The large hickory door looms in my vision, massive and imposing. Small windows bleed light through eye-like holes and the gargoyle knocker bares its teeth. From inside, the faint tone of the doorbell echoes throughout the cavernous rooms. With a deep-throated creak, the door swings open revealing a small, rotund figure.            “Why, hello, Kye!” The mild-mannered old woman adjusts her gingham apron. Small fingers interlace across her stomach.            “Oh! Um… hello Mrs. Wood. I was just here to ask if you have some butter? I ran out.” Her wide smile never waivers as she shoos me into the house. The imposing exterior stands in stark contrast to the warm and comfortably furnished room that I stand in. Tapping my fingers on the overstuffed sofa I try to recall the ingredients. Water… or was it milk? Never mind. Eggs. Sugar. Cinnamon. I swear there was more… oh yeah! Butter… what else? A soft groan flutters from my lips as the ever-expanding list disappears from my memory again. The starched lapels of my suit cut into my throat, pinching the skin there. I fit my fingers into the small crevice where collar of my suit bites into the hollow of my throat. Tugging as hard as I can muster, I loosen the tie that my wife so carefully knotted around my neck. Her warm fingers had whispered by the tan skin of my neck, pulling at my dark curls. With four cats in tow, pouncing on the edges of her apron as she moves, Mrs. Wood turns the corner. In her carefully manicured, wrinkled hands lays a pound of butter. At least. “I believe I forgot how much you said you needed… so I grabbed what I hope should be sufficient.” She must’ve seen my eyes widen to the size of large eggs, because she gave a little laugh, “don’t worry about paying me back!” She chirped, misinterpreting by bemused expression. “Thanks, Mrs. Wood.” I utter quietly, gripping the mass of butter and slipping it into the small bag I towed along. It lands with a heavy thump and the sound of ingredients rolling and turning before they are smashed. Each step out of the door pinches my toes, rubbing them raw against the stiff new insides of my dress shoes. My heart tightens against the confines of my chest, the recent memory of Mrs. Wood bouncing and rebounding off the recipe, his recipe. When I step into the house, a cacophony of smells assaults my nose. The sweet scent of cinnamon mingles with chile powder. My mother stands in the center of it all; her flour coated hands raised into the air like the world’s greatest conductor, commanding her instruments to sustain a final note. Although the focus painted on her face never waivers, her eyes glisten with tears at the familiarity of the chaos. Next to her grieving figure stands my wife, her thin fingers resting on my mother’s shoulder, whispering to her gently. “Mamá,” her watery-coffee gaze turns to me with a start. “Kye. Mi amor, conseguiste la mantequilla?” Kye. My love, did you get the butter? By way of reply, I heave the bag onto the counter, full of half remembered ingredients. My abuelo’s recipe blooms again in my mind and I rush around the room grabbing mixing bowls and spoons. Eggs, butter, my mind races as I grab the ingredients, tossing them into the bowl, flour, salt, baking powder, sugar. The ingredients fly together, drawing relatives’ eyes to the cloud of spices and flour I create. Movement after movement, ingredient after ingredient, until the bowl is full of something slightly resembling cake mix. The joyful memory of my grandfather fills my bones, instead of my movements being a poor mimicry of his graceful dance around the kitchen, it becomes my own. The contents are poured into a pan, rippling and mixing as it fills the circle. I shove the pan into the oven, my abuelo’s excitement flushed face rushing through my mind and blooming on my cheeks. Stepping through the sweet-scented cloud, my wife brushes seasonings and flour from my suit, and wraps her arms around my neck. My mother looks at my again, tears streaming from her eyes as the memory of her mother peers back at her. The gentle weight of my grandfather’s hands presses down onto my shoulders, holding me steady as my mother enfolds me in her arms.            Relatives pool around me, some only distantly related, others close. All chattering in heavily accented English or caramelized Spanish. Rose lipped aunts pull me to their chests, eyes watering when they release me. In one fantastic raise of her palms, my mother calls everyone back to their assignments. The musical artistry of creation fills the room like a cloud; blooming from the palms of everyone working.

Sweetened condensed milk. Heavy cream. Evaporated milk. My rubber spatula scrapes the sides of the mixing bowl, turning the sweet flavors over with a careful touch. The oven beeps gently, signaling that the cake is done. My grandfather rests his palms on my shoulder again. Mi nieto, he whispers, carefully now. My trembling hands skim precariously over the smooth skin of the dessert.            His hands release my shoulders, slipping down to grip my now grown hands in his, steadying the shake. The memory of my tiny fingers interlaced with his calloused palms flickers through me. His warm breath tickled my ears, fluttered in my overgrown curls that hung heavy over my eyes. I had held my breath, trying to contain the giggles that always threatened to escape. My abuelo’s goatee scratched my neck as he smiled at my efforts.            A fork carefully clasped in my small fists, I eased it into the cake. The prongs puncturing the delicate crust. The milk mixture was poured in carefully, absorbed into the sponge-like cake. As each moment plays in my mind, I mimic the movements. A childlike sense of wonder blooms in the pit of my stomach as my grandfather smiles next to me, his invisible presence comforting me.            In the other room, my relatives add pictures to the ofrenda. My grandfather already rests there, his image lit up by the flickering light of the candles. Surrounded by his favorite foods and the things he loved most in life. I sprinkle the final garnish on the tres leches cake and lay it next to his picture.


“ It’s this unknown number calling again ” – Sarah announced as she picked up her phone from the coffee table. “ Answer it ” – Hannah suggested, taking a sip of her marshmallow filled hot cocoa. “ They’ve called twice already. What if something happened to your parents and someone is trying to get a hold of you? ” – she continued. Sarah looked at her friend in disbelief. Hannah was such a good-natured person, but she didn’t always think things through before saying things out loud. “ Good job trying to freak me out ” – Sarah replied, placing the phone back on the table. “ You almost got me. Whoever it is, they should text. Too much spam these days. But you’re right; I will answer if they call again ” – she added, grabbing a handful of popcorn and sitting back in her recliner. As soon as she did that, her phone vibrated just once. “ It’s a message ” – she said, reaching out for her phone and looking at Hannah. “ I’m sure they’re alright ” – Hannah replied, not sure if she believed her own words. “ What the heck? ” – Sarah uttered. “ What is it? Is everything alright? ” – Hannah asked, hoping it was nothing concerning Sarah’s parents. “ Someone’s playing a prank on me. See for yourself ” – said Sarah and passed the phone to her best friend. “ Let’s play a game of hide and seek, Little Mouse ” – Hannah read the message out loud. “ Little Mouse? ” – she asked. “ Yea, I have no idea ” – Sarah replied. “ Press play on that movie, and let’s forget about this nonsense ” – she added, settling back into her recliner. The moment Hannah pressed play, the background lights in the room went off. “ What did you do? ” – Sarah asked, slightly annoyed with how far from ideal this evening was turning out to be. “ Nothing. I pressed play ” – Hannah replied. Letting out an audible sigh, Sarah rolled her eyes, got up, and walked towards the light switch. “ Hmm… maybe it’s the fuse ” – Sarah announced after having flicked the switch back and forth a couple of times. “ Come back, and let’s watch the movie. We’ll check the fuse box later. Do you even know where it is? ” – Hannah asked, reaching out for the popcorn. “ It might be in the basement. Or the garage. Or maybe outside. I don’t remember ” – Sarah replied with a shrug and made her way towards the kitchen. Now it was Hannah who sighed and rolled her eyes. “ There should be a bottle of wine or two in one of these cupboards ” – she shouted so that Hannah could hear her in the living room. The past couple of months have been particularly difficult for Hannah. When Sarah invited her to come to her family cabin in the mountains of Montezuma for New Year’s Eve, Hannah was more than glad to accept. It was supposed to be just the two of them watching one movie after another, eating ice cream straight from the box, and complaining about men. “ White or red? ” – Sarah asked from the kitchen. “ Red, please ” – Hannah replied, browsing through all the available movies, making a mental list of what they would watch next. “ Coming right u- ” – Sarah said before a loud crash could be heard. “ You OK? ” – Hannah asked, turning around on the sofa. Without replying, Sarah approached from the kitchen. “ There’s someone outside ” – she whispered, white as a sheet, as she got close to Hannah. “ It’s alright. We can have white wine instead. Here, I’ll even help you clean it up ” – Hannah announced, getting up from the sofa. “ I’m serious, Hannah. I saw a shadow of a man pass by the kitchen window ” – Sarah said, gripping Hannah’s elbow. Sarah’s phone vibrated once. A message. Both girls looked at each other, and for a moment, neither one of them dared to move. Gathering up all her courage, Hannah reached for the phone. “ What does it say? ” – she asked, handing the phone over to Sarah. Sarah grabbed the phone and opened the message. “ It says: “Get ready to run, Little Mouse” ” – Sarah replied quietly and tossed the phone onto the sofa. “ This is messed up ” – she added, pulling her sleeves over her trembling hands. “ You’re right. Someone’s playing a prank on you. Put your phone on silent, and let’s watch this movie. We have popcorn and hot cocoa for now. We’ll get wine and fix the fuse for the next movie ” – said Hannah, gently steering Sarah towards her recliner and then taking a seat on the sofa next to her. “ Now, I need to pee. Be right back ” – said Sarah, rushing off towards the bathroom. “ We’re never even going to finish this movie ” – Hannah thought to herself. She looked towards the window, and all she saw was darkness mixed with patches of white. It was snowing. All that almost calmed Hannah down. She did not want to let on, but the anonymous messages were starting to get to her. Thinking that maybe she could figure out where the messages were coming from, she picked up Sarah’s phone. “ 10 new messages .” It was a string of messages counting down from 10 down to one. The last one sent 30 seconds ago. “ Sarah? ” – Hannah called out. Slightly unsettled, Hannah got up from the sofa and slowly made her way towards the bathroom. “ Sarah, you alright in there? ” – she asked, knocking on the bathroom door. After doing that twice and receiving no reply, Hannah placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it clockwise. Sarah’s lifeless body lay in the tub with duct tape over her mouth. Splatters of blood all over the walls. Hannah gagged and ran towards the door. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. “ Let’s play a game of hide and seek, Little Mouse ” – said the message on her phone. Hannah placed her phone back in her pocket, got inside her car, and drove off as fast as she could. # Having arrived in Silverthorne, Hannah felt she could let herself breathe for just a moment before formulating the next few steps of her escape plan. She was far away from the cabin, and there were crowds of people around her. They were walking down the street towards the market square, where the New Year’s Eve celebration was taking place. Sarah wanted to go, but Hannah didn’t feel like dealing with drunken assholes hitting on her. She wanted peace and quiet. With her head against the steering wheel, she allowed for the reality to hit her. “ Get ready to run, Little Mouse ” – was what Clarke used to say to her when he felt like playing. He beat her enough times that she finally got a restraining order against him last month. He always had violent tendencies, but she loved him. She thought he could change. She definitely had no idea he could go as far as to kill someone. A shiver ran down Hannah’s spine. Yes, she did know. Deep down, she knew it all along, but she didn’t want to freak Sarah out. Plus, Clarke had no idea where they were. It must have been a prank. The more Hannah thought about it, the more convinced she had become that it was Clarke, looking for revenge. The roads were icy, and Hannah was worried that she’d run out of fuel soon enough, so she stepped outside of the car and joined the celebrating crowds heading towards the main square. As much as she didn’t like drunken crowds, this was where she felt the safest right now. He could not find her among this many people. Plus, even if he did, what was he going to do? He couldn’t kill her in front of thousands of witnesses. As she arrived at the square, the music stopped playing, and everyone directed their eyes up towards the giant ball, just like the one in Times Square. “ Soon, we will enter a new decade. How exciting is that? ” – asked one of the hosts on stage. “ Yes, Marilyn, it’s very exciting. I can’t wait to see what 2020 brings ” – said the other host. Hannah’s pocket vibrated. With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. “ One new message .” Her heart began to beat faster. With sweaty fingers, she jabbed at the screen and swiped upwards. It was a message from him. “ Get ready to run, Little Mouse! ” “ Let’s count down the last few seconds of 2019 together ” – Marilyn said and held the microphone out to the audience. “ 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1… ”


