnatural way. Still holding the door handle and standing in the doorway, he wasn't entirely sure how he was still upright. The longer he looked down at the bodies, the less it made sense. The dress Carla was wearing was drenched in blood. He didn't recognize the dress and certainly didn't recognize the clothes Mike was wearing. It almost looked like a cowboy outfit? He wasn't sure if those were tears running down his face or beads of sweat. Glancing around the room, his gaze stopped on a small photo frame on the fireplace. It was a black and white photo of a family, a mother and father, and their son. Even from across the room, he could tell it wasn't his family, nor was it him in the picture. Somehow managing to unfreeze himself he walked across the room, making sure he walked around the things on the floor. He did his best not to look at them. The moment he saw their faces he knew it would be real and he did not want that to be the case. The top of the mantle was coated in dust and looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in years. The three people in the photo were all smiling, posing for a family portrait. There was a golden retriever sitting in front of them while they all stood on their front lawn. A perfect family. Holding the photo now up to his face he started to recognize the man in the photo. He seemed so incredibly familiar. The black and white photo was slightly distorted so making out the finer facial details was tricky. It was the tall man. The one he had followed to this wretched place. Looking around again at the room he almost expected him to jump out from behind the door. But this photo must be from the 50s or 60s? The tall man was no older than maybe 40 or 45 at a stretch. Placing the frame back on the mantle he now bent down beside the body of the woman. Slowly reaching his hand out to her shoulder he rolled her over so that her face was towards the ceiling. A wave of relief and joy passed through him. It wasn’t Carla, but the woman in the photo. He didn’t recognize her but glanced back at the photo to be sure. Doing the same to the boy beside her, he silently wept for a few seconds. Wiping the tears away he stood up and headed towards the door. The sudden noise of whispers from upstairs made him stop in his tracks. “Hello? If you’ve harmed my family you won’t get away with it. Just come down now and we can talk” he said as the last few syllables that came out of his mouth stammered. Waiting, he heard no response. The upstairs seemed to be in complete darkness. Flicking the switch beside him did nothing. He had to go up there. Looking back at the front door and the hall around him, he wasn’t sure where he was, or more importantly, when he was. But Carla and Mikey could be upstairs. He had no choice. Kicking off his shoes he started up the steps. Plush carpet was under his feet. He wasn’t even sure if he was moving slowly trying to be quiet, or was it out of fear. Each step seemed to creak more than the last and the silence was getting so intense it was buzzing loudly in his ears. His hand was slipping on the banister due to the sweat and he didn’t even notice how loudly he was breathing. More whispers froze him to the spot. They sounded like the whispers of a man laughing but he couldn’t be sure. The hairs on his neck told him to be afraid. Stopped now on the last step he stared hard into the darkness. All he could make out were the doors of the three bedrooms and bathroom. Three rooms on the left, one on the right. He went to speak but only a crackling whisper came out. His mouth was dry. Steeling himself he moved onto the landing. The whispering sounded like it was coming from the end of the hall. The air still smelled of stale grease and now he could get the faint odor of BO. The man must be close, he worried to himself. Closing his eyes tight he thought of Carla and Mikey. He hoped they were still alive. He hoped they weren’t also trapped in this nightmare. Whatever had happened at the drive through had caused time to recede or maybe for him to travel back. He wasn't sure which, all he was sure of was that things weren’t the way they were. Taking several deep breaths he opened his eyes while still gripping the banister tight. The shock of what he saw winded him. He couldn’t breathe and his legs started to betray him. He leaned against the wall of the landing, trying to grasp his breath and calm his out of control heart. He was home. It was the present day again and the landing looked the way it always did. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling more confused or more happy. He was just about to call out Carla and Mikeys name in a panic when he heard his own name called from the kitchen downstairs. “Honey? Are you ready to eat? Your fries are getting cold.” said a voice miraculously like Carlas. He almost didn’t believe it. Maybe it was a trap? Peering back over the banister of the landing and looking downstairs, everything looked normal again. He could even see Mikey’s shoes by the door. What on earth had happened in the last couple of hours? Did he dare to tell them? Wiping the sweat from his face and neck as best he could, he started to tuck his shirt back into his pants to make himself look presentable again. He’d go down and suss out the situation, he was worried that maybe he was losing his mind or perhaps, had lost it already.. He didn’t want to end up like his father in some looney bin with no one coming to visit him. He made his way downstairs. Turning the corner into the kitchen he could smell the McDonalds again. This time it put a smile on his face. He wanted nothing more now than to sit down with his family and share some food. His wife was doing some dishes at the sink while little Mikey had his head down in a coloring book. Ron stood in the doorway and waited for his family to turn around to recognize him, hoping that everything was back to normal. That he didn’t need to relive the last couple of hours all over again. His wife turned to face him and smiled the biggest smile he had ever seen. It caused the overlarged red lipstick that she was wearing to crack at the seams. Her beautiful white foundation however stayed as perfect as it always had been, except for two almost perfectly straight black lines coming down her face from her eyes. That always happened when she cried. He walked to her and kissed her on her perfect red little nose. “It’s good to be home honey. It’s good to see you guys.” he said while ruffling Mikey’s curly red hair. He sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. Mikey smiled back at him with his big red lips. Picking up his glass of water he took a big long drink. Washing away the heat of the day. Looking back down at the glass he chuckled to himself. He had left red lipstick on the glass yet again. Still laughing he turned to his right to see the McDonalds employee from earlier sitting in the chair beside him. He couldn’t hear her but her lips were moving slowly. The sudden and alarming sensation of falling made him sit up right so quickly his head struck the rear view mirror of his car. He was sitting in his car. The sun was beating through the window. “Sir, is there anything else I can get you?” asked the McDonalds employee for the third time. She was starting to become concerned. He looked at his surroundings and everything seemed normal. He must have drifted off while waiting for his food. He was completely drenched in sweat. “I’m so sorry, no thats all thank you.” “Great. You can go to the next window and collect your food. The kind gentlemen in the car in front of you paid for everything.” she said while nodding in the direction of the car parked ahead of him. A head poked out of the window of the pink Chevvy, wearing a full face of clown make-up and teeth so yellow they looked rotten. The tall man waved at him slowly from the car. He turned his head back to the McDonalds window to protest but before he uttered a single word someone grabbed him around the neck. Squeezing. He could feel their plastic like skin on his exposed neck. He was starting to pass out. Just before he did, he saw the Ronald statue in the reflection of the window jerk his neck one final time.


