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"You know, I'm starting to think I'm cursed," Lillian said, making Greg furrow his brow, cross his legs and tap his pen on his clipboard.


"How so?" he asked.


"I'm surrounded by death," she continued, "Ever since getting involved with this kid, death seems to have followed me. There was the kid at her party, then the kid from our neighborhood on Halloween, and now this guy I visited in the hospital."


"But he didn't die," Greg said, "right? I mean, wouldn't that mean you aren't cursed?"


"One outlier doesn't disprove a hypothesis," Lillian said.


"I'm pretty sure that's exactly what an outlier does," Greg said, smirking, "But please, continue."


"Well, we were eating at the diner we usually meet in when I was given the assignment," Lillian said.


                                                                           ***


"You want me to visit a hospital?" Lillian asked.


"Why don't I ever get to do any cool events? Why don't I ever get to go to like...like a wake, or something?" Alex asked as she scooped eggs into her mouth, making Tyler laugh. Vera smiled and folded her arms on the tabletop.


"Do you wanna go to a wake? Because I can arrange that," Vera said.


"Why am I going to a hospital? Oh jesus, it's not the childrens ward, is it?" Lillian asked.


"No, it's not. It's a personal request," Vera said, "From a young man in college. He was hit crossing the road earlier this week near the campus and he's been feeling down ever since. He specifically asked for a princess to come and lift his spirits."


"Oh, well...that doesn't sound too bad actually," Lillian said.


"How come we only do birthday parties? How come we never do anything else? There's other kinds of parties and events you know," Alex said, "How come we're only ever asked to do birthdays?"


"Because most adult parties don't require costumed assistance or entertainment," Vera said.


"I'll have you know most of the adult parties I've been to have relied heavily on costuming," Alexis said, as everyone looked at her; she finished chewing her eggs, swallowed and then quietly added, "and I won't say another word about that."


After breakfast, Lillian headed over to the hospital. It was a fairly nice hospital on the upperclass side of town. She entered, followed the directions to the room number she was given by Vera and then, after exhaling deeply and preparing herself, knocked on the door. A voice told her to come in, and she put her hand on the knob, twisted it open and walked inside.


                                                                          ***


"I didn't know, when I entered the room, that I was going to be walking into something so..." Lillian paused, choosing her words carefully.


"Upsetting?" Greg asked, as she shook her head.


"No, uplifting," Lillian replied, "Uplifting is the word. It was a really heartwarming experience. After being followed by death and sadness for months, this felt like a much needed change of pace. This person was...so great, and I'm so happy Vera gave me the assignment. For once, a man asked me to keep my crown on, and it wasn't for a creepy reason."


Greg smiled, nodding, writing something down.


"Please, go on," he said.


                                                                            ***


"Hello?" Lillian asked as she entered cautiously, spotting a young man with long brunette hair lying in the bed, their legs wrapped in casts. They smiled upon seeing Lillian.


"Hi!" they said, "Please, have a seat!"


"Thank you," Lillian said, seating herself in the chair beside the bed, "So, how're things?"


"Not too great as you can see," the man replied, "but better now, I guess, since I have some company."


"Your parents haven't come to see you, or?"


"Oh no, they've been here regularly," he said, "But they have to work during the day, and so I just...I didn't like spending all my time here alone. I like your dress. It's very sparkly."


"It is indeed very sparkly, isn't it?" Lillian said, tugging gently at her waist and smiling, "I had it custom made. The company said I could do whatever I wanted, costume wise, so I hired someone to design something and this is what they came up with. I love it."


"It's so pretty," the man said, sighing, "Everything about princesses is pretty. I begged my mom to let me be a princess for Halloween one year, and she relented much to my surprise. After seeing how happy it made me, she never questioned me again, which was nice. Even then, that was just a shoddy little store bought costume, not something spectacular like this."


"It's nice your parents are so understanding," Lillian said, smiling at him warmly, "My mom and I have...issues. We're slowly working on them, but it's difficult."


"My father has taken some time to come around, but...I guess he's pretty on board with who I am and what I like at this point. He used to seem ashamed. Now he just seems happy that I'm happy and sometimes I think that's really all you can hope for out of a parent. Mild acceptance and somewhat conditional love. My name's Josh, by the way."


Josh held his hand out and Lillian happily shook it.


"Lillian," she replied, "So how bad is the damage?"


"Eh, they say I'll be alright, which is good cause I'm a professional swimmer," Josh said, "I kinda need my legs to make a living."


"Having nearly been a model on the catwalk, I kinda know what you mean," Lillian said, making Josh chuckle.


"Can I see your crown?" he asked, and Lillian happily removed it from her head and handed it to him. He carefully took it and turned it over in his hands, admiring it from all angles; his eyes watered, and he said, "...it's so hard to know yourself as a child. To know who you are instead of slowly figuring it out. You'd think it'd be easier, but it isn't. It wasn't."


"It really wasn't, you're not wrong," Lillian replied, shifting in her chair, adding, "I didn't know myself super well, but-"


"No, no, I don't mean, well I'm sorry, I don't mean to invalidate what you're saying, I'm sure you're right too, but I didn't really mean it in the sense of knowing who you are, but knowing who you're supposed to be. But...but nobody sees you the way you see you, you know? When you looked in the mirror, did you see a princess?"


"I...I saw a scared little girl who didn't know how to ask for help," Lillian said.


"Yeah," Josh said, whispering, almost crying, "...me too."


                                                                          ***


"Sounds like a rather emotional situation to be thrust into," Greg said, "How did you handle that?"


"I just let them talk," Lillian said, "It seemed like they wanted to talk to someone more than have a proper conversation, so I just let them do that. It was...enlightening to say the least. And really, after the party Tyler and I did together earlier this year, my mind was a lot more open to the idea of gender non conforming folk, so talking to Josh was a really easy experience. Not that I was ever closed minded about it or anything, I just...I have never really known any personally."


"Understandable," Greg replied, leaning forward, "Lillian, can I ask you a question?"


"I mean, isn't that what the whole basis of being a therapist is?" Lillian asked, making him chuckle.


"I suppose," he said before clearing his throat, "Tell me something though...do you understand where they're coming from?"


"I sort of do. I mean, being forced into beauty pageants make you somewhat, or at least it made me, somewhat unnerved by femininity. Which sucks, because I actually love being feminine. But femininity is so capitalized, so industrialized, used in such a negative way and viewed in such a negative light that it makes it hard for me to find pride in it. This is why I prefer not to wear dresses outside of my costume, generally. So yeah, I like to think that I'm somewhat understanding of these peoples feelings regarding gender."


"That's fair," Greg said, "Please, go on."


"Well, as I said, I gave them the crown..."


                                                                           ***


"Looking in the mirror has always been painful," Josh said, "Seeing someone I didn't recognize, seeing someone who didn't look how I looked in my head. Seeing someone everyone other than me saw. That's why I like costumes, because you get to be someone other than yourself."


"I feel it," Lillian said, leaning back in her chair and nodding, "I hate being myself."


"I don't hate being myself, I hate being the version of me others thought there was," Josh said, "I actually love being myself. But even when you've got approval, it makes it awkward. I so badly want to be myself and I know my parents would let me, and it's not like they have any say cause I'm legally an adult now, but...we're so conditioned by society not to question our elders, and to respect our parents, that I don't wanna do anything that might make them uncomfortable. But how is that fair? Cause by living this way, I'm uncomfortable."


Josh sighed and looked at the emerald in the crown tip, rubbing their thumb over it and smiling.


"...I guess I never thought about the fact that I just took my femininity for granted. Something that seems to necessary to others seemed so ordinary to me. I feel kinda bad about that," Lillian said softly.


"Oh, please, don't feel bad! I'm sorry! I didn't wanna make you sad! I just...I'm jealous. That's all. I'm jealous and I wanted a princess to come and cheer me up because that's what princesses do, right? They make everything better. They spread joy and cheer. They bring happiness to the world."


"I suppose," Lillian said, "I'm not very good at that though."


"Well, you're making me feel better, so I'll be the judge of your skills," Josh said, making her laugh; he handed her the crown and said, "Maybe someday I'll be brave like a princess, but until that day comes, I suppose just knowing one will have to do."


Lillian took her crown and quickly wiped at her eyes with her sleeve when Josh wasn't looking.


***


"Sorry to interrupt, but...if you're so sketch about femininity, may I ask why you picked a princess? The most girly character there is?" Greg asked, "I'm sorry if this is sort of out of line, I'm just...I'm a little curious behind the decision."


"I told you it has to do with the accident at Disneyland," Lillian said, "Remember?"


"That can't be the whole reason though," Greg said, "I mean surely you must-"


"Little girls are called princesses, we're entered in beauty pageants, wrapped in the color pink when we're born. Femininity is literally all encompassing. From the moment you're brought into this world, if you're a girl, you're valued by nothing other than your looks. Sure, not by your parents exactly, but by mostly everyone. And okay, maybe that's finally starting to change, but..."


Lillian exhaled and pulled her hair back into a big ponytail before talking again.


"...but maybe I wanted to prove that not every princess has to be happy. Think about what a princess has to go through, has to endure. The weight of an entire kingdom resting on her shoulders once she inherits the throne? That's a lot of pressure to put on a little girl! Everyone's looking to you for guidance! And little girls are expected to grow up quickly enough as it is, so...so I guess I just wanted other little girls to see that, hey, sometimes being a princess AND being sad is okay."


"Hmmm, that's...oddly heroic of you," Greg said, "And I suppose you're right. Little girls are always told to be happy and smiling, which is why so many never get their depression rightfully diagnosed, because they become so good at masking. At pretending to be something they're not."


"We're all pretending to be something we're not, is what I'm slowly learning," Lillian said, "but in Josh's case, the thing they're pretending to be is something they don't want to be."


                                                                            ***


"Maybe this was a sign," Josh said, sighing, shrugging.


"Yeah, a sign to watch for traffic signals," Lillian replied, making them laugh.


"No, you know what I mean. A sign to, you know, be more careful about life in general. Stop being so short sighted and instead embrace the difference instead of fearing it," Josh said, "Who cares if my parents don't fully approve, you know? I can't reach the end of my life being someone I'm not. You don't get a second shot. I have to do the things I need to do now, while I have the chance."


Lillian nodded and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and nodding.


"I know what you mean," she said, "Recently I've befriended this little girl who had a kid die at her birthday party, and it's made reassess what's actually important to me. I like being there for others. I like helping. I'm sick of being so selfish all the time, and I'm sick of certain aspects of my personality. Change is good, not bad, and even if the change is bad, it's only bad momentarily. It all winds up good in the end, right?"


"I'd like to think so," Josh said, "Here, give me your hand."


Lillian raised an eyebrow, curious, but did as they asked and reached out. Josh grabbed a pen off a nearby table and jotted their name and number down on her hand.


"Give me a call sometime, because I'd really like to see you again, outside of such a weird situation. If, ya know, that's okay," they said.


"That's perfectly okay," Lillian responded, smiling warmly, "I'd...I'd really like that."


"Maybe you can take me to the ball when I get out of here."


Lillian laughed. It was the first time she'd genuinely laughed in weeks. Things had been so dark, so tense lately, that this was the only thing that had made her feel good about what she was doing with her life. Truth be told, she couldn't wait to see Josh again, and she found herself finally looking forward to something for a change.


But this wasn't was bothering her.


                                                                              ***


"So wait, you had a great time, met someone you really connected with, and it all went better than expected, so why'd you schedule an emergency appointment?" Greg asked, "I'm sorry, I'm just a little confused is all."


"Because that was just the start," Lillian said, "Vera gave me that assignment, and everyone else an assignment, to get us out of her hair that night so she could have a meeting with corporate. By the time I got home, any good from that day was erased by what I went home to."


Greg furrowed his brow, concerned, as Lillian finished telling him about her day.


                                                                               ***


Reaching her floor, Lillian stepped out of the elevator in her apartment building, and began heading down the hall towards her door. She looked down at her hand again and smiled. Josh even had feminine handwriting, and she found it rather cute. It wasn't until she looked back up to see Alexis and Tyler sitting outside her apartment that she began to feel something other than happiness.


"What are you guys doing here?" she asked as she approached, pulling her keys from her purse.


"We needed to see you immediately," Tyler said.


"Well let me get through the door first," Lillian said, opening the door to the apartment and letting them in, then following them in herself. She shut and locked the door behind her, then turned to see them standing facing her, both looking sullen; she scowled and asked, "...what's happened?"