Nervous with anticipation, I was grateful to be riding shotgun instead of maneuvering the car through holiday traffic.  It seems like forever since I’d seen JoAnn and her son Keith.  They represent a rare, solid connection to my childhood.  Keith left for the army straight out of high school, so no telling how those years changed him.  Yes, nervousness and excitement!  With my best friend Debbie at the wheel, I was free to savor familiar landmarks all decked out in Christmas decorations passing by my window. I felt butterflies agitating more so as we approach JoAnn’s house.  I’m starting to feel light headed.  I know I’ve changed into a completely different person since I last saw Keith, physically and emotionally I’ve matured.  I’m a woman now and he’s a man. Now we are no longer kids. Once we would dream or make believe about what the futurre would bring.  And what’s become of those dreams?

JoAnn wanted to surprise Keith, so she didn’t tell him I was coming.  Would he appreciate the surprise?  Here we go...pulling into the driveway now. ‘Kiddo!” JoAnn exclaims as she opens the door.  Kiddo was always my name with JoAnn.   She was my mom’s best friend, a fixture in my life since I was 10 years old.  That it’s been over 10 years and JoAnn still calls me Kiddo is endearing.  As I step through the door, she gives me a one-arm hug and a hard pat on the back.  Debbie is given a more measured welcome, but a friendly one nonetheless. Debbie understood I was always one of her favorites, not counting her own kids of course. “You guys want a beer?” JoAnn said to us.  “That would be great,” I said, thinking a little alcohol in me would take the edge off my nervous tension.  She fished a bottle out of the ice chest and handed it to me.  There’s nothing like that first taste of really cold, wet bottle beer.  I power gulped almost half the contents in one big go.  I wasn’t sure if Keith was there yet, but I didn’t want to seem overly excited about seeing him again.  I drank more of my beer, scanning the room for his face among the other guests.  I felt a tinge of disappointment, realizing he wasn’t here.  JoAnn came closer and grabbed me by the elbow, nudging me along towards the back porch.  “Keith’s outside,” she said as she walked with me through her old familiar house.

My nostrils flared involuntarily.  The edge of my vision was all a blur.  And there he was, seated in a chair, looking into the backyard while talking to some people I didn’t recognize.  I briefly wondered  how he would react when he saw me.  Was he going to be happy to see me?  Would he even care as much as I did?  I knew that I always had stronger feelings for him than he had for me.  He was my first real crush…my first true love, even.  JoAnn nudged me forward and whispered, “Go ahead, walk around where he can see you.”

Shuffling around so he could see me,  I silently waited for him to notice me.  In a flash his eyes lit up and he smiled his trademark smile. He still had the same twinkle in his eye that just melted my heart.  He shot up from his chair and said, “What a sight for sore eyes!  Oh my god, how are you?  Where did you come from?”  All I could think while he wrapped me up in his arms was how deep his voice had become.  Also, that he somehow smelled the same as he always used to.  And I felt like my 14 year old self again.

Its wondrous how long forgotten feelings can lay dormant all these years just to pop up out of nowhere when you are back in someone’s arms.  As we broke our embrace he held my hand and curtsied a step backward  to get a better look at me.  “God, it’s so good to see you, You look great.”

Keith introduced me as an old friend to the people he’d been in conversation with, then excused us saying we had some catching up to do.  “Here we go,”  I thought, more unsure than ever what to expect .  It was always bothered me a bit that our relationship never went beyond “friends” except for the occasional kiss and fooling around.  We always flirted and teased each other, and when one of us was in a relationship, the other was envious.  Obviously, there were complex feelings on both sides. We both grabbed another cold beer and carried them over to the bench swing further out in the backyard. As we sat down, he let out a big sigh.  “That was quite a sigh,” I said.  “Yeah, it was,” he said.  I soon realized the reason behind the sigh.  He sat back and pulled me close to him so he could put his arm around me. This behavior was uncharacteristic of him.  When we were teenagers it was always me making the first move.  We just sat there in silence for a few minutes, his arm around me and his hand affectionately rubbing my shoulder.  I was dizzy and not sure why. He started to say something and then stopped.  We explored each other in a gaze that he held for a moment before flashing a wan smile that told me  “I have something to tell you but I don’t know how.”

 “Alright…so I’ve always regretted not pursuing you, pursuing us.  You don’t know how many times I’ve kicked myself over it.  Or how many times I’ve thought about having sex with you.  Even now, I’m not blind to the fact that there’s an undeniable connection between us.  I feel a way with you that I’ve never really felt with anyone else.”  As I sat there listening to him I was trying to comprehend everything.  What does this mean?  Where is he going with this?  I had a million thoughts going through my head. After a few minutes of silence, I said, “Why are you telling me this now?  He sighed.  “Well it’s been in the back of my mind for a long time.  You were the one that got away and I want you to know that.  You are special, always have been and always will be.  There’s just something about you.  AND, I wanted to be the one to tell you that while I was away I got married.”


Tara Tarot On a dismal day such as one might expect on a day that one loses their job, Tara walks with her sister, Scarlett, and Scarlett’s scruffy little mutt, Bozo.

“What I need is a need a new job altogether,” Tara says. “Like what?” Scarlett moves behind Tara as a teenaged boy with a tall barking dog passes. He’s got a loose hold on the leash. Bozo growls.

“Like something where my talents are appreciated.”

“How about this? Scarlett pulls a poster from a lamp post.

Tara grabs it and reads aloud: “ Psychic needed for party. Serious inquiries only.”

There’s an email. No phone number .

“ I think that’s called an oxymoron,” Tara says. Who takes psychics seriously? I mean, seriously. “Come on, it’s tonight. And it’s two hundred dollars. Maybe they still need someone. Worth a call, right?”1 “I think they need someone with intuition. I never saw my job loss coming.” “Not a job loss. It’s a leave, Tara. There’s a difference.” “What else do I have to lose?” Tara says. She’s lost her marriage, her mother as well as the job. “Maybe mom will come through and tell us where she hid the gold.” “That joke never gets old,” Scarlett said. “Remember she’d flop down and pretend she was saying her last words… the gold is in the …” Tara emails the address as soon as she enters her basement bedroom of the house she’s been living in with Scarlett and her niece, Raine, since her marital separation in the spring.

The reply from the party host is immediate. “Please call me.” Scarlett enters the room as the phone connection is made. She paces, mouthing questions to ask the party host, Sherry. Tara shoos her away, pointing to her ear. I can’t hear. I’m on the phone for godsake.

Scarlett starts texting talk notes to her instead: s ay you’re experienced (cos you’ve had a reading before but don’t say that part) you’ll need a private room for the readings ask if she needs tea leaves or tarot or both Tara pushes the page away and hangs up. She’s got all the info she needs for the party tonight. Sherry will email the “deets and coordinates.” Gawd .

Scarlett hollers to the kids that they’ll be back upstairs in twenty minutes because she’s busy with Tara. “I don’t have twenty minutes to spend with you. The party’s at 8 p.m.. I’ve got to shower and find a flowy scarf and a Tarot deck. Do you think they sell them at the convenience store?” “I’ve got those things.” “Of course you do. No doubt they’re in labelled bins stacked in alphabetical order. I have no bins.

“We need time to plan what you’re going to do and say during the mystical readings. How many clients are there?” “Six old gals. It’s Sherry’s sixty-fifth birthday. They are open to Tarot cards, tea leaves, whatever.” “Maybe this could be your new career?” Scarlett says. “Let’s start with this party. Show me the paraphernalia.” Let’s log onto Facebook and find some background on this lady. Find her eldest friends.