There's a storm outside. Most people have come back from work or school and have been forced into their homes by the heavy wind and rain. Once all doors and windows have been closed, the storm becomes nothing more than a quiet, but constant reminder that the outside is off limits, similar to how TV static tells you that you can't watch TV, the static-esque sound of rain hitting rooves and windows tells you that you can't go outside. For some, staying inside during a storm is lonely and boring, for others, it's relaxing, but for the people in this house, the faint sound of wind and rain will prove strangely therapeutic. In this house is a couple, a man and a woman in their mid twenties that have been dating for around a year. Both of them are thin and around the same height and both are very young looking, oftentimes being mistaken for teenagers instead of adults. The boy is called Liam and the girl is called Faye. As he's done many times before, Liam has come over to stay at Faye's house. Faye and Liam are sitting on the sofa watching television when Fay suddenly grabs Liam by his shoulders and lies him down, resting his head on her lap. He doesn't put up a fight, but is visibly confused. After around a minute of silence, he speaks. Liam: Is there a reason we're doing this? Faye: What's wrong? Plenty of couples do this. Liam: Yeah, but - whatever. Faye smiles while gently stroking Liam's hair. Faye: C'mon, let's talk. Liam: About what? Faye: About your feelings. Liam: Gross. Faye: Come on, I can tell you've been feeling down lately. I don't want you hiding things from me. Liam: So, this is what this is? A therapy session? Faye: Yep, pretty much. Liam: Well, I'm fine. I don't need therapy. Faye: Then why aren't you stopping me? Liam: ... Liam turns to his side, facing away from Faye but still resting his head on her lap. He starts to appear more relaxed. Faye: It's nice, isn't it? You should do this for me sometime. Liam (smiling): Yeah. I should. Liam: You know, you don't have to be my 'therapist'. Faye: Why not? I'm your girlfriend, aren't I? Liam: Yeah, you're my girlfriend, not my nurse. Faye: And what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't do a bit of nursing for my boyfriend? Liam: That sounded weird. Faye (laughing): Yeah. The two fall silent for a moment. Faye: You still haven't started talking yet. Liam: I told you, I'm fine. Faye: Then why are you so afraid of telling me how you feel? Liam: ... Liam: You really want me to talk to you about my feelings? Faye: Yes. Liam: And you want me to be honest? Faye: Yes. After a short pause, Liam lets out a sigh and begins speaking. He continues to face away from Faye. Liam: I don't know. I guess I've just been feeling like I don't deserve this. Faye: Don't deserve what? Liam: This. You. Being in a relationship with an amazing girl like you. Faye: You're amazing too, you know. Liam: No I'm not. Name one thing I'm good at. Faye: You're good at your job. Liam: I hate my job. Faye: Then why don't you quit? Liam: Because - (quietly) because it's the only thing I'm good at. Faye (laughing): See? You're good at stuff, too. Liam: But being a decent chef doesn't make me an amazing person. It's the only thing I'm good at. Faye: No it isn't. Liam: Really? What else am I good at, then? Faye: You're good at talking... Liam: Talking. Faye: You're good at sex... Liam: ... Faye: You're good at being my boyfriend. Liam: Stop being cheesy. Faye: I'm telling the truth! Liam: You're being cheesy. Faye (smiling): And what's so bad about that? Faye: Besides, you don't need to be good at stuff to be special to me. The conversation falls silent for a few seconds. Liam: It's just - there's loads of men out there that have what I have and more, and I'm sure most of them would be interested in you. Faye: And there's loads of girls out there that have what I have and more who would be interested in you, what's stopping one of them from taking you away from me? Liam: ... Liam: Because you're... Faye: Amazing? Faye: I'm amazing to you, Liam, and you're amazing to me. That's why we're together. Liam: I know that, but... Liam: Look, I never said these feelings were rational. Faye: Then why pay attention to them? Liam: I can't just ignore them. Anyway, what would you know, you're a- Faye: A girl? Liam: That's not what I meant. Faye: You're not wrong. No one ever tells me to 'woman up' when I'm vulnerable. Faye: I don't know what it's like being raised to hide my feelings, but I do know there's no harm in opening up, whether you're a man or a woman. Faye collects her thoughts before speaking again. Faye: I know you don't like it when I talk about my exes, but do you know why you stayed and they didn't? Liam: Why? Faye: Because of this. Liam: This? Faye: This. Trusting yourself to be vulnerable around me, and letting me be vulnerable around you. Sharing such an intimate part of yourself with me that no one else can offer. Faye: Jobs, skills, looks, money, they're all superficial. You're my boyfriend, and that's all you need to be special to me. Liam turns to face Faye again. Liam: Even if someone better comes along? Faye: You're my boyfriend. No one's better. Liam (smiling): You're being cheesy again. Faye (smiling): I know. Liam turns to face away from Faye again, this time, with a smile on his face. Faye continues to stroke his hair. Liam: I love you, Faye. Faye: I love you too.