"It's Vera," Alexis said, "She tried to fight it, but she couldn't. The company's being sold to a big conglomerate and we're just merchandise to be shuffled around under new management."


"...what?"


"Yeah, and they say we may not get to keep the characters we've been," Tyler said.


"WHAT?" Lillian asked, now feeling outraged just as someone knocked on her door; she groaned then went to answer it, saying, "Jesus, could things get any fucking worse..."


As she pulled the apartment door back open, she spotted Rina standing there.


"...what're you doing here?!" she asked Rina.


"...you need to come with me," she said, "Something's happened to Maddie."

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The Wachowski's had rarely, if ever, taken an actual family vacation.

But Ellen's therapist had told Boris and Lorraine that taking a small trip may just be key in reigniting their daughters memories. They sat together in a cafe after meeting with that therapist, trying to think of where it was they could easily go for an afternoon, and it was, surprisingly, Lorraine who came up with the answer. She'd pick Ellen up from the hospital, and then she'd come and get Boris, and he could drive them up to the location, and Boris was perfectly fine with this. In fact, that's exactly what he was telling Carol that morning as he packed a day bag.

"I'm perfectly fine with this," he said, making Carol scoff as she leaned against his doorframe.

"Right, and I'm the queen of England," she replied, "Come on, you hate this woman. You can barely spend ten minutes in the same room with her, and now you're going to spend a whole day in a car together? You're gonna murder eachother."

"Well, if that's in fact what it comes to," Boris said, stopping his packing and turning to look at her, "then I want you to have my belongings."

"Great, old dusty books and a pair of tube socks. What a winner I am," Carol said, making him laugh; she hesitated for a moment, then asked, "...do you really think this'll work? Do you really think this may actually help Ellen get some of her memories back?"

"I don't know, but I'm willing to try. I wasn't willing to try and be a father when I had the chance, but I'm willing to try now," Boris said, "I've let that girl down enough already. It's time to do right."

Outside the apartment, a horn honked, and Boris and Carol walked to the window to see Lorraine sitting in the lot in the car, Ellen in the backseat. Carol turned towards Boris as he grabbed his day bag and slung the strap over his shoulder, and she smiled.

"Just be careful and have fun," Carol said.

"Yes mommy," Boris replied, before hugging her and heading out the door, Carol leaving the opposite direction down the hallway after he locked the door; she was heading back to the home.

As he strolled down the hallway towards the staircase, he bumped into Father Krickett, who was coming up the stairs.

"Oh, sorry, what're you doing here?" Boris asked.

"I came to see you, actually."

"Wow, aren't I Mr. Popularity today?" Boris asked, "I'm heading out for the day, so I hope it can wait, whatever it is. I have to do something with Lorraine and Ellen."

"It can wait," Father Krickett said, "I'll walk back down with you. No sense in staying here if you're not. I'll head back to the parish, get some paperwork done. Maybe take an early evening. What are you folks doing today?"

"Ellen's therapist says it might be best for her if we take a small trip somewhere to help rekindle her memories," Boris said, struggling to hold the bag up, so Father Krickett finally offered to take it; Boris rubbed his shoulder and continued after thanking him, adding, "So we're taking Ellen upstate somewhere, taking her to see something we took her to see as a kid. We're hoping maybe that'll be enough to trigger something at least. It's the simplest thing we can do on such short notice."

"You could plan a bigger trip," Father Krickett said, "Actually take some time, put some energy into it. You don't have to go for the simplest thing."

"It's a good place to start," Boris replied, "besides, if it doesn't work, then we'll try and take her somewhere else. The thing is, this is also one of the only things we ever did as a family. We never really took vacations but we did do a few things together, and this was just the simplest one, so we're starting there."

As they reached the landing and headed out the complex's front doors, the two men stood and looked at one another. Father Krickett smiled and handed Boris his bag back, which he happily took.

"Well then, I hope it works, and if it doesn't, I hope you at least have a nice day," Father Krickett said, patting Boris on the shoulder. He then stood back and watched as the old man, bag in hand once more, walked around to the other side of Lorraine's car and pulled the drivers side door open, climbing in. Lorraine had already shifted to the passenger seat in the time it took waiting for Boris to get downstairs. He then started the car and drove off, waving out the window to Father Krickett as he departed.

Father Krickett stood there, arms folded, watching and smiling, until they were out of sight. He then turned, and headed back inside and up the stairs. He waited a bit outside the apartment door, until Whittle arrived back home. She was certainly surprised to see him, upon her arrival. As she dug around in her purse for her keys, he took her grocery bags and waited patiently.

"We really need to get you your own key. You're here more than I am these days. Really, you should start paying rent," Whittle said, half laughing, Father Krickett laughing along with her as he waited patiently, holding her grocery bags; once the door was opened, she let him in first and then followed him in, adding, "what are you doing here anyway?"

"I'm waiting for Boris," Father Krickett said, setting her bags on the kitchen table and then seating himself at it, pulling out his rosary beads and thumbing them gently, "I hope it's okay that I stick around."

"Of course, John, you're always welcome here!" Whittle said as she began to unpack the bags and put things away, asking, "Why do you need to see him?"

"...because Leanne is about to die, and she asked to see him," Father Krickett said.

That certainly got Whittle's attention.

                                                                                            ***

The place in question was a small park, about two hours away.

The only time they'd taken Ellen there had been when she was 8 years old, but it was one of the few memories she held onto dearly, until the surgery, until she lost everything. It was a quiet park, surrounded by beautiful trees with a large fountain for making wishes, and an old, fairly big, wooden playground. Despite not having been there for years, Boris still knew exactly how to get there. Lorraine looked behind them at Ellen, who was asleep in the backseat, headphones over her ears. She then looked at Boris.

"How is she?" Boris asked.

"She's napping," Lorraine said, "She naps quite a lot. She's been through a number of ordeals for someone her age."

"Well, good. Keeps her strength up, I'm sure," Boris said, "...what made you think of this place, anyway?"

"Well I remember her talking about it a lot as a kid, but..." Lorraine stopped, sighed and looked out her window, before continuing with, "...I have always remembered it too. It was a good day. It was one of the only good days. We all had such a nice time. She deserves to have a nice time."

Boris glanced over and noticed Lorraine was starting to cry, but she quickly wiped her tears away on her sleeve and exhaled deeply, slowly, before turning the heater on her. The cool fall air had begun to leak in through the windows of the car, and she was getting chilly. Boris didn't say anything more. In that moment, he felt more for her than he had in decades.

The park, called Harvey Peaks, was completely empty by the time they got there. There was a small manmade lake nearby, which Boris did not remember, meaning he'd either forgotten it entirely or it had been built in the years since their visit, which was certainly a possibility. As Boris parked, he could almost smell the past in the area, and his own eyes started to water. Lorraine opened her door, letting herself out, before going around to the back and pulling the wheelchair out of the back, unfolding it and then wheeling it around to Ellen's side of the car. After they helped her into the chair, Boris stepped back again and looked around once more.

It was almost like she was still 8. Like he was still middle aged. Like they were still a family. Before the accident, before everything, it was as if this was the first time they'd visited, and Boris was suddenly struck with a surprising amount of emotion. Lorraine began to wheel Ellen away, but she noticed Boris leaning against the car, hiding his face. She told Ellen she'd be right back, then walked briskly back to the vehicle and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly, as he shook his head.

"I'm very much not alright, no," he replied.

"It's okay. It's okay to cry," Lorraine said quietly, and much to her surprise, he rested his face on her shoulder and she held him. These two hadn't had any kind of physical contact in ages, and rarely had she ever actually held her husband, but he didn't seem to worry about that anymore. He needed it. Lorraine looked back over her shoulder momentarily at Ellen, who was simply sitting in her wheelchair under a tree, looking up at the bright multicolored leaves. After a few minutes, Boris seemed to have regained his composure and zipped up his jacket.

"You ready?" Lorraine asked.

"Yeah," he said, "I'm ready."

Together they walked back to the tree where Ellen was sitting, and Boris took the handlebars of her wheelchair and began pushing her, Lorraine walking by his side, smiling at the sight. As they continued further into the park, Ellen began looking around in what could only be described as a mixture of awe and confusion. After a few minutes, they stopped at the fountain, and she reached forward, putting her hand in the cool, clean water.

"When we brought you here," Boris said, "you kept asking to make wishes in the fountain. I must've given you about 3 dollars worth of change so you could make so many wishes."

"Did any of them come true?" Ellen asked.

"I don't know, you never told us any of them," Boris said, making Ellen grimace.

"How am I supposed to remember things when you guys don't even remember things?" she asked, surprising them both; she added, "I mean, you two seemed to have blocked out your entire time together, so who am I supposed to turn to for help remembering our past if we don't have a past worth remembering?"

Boris looked at Lorraine, who just shrugged. He sighed, walked around to the fountain and sat on the lip of it, in front of Ellen's wheelchair, looking up at her.

"You're right. Your mother and I have kind of put up barriers between us and within ourselves even because our marriage was so fraught with bullshit, but the one thing we never gave up on was loving you. We remember coming here. We remember seeing you run and play, and how much fun you had. I'm sorry, Ellen, that I don't remember your wishes. I'm sorry that I...that we...screwed things up so badly. But we're trying to fix them now, for you."

Lorraine smiled. Boris really had changed in the last few years, and she was so proud of his growth. Ellen smiled too, as she held her fathers hands and rubbed the back of them with her thumbs.

"Thanks," she said, "I like the fountain, it's pretty."

"It really is," Lorraine said, as the three of them stood there and listened to the running water.

The day consisted of not much beyond strolling through the park, trying to see if anything came flooding back into Ellen's brain, but to no avail. After a handful of hours, the trio finally gathered themselves back into the car and Boris started driving again, heading back home. It was getting darker, the sun starting to set behind the trees, and all the streetlamps were coming to life. Boris turned on the radio, tuning it to soft classical music, and the three drove in silence. Halfway there, Ellen shifted in the seat, looking out the window, sighing.

"I remember," she said quietly.

"What? You remember what?" Lorraine asked, turning to look back at her.

"I remember one of my wishes," Ellen said softly, almost whispering, "I don't remember much else, but I do remember one of my wishes in the fountain."

"That's great!" Lorraine said happily, making Boris grin as she asked, "What was it?"

A moment passed.

"I wished you two would stop fighting," Ellen finally replied.

The smiles faded from Boris and Lorraine's faces, and nobody said a word the rest of the ride home.

                                                                                          ***

The door unlocked, Boris coming inside the apartment, when he startled Father Krickett asleep on the couch. Father Krickett sat up suddenly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he and Boris matched sights and Boris stopped in his tracks.

"You're home," he finally said.

"Yeah. I'm home," Boris said, tossing his keys onto the table near the door and beginning to pull off his jacket.

"How was it?" Father Krickett asked, standing up and yawning, stretching.

"She remembered something," Boris said, "...just not something we would've liked her to remember."

"I'm sorry Boris, but at least she's making progress, and bad memories are just as important as good ones," Father Krickett said.

"Yeah, I'm trying not to take it personally," Boris said, sitting on the couch and looking at his hands, his voice lowering as he said, "...how did we screw up so badly? How does everything go so wrong? You get married, you have a family, you think this is what you're supposed to be doing, and then, by the end of your life...you realize it all fell apart and none of it ever meant as much as it was supposed to."

"Things only mean as much as the meaning you put into them," Father Krickett said, "for example, someone who believes in God only has as much faith as their belief allows. It doesn't make their faith any less strong or any less valid than someone who, say, regularly goes to church and really leads a spiritual life, it's just a matter of how much you wanna put into it."

"So you're saying we didn't wanna put much effort of energy into being parents?" Boris asked.

"I don't think that's the case, no," Father Krickett said, "I think you guys wanted to be. I just think once the time came, you didn't know how difficult it'd be, not that that's any excuse for the shortcomings, I'm just...I don't know, Boris, I'm just trying to make you feel better."

Boris smirked and patted his arm.

"I appreciate it John, thanks," he said, "What're you still doing here anyway?"

"Actually, it's what I came by for earlier," Father Krickett said, "...Leanne is about to die, Boris, and she asked to see you."

Boris stared at him, his expression that of pure disbelief.

"...let me get my coat," he said, and together they headed off once more.

Seemed the only people Boris spent his time around anymore were sick people. Makes sense, when he thought about it, considering how sick he actually was inside. But he'd let Ellen down, he wasn't about to let Leanne down as well. On the ride to the hospital she was being held in, neither Boris nor John said a word, but John just looked absentmindedly out the window, chewing on his nails. He wondered how bad the fallout from this would be. He wondered how mad he'd make Boris by lying. But maybe it wouldn't be bad. Maybe he wouldn't be angry. Maybe things would turn out alright.