                                ************** By the time Tara arrives, the ladies are hard into the daiquiris. Lots of giggles and talking over each other, and asking people to repeat what they’ve said. Sherry wears a flowy scarf around her head and looks more like a medium than Tara whose gear is in the backpack slung over her shoulder.

Sherry shows Tara to the library where incense sends up a thin fragrant smoke, candles are lit and a cloth flows over a card table. A plastic-wrapped Tarot deck sits in the centre of the table. There’s a magic eight ball. A pot of tea and tiny cups. Spiritual music—a harp maybe — and some buzzing and tweeting sounds.

Tara unpacks her backpack. She dons the borrowed silk robe and tucks Scarlett’s cheat sheet in the pocket. “I’ve got my own gear, but whatever floats your boat.” “It’ll be more legit if it’s a new deck, if that’s okay with you. The last psychic had cards up her sleeve which made it awkward for all of us,” Sherry says. “You sure you didn’t hire a magician?” Tara tries to keep the sarcasm to a minimum as these ladies are much classier ladies than she expected. Sherry rolls her eyes and doesn’t acknowledge the remark. “No, her business card said clairvoyant and medium or something like that. What a scam. We paid for the real deal. You’ll be a breath of fresh air.” “You said ten minutes per reading. Six readings right? No video recordings. You can do audio. Twenty bucks each, cash up-front. I’ll need a break halfway through to use the bathroom and recover. The brain work takes a lot out of me.” It occurs to her that her teaching job would have been more palatable if she’d charged $20 for each parent interview. She could, in fact, read the parents’ minds in most cases. Their kid was destined for university and thus needed her full attention and the highest mark in the class. It was kindergarten for godsake.

“I’ll go first, Sherry says. Here’s a new deck of Tarot cards if you want to shuffle them.” Tara rolls up her sleeves, shuffles the deck, passes it to Sherry and sets her cell phone timer for ten minutes. “What you want to do,” Sherry says, “is to place them like this.” She shows Tara a photo on her cell phone screen of Tarot cards on a table that appears to be strikingly similar to the one before which they are sitting.

“That’s not how it works for me,” Tara says. “How then?” Sherry opens her mouth to speak again, but Tara shushes her with a finger to her lips.

“Just chill and listen up for a minute okay? The spirits won’t come through if we don’t do what works for me.”

If you want to use you ten minutes doing the in-service you are welcome to do so. “But before we start, I just need to mention that Jill’s mother died recently tragically and unexpectedly. If she comes through, don’t focus on the way she died but what a lovely woman she was, a good baker, devoted grandmother and that she is probably with her cat, Simon, etc. As far as Lydia goes…” Tara stops the timer. These tips are everything she needs. No charge. “Anything else?”

Maybe you can give me their pets’ names and favourite numbers so I can access their bank accounts too . “Diane died last year. She was a soprano. We’re all part of a Sweet Adelines’ barbershop choir. If she comes through I’m not sure if we’re ready to hear from her. Long story.”

Tara hands the deck to Sherry. “You do yours now,” she says.

Sherry puts three cards face down, one face up but upside down and then toys with another before placing it at the top of the table.

“I’d offer you a cup of tea but I see you have a Daiquiri.” “That’s for reading the tea leaves,” Sherry says. “But whatever floats your boat, as you say.” Tara surveys the condo furnishings and sees her chance. “I mentioned tea leaves are five dollars extra and past lives ten dollars extra, right?”

“You didn’t, but that’s fine. Money is no object. Don’t say something like there won’t be travel in the next year. I think we all know that. If you see a vacation in their future mention a location such as the topics and say that if they’re going alone there’ll be dancing, etc. We are all single except for Trish.” “Gotcha,” Tara says. “Now let’s start with me.  Do you see my mom?” “Your mom?

Oh yeah, I’ve gotta make some crap up now .“Hang on, there’s a big lady who’s been trying to get a word in. She’s a mother figure. An aunt if not a mother. She’s wearing heels and a pastel sweater…” “I meant do you see my mom coming on my vacation. That must be her sister, Ann who you see. We weren’t close after she hurt my feelings so I don’t know why she’s coming through. Maybe it’s an apology?” “Maybe. Wait! I see a man. Your ex-husband maybe? Name starts with a J or a G? Grey hair…balding. The waist of his pants are pulled up to his chest.”

Is that what the guy looked like on Facebook? “ Not mine. Sounds like Jo’s ex.” “Ah yes, that. happens sometimes. How’s about you send her in and I’ll call you back in at the end?” Sherry returns with a trembling Jo who bears a box of tissues, one already in use. One by one, each tipsier than the last, the women enjoy their readings. Tara hears laughter and squeals between readings as they share details of their readings with each other in the next room.

Tara comes up with the occasional past life as a small child in a remote village in China or India, describes exotic travel, riches, gentleman callers. They are thrilled with all of it.

As the night wears on, Tara boldly gets more specific and more accurate.

“Exactly,” Edna says. “You hit the nail on the head. He really was an arse. I went on a cruise with some girlfriends after I kicked him to the curb. And yes I won some cash on the slots. Incredible.” The last patron is in tears before she sits. This has gotta be Jill . She won’t mention her mother’s tragic death. Won’t mention her mother at all. She sticks to safe topics, the tropics, new love interests, taking up hobbies, and making a goal of getting more exercise this year. “Any word from my mom?” Jill asks.

Damn. “She loves you and misses you terribly.” Tara says. How could that hurt? Tara packs up after finishing with Sherry who pouts when the spirits move away soon after she sits down.

Tara drops the cheat sheet but retrieves it before Sherry can see it. “I told them in advance there would be six readings and so that was what was what they were prepared for, I’m afraid. You can have me back if y’all need to hear more and your reading will be free of charge.”

***************** Scarlett is waiting up when Tara arrives home. “I wish I’d been a fly on the wall,” she says after hearing the recap. “It sounds like it was hilarious.” “There were serious bits. One old gal really wanted to hear from her mother but the hostess cautioned me against giving any message from her. I just told her she loved her and that she was too shy to come forward tonight.” “Good thinking. It would thrill me to hear mom come through and say she loves and misses us.” “She did in her own unique way. Imagine if she had come through?” ***************** Tara’s niece wakes her too early in the morning. Tara puts a pillow over her face and pulls up her covers. “This psychic mind of mine needs to rest.”

“Yeah, but you need to see this, Auntie Tara. You’re blowing up on social media. A barbershop ladies choir is going wild about how accurate your readings were. People want to book parties.

Thank the maker they don’t know my full name. Sherry’s got my phone number though.

“There’s this lady who says it’s urgent.” Tara takes the phone from Raine and mumbles a sleepy hello.

Please be anyone but Jill . “It’s mom,” the voice says. “Can we meet up?” Tara hangs up abruptly then rethinks it.

What if I’ve lost the connection? A text follows.

How rude . One of her mother’s expressions. Tara texts back. Let’s meet. Time and place? Tomorrow at 4 pm at Anchor Park. Come alone and bring the pack. Tarot? No, smokes. You’re a little rusty with the readings and we can help. Forget the house parties and the teaching job. We’re gonna need a bigger venue. Don’t sell yourself short. Twenty bucks a reading is too low.

I can’t believe this. Is this for real? It’s all real. I was waiting to come through til you were ready.