She was wearing a black t-shirt, tight jeans, and a gray mesh drape. That was on the first night I kissed her. She shook a little bit. She was nervous, and I missed her mouth. We laughed and looked at the ground nervously. That was on our first date. We laid on a blue blanket for most of the day, in the grassy opening next to Kelly Drive in Philadelphia. I remember how easily conversation flowed. I remember being worried that I was talking too much: not giving her enough time to answer. I remember the breeze coming off the river and her perfume. I remember our first anniversary. We were with our friends in a cabin in the Pocono Mountains. The house was so tucked back into the forest we thought it was the perfect setting for a horror movie. We left the window open at night, and it got so cold she made me put my arms into her shirt holes to keep her warm. I remember how everything slowly fell apart. I moved to Philadelphia permanently. She had her own goals to accomplish in Happy Valley. Sometimes we fought over something, and sometimes we fought over nothing. Late nights out to dinner and casual dates around town turned to lying on the couch and watching TV. She liked to spend time with her friends more than spending it with me. I liked to spend time with my friends more than spending it with her. When I cheated on her I felt no remorse for weeks. It wasn’t really cheating anyway. I had already been planning on ending the relationship for months. It took four weeks to realize I had thrown a four-year relationship away, but my mind was set. I was proud of the way I ended things. I refused all of her calls and ignored all attempted interaction. We were too young. Now I’m standing outside of what seems like a festival. Purple flowers line a walkway to an enormous tent about half a football field away. I can hear children laughing, but they are being hushed. My brand new Audi RS5 is neatly reversed into a spot behind me. I’m wearing my best suit from Brooks Brothers. I even grew my sideburns out like she preferred. I hate my sideburns. I had told her to wait back then. I told her to make sure she wanted me, to make sure she wouldn’t find anyone better. I never thought she would take me up on that offer. I told her we needed to find success apart from one another. I found it. For some reason all of the money didn’t seem so important now. It takes a bit of talking to get into the wedding. She had hired one of her brother’s friends as an usher. He recognizes me. I promise him I won’t say a word to anyone inside. I just ask to be able to see them take their vows. He is visibly drunk and caves quickly. The vows are beautiful. She is beautiful. I see her parents again for the first time in three and a half years from across the crowd. Her mother is an emotional wreck, and her dad seems like he wants to be. There are a lot of unfamiliar faces. They must be his family. After four years you know everyone in a family: Your family. No one pays me mind. I don’t think they recognize me. I was not in shape the last time they had seen me and nowhere near as well dressed. Maybe they just don’t remember me. I thought it was going to be easy to interrupt the wedding. They don’t actually say that line anymore, though. The one I’m talking about. There is no specific opening for me to interject. Instead I watch him kiss her. She seems to like it more than I remember her liking my kisses. I cringe. It is her wedding after all. I cried. The two families and their friends hoot and holler. Her father and his father hug and clink glasses. I wonder how it would be if my father had been there instead. She was crying. He might have been. She started to scan the crowd, waving and smiling ecstatically. I still stood in the back of the tent. It was time for me to leave. I would trade every job offer, one-night stand, and dollar to stand where he stands. You can’t buy everything. Her sister recognizes me as I pass by the open bar. She must have been working her way towards it as the crowd celebrated. She grabs my arm gently. “Christian…?” Her face looks worried. A mix of happiness and fear start to take over. I smile. I wave; pull my arm from her grasp. I hold my finger to my lips. “Our Secret.” She covers her mouth, turns around, and walks away. As I turn I see her order a drink from the bar. I guess this isn’t like the movies. I guess it isn’t normal to show up to a girl’s wedding uninvited: particularly if you planned to marry her yourself before. I laugh to myself. I wonder what could have happened if I had arrived earlier, if I drank more, if I did interrupt the wedding. I wonder how many fists, kicks, and elbows would have met my face. I walk outside and lean against the back of my car. I do not want to be seen by any early departures. I pull out my last cigarette and wait for the tears to stop. She hated me smoking. I try to tell myself it is all worth it. I still have the money, the career, and the lifestyle. I don’t have my best friend anymore, but she has hers. That feels okay to me. She always said you couldn’t have your cake and eat it too. The paper butt starts to burn. I flick it. Time to go. I stand up and stretch. The tears are dry. I turn around and he is standing there. He’s smoking a cigar with someone I don’t recognize. Thank god. I don’t know why, but I decide to strike up a conversation. He has no idea who I am. I guess she really never talked about me. We talk for almost half an hour. I’m surprised no one has realized he’s missing yet. He’s a better guy than me through and through. He’ll have time for the kids. “You got a good one. Don’t let her go.” He puffs from his cigar as I crouch into my car. A smile sits wide across his face. “Never.” I believe him.