He had to have faith.
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"Thank god," Rina said, opening the front door to find Lillian standing there in jeans and a t-shirt from an old mini golf establishment.


"Don't thank god, thank me, I'm the one filling in," Lillian said, making Rina smile as she stepped aside, thusly allowing Lillian entrance into the home.


Rina went and grabbed her backpack from the couch, stuffed her coat inside of it and hurried around, making sure she didn't forget anything. Lillian stood back and watched, her arms folded as she leaned against the wall.


"Boy you're exhausting to watch," she finally said, making her laugh again.


"Listen, don't worry, her folks won't be back until super late and I'll be back in just a few hours. I just really need to study for this thing for my course," Rina said as she zipped her backpack up and pulled it on over her shoulders, Lillian helping her move her hair out of the way so it wasn't snagged by the straps; she continued, "Maddie is just coloring right now, but I've already got dinner on the way and I paid, so if you could just tip the delivery guy that'd be great. Otherwise just do whatever, help yourself to whatever and just have a good time. You have no idea how grateful I am of this last minute help."


"It's no problem. I don't have work this week, and I sure as hell never have any social obligations to speak of, so I had the time," Lillian said, patting Rina on the shoulder, adding, "you just get your studying done and get back here whenever. We'll be fine."


Rina thanked her again, gave her a quick hug and then rushed out the door. Lillian looked around the living room and exhaled deeply, blowing her bangs from her face. Wow. It'd been a long time since she'd babysat. After putting her own things down - she hadn't brought much, just a small backpack with a book for after Maddie fell asleep, a few snacks for herself and a little pill case with tums and other such low key medicine in case she felt sick at any point - Lillian went to the fridge and poured herself a glass or orange juice from the pitcher. She drank it, then headed down the hall towards Maddie's room, all the while looking at the photos hanging on the walls.


Suddenly what she'd said at the memorial made more sense, because Lillian began to notice that indeed Maddie had no photos of herself with her parents. There were photos of her, school portraits or birthday shots, and then photos of her parents, but none of the three together. This struck Lillian as a bit odd, to be that openly separated from your own child, but she ignored it and knocked on the bedroom door. After a moment of silence, she opened the door and looked inside, finding Maddie coloring on the floor, headphones over her ears. She smiled big and pulled her headphones off once she saw Lillian.


"Come in! I have lots of colored pencils!" Maddie said, and Lillian smiled, nodding, entering further and sitting down on the floor with her.


"What're you coloring?" she asked.


"It's a big book of dinosaurs. I got it at the history museum downtown during my last school fieldtrip!" she said excitedly.


"I haven't been to a museum in ages," Lillian said, "I should probably rectify that."


"That's a weird word, rectify," Maddie replied.


"So your parents went out?"


"They always go out on Friday nights," Maddie said, safely coloring in a Brontosaurus, adding, "I heard them say once that it was because their marriage counselor suggested it was a good thing to do, but I don't know why you'd need a counselor to have a good marriage. At school, we have a student counselor who helps kids with problems, but don't you stop having problems when you're an adult?"


"God if only," Lillian said, chuckling, "unfortunately problems only accumulate as you get older."


"It's nice to know there's so much to look forward to," Maddy said dryly.


"Marriage isn't easy for some people, for others it's a breeze, it just depends," Lillian said, "but you should be happy they're at least trying instead of just giving up like a lot of kids parents do. Lord knows my parents didn't try, but I'm the rare exception where it turned out their failure was for the betterment of my personhood."


"What do you mean?" Maddie asked, stopping coloring and looking up at her, now listening intently.


"I mean that...that because they acknowledged that what they had would never work, instead of trying to force it, they split up amicably and stayed friends, unlike other kids parents who forced themselves to stay together to the point where it became either unsafe or unhealthy for all involved parties. My folks recognized it was best for everyone, especially for me, to just stay apart and raise me their own ways."


Maddie sat upright, one hand wrapped around a colored pencil, the other tugging at her braid.


"...mom and dad try not to fight in front of me," she said quietly, "but they forget. They don't fight over me, really, they just fight in general about everything else. But they're so busy fighting that I'm forgotten about a lot."


"Well," Lillian said, "it's a good thing you have adult friends who think about you then, isn't it?"


Maddie smiled and nodded.


"Come on," Lillian said, "let's see if dinner has arrived."


                                                                            ***


"Honey, don't you wanna go in the backyard? The family's waiting out there to see you!" Lillian's mother said as she entered the kitchen, only to discover Lillian was no longer hiding out in the kitchen like she had been scant moments ago. Jane looked towards the hallway, seeing her ex husband, Al, coming out from the bathroom.


"What's going on? You talking to me?" he asked, zipping his fly up.


"No, I was...have you seen Lily? She was just in here a minute ago," Jane said, "Her aunts and uncles and cousins wanna see her, and it's almost time to blow out the candles on the cake."


"Well, keep looking, I'll take the cake out and get everything ready," Al said.


Little did they know, but Lillian was actually hiding out in the plastic play castle her father had bought and assembled for her a few years back, trying not to be found. She hated her birthday, and she hated this birthday in particular. She had no friends, and she felt awkward around her family. She hated getting older. Soon she'd be off to middle school, and that terrified her. Suddenly she felt the castle shift, and she scrambled to look through the little window only to see the clown her parents had hired standing in the side yard beside the castle, uncapping a beer.


"You knocked into my castle," she said coldly, surprising him as he turned to face her. He couldn't have been older than 22.


"Oh, sorry," he said, "I...I didn't mean to. Aren't you the birthday girl? What're you doing hiding in here?"


He got on his knees, pushed the little door open and crawled inside.


"Let me in," he said, "boy, it's kinda cozy in here actually. What's the matter, you don't wanna be at your own party?"


"I don't have any friends."


"You have Stinko!" the clown said, pointing at himself as he sipped his beer, "Stinko's your pal, least for today."


"Aren't you not supposed to drink while working?" Lillian asked, nearly scowling at him.


",,,I won't tell on you if you won't tell on me," he said, holding his hand out for a pinky promise, which she took after a moment of slight hesitation.


"Deal," she said.


"And besides, who needs friends, you know what friends get you? Problems. The more people you have in your life, the more things you'll have to deal with. If all you ever got is yourself, then the only issues you have to worry about are your own! Worrying about others is exhausting, really," Stinko said.


"That sounds so lonely though," Lillian said.


"Sure, it gets lonely, but it beats the alternative."


"Which is?"


"Which is having to put up with others who are only there to take advantage of you," Stinko said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "I mean, think about it, so many people are only together because of what they can get out of the person they're with. There's those rare exceptions, certainly, where they actually genuinely love and care for one another, but that's not the norm. People are selfish, self entitled narcissistic little monsters out to please themselves and only themselves. Hell, the mere fact that parents act like putting a roof over your head and feeding you and giving you an education is a gift instead of what you're owed says it all. They chose to have a child, and then they complain about what it forces them to do. It's like buying a car. You don't wanna pay for gas? Don't drive. Very simple."


"...I'm not a car," Lillian said, furrowing her brow at Stinko.


"I know you're not a car, kid," he said, "I'm just making the point that everyone, even your own folks, are hypocritical people only looking out for their own interests and gains. They can treat a kid like shit their whole lives and then when they get older ask their kid to take care of them, and the kid often feels responsibility to do so, because society has taught them that to say no to their parents is wrong, even if their parents wronged them for years prior."


"But don't they say two wrongs don't make a right?" Lillian asked.


"You know who probably coined that phrase? Someone who didn't want their actions to be justifiably called out," Stinko said, taking another long swig of beer, then patting her on the shoulder, "that's why we look to entertainers; actors, artists, to make us feel better. Lift our spirits."


"Clowns?"


"Even clowns, like Stinko. Stinko's your friend, but only because I'm contractually obligated to be," Stinko said, "but hey, at least I'm upfront about it."


Lillian giggled as Stinko reached up his sleeve, pulled out a balloon and blew into it, quickly making a blow up dog and handing it to her.


"Happy birthday kid," he said, ruffling her hair, "Now go eat your cake."


Lillian didn't know it at the time, but Stinko's presence had a profound effect on her life and her viewpoints on relationships. Sure, she never turned out as bleak as he did, but she found some sort of solace in the fact that, even if only momentarily, she had an adult friend who didn't talk down to her, and who validated the way she felt. Ever since then she had made it her goal in life to hear children, to help children, and to heal children.


Maddie, especially, was no exception.


                                                                          ***


After they ate, the girls played a few board games, watched a few episodes of Maddie's favorite cartoon, and then, when Maddie was beginning to yawn, Lillian suggested she go to bed. Maddie didn't argue. Lillian picked her up off the couch and carried her down the hall, pushing open her bedroom door with her elbow and bringing her inside, laying her down in her bed and pulling the blankets up around. Maddie's eyes were fluttering, seemingly on the verge of sleep, but she reached down to beside her bed and pulled out a little book and handed it to Lillian as she seated herself on the bedside.


"What is this?" Lillian asked.


"It's a storybook about Rapunzel, it's my favorite bedtime story," Maddie said, "I was hoping you'd read it to me. Rina always reads me bedtime stories."


"You're not too old for that?"


"Even if I was, would I care?" Maddie asked, making Lillian laugh loudly.


"Fair enough," she replied, opening the book and saying, "you know, Rapunzel was always my favorite too. I really related to feeling trapped by a mom who only wanted me for the use of my beauty. I mean, my mom loves me, I know that, but still...she was so heavily focused on the pageants that sometimes it felt like I was a product and not a person."


"I stay in my room so much, cause I'm scared of seeing my parents fight, that I relate to Rapunzel because she's stuck in her room all the time. Knowing you is like knowing a real life Rapunzel, and I guess it's nice to know that people like us end up okay," Maddie said.


Lillian felt her heart crack, and forced a smile on her face as she stroked Maddie's hair. She read the story, waited for Maddie to fall asleep, then left the room. As she exited, quietly pulling the door shut behind her, she leaned against it, clasped a hand over her mouth and began to sob silently. A few hours later, after falling asleep on the couch, she felt a hand shaking her gently on the shoulder to awaken her, and opened her eyes to find herself looking at Rina, kneeling beside her.


"Hey," Rina whispered, "I'm back, did everything go-"


But before she could even finish, Lillian lunged forward and squeezed her tightly, crying against her. Rina was surprised, but hugged her back, patting her, telling her it was okay. Rina paid Lillian for her time, let her take the leftovers from dinner, and the two said goodnight. Lillian got in her car, started it up and then started driving home. When she pulled up to her apartment, she parked, headed upstairs and found Alexis sitting against the wall beside her door, looking haggard and shivering. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair was a mess. Lillian knelt down and helped her up, knowing she was clearly going through a withdrawal of some kind.


"Come on," she whispered, "let's clean you up."


Lillian helped Alexis bathe, then gave her some pajamas and let her sleep on her couch. She covered her up in a quilt and then went to bed herself. When she woke up in the morning, she was surprised to find Alexis lying in the bed beside her, hugging her. Lillian just smiled and shut her eyes, letting her friend get the comfort she needed. After a few minutes, Alexis whispered, surprising Lillian.


"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I hope this isn't weird. I was just so cold. I needed to feel safe."


"It's fine," Lillian said, patting her friends hand, "take as long as you need."


But, when Maddie woke up that morning, Rina was already gone, and she could hear her parents bickering quietly in the living room. She got up, put some blankets against the bottom of the bedroom door and then turned, going back to her bed, until she noticed a piece of paper against her lamp. It was a picture Lillian had drawn of herself and Maddie, both as princesses, in front of a giant tower. Maddie smiled and hugged the picture to her chest. Just like Stinko had done for Lillian, Lillian had become a friend to a child, making her feel just slightly less alone in the world. Because the world is scary enough, especially when you're a kid, the last thing you need is to be alone as well.

Published on
"You wanna tell me where you got these?" Father Krickett asked, shaking the little bottle of pills at Boris as he sat at the kitchen table, his arms folded, scowling.

"Why? You my dad or something?" Boris asked.

"We're just curious how long you've been using them," Whittle said, sitting across from Boris, "...I'm guessing you kept them from the incident you and Polly went through, but have you been taking them regularly?"

"...sort of," Boris said, "I've been having nightmares. I've been using them when I need them, which is what they tell you to do with any medication, right? Use only when necessary?"