Tell me something that only you know. The gold is in the……


Introducing Martha, the lady of the house. Martha had retired from her job as an events organizer when she was expecting. Now she was the mother of five year old twins, Beau and Celeste. Her sprogs were in their first year of primary school. One classic suburban night, Martha was still attending to her twins' whining needs at ten o'clock. She had got half her pyjamas on, before Beau and Celeste started their attention seeking competition. "Not one more drink of water!" she grumbled at her adorable offspring. "Yes, I know it is dark.Now go to sleep! There is no one knocking on your window. It is the wind!" Heading back to the fridge for wine o'clock, Martha found a notice from the school, a piece of paper, half under the refrigerator. One of her little treasures had forgotten to give it to her. "Oh no!" Martha groaned aloud. Stunned, she read, "Tomorrow is purple theme day." This called for very quick thinking. Purple theme day meant purple clothes and a purple-based lunchbox for each of her twins. Purple times two, in other words. Suburban disaster awaited Martha as she gazed at her pantry. It was the day before grocery shopping day. Grabbing her car keys at that late hour, she drove to the 24/7 store. There she found some purple juice in micro cartons, and the very last bunch of purple grapes. It was the final cluster of potential wine. But Martha had no time that night to be tired. She could still make purple iced cupcakes and purple jellies. It was show time in her kitchen. She still had not finished putting on her pyjamas. Martha's husband had gone to sleep in bed, his laptop in front of him. She rummaged to find a couple of older purple t-shirts, and one pair of purple socks. Dreadful, but this was necessary, so her twins would fit in to their peer group. Now to make cupcakes. Being  a good all round Mum, she had purple food coloring. Her oven was soon hot enough, Martha was on fire tonight! The dog was in the laundry, to prevent him eating her culinary creations, bit of a lad that one. Martha created two mini purple jellies, she was going to be a winner. "Mothering should not be a competition," she told herself. Finally, Martha collapsed into bed, setting her alarm discreetly. She had to arise early, to assemble all this purpleness, like the lunchboxes, and getting her twins to wear purple. Martha said a quick, silent prayer to Jesus, her best friend. What would Jesus say to her? "Keep smiling, keep praying." It was now past midnight, the household slumbered. Martha woke up at 5 am, had she slept in? No, it was going to be okay. Turning off her alarm, no time to dress up, this was purple day. The twins were grumpy this morning, as usual. Definitely not morning little people. Martha was still clad in her pyjama bottoms, with her old t-shirt on top. She did not realize she had a blob of purple icing in her slightly brushed hair. Celeste, at breakfast, was being her usual normal picky self, rejecting her usual array of cereal. "Very first world," Martha thought. But the twins were only five years old . Martha showed them their purple theme lunchboxes, all plated up. Beau made vomit noises, boys will be boys. Martha kept on smiling, as her bestie in Heaven kept advising her. "I'm not eating all that for lunch!" Celeste crossly told her mother. Then she tried to slurp all her milk from her breakfast bowl. Martha kept on keeping on. The twins were very slow in dressing in purple, reluctant learners this morning. Martha finally had them strapped into their car seats, off to their academy of Christian learning. Maybe she would get an "A" in tolerance. The twins slammed the car doors, as they headed into the classroom. Martha's phone pinged, a text. It was her husband. He was as cross as her kids. "This kitchen looks like a bomb hit it! There is purple goo all over our bed. The dog is still in the laundry, and I am late. Where's my coffee?" "Smile!" Martha told herself. She sat in her car and texted back a smile. "I'll take care of all that. Have a great day!" She sounded like a supermarket chick, but nice with it. Another flash car roared away from the school drop-off zone. "Run, women, run!" Martha thought, wondering how they got the time to hold down jobs, as well as manage the domestic side of life. Just then, there  was a rap on her car window. "Oh, no!" Martha tried to slink down in her seat. It was the school principal, Ms. Galleon, an impressively scary sight. "Can I have a word with you" Martha was trying to hide that she still had her pyjamas on. "Was she in detention from the fashion police? Or was it the religion committee?" she pondered. "I am hoping you can assist us," said Ms. Galleon, aptly named. "We need someone like you to head up our breakfast program before school. Everyone else is too busy. We have kids here who are malnourished, for different reasons. They have no breakfast, or decent meals, and are struggling to keep up with learning." Martha did a double take. Had her Lord sent her an opportunity? This job brought a salary, she could contribute financially to their household. Martha mumbled that she would let the principal know. Ms. Galleon actually smiled, and Martha made her trek home. She hopped in the shower, took the dog for a walk on a sunny morning. Then she sparkled her kitchen, removing all traces of purple. All the while, Martha was considering this job offer. No reason she could not do it, feeding kids was her special subject. The income would come in handy, with all their expenses. She texted her husband, sending a photo of their gleaming house. He phoned her, so she told him told him about her job offer. It would mean they would all have to wake up earlier, she could take the twins. They could meet some other children, some of the have-nots. Martha would have to source foods for school breakfast, but their community had a food bank. Her husband make kissy noises,as he was over his grumpy. He volunteered to walk the dog in the mornings, when Martha started her job. They were really a good team, with their twins' best interests at heart. So Martha was no longer retired. She joined the team at the primary school, a team of Christians. She welcomed the change in their routine in a positive manner. She had kept on smiling, now there was peace with her daily doves. (She fed the birds in her back yard too.) No one was going hungry, not on Martha's turf. "A wise woman builds," she told herself, she was building a future for lots of kids. "Have a great day!"


A bright, white light fills my vision. I wince, gritting my teeth as the shine fades and I focus on what’s happening. But as my vision clears, all I still see is white — a thick, white blanket of snow, stretching in every possible direction.

I don’t understand. What happened? I don’t even remember how I got here… I had a couple beers but definitely not enough to end up alone in a big, open field. I look up to find a pale night sky with a few glittering stars above me. Yeah. Something crazy must’ve happened. I clamor up to my feet, stretching out my arms to balance. I might be hungover and there’s too much stupid snow everywhere. I don’t wanna fall. But as I start walking forward into the snowy wasteland, I don’t feel unsteady. I still look down at my feet, just to be sure. I freeze. I’m walking. I know I am, I can see it. Left foot, followed by the right. But no matter how many steps I take, how far I walk, or even how hard I try to ram my feet into the snow, nothing changes. The fresh snow beneath me looks untouched.

I’m not leaving any footprints behind. Okay, now I really don’t understand. I must’ve been really drunk or high or something. This can’t be happening. But my head feels clear and I don’t feel like I’m gonna puke. No, no, no… What’s happening? Why the hell can’t I remember anything? I plop down into the snow to sit. But my body doesn’t sink in. I don’t even feel the wet or the cold of it. It’s like the snow isn’t really there, like it’s not real. I rub my temples and try to remember.

Oh. It was Padma’s birthday. We rented a cabin nearby to go skiing. I hop to my feet and hurry in a random direction. I think the cabins were this way. I need to find the others. If I can talk to them, they’ll know what’s happening. I think. I don’t know. I just can’t be alone out here right now.   “Can you just pretend you wanna be here?” I remember Padma saying to me earlier. “Come on, Pia. Don’t be like this.” I was sitting on the fluffy red couch across from the cabin door, where Padma was standing. I felt like I was putting distance between us, making some kind of statement. Thinking about it now, I probably looked more like a child than a 23 year old adult.

“I’m not into the snow,” I grumbled. “Just go on without me. I’ll catch up later.” “Pia, sometimes I wonder why you even come out with us,” said Ana. She was Padma’s favorite friend. And for me… she was my least favorite acquaintance, to put it kindly.

“Because Padma is my sister,” I answered shortly.

“How touching.” “Please, can we go now?” Padma whined, looking between me and Ana. “Pia, you spent the money to come here. You might as well join us.” I groaned, nearly stomping my feet as I followed Padma and Ana out into the snow. The wind was biting, nipping at the exposed skin on my face. I shuddered, my teeth clattering in an incessant rhythm that gave me a headache. I strapped on my skis and fell as soon as I tried to balance myself. Ana laughed so loud, her voice echoed across the cliffside. I wanted to kill her. But Padma helped me up and dragged me along. I didn’t understand how that could be fun for anyone.

As I hurry off, I think of how cold I was just a few hours ago. It’s night now, and I see the strong winds blowing plumes of snow past me. They gust into my face but I don’t feel the cool dampness. The wind rages all around but I don’t feel it on my skin. I can’t. I can see the snow. I can hear the wind. But I can’t touch or smell or taste it. Am I hallucinating?

On the distant horizon, I see the dark outline of houses. I can’t be that far from the cabins. I try to run for it, but soon find myself rolling down a dip into a ravine I didn’t see. I hit the snow at the bottom on the canyon but still, I don’t even sink in. My eyes screw shut and I grit my teeth, waiting for the immense pain to wash over me. I fell at least 25 feet straight down. But… The pain doesn’t come. Now I really don’t understand. I jump back to my feet, completely unphased, and hurry onward. A massive hill towers over me. I start to hike up it with ease. I knew I was in shape but this seems… very easy. But the elevation here is incredibly uneven, and it’s dangerous. As I think this, I remember.

“Don’t be such a baby,” I groaned. “We used to go sledding all the time as kids.” “Not on mountainsides!” Padma squealed. “It’s dangerous!” “And not to mention, we’re not supposed to be on the hills at night,” Ana added in her usual snooty, annoying tone.

I snorted. I sipped my wine, the tart flavor filling my mouth and the familiar burn tickling my throat. I think I was on my second glass at that point. Or… Was it my third?

I put down the glass of wine and sauntered over to my younger sister. My thick snow boots clattered against the hardwood as I walked, echoing through the dense silence between us. I wondered if I was pushing her too far. No, I didn’t wanna come this weekend. No, I wanted to be home in the city, spending my Saturday drinking wine in a lounge, not in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. No, I was not having fun. But I knew that telling Padma to go sledding out in the mountains with me would stress her out. At least she could feel some of what I was feeling. “You’re 21 now,” I said with a little scoff. Padma frowned. “The least you can do is act like an adult, not like a baby.” “Stop it,” Ana growled. “You’re ruining this weekend. This isn’t about you!” “No,” Padma interrupted. She didn’t look at me or Ana, just at her fluffy boots and the floor. “Pia’s right. Besides, this is my big birthday bash. Would… would it really be a party if we didn’t do something crazy?” Padma smiled shakily. I remember being in shock. I didn’t think she would actually agree to go out there, after midnight, when we had been drinking. I couldn’t even think straight. I just wanted to rile her up a little. I peered over her shoulder through the single cabin window. A layer of frost coated the glass and through that hazy layer, I could see thick white snowflakes falling. The wind howled outside, practically shaking the tiny wood cabin as it roared. I didn’t understand why Padma would even wanna do this. “Let’s go!” she exclaimed.

She slipped on her jacket and threw open the front door, a barrage of snow rushing inside. I yelled for her to stop and that I didn’t mean it. But Padma, pushed by me and too much merlot, was already outside. Ana shot me a glare and hissed. “You better hope she doesn’t get hurt.” Still rushing through the cold winter air toward the cabins, I scowl. How could Ana think I wanted something bad to happen to Padma? I was tipsy. I was messing around. I didn’t want anything to happen. I stop running. I look down at my feet, still resting atop the snow and never sinking in. But what if something bad did happen? What if everything went wrong, and my brain

can’t process it right now? What if… What if something happened to Padma? I dash forward, the dark outlines of the cabins bigger now, but still too far away. I smack my temples hard, but the pain doesn’t hit me. Come on Pia… You need to remember what happened next. I keep running and the silhouettes in the distance blur. For a second, I think it’s snowing. Then I realize that I’m crying.

I… I don’t remember the last time I cried. I know we went outside after Padma left. A blizzard was brewing, the wind whipping into us and thick snowfall making it hard to see. Ana and I called after Padma but she was too fast. She was already at the car, pulling the sled out of the trunk. It plopped out, snow kicking up into the stormy air, and Padma began pulling it by the string. I remember being cold, trying to push myself deeper into my thick jacket somehow. It didn’t help. I think… Ana ran ahead and tried to stop Padma. But she was too stubborn now, not listening to either of us and bounding toward the ravine. Dammit, why can’t I remember her voice anymore? Why is everything so hazy? I look down at my feet. Still no footprints. Have I lost it? Have I lost Padma? I clutch my stomach as I run, wondering if I’ll puke. My eyes can’t focus anymore and I can’t think straight. What happened? What did I do? How do I fix it? Why why why… “Pia!”