Mrs. Lyons bent down as much as she could and pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. She stuck a shaking hand into Rosemary's hair and ran it through her knobbly fingers. “Aww. She's a pretty wee lassie you've got there,” said Mrs. Lyons. “Aye, aye, she's alright,” I answered, laughing a bit. I patted Rosemary's head. “Beep blop boop,” said Rosie. Rosemary had been behaving strangely since she watched one of those crazy old kid's programmes on the BBC that they only show when it's so early it's still dark outside. It was one of those ones from the 80s or 90s that bring on an immediate headache as soon as the horrible title music starts, along with that sick feeling that lets you know that you're up too early. There was this robot puppet guy in it. I think he was a friend of the main character or something, but it seemed like this episode was about him. I only really began to watch it halfway through, my attention (and alarm) summoned by the clear five minutes of silence that had passed in the living room. I stuck my head round the door to make sure that my daughter was indeed still on the rug where I had left her. She was, and transfixed at that – mouth open a little, eyes focused still. I hadn't seen her move so little in perhaps her entire life; even in her sleeping hours Rosie raged against inertia. I came in and stood behind her and joined in watching, amazed, hoping that I might be able to absorb and harness for myself any of the apparently hypnotic powers that the television show was exhibiting. To me it seemed the basic plot pattern was that this ragdoll girl – who seemed to be the focus of the programme – would walk around the 'village' with the robot and show him some particular human being activity. The two I saw were drinking tea and painting. The problem was that since he was a robot, he didn't have a mouth (or digestive tract) and therefore couldn't consume tea, and he couldn't seem to paint anything except squares and rectangles on his canvas. Ragdoll was getting melancholy because they had nothing they could do together. She opted to try one last activity, dancing, but admitted that she couldn't really show him how to do it because she was a terrible dancer. To Ragdoll's, mines and Rosemary's surprise, as soon as that music kicked in, Robot needed no instruction anyway, and was busting moves like nobody's business (well, really, busting 'move'. Specifically, the Robot). He was a natural. “Beep blop boop, beep boop boop,” he said as he cruised around on his wheels. Ragdoll started joining in with the dance. They had found something to do together. “Did you like that, Rosie?” I asked when the credits were on the screen. “Beep boop boop,” answered my daughter. We met Mrs. Lyons in Tesco three days later. In the interim I had not heard my three-year-old produce a single utterance that wasn't compiled of some combination of 'beep', 'boop' and 'bop'. Oh, and how could I forget – 'blop'. It was actually kind of funny at first, like our own little private joke about how daft it all was. I enjoyed it especially when I took her out in public and she showed off her new vocabulary to unsuspecting old ladies. However, Mrs. Lyons was now maybe the fourth person to fit that description and the whole Robot Girl thing was beginning to seem less humorous and more like my daughter really was a robot that needed a few bolts tightened. Mrs. Lyons' eyes widened, then she laughed. “Oh, that's funny,” she said, while booping Rosie on the nose. “Well, it was lovely to see the both of you. I really do hope you're keeping alright, Stephen.” I smiled and said we were. I waved and mouthed goodbye as Mrs. Lyons made her slow retreat into the aisles, and kept looking over at Rosie to try and make her imitate me. She could not have possibly seemed to hold any less of an interest in the situation, though, and stared open-mouthed down from her seat at the handle of the trolley, then started bashing it with her palms. I looked at Mrs. Lyons and we laughed, but when the old lady was gone I lifted Rosie out of her seat and held her in front of me so that we were face to face. “What's going on with you, little one?” I asked. “Why won't you talk to anyone? You know loads of words. You're always so chatty.” She looked me in the eyes silently for a second, as if she understood. “Beep,” she said. I sighed and put her back in the trolley. Next on the day's agenda was a visit to my sister's. We took a route by the country roads. At three, kids have a really, really short attention span and I realised she hadn't been out the house very much in the last few days – nursery was on holiday for a few weeks – and maybe if I exposed her to some fresh stimuli (cows, sheep and hills were all previous show stealers) she might switch her attention to one of those and forget about the whole robot noises thing. I craned my neck round to see her in the car seat, and check what she was looking at. “Do you see those wee white things on the grass away over there? What are they called again Rosie?” For one lovely short moment I thought she said 'sheep', but no. Just a 'beep'. I look onwards towards my sister's. We arrived quite quickly. After a few minutes of Rosemary's making Abigail laugh I pointed to the toys in the corner of the lounge and talked in excited tones until she plodded off to amuse herself amongst them for a bit. At least she still got a kick out of all the usual colours and sounds. I had been half worried that she'd start taking an interest in the washing machine or gas meter. I sat down at the other side of the room with Abigail and explained, between sips of coffee, what had been happening. “I'm just worried about her.” I said. “Oh Stephen,” said my sister. “It's not worth getting worked up about. It'll just be a wee phase. I remember when Connor was little he wouldn't get into bed without us first telling him that Emma, each of his teddies and the dog were all already sleeping. We – or, well, I – had all these visions of him as a grown man stoating about at night checking everyone's rooms. But he grew out of it. They always do.” “Hmm,” I said. I wanted to say 'this is different', but to a competing parent that garners nothing but the all-knowing smile. “I don't know. It's just getting a little bit beyond a joke at this point; it's starting to concern me.” “Rosie will be fine, Steve. It's you I'm more worried about. How are you getting on, really?” “What?” I asked. “Oh. Oh, I'm fine, I'm fine. Good and bad days, you know.” There was a lull. “I'm going to speak to Dr. Ford after this, actually.” “Oh, good, that's great. I love Dr. Ford. He's a fantastic therapist. Speaking of Connor, actually, Ford really helped me with him. He helped me push through that first year. He was a brilliant help.” “Aye, I remember,” I said. We both took gulps from our mugs. “It's not always so easy, having kids.” Abigail nodded slowly. I was focused on my cup but I could feel that her eyes were still on me. Rosie came ambling over. She looked tired. “We better get going,” I said, checking my watch. “That appointment is gaining on us, can't keep the doc waiting.” We all hugged at the door and Rosie didn't say anything – not even a beep.