"Yeah, when they're prescribed to you! She stole these out of the medicine hall of the home, Boris," Father Krickett said sternly, rubbing his forehead and beginning to pace around the table; after a moment he sighed and said, "I don't wanna be the straight edge priest here, but this isn't an acceptable situation. I cannot, in good conscience, allow this to continue."

"Then stop caring," Boris mumbled.

Father Krickett shook his head, surprised and saddened by Boris's attitude. He couldn't just 'stop caring', because he'd seen first hand what these sorts of things could develop into, spiral towards, and leave in the wake of peoples lives. He didn't like to talk about it, but yes, he'd seen it.

And he swore to never see it again.

                                                                                              ***

John Potter Krickett had been a young man when he'd been in the accident.

He was a young man in college, his second year in, when it happened. He hadn't been drinking, he hadn't been out late, he hadn't been speeding. He had done absolutely nothing to instigate the incident, it merely happened, as these things so often do. Someone else disobeyed a traffic law, and suddenly John Potter Krickett was scrunched between his steering wheel and a lamp post. They told him he was lucky to even be alive, but was he? No. His parents were lucky he was alive. After all, he'd watched them lose his brother, he didn't want to put them through that level of agony and anguish yet again. Once had been enough for a lifetime.

At the hospital, they gave him the pain medication. Once he got out, he still was being given it. He took it fairly regularly, partially because it helped with the pain but also, and he'd never admit this to anyone, because it made him feel less bad about having survived. He hadn't wanted to survive. Sitting there, drifting between states of consciousness, John Potter Krickett swore up and down that he'd seen the face of god, and that all he wanted was to join him in heaven. When he awoke in the hospital, he was devastated. Oh sure, most people - likely all people honestly - just took his sadness as a reaction to what happened, but no...he wasn't sad about the accident.

He was sad that he'd survived it.

Lying in bed one night, John couldn't sleep. Instead, he pulled himself out of bed, slipped his feet in his sandals and headed outside to the backyard of his parents house, where he found his father sitting on a chair, having a beer. John sat down in the chaise lounge, and after acknowledging one another with a brief smile, they both silently watched the stars together overhead. After a few minutes, John sighed.

"Why don't we ever go to church?" John asked.

"...I mean, your mother used to drag us there for holiday situations, but otherwise, neither of us just ever saw the need," his father replied, "why?"

"Just curious," John said, shrugging, before adding, "...so you guys don't believe in heaven? You don't think Jeff's up there or something?"

"...I think we each have our own personal viewpoint of the situation, frankly," his father said, "your mother is far more spiritual than I, but no, I don't think either of us believes in heaven, at least not the way the catholics define it."

John nodded, listening intently.

"What kind of proof would you need for you to suddenly believe in a concept like heaven?" John asked, and his father shrugged, shaking his head.

"I guess, you know, visual confirmation of the sort. I'm definitely a 'see it and it's real' kind of person. I know that doesn't exactly fly for everyone, but for me my eyes have never lied, and never would, so that's good enough evidence to convince me of anything. You hear it all the time from skeptics who never believed in ghosts until they saw one, or never believed in aliens until a UFO showed up over their yard. That's what I'd need. I'd need to see the face of God."

He didn't know it at the time, but that sentiment had begun John down a path that would eventually lead him to the church. John had seen the face of God, and nothing in the real world compared.

                                                                                     ***

"What are they for?" Steven asked, lying in bed as he watched John head to the bathroom and pull out his pain medication, taking one before shoving the bottle back into the cabinet.

"I was in an accident a few years ago," John said, "I still have pain from it now and then, so I've just had an ongoing prescription since then that they keep honoring."

"You sure you're not abusing that?" Steven asked as John came back and sat on the side of the bed.

"...I am, and I can admit it. My folks were so angry with me when I told them I was still using them, but they insisted on getting me help. I told them no, I have to get help myself, I can't depend on others. Except, being religious, that's what you do. You depend on others. You depend on the lord to guide you, you depend on your people to take to heart what you say in your sermons. You depend entirely on faith itself."

"What do you think God would find more blasphemous?" Steven asked, sitting up now, "Abusing medication or sleeping with a man?"

John smirked, chuckling.

"Frankly, I don't think God has any right to tell me how to live my life so long as my life is lived in service of him. So long as I spread his gospel, treat his word as truth, try and help others with the love Jesus gave to those around him, then God has no say in what I do outside of that. I've already given my life to God. He shouldn't get to dictate every single aspect of it."

Steven smiled and kissed John's shoulder, John reaching back and running his hands through Steven's fluffy hair. Their relationship had been going on a year now, and nobody knew. John wasn't exactly afraid of what would happen if his parents found out or anything, but he was afraid what the church itself might say. Between their relationship and his medication abuse, he was almost certain he'd be asked to leave.

But before anyone could find anything out, there was yet another accident.

This time, it was John's fault. This time he couldn't point blame at anyone else flagrantly disregarding traffic laws or simply chock it up to one of those things that happens in life. No. This time he was solely responsible. And it was something he'd never forgiven himself for. God might have, certainly. That's the idea, isn't it? God forgives your sins so long as you're willing to repent for them and make right. So okay, he had God's forgiveness. But he could never forgive himself.

                                                                                     ***

"This cannot continue," Father Krickett said, "We're going to put an end to this. I'm willing to hold onto it for you, give you some when you really genuinely need pain relief, but I cannot allow you to continue having it in your hands. I refuse to stand idly by and be responsible for something I could easily stopped."

"You told me I wasn't responsible for Polly's death, so what would make you responsible for anything that happens to me?" Boris asked, growing agitated.

"Because yours would've been avoidable!" Father Krickett said loudly, his anger surprising Whittle, who'd never seen him get mad before.

"Oh, and hers wasn't? At any goddamned point during that entire situation I could've stopped, I could've said to her 'hey, maybe this isn't such a great idea!' but I never did, did I? I never once did that. Ergo, I'm responsible for her death. Polly is dead because of me!" Boris shouted, standing up now, hands planted firmly on the table, staring Father Krickett down from the other side. Krickett wasted no time, matching Boris's stance, like a wild animal defending its pups from a predator. Whittle backed away and simply watched, fascinated.

"You don't get to decide after the fact what would've been better in the moment, that isn't how things work. You make the decisions you make and you live with the consequences thereof, be they positive or negative. The only thing you can do afterwards is move on and try to do better. By dwelling on things, you're only inviting more pain unto yourself that isn't exactly warranted nor necessary!" Father Krickett shouted back, "I know because I've been there! I killed someone because of pain medication!

This stopped Boris in his tracks. His face softened, his eyes widened. He saw the tears swelling in Father Krickett's eyes.

"what?" he asked softly.

"I was in an accident in college. They gave me pain medication to deal with it, pain medication I became extremely reliant upon. A year later, I met a man named Steven, and we fell absolutely in love with one another. A year after that, wouldn't you know it, I had yet another accident. Except this time it was my fault. This time I was to blame. Driving hopped up on pain medication, frustrated with the church for trying to tell me what I could and couldn't do outside its walls. He died because of me. He died because of my recklessness. I will not have that happen again. You may think you're the first person to go through this, but I assure you, you are not. You may, however, be the most goddamned stubborn."

Boris didn't respond. Instead he merely slunk back into his seat and bit his lip, looking at his old, wrinkled hands in front of him on the table.

"...then you know. You know what it's like to miss someone," he whispered, "I didn't love her, not romantically anyway. Besides, she was gay too. But I loved her as much as I've ever loved anyone platonically. I keep having dreams about her. It's like she's haunting me. Do you know how much that hurts? To see the face of someone you miss so badly, only to realize their face is not here anymore? You're seeing a memory of their face. I'm old. My memory ain't what it used to be and it's only going to get worse. What if I forget what she looks like? What if...what if at some point I have a dream about her, but it doesn't look like her? I may not be responsible for her death, but I'm sure as hell responsible for her memory."

Father Krickett slowed his breathing, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve before walking around the table and kneeling beside Boris, putting his hand on the old mans hands and squeezing them gently.

"Time...takes everything from us. It cannot be reasoned with, it cannot be fought, and it cannot be bargained against. It takes what it takes without compassion, but also without malice. It can't do it with either, because it isn't a living thing, it's a concept. The older we get, the more we lose, be it people we love, our health or simply parts of ourselves. The only way to fight time is to be timeless. Untethered from its restrictions and its indignant disregard for our personhood. To not think about time gives time no power over you. Sure, seasons will still change, people will still leave and we'll still grow old. But at least we do it on our own schedule instead of doing it on times schedule, or that's what we can tell ourselves anyway. Memory is the only thing we have in the fight against time, and so long as you remember Polly - even if she looks nothing like you remember - then you've won. You've won. Because the idea of her is what's important. The feeling she imparted on you. Not what she looked like. That's what photographs are for."

Boris looked at Father Krickett, his face running with tears, and he turned and put his arms around the priest, hugging him tightly.

"I miss her so much, John," he whispered.

"I know," Father Krickett said, hugging Boris, patting his back, adding, "and that's good. That means her life made a difference."

He didn't argue with Boris any further that day. He just let him cry, and he held him. He made Boris feel safe, understood and cared for, because so often, people never get that in their lives, especially our elderly. Boris let Father Krickett take the pills home that night, and agreed to see a doctor about his addiction, which made Father Krickett happy. After Father Krickett left that night, he drove home, and he made himself some dinner. Fish and rice and roasted carrots. He ate dinner, he took a shower, and then he got ready for bed.

John put his pajamas on, had dessert, then he brushed his teeth and he slipped the medication into his medicine cabinet. John then went to bed, pulling his quilt and sheets back, climbing under them and adjusting his pillows, laying his head back and sighing. He done the right thing, he knew this, and he was proud of himself. He picked up a book from the bedside table and opened it, then, just as quickly, set it in his lap face down so he wouldn't lose his spot and he pulled open the bedside table drawer and removed a framed photograph from it. He smiled at it, kissed the glass and then placed it on the pillow beside him. John picked his book back up and started reading again.

                                                                                    ***

"You look good," John said, adjusting the lens on the camera, "Your parents will love it."

"I hope so. I haven't had a haircut in a long time," Steven said, sitting on the steps outside John's apartment, continuing, "thanks for doing this, by the way. I really wanted to send them a Christmas card this year, and I can't take a decent photograph to save my life."

"Hey, it's no problem," John said, smiling, "Just make sure I get a copy."

"Of course," Steven said, blowing a kiss at him.

"Smile!" John said, before snapping the photo.

                                                                                        ***

John put a bookmark in his book, set it back down on the bedside table and turned the light off. He rolled onto his side, facing the framed photo on the pillow and smiled as he shut his eyes, one hand on top of the frame, patting it ever so gently.

"Good night, Steven," he whispered, before drifting off to sleep.
Published on
Sitting in the hallway of his childrens elementary school, Wyatt Bloom couldn't help but feel anxious. Parent/Teacher conferences always put him on edge. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with people evaluating his children specifically, it was that he found the mere act of child evaluation sort of sickening overall. You never know what a parent might be like, and if they hear something that's less than stellar than their perception of their child, they may go home and abuse said child in any number of ways, ranging from physical to verbal to emotional. That's too much pressure to put on a kid, frankly. He tried to push the thought out of his head and flipped the page of the magazine he'd brought with him when he heard someone seat themselves in the chair beside him.

"So," Celia said, "Come here often?"

Wyatt smirked, replying, "Oh yeah, I'm a regular here. Probably spend more time here than is healthy."

"Boy," Celia said, "You've got a problem, you should see someone."

They both laughed as she positioned herself more comfortably in her chair and sighed.

"It feels like a totally different life, doesn't it?" Celia asked, "Like, high school still seems fairly fresh, but elementary school...it seems like it happened to someone I just watched vicariously instead of living."

"I know what you mean, the passage of time screws me up if I think about it too long," Wyatt said, "I know I went to elementary school, I know I did homework, I know I ran on the playground, it just isn't stuff I'm too capable of remembering vividly."

"I think it's because a childs brain is still forming at that age, and their long term memory isn't exactly functional because, well, they haven't really lived long term just yet," Celia said, pushing her hair from her eyes, "but I actually am able to remember more than most people it seems. I have more than a handful of very vivid childhood memories and adolescent recollections."

"That has to be awkward," Wyatt said.

"It certainly makes things, uh, weird, yeah," Celia said, chuckling, "but it's also nice, ya know, it's nice to fondly remember things, especially if it was a good time and it really was, for me at least. I had a good home life, I had friends, I did well in school. Nothing to really complain about."