I stop. That’s Padma’s voice. Am I remembering it? I don’t understand. Why now?

“Pia, no!” I hear it again. Her voice echoes through the air and I know it’s not a memory. Padma’s calling for me.

I reach the cabins, following the direction of Padma’s voice. I ran for so long, yet I’m not out of breath. It must be the adrenaline. I hurry toward our cabin, the last one in the second row. As I get closer, I tense up. I see Padma, draped over the hood of Ana’s car staring blankly at her hands. Next to her on the snow-covered ground is the sled, just sitting there.

“Oh thank god!” I laugh, running up to her. “You have no idea how worried I was! I woke up in the damn ravine, Padma. Did you leave me there? How could you even come out in a blizzard? Do you have any idea how irresponsible that was?” Padma doesn’t reply. I know she’s out of it and probably hungover, but it isn’t like her to ignore me. Wait… Is she mad at me ? “Padma, come on,” I moan. “The silent treatment? Okay, I shouldn’t have made you so upset. Sorry. But you were reckless, and I’m not apologizing for that.” Silence.

“Don’t ignore me. That’s disrespectful. Hey, are you even listening?!” Nothing.

I don’t understand why I’m getting this treatment. It must’ve been stupid Ana, telling my stupid sister not to talk to me anymore. I growl and look around for Ana. The cabin door is open and I see her inside, sitting with a man in a dark uniform. What? Who’s that? I ask Padma but she doesn’t respond. I try to step closer to the cabin but I can’t will my legs to move.  Then it hits me like an avalanche. The memories. “Padma, stop,” I yelled. “If something happens to you, mom will kill me!” “God, all you think about is yourself,” Ana hissed at me. It’s blurry but… I recall us getting closer to the ravine. “You always make everything about you! You made every effort to make today suck for us, and now, it’s your fault we’re out here.” “My fault? I didn’t tell the birthday girl to go out here!” “Yes, you did! You’re so oblivious to how horrible you really are!” “Um, guys,” Padma called out from in front of us. “I don’t know if this is a good idea anymore.” She stood at the top of the cliff, looking down the steep drop at the rocks and snow beneath her. Man, I was tired of snow. I was tired of chasing after Padma. And I was really sick and tired of this damn trip. I stormed toward Padma, fists clenched at my sides. It was hard to see her through the thick snowfall and it was hard to see the cliffside or the ravine. Ana reached out to grab me but I shook her off. I was so over everything at that point. Now Padma was too scared?

“You don’t think this is a good idea?” I snarled at my little sister. “Really? Aren’t you a genius.” “Pia, please, I… I-I’m sorry!”

“You could’ve gotten us killed!”

“I didn’t mean to! And you’re the one who wanted to come out here!” “Ladies, can we please head back?” Ana interrupted. Through the blizzard, I just made out her face. She looked nervous. I remember thinking that she had never made that face before, and I didn’t understand why. “Don’t blame me for your choices,” I snapped back. “And don’t talk to me like that.” “But you always talk to me like that! Please, for once, just stop!” “No, Padma! You forced me to come out here to this damned mountain, and now you’ve forced me out of the warm cabin. What’s next?” “Please, just stop!” “Pia, I think you should come here,” Ana said hastily, reaching for me. She tried to grab me but slipped and fell into the thick snow. I turned back to my sister. Through the wind and the snow, I could see her dark eyes. They were wide, wild almost. I knew then that I had pushed her too far. I knew I had to stop. And yet… I didn’t. I never did. “Everyone keeps telling me I’m selfish, but I don’t think so. I think you’re the selfish one, Padma! It’s you! It’s always you!” “I said stop!” I felt her hands on my shoulders. For a split second, I thought she was grabbing me. But then, I was weightless and all I saw was the gray sky overhead, the wind thrashing the snow across the air. Was I… falling? I wasn’t sure then. All I knew were Padma’s hands, then the sky, and then… white. I blink. I turn back to Padma, still staring at her hands with eyes that were still wide, still wild. I wanna ask her, but then I understand that she won’t answer me. She can’t.

“...and then she fell down the cliff,” I hear Ana tell the uniformed man inside the cabin. Ana’s voice is quivering. To him, she probably sounds sad. But not to me. No, she sounds scared. “It was an accident.” An accident… I reach out to Padma, my fingertips grazing her arm. But she doesn’t respond. I understand that she doesn’t feel it, and that I can’t either. I look back toward the ravine, watching as the wind whips the snow in front of me into the air. I wanna rip off my jacket, not bundle into it, so I feel the wind on my skin. I wanna feel it through my hair. I understand that I can’t though, not anymore. Why… Why could I never stop? A loud wail leaves Padma, a shudder rippling through her body as she shakes and falls into the snow sobbing. Ana runs out to her as the man stares, a sad look on his face. I can’t watch this. I turn away from them, walking back to the ravine. Where else could I go? As I walk, I watch my footsteps on the ground. Left foot, followed by the right. They don’t leave footprints behind me. They leave nothing behind me.

And finally, I understand.


Amy awoke feeling exhausted from her terrifying dream.

She had been trapped in this cycle of fighting with her best friend, Lilith, over and over.

She felt relieved that it was just a dream or at least she hoped it was.

She remembered that it was Lilith's birthday as she ran down stairs and grabbed the forest fluffy pancakes her mom made.

She darted upstairs and got ready, rushing out the door, late for school and needing a gift for Lilith.

“Papers! Come and get your papers!” yelled the newspaper boy.

Amy rushed and grabbed onto the paper, nearly knocking the boy over.

She felt so bad, but just couldn't stop.

She had to get to school.

She read the paper, hoping it would have a gift idea in it, but nothing.

“Oh no! Now what?”

Amy ran into the school and barged into the class.

The teacher scolded Amy, but she had no excuse this time so she sat down and looked at her friend with frantic eyes. Lilith looked back, then Amy gazed at her book hoping that something would come to mind.

Some idea of what to give to Lilith for her birthday.

When the bell rang, Amy paced over to Lilith and told her that she didn't get her a gift yet and Lilith began to turn bright red.

She was mad and stomped off.

 Amy thought that was selfish of Lilith to have done.

Then Amy began to cry and slowly she came to be mad.

 “How rude of Lilith to get so mad at me for not having a birthday present right this second!”

she mumbled.

Just then Amy felt a weird feeling deep in her gut.

It was a feeling that said that she needed to get back at Lilith for being so selfish.

Her gut was telling her to get back at her. Amy soon calmed down a bit, and snapped back to the zone, quickly ran to her next class.

Amy’s brain couldn’t stop being angry at Lilith.

She started to think of a plan, even though she didn't know if she wanted to continue with her idea.

An idea came to Amy's mind on how she would get back at her selfish friend.

She remembered that there was going to be a surprise party tomorrow night for Lilith’s birthday.

Just then she knew what she had to do.

SHE was going to ruin Lilith’s party and get her back for being so selfish.

Amy had stayed up all night planning and she had felt so energetic but burnt out at the same time.

She dropped onto her floor and fell fast asleep, drifting away to soft fluffy clouds and sheep jumping around.

She came back awake 2 hours later and ran to school, not even fully ready! Her friend gave her even worse of a glare than she had expected.

Amy sat alone at lunch and planned out how she was going to do it.

She placed the paper in her bag and finished the school day feeling ready.

When Amy got home, her mom stopped her and said, “Hunny, can I wash your bag? It is just growing dirt on it!”

Amy told her mom that she could wash it, ran upstairs, and rushed to sleep.

When she woke up she noticed the time and realized it was time to begin getting her revenge.

She looked around for her plan and remembered that she left it in her bag.

Just then her mom knocked on the door yelling her name.

She opened the door and asked, ”Hi sweetheart can I talk to you?” Amy's mom told her to sit down and she began to say, “I saw your plan.

Why would you do something like that to your best friend? I think we both know that's not what you want.” She was right. Amy had to tell her mom what happened.

After she talked with her mom, her mom gave her the

look that said, “It's going to be ok!”

causing Amy to start crying.

Her mom hugged her like she was saving her from falling.

Amy's eyes began flooding with tears again.

Her mom gave Amy a soft kiss on my forehead and walked out of the room.

Amy layed back down and began to think to herself that she didn't want to do this. She needed some time to think about everything but then her body just began to move, like she wasn’t in control anymore.

She ran to Lilith’s house and set up her plan to pour food coloring on Lilith’s head when she walked in.

Time flies by and next thing Amy knew it was time for the guests to come.

She sat down behind the couch thinking to herself about how she didn't want to do this to her best friend.

But then, the door opens and everyone shouts, “SURPRISE!” Her first prank was to cover Lilith with food coloring when she walked in the door.

She sprinted under the prank and set it off. Amy got covered in food coloring!

The next prank was to make Lilith slip in oil. Amy ran to the oil and blocked off the area.

Lilith ran upstairs crying. Amy followed her,

knocked on the door, and then opened it slowly.

It creaked and Amy said, “Are you ok?”

Lilith says that she is fine and that she asked if Amy did all of that.

Amy told her that it was going to be a prank because she got mad when she didn’t have enough time to get her gift.

Lilith stands up and opens her arms for a hug. Amy ran over to her and said, ”I'm sorry, I just have been having a really bad day and I got overwhelmed with everything going on.” Lilith told Amy that it's ok that most people have bad days and have to let it out somehow.

We both had tears running down our faces as we hugged and cried for a few minutes.

We got ourselves together and went downstairs to the party like nothing ever happened.

We stayed up all night watching movies and laughing about war and happened.

We both stayed best friends and grew up laughing about it for the rest of our years together, and of course dreaming about sheep and clouds jumping around together.