2008 Sometimes it seems like it is all one big fluke. The first three books became bestsellers in a whirlwind of boundless inspiration. And with that came success and money. His fingers hover over the keypad, then backspace, and then hover again. He slumps back on his wooden chair with a wince. Shit! Sat there he thinks about back when he had the luxury of time, when he still had romantic notions about what being an author was. He remembers sitting in cafes on days when the world felt like it was something he didn’t want to get off from. A sweet, happy ride; time was plenty, inspiration was for granted. He hovers once again, and thinks about his students and the lectures he gives part time at Roehampton University. “Inspiration is bullshit”. He begins. Some students nod, wide eyed and full of conviction (oh yes, he’s so right. Really deep). Others giggle (what a badass!) “If you wait for inspiration to come so your pen can hit the paper, you’re going to be waiting for a long time. The time to write is right now. The crappiest things you’ve ever written keep them, do not throw them away, grow from them, and add to them. Who knows, they might be the beginnings of great stories. Everyone wants the glamorous side of writing. But they want it fast and easy. William Faulkner said “Do not be a writer. Be writing”. A moment of silence.  “I ask: do you want to work on your story? If you don’t, why are you here?” 1998 There were a total of 22 windows in the house. She would have asked for more but something about the window, the one just before the steps to the attic converted into a study, stopped her. That window was more forlorn. She felt a kind of sadness every time she pressed her palm against the cold surface. So she didn’t ask for more windows In the afternoon, just as the sun turned golden against the calm oil-like surface of the sea, she stepped out on the stone porch in the front, and took her seat on one of the deckchairs. She closed her eyes. Free, that is how freedom felt. She was 38 years old, and for the first time in a long time, she was on her own; in her house on the sea with her windows. She turned her head slightly to the right, and found the study window looking back. She shivered as a small chill from the sea trailed up her legs and body. Standing up, she flicked a strand of red hair from her eyes. She then flicked it again, but this time it fell like a mini curtain, obscuring the side of the window. 2008 At 10 pm sharp he hears the knock on the window. The author gets up from his wooden chair and makes his way to the hall way. He lingers for a while in the threshold, with his one hand on the wall for support before he steps out into the dimness with the plush carpeting on the oak floors, and the window at the end of it, where the moonlight always casts its magnetism. She’s there with her red hair, and the palm of her hand touches the window. One word comes out of her mouth. His name. Around 10:30 she is gone, and with it the moon’s glow. He is back in his seat, but this time his fingers do not hover like weights above the keypad, they come alive with renewed vigor. It’s her red hair. Her red hair sparked the flame. 1998 She stepped back from the window. From somewhere distant thunder is heard, followed by a strip of lightning. “There are cracks on your kitchen walls”. She turned around. Her mother is stood on the last step and her other hand is on the banister. She turned back to the window. “I like it that way. It’s vintage” “You asked for them?” “Yes, mother. I asked for the cracks. I like the cracks, and they are staying put”. “As you wish”. 1980 The sailboat glided along the crystal blue waters in front of her balcony. The wind coming from the Aegean rustled her curls, her sunflower hat by her feet. But Yvette didn’t notice. She changed position so that now she was in direct view of what captured her attention. A figure or what she thought was a figure with one hand against the glass. “There in that window. Do you see it?” “See what? What am I looking at?” “There was a figure. Of a woman or man; I can’t be sure?” “Yvette, stop that. You have always done this. You and your ghost stories?” “But what if it isn’t a “ghost”, Kat?” Yvette looked at Kat with wide eyes. In turn, Kat narrowed her eyes, annoyed. “What if someone is in the house?” Kat grabbed a towel from one of the deckchairs and wrapped it around her. There was a pool of water where she stood. “If that is the case we should call someone, like the police?” “Great. How’s your Greek?” “You live in a house in Greece, and you don’t know Greek!” Kat looks at her younger sister, a part of her is surprised and another is angry. Typical! Yvette was the sister who had the time, it seemed to Kat, and the arrogance of carelessness which her youth bestowed upon her; she never thought, she just jumped. And sometimes, most of the times, that made Kat’s body stiffen with irascibility. It was around 3 in the afternoon when they decided to venture in the house, just as the sun swept along the stone walls of the house. “Where did you see it?” “Upstairs, in the window before the attic steps” The floorboards creaked slightly as they made their way to the last landing before the attic. There, facing the front of the house is the window. It’s empty. Yvette let out her breath in one big whoosh . Kat made a scoffing noise behind her and turned to walk away. “Windows are empty. They hold nothing. They are empty stories. You must have imagined it with the sun and heat” “It wasn’t that hot today”. Yvette said and she felt her cheeks flush. She hated getting angry. Before following her sister downstairs, she turned to look at the window once more. I thought you had a story for me  2008 The author wakes up with a jolt. He’s in his wooden chair and his bones creak and moan as he straightens himself out. He looks at the screen. He leans in closer and pushes his glasses in place. “What the…”