Just then the door to the classroom in front of them opened, and a woman stepped out.

"Mr. Bloom?" she asked.

"That's me," Wyatt said, standing up and, looking back at Celia before leaving, he added "don't wait up."

They chuckled and he headed inside.

"Please Mr Bloom, have a seat," the woman said, shutting the door behind him as he sauntered inside; she walked around to the back of her desk and sat down, clearing her throat and rifling through a small stack of folders before finding one she opened. When she looked up, Wyatt was squeezed into one of the childrens school desks. She almost burst out laughing, but years of teaching had given her an incredible amount of restraint. Instead, she merely readjusted her glasses and asked, "...how are you doing?"

"I think the blood circulation to my legs is cut off," Wyatt remarked, "but please, go on."

"Let me start off by saying that Mona is such a great kid," the teacher, Ms. Dinsburg, said.

"If you have to start with compliments, that usually means it only gets worse," Wyatt replied.

"You're not wrong," Ms. Dinsburg said, "She's a great kid. She's very easy to talk to, she does her homework and she listens better than anyone else I have. That being said, she doesn't really fit in with the other children. She seems to have absolutely no interest in playing with kids, she's somewhat reserved and she seems to have trouble concentrating sometimes and instead prefers to stick to fantasies."

"Well, I don't know if you're aware of this, but...she is a child," Wyatt said, making her smile.

"Certainly, but it goes beyond that. She often has an aversion to touching certain things, certain types of paper. For example, recently we did a small class project, and it involved handling construction paper. She wouldn't even touch it after the first time feeling it, she said it made her feel yucky. Same goes with glue. She got glue on her hands one time and, when needing the dry glue peeled off, she started to cry. Normally I might chock this up to just fairly heavy sensitivity, but there's too many correlations between her and other students I've had to ignore it."

"...what exactly are you trying to say?" Wyatt asked, now sitting up more directly, concerned.

"I think your daughter has a disorder, and I'd recommend you get her checked out for it. Now I'm no medical professional, but it seems to me she some sort of sensory processing condition," Ms. Dinsburg said, sighing before finishing with, "have you ever heard of ASD?"

                                                                                                 ***

"So your folks have no idea?" Rachel asked, standing at the sliding glass door in the kitchen that led out to the backyard as Calvin fixed himself a sandwich.

"Nope," he said, screwing the lid back on the mustard, "they know it's my personal space that I use, and besides that, I changed the locks, so they couldn't go in even if they wanted to."

"They aren't suspicious of that at all?" Rachel asked, surprised.

"Please, I've never given them reason to suspect me of anything. I've got a completely clean record. I've never been arrested, never even for minor offenses like traffic violations, and I've always been fairly forthcoming with my parents. All that goodwill eventually leads to you being able to tell your parents anything and having them believe it automatically."

Calvin finished his sandwich and, together, they walked back out to the patio in the backyard and seated themselves so he could eat. Rachel sipped on the beer he'd given her and wiped her mouth on her flannel sleeve before exhaling.

"And you've never even built a bomb before?" Rachel asked.

"Nope," Calvin said, taking a bite of his sandwich, chewing and swallowing before replying again, continuing with, "it's surprisingly easy, actually. For something they don't want people to do, they sure allow a lot of people to write about the subject."

"When do you think you'll be done?" Rachel asked.

"No idea," Calvin said, shrugging, "I have a date in mind, but who knows if I'll reach it."

"You know," Rachel said, "you could theoretically use coffee beans. If you keep beans in a sealed container, like a mason jar, without opening them daily, it produces an effect called offgassing. This means that, when finally opened, it could explode. It isn't dangerous exactly, but perhaps, in mass quantity. See, coffee beans have carbon dioxide when roasted, and carbon dioxide is what's often responsible for explosions through gaslines."

"Why do you know this?" Calvin asked.

"I really liked science in school," Rachel said, shrugging, "Either way, I can get a bunch of beans from work and we can see what we can do with it."

"That's a possibility, but the thing I've noticed about bomb building, especially from watching shows about true crime, is that you don't want to stick out. You don't want to be unique. The greatest thing you can accomplish when building an explosive is to be as mundane and standard as possible. A fingerprint makes you far more identifiable."

"Yeah but you're only building one," Rachel said, "Besides, there's receipts with your name on it for fertilizer. They can trace that. But if some coffee beans just disappear from work, a workplace you don't work at by the way, they would never expect that."

Calvin tossed his bangs from his eyes and looked towards the shed. He sighed and shrugged again.

"I suppose we could see," Calvin said.

"Alright then," Rachel said, "Let's commit some crimes."

                                                                                                ***

Wyatt was sitting back in the hall, reading over some papers Ms. Dinsburg had given him, when Celia approached and sat down beside him. He leaned back and sighed deeply, running his hands down his face, putting the papers on his lap. Celia cocked her head and looked at the papers and then back at Wyatt.

"Not go well?" she asked.

"Have you ever heard of ASD?" Wyatt asked.

"Autism Spectrum Disorder?" Celia asked, and Wyatt nodded.

"Yeah. She says my daughter is an excellent student, but she thinks she has sensory processing issues and wants us to get her checked out," Wyatt said.

"And that makes you mad? You don't like the idea of having a disabled child?" Celia asked.

"What?" Wyatt asked, looking at her now, an eyebrow raised, "no, no I...I don't care. I'm mad at myself. I mean...Mona's never really liked crowds. She's never really liked lots of noise. And what do I do for a living? I work in an industry dedicating itself to the deforestation of the earth, bringing in more civilization, making the world a more crowded, noisy place. I'm directly responsible for making the world around her worse for her. I don't want her to have a life that's painful for her because I had a hand in making the world worse for her."

"...wow, that's...that's deep," Celia said, patting his knee, "but, you're not responsible. These things happen. Like you said at your office, you need to support your family. People with ASD find ways to cope, ways to manage, ways to survive. She knows you love her, and so long as you support her-"

"How can I support her while simultaneously making the world worse for her to exist in?" Wyatt asked, sitting up again now, "that's not supportive! If anything I'm being unsupportive! In fact, she's so unsupported that I may as well change my name to Adobe Software!"

Celia laughed, which made Wyatt crack a little smile.

"I just...I don't know what to do," he said flatly, "...I need to do better."

"We'd all like to do better for our children, by our children, but in the end sometimes the most we can do is simply love them."

"You said I'd get disenchanted with what I do, with the life I lead. You're not wrong. I already was. I just didn't wanna admit it. I have everything. Everything one could strive to attain in the modern world, and I have it. A comfortable home life, a loving family, a cushy job, and...I'm so far from fulfilled. How original, right? Wow, someone who achieved the "american dream" and finds it's more a nightmare than a dream. How cliche. But you know what? Maybe it's a cliche for a reason, because it keeps happening, because it's that true."

"...I don't know what to say," Celia said quietly.

Wyatt, leaning back on the bench, rolled his head towards her and smiled.

"I want to do something more with my life, something I can look back on - something my children can look back on - with pride. You're lucky. You're a good person, and me? I'm just a person," Wyatt said.

Celia felt her heart hurt for Wyatt, and wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be okay. Tell him that, deep down, he really was a good person, but she knew she couldn't afford to be that affectionate upfront towards a married man in their kids school no less. After a few minutes passed, a handful of other parents passing them in the hall, chatting and laughing, Celia looked back at Wyatt and smiled warmly.

"I have to get home, but maybe you'd like to go get something to eat first?" she asked.

"...I could eat," Wyatt said after a pause, getting up and following her down the hall, adding, "but please, nothing healthy. I've suffered enough today."

                                                                                              ***

Rachel and Calvin were sitting in Rachel's car, parked in the lot across the street from her place of work, waiting for the shop to shut down. She had a pair of binoculars in her hands, peering through them, waiting for the lights to switch off inside. She pulled the binoculars down and looked at Calvin, who was reading one of his many library books on bombs.

"Why are you doing this?" Calvin asked, without looking up.

"...what? Helping you? I don't know. I guess cause I've got no reason not to. Look at my life, Cal. I dropped out of college, I live by myself, above the place I work at, and the brightest spot in my life recently was my high school reunion and only to see someone who didn't even show up. Not exactly a fairy tale life is it?" Rachel asked.

"A few weeks ago you told me you were 'living the dream' and now you're saying this is no sort of life to be proud of? Make up your mind!" Calvin replied, chuckling.

"Something being easy doesn't equate it to being good," Rachel said, "Yeah, sure, there's no expectations on me and that means there's no pressures, but that also means I have absolutely no goals to reach for because I'm too scared to even try anything. Yeah, I'm alive, but I'm not doing much living."

Just then the lights switched off, Calvin pointed and Rachel got out of the car. Calvin watched as the last employee of the night exited out the front, then watched as Rachel ran across the street and around to the back. She used her key, gained entrance, all while the other employee got in their car and drove away. After what seemed like ten of fifteen minutes, Rachel came back, carrying a box full of bags of beans. Calvin got out, took her cars and opened the trunk, watching her plop them inside. They shut the trunk and looked at one another, and Calvin shook his head.

"You shouldn't throw the possibility of a life away just because you don't have one now," Calvin said, "I've already lost what I had, but you can start over. I cannot."

"But you're my friend now, and I have to stick by my friends. I screwed that up once already, I can't screw it up again," Rachel mumbled.

Calvin furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure what she meant by this - he had no context for her past with Kelly - but he appreciated her honesty and companionship nonetheless. Suddenly Rachel hugged him, then the two of them climbed back into her car and drove back to his folks house. After she helped load the beans into the shed, they bid one another goodnight, and Rachel went home. When she arrived back to her apartment, she heated something up for dinner in the microwave and pulled off a photo album, seating herself on the bed and flipping through the pages while she ate.

Photos of her and Kelly during the summer at amusement parks, having birthdays, sleepovers, holiday get togethers. The girls had once been inseparable, and now the only time they'd seen one another in the past decade was at their high school reunion. She'd let Kelly down, and she'd always felt bad about that. She couldn't go through that again with Calvin. Rachel needed to have friends. She needed to help. She needed to be needed, even if it meant perhaps being involved in something criminal. Sure, Calvin was right, she could start over, but really...

...that was too much effort too, and he knew how she felt about effort.

                                                                                               ***

"I just don't feel like things were so hard for kids when we were kids," Wyatt said, looking out the window near their booth in the diner, his hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee as they waited for their order; he continued, "I mean, I know there's always been worry about illness, disorders, stranger danger and shit, but...it just seems like kids today have it so much more difficult than we did, and we're only making things harder for them as they get older. Instead of making the world fairer, easier, less difficult or complex to navigate let alone exist in than it was for us, we're making it more difficult for them as they grow up. That doesn't seem right. The people who come after you shouldn't have to suffer in the same ways you suffered, am I wrong?"

"Not at all," Celia said, pouring sugar into her coffee and stirring it, "between the housing market and student debt, the continually decimated economy and wars in countries we have no business even being in, yeah, shit's gotten worse. We like to pretend it hasn't. We like to say we have better technology or are more accepting and open minded, but better technology only leads to more expectations and we're not more open minded, we just pretend we are. The majority of us are still bigots. The mere fact that you, a once white prominent high school baseball star is even having coffee with me, a black woman who works in environmentalism, is something to be surprised by, even if it shouldn't be. We still have all the racist, sexist ideals we once had. We're just better at hiding them now."

Wyatt nodded as the waitress set his steak and eggs on the table and then went back for Celia's food.

"I just want her to be happy," Wyatt said, picking up his wrapped utensils and freeing them from their napkin tomb, adding, "She's my daughter, she's the world to me, and I wanna give the world to her. But when I see how fucked up the world is, especially for someone with her potential disorder, is it even something worth giving?"

"She'll be okay if you just get her tested, find out for sure and help her cope," Celia said, "It's not a terminal illness, Wyatt, it's just a processing disorder. Sounds are sharper. Textures are rougher. Lights are brighter. These people find ways to have perfectly happy lives in spite of their differences. So long as she has that support, and you seem nothing if not overly supportive, she'll be fine."

Wyatt smiled at Celia's kindness as he started to cut into his steak. The waitress returned with Celia's food - a small salad and a watercress sandwich - and placed it on the table, then said if they needed anything she'd be nearby, before turning and leaving them alone. As Celia dug into her food, Wyatt couldn't help but feel good about what she'd said. He was a supportive father, and he wasn't a bigot. Scarlett said nice things about him all the time, but it's harder to take compliments about your person at face value when they come from someone who can only see the good in you.

But coming from a stranger? Yeah, those he could see a genuine.