The stone wall was covered in moss. The entire backyard had an abandoned farm house look about it. In the middle of the yard there were two white wooden chairs, or rather they would have been white had it not been for a giant iridescent umbrella catching sun rays and painting the chairs pink and gold and teal depending on which way Celestine looked at them. Celestine hadn’t been home since they’d left twenty years, three months and fours days ago. Then they’d gone by another name, a gender assigned to them by their parents and a pronoun that didn’t quite fit. That was a clunkier time in their memory. When they’d arrived back in their small town, Celestine was surprised by how easily they fit again. Their small town was a haven of artists, and wonderfolk and self-proclaimed weirdos and it felt good to be back among a colony of outsiders. It was strange though to feel like an outsider amongst outsiders. Celestine’s parents had prepared the denizens of the town for their arrival by practicing their new name and pronouns at every opportunity. Celestine felt grateful to have the sort of parents that had always accepted corrections, and the re-envisioning of the child they had raised. Celestine’s parents had also come to realize later their very own gender divergence after many phone conversations and well-crafted emails. It was a wonderful thing to feel seen and accepted in a world where that was often not the case. Celestine remembered crying tears of joy for an entire day when their parents had come out to them with their new names and genders and pronouns. Celestine’s parents were currently out at the town’s monthly tea party, and Celestine was a little melancholy thinking about the delightful tiny foods they were missing, but they had a feeling what was to follow would be worth it. The umbrella beckoned to them, its sparkle a soothing magic for their heart. Under it hung a lone hummingbird feeder, filled with a clear sugar syrup that their parents put out regularly to draw the tiny birds that were more faerie than fowl. Celestine sat on one of the chairs, the shimmering light dappling their skin with a myriad of colours. They breathed in the familiar scents of the lilac bush with its forty-two flowers spaced just so. Celestine had counted them as they waited for their friend to arrive. The number forty-two calmed them. Whenever they encountered a 42 in the world they felt like something magical was about to happen. It was a beautiful trick their brain had developed to push aside the onslaught of absurd anxieties that plagued them regularly. Would there be enough lemons at the grocery store? Would they have to answer a phone call from a stranger? Would their mother text them that yet another distant relative had died leaving them with the feeling that they were supposed to be sad, knowing it was difficult to summon sadness for a person they did not really know. The chimes rang, pushed by the wind, and Celestine looked, wondering if maybe their friend had arrived. The doorway was empty. Celestine counted the lilacs again, and breathed deep. Their friend was supposed to have arrived ten minutes ago, but they didn’t mind waiting. They used to find it irritating, waiting, but one day they realized that the irritation itself was an annoyance and that people often arrived exactly when they were supposed to. They sat so incredibly still that a hummingbird arrived, ruby-throated and sparkling, under the umbrella to feed at the feeder, and Celestine was at once entranced. The small whirring of tiny wings was akin to a symphony to their tender ears. The chimes rang again and the small faerie bird zipped away. Celestine felt a momentary sadness at its absence. ”Celestine?” A uncertain voice came from the back doorway to the house. Celestine turned, and there they were. A tall thin, pink-bespectacled, rumple-haired shape. The newcomer to the backyard wore a long black shift, and bizarre leggings covered in cartoonish illustrations of crimson cherries, violent elephants and turquoise jack o lanterns. A spectacle of dazzle camouflage. Celestine froze. They had not seen their friend since the both of them had worn awkwardly forced gender presentations like costumes. Celestine stood up too quickly causing pinpricks of bright light to dance about the periphery of their vision. ”Hex?” Celestine’s voice came out in more of a whisper than they expected. The last time the two of them had met, they were both 18 years old and standing under this very umbrella, they had pressed their mouths together after a very long conversation about magical childhood memories of chimeric significance. That had been followed by a deep sort of staring into each other’s eyes, the kind where you feel as if you’ve been called into each other’s thoughts. Celestine nearly stumbled at the clear memory of that moment. That had been the same day the both of them had left that small town. Hex walked over to them, and Celestine went over all the missives the two of them had sent back and forth over the past twenty years. They had never stopped writing to each other. Celestine had never met anyone equal in conversational skills to the person who now stood before them, their eyes still the bright clear orbs of wonder Celestine remembered. They stared at each other, deeply, and so still were they two that the hummingbird felt safe to return, and Celestine and Hex breathed out a simultaneous sigh of relief, that their love spun of twenty years of letters, and phone calls, and odd packages full of discoveries was stronger than even before. They both stepped towards one another, that deep stare unbroken, and once again pressed their mouths together much to the dismay of one hummingbird who zipped away while the wind jingled the chimes, and the moss grew ever since slowly of the stone wall, and the forty-two lilac blooms looked on with ancient approval.