She sat in her brightly lit office, journals and books sprawled on the table. She was exhausted but dauntless to have at her enquiry once again. Through her window she saw the moon stamped onto the sky. She heard the cold wind wheezing through everyplace. She hadn't brought along her jacket because she'd not planned to stay out this long. She still sat in, lethargic, about to relish in the joys of true independence, of not being accountable to anyone, of being divorced from the incessant need to be anywhere else right now. Having done the chores of two days in one, she could sleep here if she wanted to. The chair creaked when she started stretching backwards to relax. Then suddenly, she jerked to her feet. - Oh shit! Her hands tried to seek out her bag amongst the clutter on the table and while at it, return some materials to some form of arrangement. Footsteps rustled outside of her office. She paused for a minute trying to decipher whose feet they were. The person was coming into her office. One knock. Then two. She said they could come right in. - Ah, Judith. Still here, he said. Her colleague at the university, Jones, stood behind the door he closed just slowly behind him. -Yeah. Tryna pack up, actually. Been here a bit, she said. She did keep late nights but, infrequently. - I noticed, he said, prying at her table with a fierce curiosity typical to scholars. He summed up the boldness to inquire. - What were you working on? She only sighed. - Not now, Jones.  I just need to get home first. It's late, she said. - True. Just surprised you're still here. Jaime and Georgina should be sorely missing you. - Exactly. That realization...that's the mad rush you just met me in. She turned from her side of the table, having found her bag. - Let me take you home, his hands went to move her shoulders along, supposedly steadying her from clumsiness. She gave her office the vacant treatment, putting it to sleep as she stepped out with him. Out of the department of chemistry. Onwards the parking lot. The moon was way brighter than indoor lighting had undermined. She assured him she was interested in walking briskly, that she'd understand if he was too weary to. She kept her promise and the time barely afforded them chitchats. But he did manage to chivalrously get her into her Ford. - Sleep well. Say hi to Jaime and Georgina for me, he yelled as she drove off. Along the road, she took a turn and stopped by her favorite coffee shop. She hoped they'd have the snacks in-house that she'd want. Famished, all she wanted was a really quick meal, something to drive home on. - Rogers, how're ya doing? He was just coming out from the back when she sat down. He owned the place and was fond of her. - Been awhile we saw ya out this late, doc. - Something wild's ongoing in my stomach. - Just why I'll stay in business forever. They laughed. She fed. She left. She was in the office in the morning, continuing her work. Jones snuck in; asking of her wellbeing, Jaime and Georgina and by extension, her work. She responded in affirmative awkwardness to everything. - All fine, she replied impassively. He went his way and did his job. She'd began to think of Georgina and Jaime. They were her siblings. Now in her forties, they were in their twenties and thirties respectively. She'd mothered them over the years because no one did. She never did have kids but she'd known the mothering stuff too well. She was the efficacious one, preferring to give her siblings the more honorable circumstances of life. She'd initially come from a wealthy home. Her dad died tragically. Her mom remarried, gave her and her siblings away to be raised by strangers. Well they didn't raise them; they rather ignored and often beat them up. She survived the cruelty through time and shielded her siblings. She sighed, shrugged it off and tried to continue her notable work. It'd be about to get to that laboratory-worthy stage and she wouldn't stall it. Everyone knew she'd never stall anything. That's how she'd gotten her PhD. Not very long after agonizing over the details, she'd get to the lab and do her thing. Alongside her assistants and interns. This very day, they'd be an incident. There'd be a fairly dangerous chemical spillover on her body but it'd be neutralized immediately. A casual moment for her, a gasp for her assistants and a panic for the interns. Just a regular work hazard, an inflammation at best. She'd clean up and go home. Next time she'd stop by Roger's, he'd see the pigmentation on her left hand as he stood over her. He'd ask about it. She'd wave it off but he stubbornly wouldn't let it go. She'd gotten away with so much atrocities done to self. Unless she secretly was a masochist, he'd want better answers. She'd get down to explaining the incident at work. - You don't care 'bout yourself enough. Doubt you even know how to, he shrugged. - Why would you say that? - You went to work the next day. And probably right back into that lab. - Well it's my job, she shrugged, nonchalantly. - Of course it is. He drew out a seat and sat across her, staring. Her legs stimulated. All the while as he spoke, she could've felt pesky. But she didn't. She was introspective. Everything she'd ever ran away from or towards was because of fear. She dreaded the loss of control that came with fear and never wanted it for anyone. Especially not her siblings. She believed herself to be lost once when as a child she was rejected by family; she never wanted anything else to escape or get lost since then. Everything simply had to stay intact. In reality, she wanted to be wanted as a mole or an asset is, but she never did dare to want anything herself. She never permitted herself to. Rogers rose up and went for the door. It was still early in the day and she was his only customer yet. He turned the notice on it to closed. - You should really relax today, Judith. He'd be the first person she'd ever know to snatch her away from her routine to impose sympathy on her. It was utterly weird at first, this piteous thing. But somehow she stayed and time kept piling up. The intermittent silences taught her. It'd be the first time she'd perfectly understand the dialect her heart spoke. Her thoughts strode along with it's beating. - I've not paused for anything in a while in my life, she said in a fit of self-realization. Her heart translated some more. She saw the kindness in what she previously presumed to be Roger's intrusiveness. Her heart exclaimed with a shocking pleasure, as did her mouth. - Goodness! With that atom of affection she now felt, she came alive to what she understood had enveloped this place for as long as she had been coming.