"Maybe I should become a vegetarian," Wyatt said, chewing on his steak, "if I wanna help make the world a better place and all."

"God, life is hard enough, don't make it worse for yourself," Celia said, the both of them laughing.
Published on
Rachel Minnow had vomited until she couldn't vomit anymore.

Flopping down onto her back on her bathroom floor in her dorm, she couldn't take it. She knew she had to go to class in about 15 minutes, but the way she was feeling...she couldn't afford to blow it off, but she also couldn't afford to throw up on everyone she came into remote contact with. Rachel eventually gathered herself back up, cleaned herself off, got changed, gathered her things and headed to class. She had to go. After all, people expected great things from her.

That was all she'd been told her whole life. That people expected great things from her. From the moment her natural artistic talent began to show through, even at such a young age, her parents repeatedly told said, "You're going to be so successful that one day you'll be able to take care of us!"

The level of unwarranted pressure that puts on a small child is despicable, Rachel quickly realized, and the last thing she wanted to do was take care of other folks, when she could barely manage to take care of herself. Now, as an adult who worked at a low effort coffee shop, she couldn't be happier with where others expectations of her lay. In fact, the only person she could let down at this point was herself, and she had the lowest expectations of all for herself, so she was rarely disappointed. Rachel still liked to paint. It wasn't like she'd given up on it entirely. She just couldn't handle the pressure that came with the potential success. Some people are built for fame, but most people aren't.

Rachel, however, was built for fame. She just didn't want it.

                                                                                                 ***

"Do you think we'll go to the same college?" Kelly asked, lying on Rachel's bed one summer afternoon in Sophomore year of high school. Rachel was seated at her desk, doing some light sketching while Kelly flipped through a magazine.

"I doubt it," Rachel said, "mostly because I'll be attending an art college."

"Maybe I could attend art college too," Kelly said, making Rachel laugh.

"You don't have any artistic skills," Rachel replied, "You could barely manage to make a diorama for school!"

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Kelly said quietly, sighing, then adding, "it's just not fair. I don't wanna go back to not having any friends. I got used to having you around."

Rachel spun around in her desk chair and looked at Kelly. She smiled.

"Hey," she said, "don't worry about it. We'll still be friends even if we go to different colleges. That'll never change."

It did, in fact, change, and it didn't even wait until college to happen. Rachel stopped being friends with Kelly before high school was even over, and she rarely, if ever, felt bad for the fact. The reasoning? Certainly not anything Kelly could ever figure out, and was always too afraid to ask about. Instead she sat on the sidelines, seeing write ups about the up and coming future star painter, until one day, Rachel dropped out of college, and then dropped out of sight.

Kelly never knew why this happened either, but at least this time, she was a bit more curious to find out the reason.

                                                                                                ***

"I'm livin' the dream," Rachel said, sitting at the table by the window, the usual spot she and Calvin and taken to meeting in the last few weeks; she bit into a bagel and said, "yes sirree."

"This is the dream?" Calvin asked, trying not to laugh, "Gee, and the rest of us thought we had it made with the house and the family and the high paying job, when in actuality we got it all wrong. We're so stupid."

"I don't necessarily mean the way I live is perfect, but, like, this way I have absolutely no expectations put on me, and it doesn't make me anxious. When I was in college, and my painting started getting noticed, it was stressful as hell. All those galas, all those shows, it was just...too high strung. Everyone always expected my best work. Mediocre or even middling work was never acceptable. Always had to be top notch stuff. But this? Nobody expects me to make the best cup of coffee they've ever tasted. That level of pressure I can live with."

Calvin sipped his coffee and nodded, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, "Once you've removed all the stressful things from your life, or in some cases had them removed for you, it does become somewhat easier to gauge what exactly matters the most. Keeps your mind clear. You're able to think more cleanly."

"Exactly," Rachel said, "My head was fogged and clouded so often, and now...I mean, I have extreme depression but at least I can think about how to handle it without worrying about a million other things."

A moment passed as they watched a mom and her two kids leave the coffee shop, both kids happily eating pastries while the mom drank her coffee. Calvin smiled at the sight, and Rachel sighed.

"I used to think the most important thing in life was doing it perfectly," Rachel said, "meet someone, get married, have some kids, have a career, never allow a blemish on this plan...but now..."

"It has its perks, I'll admit," Calvin said, "having people to care about and who care about you, but again, pressure."

"I can barely handle a relationship. The last woman I was with became so intensely clingy that I felt bad when I split up with her because I didn't want her to assume it was the clingyness and not the fact that we were merely incompatible as partners."

"And?"

"I mean, it was partially the clingyness, but still, she shouldn't have to feel bad about it," Rachel said, the both of them laughing softly.

                                                                                                 ***

The last person Rachel ever expected to see the night of graduation was Kelly, and yet here she was, standing on the front porch. Rachel hadn't gone to any of the graduation parties, but she was dressed and ready to go out with a few friends she'd met at a summer art program in senior year. Kelly, on the other hand, was wearing a band t-shirt and jeans, looking like the kid she always looked like.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked.

"I needed to pick something up. I left something with you a few years ago and you never returned it," Kelly said, "it's a photo album."

"Oh, okay, come on in," Rachel said, stepping aside and allowing Kelly entrance into the house.

The two girls headed up the stairs to Rachel's bedroom, and Kelly began looking through the closet, knowing this was where most of the stuff she left over eventually wound up. The girls used to be as tight as ever, always borrowing one anothers belongings, leaving things over at one anothers houses for years at a time, but now this item was the only thing of Kelly's left in Rachel's presence, and even that was about to leave. Rachel sat on the bed and watched her former best friend search.

"I'm going out, if you wanna come," she said quietly, surprising even herself at the offer.

"Uh, no thanks, I have to take this photo album to my grandma in the hospital," Kelly said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know," Rachel whispered.

"Besides, you didn't want to see me in high school, what would make me think you wanna see me now that it's over?"

"I was just trying to be nice," Rachel said.

"There's something you haven't done in a while."

"You don't have to be a bitch," Rachel snapped.

"No, actually, I kind of do. After the way you treated me, I think I need to stand up for myself once in a while, even to the people I never once would've expected to be mean to me," Kelly said, still searching through the closet, not even looking at her, "because you were the one person I never thought I'd have to defend myself from. It hurts."

Rachel didn't even want to respond to that, because she wasn't really sure how to. Instead, she just stayed seated on the bed and waited until Kelly finally managed to uncover the photo album. The two walked back downstairs, and once Kelly was on the porch, she thanked Rachel for the invite, and apologized for what she said. As Rachel watched her former best friend leave, all she could think of was how bad she felt for Kelly. Rachel had always been weird, but she was able to at least make friends. Kelly couldn't make friends. It had been a miracle she and Rachel had become friends at all, and Rachel wondered what life must be like, to be that lonely.

Now, as an adult, she understood exactly, and she couldn't lie, she felt kinda bad about the whole thing, even if she did enjoy her solitude.

                                                                                              ***

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," Calvin said another day, this time sitting in his car in the parking lot so Rachel could have a smoke break; he continued, "being alone and stuff. I mean, sure, it's got its perks, but there's something to be said about the level of comfort that comes from having those around you who want you there without expecting anything of you, and that's what a good relationship actually brings."

"It's too hard. Everything's too hard," Rachel said, blowing smoke out the window, "I'm just not cut out for things that take any effort."

Calvin laughed loudly at this and nodded.

"I understand that sentiment all too well," he said, "these days I find it harder and harder to do anything that doesn't feel required of me. I can give my all to a project that feels necessary, but the small stuff? Laundry, cooking, having friends? Seems so much harder."

"I didn't realize it at the time, but...I kinda need the structure school gave me. I think that was partially why college didn't work, because it was so unstructured. Like, sure I was expected to do the work and show up for classes, but what was the ultimate punishment if I didn't? Nothing, really. Unless you allowed it to get so bad that they flat out dropped you, but even that took some level of effort. I need that rigid structure that general school gives. Apparently I can't be damned to care about anything if nobody is expecting me to do it."

"Expectation is both a blessing and a curse then, it sounds like," Calvin said, "when I was married, my wife expected things of me, but they weren't huge things, and I did them not because they were expected but because I wanted to make her happy."

"That's sweet," Rachel said, smiling.

"But these days, I totally get it. Without that need, I just...I don't care."

"...I think I could make it work with someone, if I met the right woman, but...the right woman is never the woman I meet. That's the problem. And it takes so much effort to meet someone you can really see a future with, and that's a whole other set of expectations that I just can't deal with."

"What's with the aversion to expectation? I mean, I kinda get it, I just don't-"

"I had this agent, when I was in college. He was highly recommended, was said to be very supporting of the artists he promoted, and honestly he didn't seem that bad. But the more I learned about him, particularly from other women he had as clients, the more I realized I couldn't give him what he wanted. He wanted perfect work every time. He wanted a good part of the commission. When I stopped turning in high quality stuff, and when I demanded that I be paid my fair share because I'm the one actually making the art, he got...mean."

"What kind of mean?" Calvin asked.

"It was at one of the showings, but everyone had left and we were clearing things up, and he tried to...anyway, I was lucky. One of the waitresses there who came back because she'd left some of the catering equipment walked in on his attempt, and helped me stop him. It didn't get far, but the effort was enough. He put effort into that. He planned that. He made sure it happened when we were alone. Effort, ever since then, has just seemed wrong. He expected me to give him what he wanted, and when I wouldn't, he tried to take it anyway."

Calvin couldn't believe his ears, his jaw somewhat slack.

"And you never told anyone?" he asked.

"Why would I? They'd never believe me," Rachel replied, "but let me tell ya, ever since then, I never want anyone to expect anything of me, nor do I want to put any effort into anything. I've seen where both of those can lead you, and I don't wanna go back there."

"Well," Calvin said, finishing his coffee and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "I'll add him to the list of people to blow up then."

Rachel laughed at this joke, fully unaware Calvin actually meant it.

                                                                                              ***

Rachel didn't see Kelly again after that night until the night of the reunion, and judging by Kelly's reaction to her, she'd either forgiven or outright forgotten the last conversation they'd had. When she arrived back upstairs in her apartment that night, Rachel thought about what Calvin had said, about how being alone wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and despite admitting he was right in some regards, she couldn't allow herself to become involved with anyone. Hell, this weird pseudo-friendship she had with him was tough enough to manage.

Rachel took a shower, then made something for dinner. As she watched TV while eating, her thoughts turned to Sun Rai.

Despite the way she felt, she couldn't deny the fact that she had gone to that reunion solely to see Sun again. She did obviously want to have that human connection, she couldn't deny it, no matter what she might've told Calvin. The fact that she yearned to see Sun said it all. She still had romance within her, even in light of what had happened to her. Rachel finished eating and laid back on the couch, then reached to the end table and picked up the cordless phone. She dialed a number and lifted the receiver to her ear, listening to it ring.

"Hello?" Calvin answered.

"What're you doing?" Rachel asked.

"Just working on a project," he replied.

"Can I come over?" Rachel asked, and after a moment of silence that she took as apparent hesitation, he said yes, then gave her his parents address.

                                                                                                 ***

"Nice place," Rachel said upon arriving, making Calvin smile.

"Yeah, it has its charm," he said, opening the back gate and letting her follow him, as he added, "I'm surprised you wanted to hang out."

"Well, I was just thinking about what we were discussing and I guess you're right, I didn't wanna be completely alone. I only went to that stupid reunion to see someone, and she didn't even show up, so," Rachel said.

"Glad to be a fallback," Calvin said, making her smirk as they approached the shed; he opened the door and walked inside, letting her follow him in. Her face took on an immediate change of both intense curiosity and mild confusion.

"Are you an engineer or something?" she asked, half laughing.

"Naw," Calvin said, "this is just what I've been working on for the last few months."

"What...what is this?" Rachel asked, approaching the table and looking down at the device Calvin was building.

"It's a bomb," he said.

"Really? That's pretty cool," Rachel said, "...why are you building a bomb? Just for kicks?"

"Because I'm going to blow someone up."

Rachel looked at Calvin, and Calvin looked at Rachel, and after a moment or so, she nodded.

"Alright," she said, "So, tell me, who we killing?"
Published on
The sun peaked through the slit blinds of Leslie Swann's bedroom, splashing onto her face, making her skin warm ever so slightly. She rolled over, stretching and yawning, half her face hidden by her long bouncy hair, until she smiled, seeing Beatrice lying in bed beside her. Bea smiled back at her, reaching out and pushing Leslie's hair back behind her ear.