187.5 kHz. A storm is coming, so the shipping forecast tells me. A big one, in from the Atlantic. The three-hundred-and-first step is missing. Or anyway, the centre of the board is. Every other step – all three hundred and forty-one of them – are worn and bowed, but completely intact. It was like that when I took this position eleven years ago Mother . My mother came to see me. Not really my mother. I’m not a madman. I last saw her in a bombed-out church in France. I was lying next to my old schoolfriend Albert. We’d taken cover in the church, and it got hit. Albert took the worst of it. Half his face was gone. “You all right, love?” my mother said. She was there at the end of the pew. She had on her maroon coat with the fur collar. “I was trying to look after him, Mum.” I was weeping. “What will his mum say?” “Oh, she’ll just get on with it. You know Dot.” “Will I be all right? Am I going to die too?” “You will if you stay here.You need to go back where you came from.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “You’re not really me mum at all, are you?” “I know what’s best for you, love.” The Victorian engineer . This lighthouse is unique – the rock it’s built on has a hole in the middle and water spouts out of it with tremendous force. The engineer realised that you could harness that force, like in a water mill, to rotate the lens at the top of the tower. Very clever. Every room has a broad column in the middle, which is the bore for the driveshaft that rotates the lens. In every room, the thump of each wave resounds like a pulse in your ear. I don’t hear it anymore because it’s there all the time. The Alarm. My memory’s not been the same since the war. I forget things. Maybe I just don’t want to remember. People. Places. Dawn duty. Memories I can manage without. I forget everyday things too. Where I put my reading glasses. Whether I’ve had dinner. What year it is. When the alarm clock goes off, it’s time to light the wick. I have to look at the book for the time. It’s November, so each evening lighting time is a little earlier. Alcohol is forbidden in all the Authority’s lighthouses. You can see why. An inebriated lighthouse keeper would be a very dangerous proposition. I pass my evenings reading, and smoking cigarettes. Sometimes I allow myself a little laudanum to help me sleep - but never before lighting up. I only take it to be sure I sleep. I don’t like to see the dawn. The three-hundred-and-first step is missing. Did I write that already? I think I did. Oh - I had a dream of some of the keepers who’ve been here before me. I must write that down, Sixteen . All storms are different, like people. I give them names. There was a big one last year that was just like my sister Judy – loud, unpredictable and playful. She roared around, rattling the windows. She blew out a pane in the lantern room. That’s my big sister. Judy died of the influenza in 1908. She was twenty. I was fourteen. Stan was twelve. Judy had looked after the two of us since Dad died. He’d had the cough, like Mum. I was standing with Stan at the graveside. I looked towards the road and there was Mum, beckoning me over. “You alright, Jim, love?” She had her tight-lipped, get-things-done expression on. I thought she was my mum. I didn’t cotton on that she wasn’t really. I wouldn’t till France. “Judy’s gone now,” I said, my voice shaking. She frowned. “Now don’t you cry, James Atley. Not today. You need to put your face right.” “What are we going to do, me and Stan?” “There’s a man who’ll come to see you at home. He’ll come tonight.” “At home?” “Listen, Jim. You tell him you’re sixteen. Just swear till you’re blue in the face that you’re sixteen. What year would you’uv been born, to be sixteen?” “Eighteen..er…” “Quicker than that! 1892. Say it!” “1892.” “If you don’t say that, they’ll take you and Stan to St Botolph’s. It’s a dreadful place.” “But…” “The man doesn’t want to have to arrange all that. Just say sixteen and mean it, and he’ll decide to believe you. Then you and Stan can stay at home. Get lodgers for upstairs and ask Mr Peavey for a job at the yards. What year was you born in?” “1892.” “Good boy. I can’t have you going to St Botolph’s.” 342 . From the door at the bottom to the lantern at the top it’s three hundred and forty-two steps. From the galley to the lantern, it’s two hundred and ninety-eight steps. From the pantry, two hundred and fifty-two. Then there’s the main room, then my bedroom, then the workshop, then the lantern itself. I can climb those stairs with my eyes shut. You have to be able to, in case there’s no light – if you run out of candles, say, or one blows out when you’re up top. You’ve still got to light the the lantern. So I practice going up and down with my eyes shut. The three-hundred-and-first stair is missing. If you start from the galley, the missing stair is the two-hundred-and-fifty-seventh. From the pantry, it’s the two-hundred-and-fifth. From the top, coming down, it’s the forty-first. The brides . I had a dream of the keepers who’ve been here before me. I came down to the main room, and there were five or six fellows in there, each with a young bride. All in white the ladies were, veils lifted, holding their posies. And the men were done up smart – hair oiled back, pressed suits and white shirts. There was a newly-wed couple in the north window-seat, and two more couples at the table. There was another couple in the south window. All of them canoodling in their pairs, smiling and touching each other’s cheeks. I went up to the bedroom and there was a chap and his bride in my bed – and they weren’t sleeping. I was about to tell them to get out of my room, but my mother was there and she told me to shush. “These girls are all my daughters,” she said. “They’ll look after you boys.” Habits . We had an outside privy at home, in Chatham. Too bloody cold to go out there in the night. I did it out the window of me and Stan and Judy’s bedroom. I was the only one that would. I didn’t care. “You’re a filthy ossity, James Atley,” my mother would say. “I don’t know how you’re ever going to get a wife, with habits like that.” She was right. Nine years after Mum died I proposed to Emmie Hazelhurst, and she turned me down. A couple of years later she married my brother Stan. Me, I joined the army, first day they asked. When Albert was dying with his half his face off, I talked to him about going home. I said we were both going back to England and I would marry Emmie, and he’d be my best man - which was nonsense because Emmie had a little ‘un by then, and Stan was a young copper at St Mary Hoo. They had an Elizabethan cottage. Very lovely. I’ve never been there. The boat . The supply boat will come in a day or two, with enough food to get me through till spring. I need to be careful with the food I’ve got left. I’ve been using it too fast and I barely have provisions to last. Or candles. I only have half a candle left. The supply boat captain brings my tincture and my tobacco. Alcohol is forbidden in the lighthouse, but there’s no rule against laudanum. It’s just to help me sleep. I was heating up some soup when the alarm went off. I climbed up to the lantern with my eyes closed, to practice, because I have only half a candle left. Going from the galley, the missing step is the two-hundred-and-fifty-seventh. Coming down, it’s the forty-first. The wind was getting up. White foam was dancing on the black rocks below, dancing right to the door. There was a ship two or three miles out, rolling and dipping - heading for port. She’ll be all right. The storm won’t be here before this time tomorrow, maybe earlier. I opened the door out to the walkway, to answer the call. It’s too far to trek all the way to the bottom just to have a wee. I put the door on the hook. “How do, Jim,” my mother said. I was startled. I did myself up and turned, and there she was, standing in the door. “Hello, Mum.” I knew she wasn’t my mum. She wasn’t my mum in France, nor at Judy’s funeral. “You’re not looking after yourself, Jim,” she said. “You’re not acting civilised - doing your business off the balcony here. Shameful! And look at the state of your clothes. Is that gravy down your shirt?” “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “There’s no one here.” “Like an animal, Jim. Like a dirty beast rather than a man.” “Mum,” I said, “men can do things much more beastly than get beef gravy down their shirt, believe me. I’ve seen it.” “You need to be looked after, like all the other boys. I’ll arrange for you to meet my youngest, Emmie. She’ll be here tomorrow.” I went to bed early. I had some tincture in warm water, because I had to get to sleep. The storm’s coming, and I may have to light the wick during the day. I need my wits about me. The thump of the seawater in the bore was louder than usual. It was thumping in my head. I couldn’t read a book because I daren’t use even an hour of the last candle. I felt in the drawer in the dark and took a little swig of tincture straight from the bottle, to help me sleep. The shakes . I’ve got the shakes a bit this morning. I dropped the tea caddy when I was making tea. The whole lighthouse seemed to be bending in the wind like an oak. The waves were crashing up as high as the pantry windows. It was barely even the start of the storm. It was just the barrage that comes before the order to advance. At noon the thunder and lightning started. The explosions of thunder and the flashes of lightning get me all confused. I had to calm myself down. I had a little sip of my tincture. I went up to the lantern. There was still enough light to see by, and I didn’t close my eyes climbing up. I wasn’t sure I’d keep count properly. The sky was black to the north and coming towards me. Soon it would be dark, though it was only early afternoon. I lit the wick. I engaged the rotation lever, and the lens began to move, driven by the shaft that’s powered by the waves down below. The lens circled the lantern and sent the sweeping beam out over the sea. As I turned to go back down, there was a bright flash that lit up the lantern chamber and a bang so loud I felt it in my chest. I threw myself down flat like we used to in France. I didn’t mean to - I just did it. Threw myself flat on the wooden boards. You hold your breath a few seconds, waiting to see if anything hurts. If you seem to be all right, you look around, keeping your head low, to see who’s still with you. When I turned that day in the church, I saw Albert beside me, our shoulders touching, and half his face was gone. In the lantern chamber, I realised I was crying. I wanted my mum, just like I had in the church in France. The thunder and lightning crashed and flashed again and again, over and over. I knew it wasn’t artillery. I’m not a madman. But I just couldn’t stand up. I had my bottle of tincture in my trouser pocket so I took a good sip or two of that, to calm myself. It was hours before the barrage of the thunderstorm ceased and was replaced by the battery of wind and rain. When I woke up, I couldn’t see anything but water outside the windows, lit by the lantern, and I thought that I was upside-down in the sea. I felt wet too. I had pissed myself. I don’t know what my mother would have said about that. I had to get downstairs. I swigged from my little bottle of tincture, to calm myself. I had to tip it right up. I shook it beside my ear and held it to the light of the lantern. There were only a few drops left. I was sure it was nearly full this morning, but perhaps not. I forget things. I have another one in the main room. I got to my feet and looked down the spiral stairs. The lighthouse lantern lit the first few steps and even some more past the point that they curved out of sight. But beyond that, there was only the light from the tiny window, and it was pitch-black outside. Many, many times I’d gone down the stairs with my eyes closed, or in the dark. The missing step was the forty-first from the top. Yes, forty-first. Was that right? I forget things. No - it’s right. Forty-first. It was difficult though. I was confused, and the wind and rain were loud. And I could hear the thump of the waves in the bore, as if it was in my head. I got to twenty-four, just about where the light from the lantern couldn’t reach, and I looked down into the blackness and I wasn’t sure I’d counted right. I thought it would be best to start again. I didn’t want to go back up, in case there was thunder and lightning again. But I was nervous about going down because I wasn’t sure about my counting. I was confused. I turned and went back up. I started down again, watching my feet. One, two, three, four, five. Once I caught a fish alive. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Then I let it go again. What comes after that? Something about toes. I stopped again at the edge of the dark. I was on twenty-three. But last time I thought the edge of the dark was twenty-four. Perhaps I was right that time. I decided to do it again and believe whichever happened. Yes, I’d go back up and do it again. But the thumping in the bore was a drum, loud and muffled, like at a dawn execution. And I could still hear the barrage of thunder and lightning – far away now, behind me, miles behind me, behind me along with all the blood and the noise and screaming boys caught on the wire, crying for their mums. All of that behind me, where I left Albert dead in the church with half his face gone. I didn’t want to end up like Albert. I was going back to where I came from. I didn’t care. I looked into the blackness down the stairs and I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to do it again. Not this time. I wasn’t going to turn this time and go back where I’d come from. I was just going to walk forward. Even though I was scared, I was just going to walk into the blackness and the noise with my eyes open. I took a step. And another. I wasn’t counting. Emmie came in the night . I was propped up in the north window-seat, clasping my last bottle of tincture. The tincture keeps me calm and helps with the pain in my chest and with my leg, as long as I don’t look at it. I don’t know how long I was staring out into the rain, trying not to look at the bone sticking out of my leg. But the darkness was just starting to weaken when I saw her down there, in her white wedding gown dancing on the black rocks below, dancing right to the door. She looked up and waved to me, and then she was here with me, sitting in the window seat. I lifted her veil. She was beautiful and pale like the sky after a storm. “She sent me for you,” she said. “My mother, I mean.” I coughed and blood came out. “I’ve done something to my chest,” I said. “I fell. So many of us fell.” “I’ll look after you,” Emmie said. “But I have things to do. I’ll be back later.” It’s past noon now. There’s blood all down my shirt. I don’t know what my mother would say. I can see the supply ship, a long way out – they’re an hour away or more. They’re going to have a wasted journey, because by the time they get here, I’ll be gone. Emmie’s down there, dancing on the black rocks in her white wedding dress. She waves up at me. She goes to the door. “You won’t be needing that anymore, Jim,” my mum says. She takes the tincture bottle from my hand. “My Emmie will look after you.” “I knew you weren’t my mum,” I say, “I’m not a madman.” “I’ve always known what’s best for you.” “She went long ago – before Dad and Judy. And long before France. You weren’t my mum.” She smiles. “Well, let’s not argue about it,” she says. “I am now.”