So, it went something like this. I was staying with my parents for a few months, and I needed to make some fast money to move out at the end of summer. The nearest place I could think of that I could get hired on with no experience for good money was the warehouse, so that’s where I went. The shifts were long, and the work sucked, but it made me feel useful. It felt like I was doing something worth doing. On my first day, they paired me up with a guy to train me. You know, ‘put the boxes onto the belt. Don’t let one hit you in the head.’ That type of shit. He was younger than most of the other guys there (and I say guys because women were pretty few and far between), but he was still about ten years older than me. We hit it off right away; I was pretty reserved, wary of being in an unfamiliar environment surrounded by a bunch of strangers, but he pried, and I told him whatever he wanted to know so I wouldn’t come off as a cold bitch. I’ll call him Sam. Sam and I got to be pretty good friends. Actually, I got to be friends with a lot of people there just because I got along with Sam so well. I told him up front that I had a boyfriend living down south, and that I was going to move in with him at the end of summer. It kind of turned into a running joke where he’d tell me to break up with my boyfriend and stay on at work. I’d always tell him no, that I liked my boyfriend just fine. He asked me a couple of times if the teasing bothered me. I always told him no, that no amount of pestering could change my mind. I wasn’t super thrilled about it, though; I missed my boyfriend pretty bad. I have a thick skin and an even thicker head, though, so I just let it go so I wouldn’t make things awkward. By then, I was telling my boyfriend a little bit about what was happening. We talked over the phone once a week, at least. “Do you remember me telling you about Sam from work?” “The guy that trained you? Yeah, sure.” “I think that he likes me.” “Has he been bothering you?” “Mostly joking around, I guess, but it’s getting a little out of hand.” “Are you okay? Has he said anything…?” “Nothing to take to HR, if that’s what you mean.” “Well, a swift kick in the nuts would probably do the job if he gets too personal.” “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” “Hey. You know you can always talk to me, right?” “Yeah, I know.” As more time passed, I started hanging out with Sam outside of work. It started with parties, then graduated to just the two of us pissing the time away. The longer it went on, I started to realize that Sam wasn’t really joking about my boyfriend, and that he wasn’t really trying to be my friend. I think I was in denial about it because it stings a bit when you realize that someone only likes you because they’re trying to get in your pants. He even tried to kiss me a couple times, and I told him I couldn’t keep hanging out if he was going to pull that shit. He always promised he’d behave, but then the same shit again the next week. I tried to not let on, but it was stressing me out pretty bad. I’ll skip some of the middle bits here, because if I told you everything, you’d be here all day. I don’t let myself remember a lot of it, anyway. Some of it I just want to keep to myself, and I can’t really figure out why. I will tell you that I never cheated, that I never even wanted to. Just thinking about it still makes me feel sick. At some point, Sam started acting all weird. He skipped a few days of work here and there, he’d get kind of snappish at people, and eventually he started avoiding me. I was a little bit bummed, but I was also sort of relieved, you know? Like, I was bummed that I was right and that he got bored when I wouldn’t put out, but I was also relieved that the awkwardness might be over. No such luck. He was gone from work one weekend for a wedding, and when he got back on Sunday, he called me up. He said he wasn’t doing so great, and would I please come over to talk? I had work really early the next day, but I thought I could lend a quick ear if he was going through a rough patch. We ended up talking most of the night. He told me a lot of things that I won’t repeat, but he also told me that he was pretty down in his feels because he really liked me. Like, he loved me, he said. We kept going back and forth, like, “would you ever date me?” and, “I don’t know, I can’t even think like that right now. I’m with someone.” and, “yeah, but what if you weren’t?” and, “I don’t know, it’s all hypothetical.” I drove the short distance home around 3:30 in the morning, crossing my fingers and hoping that my dad wasn’t already up for early morning fishing. I ended up calling in the next day, I was so exhausted. After that, things were the same, but they weren’t. I mean, I still saw him the same, but he seemed to be… expecting something. One night, though, he asked me to come over to drink and watch some movies. I said sure, I could go for a drink. I went over, and we had some vodka/soda/juice mix that tasted like shit and watched some movie that I don’t even remember. At some point, he stopped the movie and said, “The sun is setting. We should go out and watch it on the porch.” I didn’t really want to, but I went on along with him anyway. That’s when he really started talking. “I know I seem like I’m doing alright, but really, I’m not.” “What do you mean?” “I mean, we’re always joking around, but whenever I ask you to stay and you say no… it actually kind of hurts.” I knew that. He’d said it already. “Stop joking about it, then.” “That’s the thing.” He looked down at his shoes. “I’m not joking.” I looked past him to the side of his neighbor’s house, through the window and past the curtains. I was hoping someone would be staring back so I’d have something else to talk about without obviously trying to change the subject. I was hoping desperately for something to break the tension. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” “I want to know why you won’t even give me a chance.” “You damn well know why, I’ve said it about a hundred times.” “I don’t buy it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “It means that I think that we should be together. Not like I just want it really bad, but like… I think that we’re *meant* to be together.” I scoffed. “What, like soulmates?” “That’s one word for it, yeah.” I sucked on my teeth and looked down into my drink. I wasn’t sure if I was wishing I’d mixed it stronger or wishing I’d never had it at all. “I don’t believe in soulmates.” “What?” “I think it’s a load of shit. I think that there are billions of people on this planet, and that any single person has thousands of other people that would make perfectly good matches for them. Maybe some more than others, and maybe one person most of all, but that doesn’t make them ‘soulmates.’ Nobody is *meant* to be with anybody else.” “Look, I’ve told you about my parents. They’re perfect for each other. And when they met, my mom was already engaged. If she had never broken off her engagement, I wouldn’t even be here.” “That’s nice and all, but it doesn’t mean they’re soulmates.” “But they are, though.” “Look,” I stared straight into his eyes. The things that had been simmering in the back of my head for months had finally gathered themselves into an actual thought. I just had to get them out of my mouth in the same order. “I could never break up with someone to be with somebody else. Not anybody. Once you start jumping from one to the next, what’s stopping you from doing it again? What if it never stops? Once you start throwing people out, they start to become disposable, and you’ll never be satisfied with anyone because you’ll always be looking for the next, better thing. I could never do that to somebody. I could never do that to *myself*.” “You’d only have to do it once.” I let out a huff that might have originally been a laugh. “The grass will always be greener somewhere else.” “It won’t.” “Oh, no?” “Nah.” “Why’s that?” “Because I’m the greenest grass.” I did laugh, then. I think I was trying to convince myself that I wasn’t getting frustrated. “That’s an awfully bold statement.” “It’s true.” “Why, because we’re soulmates?” “*Yes*.” I leaned back in my chair, watching my hands trace patterns onto my glass. “So, you believe in soulmates because of your parents, right?” “Yeah. I mean, don’t you feel like your parents are meant to be together?” “No.” He didn’t say anything. “I’m not even sure that my parents love each other.” “Well, then maybe that’s why.” “Why do you think your experience makes you right but mine is irrelevant?” He pauses again. “I just do.” “That’s not a real answer.” “It’s just true, alright?” “No. I’m not taking that ‘because I said so’ shit. You believe in soulmates, I don’t. So we’re stuck.” “But we aren’t, though.” “How do you figure?” He knew I was getting fed up, and he smiled wide. “Because I’m right.” I threw my head forward into one of my palms, my elbow resting on my knee, and swiped my hand down my face. “Why, because you’re the man and you’re older, so what you say goes?” “If you say so.” “Ugh!” “Look, it’s not something I can explain, it’s just something that I know. That’s all.” “Well, then it’s not something that I have to take your word for.” His smile turned a little sadder, and he looked up into the sky. It was pretty dark by then, and if we weren’t smack in the middle of the city, we’d probably be looking at stars. As it was, I was glad that the light pollution made the sky so dim and ugly. It matched how I felt on the inside. “No, I don’t think it’s something I can explain to you. I’d just have to show you.” “I don’t intend to let that happen.” “Then I guess you’ll never know.” “I guess not.” We just sat there listening to the cicadas for a while, until he said, “I didn’t want it to be this way, but you’ll figure it out eventually.” “What the fuck does *that* mean?” “It means that I’m going wait for you.” He was dead serious, but he was still smiling as if he was playing with me, as if it was all a joke. I wondered if he noticed the dread that I’m sure was written on my face to match the newer, deeper pit in my stomach. “I don’t see any point in dating other girls when I know they aren’t the ones for me.” “What if I never break up with him? What if you’re waiting forever?” “Nah, that won’t happen.” “Why. Not.” “Because he’s not right for you.” “You haven’t even met him.” “Look, it’s fine. See your thing through, and I’ll be waiting here when it falls apart.” “You don’t have do that.” “I know. But I will.” “I don’t want you to do that.” “Well, it’s not for you. It’s what I have to do.” “You don’t have to do shit.” “It’s what I want to do, then.” I didn’t say much after that. My thoughts were spinning too fast for me to grasp on to a single thing to say. The mosquitoes chased us back inside and I stayed to finish the movie so it wouldn’t be awkward. I left for home after that, even though I usually have a pretty strict policy about alcohol and driving. I had pretty much sobered up by then, anyways. He insisted that I give him a hug before I left, and I did, but he found something unsatisfactory with the first five or so, so he kept insisting. By the end, I felt so awkward I ended up walking out, leaving him pouting in the kitchen. It wasn’t the same after that, really. August was crawling closer, and he started to realize that I really wasn’t going to budge. I asked him if he would still try to be friends once I moved, and he changed his mind about four times for different reasons. First, he told me that I was using him for his company, that he didn’t think I’d have any use for him after I moved. He told me that my friendship was pretty useless to him anyway. I cried when he said that. Then he said that it was all good, that I could text him or whatever, but he wouldn’t ever remember to text me first. Then, the thought of talking to me was too painful. Two days before I was done at the warehouse, he claimed to have changed overnight, that he was totally over me and I could do what I pleased. I was pretty fucking pissed at him for that. By the time I actually left, he’d changed his mind so many times that I wished he’d just decide that I was a selfish bitch and let me be. He settled on tentative friends, though. I think he was trying to find the right thing to say to make me stay. He used to tell me that I was a master manipulator. He said that I got on too well with everybody, that I was a social chameleon, and that I was bound to break a few hearts in the process. He told some people at work, too. What he didn’t tell them is that he thought the same about himself, that he thought he would never find a real connection because he knew how to play any person like a fiddle. That’s why he thought that we were soulmates; supposedly, we were both too aware of mind games to fall for them. He used to tell me that I was really smart, that he loved talking to me because he never knew what I was going say, that I’d just say what I was thinking and he couldn’t ever follow my thinking. He used to tell me that I talked about sexism too much, that he was annoyed how aware of it he had become. I told him, “you’re welcome.” He used to say I was hot, but that if I still had my natural hair, I’d be a *real* knockout. Sam died about three months after I moved down south. Something about some equipment in the warehouse, but they kept it pretty under wraps. I suppose I felt a little bit guilty, but mostly I think I felt relieved. I sort of take it as proof that he was wrong, that it’s our choices that decide our fates and not the other way around. I know it actually doesn’t prove shit, but I think it anyways. I didn’t tell my boyfriend about all of this. I mean, I told him some, but I didn’t want him to worry about me. I think that deep down I was scared that he might always wonder if I cheated on him. I might never tell him everything. I might never tell anyone. So, I guess Sam’s love story will die with me, the remaining half of the perfect pair. I’ll never get to tell him that he was wrong, that he was fucked up for what he said, for what he did to me. Letting him go hasn’t really been the hardest part, though. The hardest part has been learning how to live with his ghost, how to carry it all on my own.