"When my husband and I split, after the miscarriage, I never thought I'd feel this safe in a bedroom again," Leslie said, speaking softly, "...amazing how things can change if you give them the chance."

"I'm not used to being with others," Bea said, "I'm...it makes me almost...scared."

"You don't have to be scared," Leslie said, "I know it's scary, but you never have to be scared with me. I always admired you. I was so touched when you asked if I would come on board, I couldn't believe it. And then that night..."

Bea smiled again as Leslie wiggled closer and kissed her. After it broke, Leslie rolled back over and sighed.

"People were right," Beatrice said, "It IS easy to bed women when you're famous."

Leslie couldn't help it, she broke out in contagious laughter, making Bea laugh too.

It was a good morning.

                                                                                            ***

Eliza spun around in her chair, holding up a small train, making Michelle smile.

"Do you wanna do the honors?" Eliza asked, and Michelle nodded, getting up from the chair and walking to the table where Eliza attached the train to the rest of the line and then stepped back, pointing at the table, adding, "on the side there, you'll see a switch, just flick it and the whole thing will turn on."

"Okay," Michelle said, fiddling around with her fingers until she finally found the switch and flicked it, the whole table coming to life; the streetlamps flickering on, the train beginning to whistle as it took off around the track that surrounded the cute little town Eliza had built. Michelle stepped back beside Eliza and admired it, hands on her hips.

"This is what God must feel like," Michelle said, making Eliza scoff.

"God doesn't see the beauty in what's made, to him creation is nothing more than an assembly line, churning out things quick and cheaply, hoping nobody will notice the shoddy craftsmanship," Eliza said, "...I'm way more invested than God in what I bring to life."

Michelle laughed, just as Eliza's father opened the bedroom door and looked inside.

"Uh, girls, you have a phone call," he said, "They're asking to talk to either one of you."

Eliza and Michelle glanced at one another, then Eliza shrugged and went back to the table, leaving Michelle to take the cordless phone Don handed her. Michelle graciously took it from him, mouthing 'thank you' as he smiled at her and exited. She lifted the phone to ear.

"Hello?" she asked, "Hi Bea. Yeah, I'm with Eliza right now."

Eliza stopped looking at her train set and looked back at Michelle, one eyebrow raised now.

"Okay, we'll be there shortly," Michelle said, before hanging up and looking at Eliza, adding, "That was Beatrice. She wants us to meet here somewhere."

                                                                                            ***

The show had been airing for a few weeks now, and the reviews were absolutely spectacular. Beatrice herself was called a "savant" by many, and one very kind write up even went so far as to state that she truly understood the child mindset, making her a remarkable asset to their developmental abilities. These reviews certainly made Beatrice feel good, better than she had in months actually, but she still preferred to stay out of the limelight and let Liam deal anything press wise.

Liam, however, also didn't seem to enjoy his newfound responsibility to talk to the press, but he did it out of respect for Bea. Sitting in his office at the network, typing away something on his keyboard, he heard a knock on the door and looked up, only to see Stephanie standing there, grinning at him as he looked up at her and adjusted his oval glasses.

"Hi," she said, "Am I interrupting?"

"I fuckin' wish," Liam said, making her chuckle as she cautiously entered the room, clearly somewhat nervous about something. She folded her arms as she began to pace in his office.

"Um...so," Stephanie said, "The show is a wild success, as we all know now. So we should talk about our next move. Obviously we still have a handful of episodes left to air this season, but we should talk about next season, and even potentially additional seasons beyond that, and also merchandising."

"Bea's not gonna go for merchandising," Liam said.

"I'm aware of that, which is partially why I'm here," Stephanie said, "You're her best friend, her closest creative ally, and I think you-"

"No," Liam said sternly, "I already screwed up my friendship with her once, and nearly lost her for good. I...I was responsible for her losing faith in the creative industry and essentially shuttering herself away from the world for like 20 years. I can't...no, Stephanie, I can't be responsible for that again, I refuse."

"We just need to have the conversation. It doesn't have to go anywhere. The higherups are pushing me to at least talk with her about this," Stephanie said.

"The higherups? You run this place!" Liam said.

"I have bosses, everyone has a boss," Stephanie said, "I just...please, talk to her."

"I...if I do, you have to promise it can't go anywhere," Liam said, "As you said, we'll simply have the conversation, and leave it at a mutual disagreement, unable to meet a ground where everyone is happy. Stephanie, I understand where you're coming from, I do. I handled all the business stuff in the past for her, and she's essentially saddling me with it again this round, but I..."

Liam leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his thinning hair, sighing deeply.

"...Bea and I go back a long way, and we have a very...complex and strange and often times strained relationship, and I will never do anything to remotely jeopardize that again. We're already getting inundated with offers from toy companies and such that I have to sift through and either outright deny or potentially approve, and only once I run the potential approvals by her. A few weeks ago, she drove me out to her parents house, and after seeing what I saw there, I simply cannot morally allow any further bastardization of something so deeply personal and important to her."

This remark piqued Stephanie's curiosity, as she seated herself on the edge of Liam's desk.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's not really my place to expand upon it, honestly," Liam said, "maybe she'll tell you someday. All I'll say is this...if you try and make something out of Beatrice Beagle beyond her comfort zone, you'll be actively attacking a part of herself. This dog...is not just a character to Bea."

Stephanie left Liam's office shortly after this discussion, all the more curious about Bea's past. She figured she'd approach Bea about it next time she saw her, and until then, well, she'd just let sleeping dogs lay.

                                                                                                  ***

Michelle, driving with Eliza in the passenger seat, was curious why Bea wanted to meet with them. Eliza adjusted the air conditioner to blow directly on her face, and shut her eyes, enjoying it as her hair blew back. Michelle couldn't help but smile at appreciating such simplicity. After a few moments, Eliza looked at Michelle and adjusted her big glasses.

"Um," Eliza said, "...can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Michelle said happily.

"Beatrice is sort of like...a parent to you, in some way, right?" Eliza asked.

"Beatrice isn't like a parent, she's...it's hard to explain. She's kind of like...my conscience, in a way," Michelle said, "Beatrice Beagle, the character, showed me how to like myself and how to be happy when I was a sick little girl. She often felt like the only friend I had. I understand parasocial relationships aren't healthy, but at the same time, what kind of relationship is? I mean they're all variations, right? No relationship is 100% healthy."

"This isn't parasocial," Eliza said, chewing on her necklace, "You actually know Beatrice."

"I do, but...at the same time, it's a very broad generalized knowing, you know what I mean? I do know her, but not in the same way that Liam, or even you, knows her. You know her extremely well," Michelle said, "and over time we will get to know one another better and better, but, right now..."

Eliza nodded, looking at her glittery nails and sighing.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Eliza asked.

"Always."

"After my mom died, I used to pretend Bea was my mom. In my head, I mean. I would, uh, go into these maladaptive daydreams and fantasize about what it'd be like if Bea was my mom. Beatrice was always so comforting, and so trusting, and she always believed in me and my skills. My mom loved me, I can't deny that, but she did sometimes make remarks that I could've done more. My mom wanted me to reach for something I couldn't grab, but Bea was just happy with what I was able to hold at all."

Michelle smiled, tears swelling in her eyes.

"I don't know. That level of acceptance is, to me, far better," Eliza said, "No expectations, just joyous respect."

As the car pulled up to a stop at a storage unit, they saw Leslie standing outside, waving at them. They hadn't expected to see her here, but Eliza rolled down her window as they approached so Leslie could bend over and tell them to pull into the lot and then follow her, which they did. After parking and getting out, they followed Leslie into another area of the unit, until they finally saw Beatrice leaning against the wall, spinning a keyring around her index finger.

"They're here," Leslie said.

"Thank you," Bea said politely, "You guys, all of you, need to follow me please."

The three women followed Bea to a staircase, and up it to the second, then the third and finally the fourth floor. By the time they reached the floor, Michelle was leaning against a wall, panting, as she pulled her inhaler out of her pocket and took a few puffs. Eliza stopped and walked back to her, kneeling down, touching her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," Michelle said, "Just...wish this place had an elevator."

Eliza helped Michelle back up and together they caught back up with Bea and Leslie, who had by this point stopped at a unit near the end of the floor. Bea was pushing a key into the lock attached to the unit and clicking it open, removing the lock. She then turned and looked at the three women, smiling at each of them as their eyes made contact.

"I asked you three to come here because...outside of Liam, you guys are my best friends, and...and you're who I trust to open myself up to the most," Bea said, "that's why I need help cleaning this out."

All Michelle could think about was the unit Liam had taken her to months previously, and now here she was, back at another storage unit. How many buried secrets did this people have? Bea reached to the handle and lifted the door up, then reached inside and pulled the string on the light hanging from the ceiling, blasting the unit with blinding brightness. After the woman were finished shielding their eyes momentarily, they each stared ahead at the interior, each unsure of how to react.

Inside the unit sat a plethora of things, ranging from photo albums of Beatrice and her family to boxes of rejected various merchandise to, of all things, suit prototypes. As they each entered the unit, Bea stepped back, folding her arms and clearing her throat.

"Up until now, even with knowing each of you for various lengths of time, I've remained kind of a mystery, and for this to work, I can't be an island anymore. I want you to look through these things, ask me questions, and then help me move it out of here. It's time to stop living in the past."

Eliza asked Bea about her parents, while Michelle asked Bea about the stuff from the show, while Leslie just sat in silence, smiling, enjoying seeing Bea finally open up to people. She had a feeling this was going to be a wonderful partnership. Lying in bed that morning, Bea had talked about how secrets were the one thing holding her back from those she wanted to connect with most, and how she was finally ready to be free of them. How her parents had never lied to her, how her parents had taught her to be an honest person, and show business was what had driven her to create fabrications, how grief had managed to manifest untruths in order to cope. But she was ready to move past all of that now, and she made a promise to never lie to those she loved.

If only she knew the irony.

                                                                                                 ***

It was dark, and Amelia Burden was standing in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. She was 11 years old, and she was in her pajamas, ready to get into bed. The only issue was that Beatrice wouldn't come inside. It was getting dark, and Bea was outside barking her head off, despite how many times Amelia had called for her to come in. Gordon, standing, watching his daughter brush her teeth, kissed the top of her head as she passed him on the way exiting the bathroom.

"I can't sleep without her," Amelia said.

"I'll get her in, you just get in bed and she'll join you. She's a dog, sweetheart, she needs to bark," Gordon said, smiling as he led his daughter to her bedroom.

Amelia climbed into bed and pulled the covers up. Gordon tucked her in, kissed her nose and knelt by her bedside.

"I love you, and I hope you have sweet dreams," Gordon said, "I'll go get Bea, okay? When you wake up, she'll be right here with you as always, I promise."

Amelia smiled and nodded, yawning. She was sleepy, actually. With that promise, she felt like she could actually go to sleep comfortable with the knowledge that her dog would be with her the following morning. Gordon headed back downstairs, made himself a bowl of ice cream and then sat in his recliner to finish reading the chapter of the book he was currently engrossed in. He'd go get Bea after he finished this. A few minutes later, he heard the backdoor open swiftly and his wives shoes tapping on the floor as she rushed to the living room. Gordon turned to look at her; her hair a mess, her eye makeup running, she was covered in dirt and blood.

"...what the hell?" he muttered.

"gordon," she whispered, "you need to come."

Gordon immediately got up and, after pulling on his jacket and grabbing a flashlight, followed his wife outside, the two speaking in hushed voices as they walked briskly across the field, towards the road.

"Jesus it's cold tonight," Gordon said, "What's happened?"

"it's terrible, and i don't...i don't know what to do, and..." Gloria muttered, "i needed you."

"Well I'm here, I'll fix it, whatever it is."

"no..." Gloria said, stopping and looking at him, "...you can't fix this."

A few moments later they reached the road, and Gordon immediately knew she was right. His stomach dropped, the wind knocked out of him. Lying there, dragged to the side of the road - presumably by Gloria, noting the blood on her clothes now - was Beatrice's body. Gordon approached the dog cautiously, and then knelt down, running his hand over her soft fur. He shook his head, his eyes shutting tightly, tears rolling down his face. It was over. She was already dead. After a few moments, he stood up and approached Gloria, putting the flashlight in her hands and then putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Listen to me, okay?" he asked, seeing her nod as he continued, "you're going to take Bea back to the house, and you're going to bury her. Do it deep. Use the good shovel from the shed, okay? Then wash your clothes, take a shower, and go to bed. Do not let Amelia wake up, okay? I'm going to go into town."