“Where’s the last box?” “I… I already thew it away.” Kelsey squinted at me. “Nyla, where’s the last box.” I opened my mouth, ready to lie again, then sighed. “It’s under my bed.” Lying wouldn’t get us anywhere but back to the beginning. “I’ll go get it.” Kelsey disappeared around the corner, and I slumped onto the couch. The last box, I thought. The last box of Oliver’s things. I forced a fresh wave of tears down as I reminded myself that this was not a form of erasing him, but instead a physical display of moving on. I was giving myself a chance to start fresh, starting with removing my dead boyfriend’s things from my apartment. I glanced at the photo on the table beside the couch, the only picture of him I’d decided to keep. In it, he was smiling at me as I screamed at the top of my lungs, terrified of the roller coaster we were riding. His auburn hair was wild in the wind, while my black frizz of hair seemed to barely move. I wiped a rogue tear from my cheek and turned to see Kelsey standing over me. She held the last cardboard box — marked “misc.” — in her hands and stared down at me with the saddest expression I’d ever seen her wear. “Ready?” she asked, balancing the box on her hip and lending her other hand to me. I nodded and took her hand. “Ready.” Together, we took the stairs down to the first floor of my apartment building, then stepped through the door, out of the lobby. We were immediately assaulted with the typical noises of Manhattan: car horns and angry people and happy people, going on as if my life hadn’t just been shattered into a thousand pieces. We slipped into an alleyway with a Dumpster, where we’d disposed of the previous boxes, one by one. Kelsey and I stopped in front of the large green bin and did nothing but stare at it for a few moments. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Kelsey asked for the tenth time in the past hour. I nodded weakly, eyeing the box in her hands. “Do I really have a choice?” “Of course, Nyla. You shouldn’t do this until you’re absolutely ready.” “But it’s been five months,” I sighed. “Five months since brain cancer took Oliver away from me. Five months of staring at his stuff, hoping there was somehow still a part of him — or his essence — lingering in his things. I just… I can’t do it anymore,” I sobbed, my voice quivering. I looked up at my best friend, forcing a small smile. “Besides, if I don’t do this now, I don’t think I ever will.” Kelsey handed the final box to me. “I understand. Or, well, I don’t — I can’t — but I understand what you’re saying.” She nodded at the box in my hand. “Whenever you’re ready.” I took a deep breath and raised the box above the open top of the Dumpster. “Okay.” I counted to three in my head, preparing myself to drop the box. “Here I go.” I spread my fingers — My hands wouldn’t let go. Kelsey smiled encouragingly, but the box still didn’t fall. I’m not ready to say goodbye, I thought, then shook off the idea. No. I am ready. I am. I smiled, and my mind immediately flashed back to one bad night in the hospital when Oliver, already bald and losing weight, begged me to stay by his side. Nope, still not. “Are we sure this is a trash box?” I asked Kelsey, my voice rising an octave. “How do we know this isn’t a donate one?” “We gave away all of the donate ones yesterday, remember?” She stepped forward to rub circles on my back. I nodded. “Okay. All right. I can do this,” I murmured. I counted to three again, then spread my hands — “Can I look through it one last time?” Kelsey grinned, shaking her head. “It’s your decision, not mine.” I quickly sat on the ground in the alley, setting the box on my lap. I opened the flaps and took out the first thing I saw: one of Oliver’s old toothbrushes. I grinned at its mangled bristles and fingered the peeling rubber before gently setting it aside. Next, I took out a course completion certificate. Looking closer, I realized it was a cooking class he’d taken a few years ago. One we’d taken together . I faintly remembered Oliver’s slim fingers slipping, the blood spilling all over our shared cutting board. He’d yelled for a medic, like we were on some TV show, making me laugh despite my shock at seeing the blood. I blinked back a few tears and reached for the next item in the box, squished between a broken viedo game console and a punctured basketball. Slowly, I brought a small, cracked cell phone into the light. This time, I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Kelsey crouched beside me. “Was that his phone?” she asked softly. I nodded, sniffling. Tentatively, I pressed the power button, and the device miraculously brightened. “I thought I’d lost it,” I gasped. I swiped to unlock it, then clicked into the camera roll, figuring scrolling through his pictures was the best way to use whatever charge the phone had left. An ambulance whizzed by us on the street, sirens blaring, but I barely noticed. Instead, I was focused on the most recent picture he’d taken, dated a year and a half ago. In the selfie, I was passed out on the couch in the background, while Oliver grinned evilly from the bottom corner of the screen. I released an involuntary sob, and Kelsey leaned forward to hug me. “I remember that night,” I rasped, my eyes trained on the screen. “Oliver had just taken me ice skating, despite my pleas for him to stay home and rest. He’d… he’d just gotten sick when this was taken.” “I’m… I don’t even know what to say,” Kelsey said, by way of apologizing. After a few moments, I responded with: “Don’t say anything. Just be there for me, and that’s enough.” I carefully packed the toothbrush and the certificate back into the box and closed the flaps. Tucking the cell phone into my back pocket, I stood before the Dumpster. Kelsey handed me the box and asked if I was ready for the eleventh time, and this time, I wasn’t lying when I said I was. I missed Oliver — I knew I always would — but it was time to move on. As our ice skating adventure had proven, his first interest was always making sure I was happy. If he could see me now, I was sure he’d wouldn’t want me crying over him; he’d want me to live my best life and remember our good times, not the bad. So, with one final goodbye to the toothbrush and the certificate and the other various items in the box, I spread my hands and held my breath until I heard the clunk at the bottom of the Dumpster that meant I’d finally let Oliver go. I’d finally moved on. The walk back up to my apartment took a million years. I kept second-guessing myself, wondering if I should go back to the Dumpster and fish the box back out. I feared I'd gotten rid of it too soon, and now I'd never heal properly. "He seems like such a great guy, Nyla," Kelsey was saying from beside me in the stairwell. "I really wish I could have met him." "Yeah," I whispered. "I wish you could have, too." Back in my apartment, I immediately slumped onto my couch, desperately hoping I'd done the right thing. Kelsey noticed the photo beside the couch and picked it up to examine it. "He was cute," she observed. "Really cute." "Like, he could have been a model cute." "He could have been anything," I added, rolling off the couch onto the floor. "But he was just a college student." Kelsey lied down beside me. "No, he was more than that. He was... he was a boyfriend — a great one, I hear — he was a son, a friend, an amateur chef..." She turned her head to look at me. "He was all of those, Nyla." I shook my head, ignoring the tears streaming freely down my face. "But he could have been more. " "We all could be more. You could be more, I could be more... but it doesn't matter. What matters is who we are now ." Kelsey scrunched up her nose, thinking. "If you keep worrying about who you could be, you won't actually... well, you'll never become anything. But if you live in the present and appreciate who you are, you can accept yourself and actually grow to be... more ." I chuckled softly. "When did you become so wise?" I asked. She grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "When you started needing me." "I've always needed you." "You know what I mean." Exhausted from crying, thinking, and "moving on," I allowed my eyes to flutter close. Kelsey continued talking next to me, and I soon found myself drifting off to the sound of her voice. A few hours later, I woke to find myself alone in my apartment. Kelsey was gone, but a yellow Post-it lay on the floor in her spot. So, so sorry to leave like this, it read, but I really have to get back home. You know, seven hour drive and all. I'll call you when I get home, promise. ~K I stood and carefully set the note beside the picture of Oliver and me. Still groggy from my nap, I shuffled into my bedroom and collapsed into my bed, jeans and all. I'd barely pulled the covers up to my chin, already missing my best friend, when sleep reclaimed me. “Don’t let go of me,” I begged. “I won’t. I won’t, okay? I promise,” Oliver laughed as I clutched his arm for dear life. “If you let go, I will kick you with my skates. I swear, I’ll do it.” “I believe you.” Oliver practically dragged me around the rink, careful to stay close to the edge so I could grab the rail if I needed to. “How are you… How is this so natural for you?” “I took skating lessons as a kid. I guess there are some things you never forget,” he said, smiling down at me. “And some people you never forget, too.” I matched his grin. “I hope I’m included in that. You wouldn’t dare forget me, would you, Nyla?” “Never.” I squeezed his arm. “I’ll never forget you, Oliver.” I woke from my dream, panting and sweating. I pulled back my sheets and swung my legs over the bed, ready to open my window and attempt to fall back asleep to the sounds of the city. But, no. I desperately needed to talk to someone, to hear someone else’s voice. Oliver’s voice had haunted me for long enough. I grabbed my phone from my nightstand and scrolled through my contacts. Who can I call? I needed someone who could relate to my grief for Oliver, but no one was coming to mind. He wasn’t close to any family members, so I couldn’t call any of them. My parents had never been good sympathizers; they wouldn’t console me the way I needed them to. I’d already bothered Kelsey enough over the past few days; she deserved to rest. Giving up, I tossed my phone back onto my bedside table and started toward my window, but something else caught my eye. I’d left Oliver’s phone on my windowsill to charge, and it dimly glowed there, calling out to me. I sat on the floor in front of my window and opened up to his camera roll again. I scrolled through until I found the video I faintly remembered him filming. “Wait, I have to start the video.” The camera view jostled, then finally settled on me, sitting at the kitchen table with a lopsided blue cake before me. “Is the button red?” I asked, grinning and shaking my head. “Oh. Yeah, it is. Okay, you can start now.” The sound of Oliver’s voice made me think back to my dream, but I forced myself to stay in the present. I squeezed my eyes shut, then blew out the candles one by one. Oliver cheered from behind the camera, then zoomed in on my nostrils. “What did you wish for?” “For you to not ask what I wished for,” I joked, my left eyebrow now visible. “Obviously, it didn’t come true.” “Wow. What a waste of a wish.” Now Oliver zoomed out, and you could see my entire face again. “I’m kidding. I wished that you didn’t accidentally switch the salt and sugar in my cake again!” “No promises on that one,” he replied, and we laughed as the video faded to black. I set his phone back on the sill, careful not to damage it more than it already was. I dropped my head into my hands, praying that my tears wouldn’t make another appearance today, but unfortunately, my eyes had other plans. I raised my head after a few moments and stared out of my window. I watched miniature cars go by below me, spending a second wondering where each one was going, as Oliver and I used to. I opened my window, letting in the nightly sounds of the Big Apple. For a moment, I let myself imagine Oliver was beside me, his arm slung around my shoulders. Then I shook off the thought, realizing that pretending he was here with me wasn’t a very efficient way to help me move on. I needed to open my mind to new possibilities, not cling to old habits. “I’ll never forget you, Oliver.” The words echoed in my head as I cried. I’d actually said them, the night of the photo on Oliver’s phone. I didn’t know at the time, but that one conversation would replay in my dreams for months to come. “I’ll never forget you, Oliver,” I whispered out loud. I gazed down at the pinpricks of light in the beautiful city, wondering how, surrounded by over eight million people, I could feel so lonely. I turned my gaze onto the navy sky above me. A few helicopters flew by, flashing their bright red and white lights through the darkness. My tears blurred my vision, and for a moment, the lights resembled shooting stars, streaking through the atmosphere. “I miss you,” I whispered to one of the “stars.” “I miss you every day. You were my light, my everything, and now, you’re… now, you’re gone.” I wiped away the tears. “But you’re not really, are you? You’re still here with me. I know it. You’ll always be here with me. Won’t you?” No response. But yet, somehow, I knew Oliver had heard me. “I’m trying to move on,” I continued. “I want to try to get my life back together, and soon. I made some progress with that this week by moving your things from the apartment. All I kept was your phone.” I glanced at the cracked cell on the sill beside me. “Maybe I’ll try to get a new roommate, finish up school. Maybe I’ll even stop ordering takeout every night and pull out my old cookbooks! But please, just know I’m not trying to forget you. I’ll — I’ll never forget you, Oliver.” I smiled up at the sky. “No, I’ll never forget you.”