"What are you going to do?" Gloria asked.

"I'm going to find a new dog," Gordon said.

He'd made a promise, and god dammit he was going to keep it.

Gloria did as she was told. She went back, got a wheelbarrow, managed to hoist Beatrice's body into it and then take it back as quietly as she could. Once back at the house, she found the shovel and quickly dug a deep hole. As she looked at Bea's body in the wheelbarrow, she wanted to throw up. She reached down and kissed the dogs soft head, trying not to weep loudly. She told the dog that she was loved, and that she was sorry this had happened. She promised they'd find whoever had hit her. They never would. Then she lifted Bea's body out of the wheelbarrow and plopped it into the grave, quickly burying it and making it look natural. Then she went inside and she took a shower, washed her clothes, and went to bed.

Gordon had read an ad in the paper recently about someone close by who had a dog they were trying to get rid of because it was too much work for them as they got up there in age, and he drove there immediately. He explained the situation, realized the dog looked nearly identical to Beatrice, and he paid cash. Sitting in the truck on the way back to the house, he glanced over occasionally at this imposter Bea and shook his head.

"She can never know," he said, as if the dog would respond somehow, "okay? She can never find out about this."

He was surprised when the dog nuzzled his arm and licked his hand. He took that as an oath of trust. When he got home, he put Bea's collar around the new dogs neck, carried it up the stairs, carefully opened Amelia's bedroom door and put the dog on the bed before retreating. He went back downstairs, took a shower, did his own laundry, and afterwards, in his pajamas, found his bowl of ice cream now melted. He wasn't even mad about the waste. He could let some ice cream go to waste. He couldn't let his daughters faith go to waste. He washed his bowl, and he went to bed.

The following morning, when Amelia awoke, she was none the wiser. She and Beatrice were tight as ever, and she never learned of the extremes her parents had gone to keep this horrible tragedy hidden from her. Years later, when Amelia put Beatrice to sleep after she'd been riddled with cancerous tumors, it was a loss brought on by her own accord, not a loss life handed to her. It was natural, not cruel. After Bea was put down, when Amelia had gone back to college, her parents sat at their dinner table, each sipping a mug of coffee.

"...we did the right thing," Gordon said, "she didn't have to say goodbye twice."

"She didn't, but we did," Gloria said, making Gordon grimace.

"That dog made this family," Gordon said, "I wasn't about to let that dogs absence tear us apart."

"We're good parents, right?" Gloria asked, and Gordon, reaching across the table and holding his wifes hand gently, smiled at her.

"She's never hated us yet," Gordon said, "and that counts for something."

Oh yes, if only she knew the irony.
Published on

It was absolutely packed with people.


Apparently, as Alex put it when they started to walk up, the only things that brought a neighborhood out in masse was the murder of a child or a really good BBQ. Lillian knew she shouldn't laugh, but she couldn't help but chuckle, and that was precisely why she brought Alexis along. They'd each been handed a candle upon arrival, already lit, and began to make their way through the crowd.


"How long am I supposed to hold this for?" Alex asked, "Can I eventually put it down someplace?"


"I think, the way these things usually work, is that yes you'll eventually place it at the memorial site they've built."


"Don't get me wrong, I'm not coldhearted, what happened was awful, but, like..." Alex sighed, "...kids die every single day. Whether it's an accident, or an illness, or in some cases like this one, a straight up murder, kids dying is nothing new. But the kids who have accidents or illnesses never get shrines or memorialized. Why is murder the only one that seems to bring out the heartfelt sentiment of the neighborhood?"


"Because those other two happen fairly naturally. As a neighborhood, we don't like to think that our children are two doors away from the end of their lives," Lillian said, "This is why the whole neighborhood turns out when something like this happens, because we just try and ignore the fact that it can."


"When I was in high school-" Alex started.


"What, like 6 months ago?" Lillian interrupted, making her smirk.


"shut up, but when I was in high school, this girl murdered her boyfriend and they had a whole, like, ceremony for it at the school, and it was just weird seeing these other girls who'd been treated so badly by her suddenly have empathy for this monster. I don't know. Humans creep me out."


"I can't argue with you," Lillian mumbled, before knocking elbows with another woman, who turned to face her; Lillian smiled, "Oh, Rina! What...what are you doing here?"


"Apparently it's the place to be," Alex said.


"I babysat a few times," Rina said, "Maddie's here too, somewhere. Her parents asked me to bring her. What are you guys doing here?"


"Didn't you hear me? It's the place to be," Alex restated, making Lillian and Rina chuckle.


"We...we just came cause it felt like the right thing to do. I mean, everyone else showed up, so," Lillian said, "This is the second death she's been around in just a few months. First that kid at her party, and now this kid, though she probably didn't know this kid."


"They went to the same after school program a few times," Rina said, "In the same school district, so. But no, you're right, she didn't know them, thank god. Girl is riddled with enough problems without adding more on. Who's your friend?"


"This is Alex, she works for the costume company I work for," Lillian said, as Rina held out her hand to shake, which Alex politely shook her head at, then held up her free hand, indicating it was gloved.


"Germs," she said, "Not gonna happen."


"Fair," Rina said.


"I'm gonna see if I can track down Maddie, you guys just hang out for a minute, okay?" Lillian asked, the two of them agreeing, before she disappeared into the sea of people to search for Maddison. Rina shoved her hands in her coat pocket and looked around at the people, before looking back at Alexis.


"This sort of thing is what keeps me from wanting kids," Rina said, "I'm down with everything else, I babysit for god sakes, clearly I'm good with children, but...the idea that something absolutely horrendous can happen to an innocent child is just..."


"It's no bueno," Alex said.


"Well put," Rina said, smiling.


"No, I know what you mean," Alex said as the two sat on a small concrete planter box and talked; she continued, "I've never really dealt with death well, honestly. I've never had, like, a traumatic experience either, but for some reason I just...I've never really been good with the whole mortality thing. It really bothers me. So yeah, I get why it's even worse when it happens to a literal child."


Meanwhile, Lillian was pushing her way gently through the crowd, searching all over for Maddison. When she finally spotted her, Maddie was standing alone, looking at a small corkboard that had been smothered with photos of Stephie. Lillian approached her cautiously and touched her shoulder. Maddie turned around, looked up at her, then threw her arms around Lillian's legs and squeezed her hard.


"They didn't give you a candle?" Lillian asked.


"They won't give them to children," Maddie whispered, sniffling, "it's okay, I didn't wanna carry one anyway."


"How are you doing?" Lillian asked.


"I...don't know," Maddie said, pulling away and wiping her eyes on her sleeves, her braids swinging gently behind her, "uh...it's weird, I didn't really know her, but...she shouldn't have died. That boy at my party shouldn't have died."


Lillian knelt down so they were eye level, and she noticed the tears streaming down Maddison's face.


"why..." Maddie muttered, "...why do people keep dying around me?"


This broke Lillian's heart, and she pulled Maddie into her again, hugging her tightly, stroking her braids, telling her it was okay. That she wasn't the cause. That these things just happened. She knew none of this was likely as reassuring as she'd hoped it'd be, but it was the best she could do.


                                                                             ***


"I'm glad we finally found some time to get together," Vera said, smiling across the table at Tyler, who smiled back as he sipped his wine. They were seated in a small, but fancy, restaurant downtown and having dinner, which Vera was opting to pay for seeing as her paygrade was better than Tyler's, a fact Tyler didn't mind. She was dressed in a nice dress, and her hair was pulled back into a bun, and Tyler was dressed in slacks and a button down shirt, his hair combed and gelled.


"Yeah, I feel like I never get to just go out without it having to be work related," Tyler said.


"I know," Vera said, "that's why I asked you to join me tonight, because it just...it feels nice to do something that isn't work related. I feel the same way. I feel like I work nonstop, and it's exhausting. It's nice to just go somewhere, have dinner, talk about things not related to work."


"Yet here we are, discussing how much we work," Tyler said, making Vera laugh.


"Well, okay, let's move away from that then. Been involved in any hobbies lately?" Vera asked, making Tyler stop and think.


"Uh, I guess I've been taking up knitting," Tyler said, "My sister's having a baby, so I wanted to make her something. It's hard, I don't know how people used to knit entire rugs and coats and stuff, that shit is complicated. I can barely manage a pair of booties."


"That's really sweet," Vera said, smiling widely, "what made you wanna do knitting? I mean, besides your sisters pregnancy."


"I guess, like, it's quiet and slow paced? When your daily life is surrounded by parties, you want your downtime to be something chill, you know? Even if it is still related to children in some way, but that's cool, I like kids," Tyler said, the waiter setting down their entrees and the two beginning to dig in; Tyler scooped some shrimp pasta into his mouth, chewed then added, "I wanna have kids someday."


"Yeah, me too," Vera said softly, blushing.


                                                                            ***


Lillian and Maddison were walking through the crowd, Lillian having given Maddie her candle to hold because she'd asked to, and Lillian was tired of her hand cramping from it.


"I was looking at the photos on that board cause I was jealous," Maddie said quietly, "she had parents who loved her. She vanished while trick or treating with her dad. They had a lot of family trip photos and all sorts of stuff like that. I don't think I have a single photo of myself with my parents."


"Don't feel bad, I don't either. The only ones I have were the ones taken when I won another pageant and it was required for my mother and I to have our photo taken together," Lillian said, "sometimes it almost feels like I don't even have a past because I have virtually no photographic evidence of it."


"That's so sad," Maddie said, "I want my parents to want me."


As the girls approached Rina and Alex, they found Alex was napping, her head resting on Rina's shoulder. Rina nudged gently, waking Alex, who looked around before noticing Maddie holding the candle before noticing Lillian no longer had hers.


"Heeey," she said, "Where's your candle?"


"I gave it to Maddie," Lillian said.


"That's not fair! Here, hold my candle!" Alex said, making them laugh.


"How are you doing?" Rina asked as Maddie climbed up to sit with them on the concrete planter.


"This is weird," she whispered, "I feel weird being here."


"We can leave if you'd like," Rina said, "We can go get something to eat before I take you home. Lillian and her friend can join us, if that's okay with them," she finished, looking up at Lillian who smiled and nodded. Maddie thought for a moment and nodded in response. Together they all stood up and began to head out, before Alex stopped Lillian and looked around.


"What is it?" Lillian asked.


"Where do I put my candle?" Alex asked, "Aren't I supposed to add it to some shrine or something?"


"Just give it to someone, they'll do it for you."


"No! You might've dragged me here, but by god I'm gonna do the right thing!" Alex said.


Lillian agreed to help Alex find the area to put their candles, and after taking Maddie to the area, she and Alex approached the shrine, waiting to set their candles down, while Lillian and Rina stood back, watching. Alex exhaled deeply, feeling nervous, until she felt Maddie's hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. Alex, at first taken aback at this physical contact, then quickly changed gears and smiled at it, squeezing her hand back. When they got to the front of the shrine, they both knelt and placed their candles on the small tin holders.


"There we go," Alex said, "Now we've honored her."


"...thank you," Maddie whispered, and Alex patted her on the head.


"Thank you," she replied softly.


Alex and Maddie got back up, rejoined Lillian and Rina, and the four of them headed to a fast food place to get something to eat. It had been a somewhat somber evening, and now it was time to make it a little bit better. After all, as Alex put it on the way there, they weren't dead, so they should try to have a good time.


                                                                           ***


Tyler and Vera were walking down the street, near the riverwalk, the lights in the trees lit up overhead. The sound of the water softly lapping against the lip of the walk, the boats slowly drifting by them, Vera felt like nothing could ruin such a perfect night. Walking alongside her, Tyler looked at his shoes, kicking little pebbles on the ground into the nearby water.


"I feel like my life is nothing but work," Vera said, "to the point where even my social life, with you, is work related in some way."


"Well, I can quit the job, get something normal, then this wouldn't as awkward," Tyler said.


"No," Vera replied, chuckling, "No, I don't want you to quit your job, Ty. I like the closeness this gives us. It keeps us entangled, in one way or another, no matter what. If anything, I'm the one who should quit. I have no real upward mobility, partially thanks to my skin color, and I need to find something long term."


"We love having you there," Tyler said, "Group wouldn't be complete without you."


Vera stopped and looked at Tyler, who stopped and looked back at her. The strung up lights in the trees brightened her face just a bit, and he could see her eyes shine. She looked even more beautiful than he normally thought she looked.


"They say you shouldn't mix business with pleasure, that office romances never work out," Vera said.


"Well then," Tyler said, approaching her, "I guess it's a good thing we don't work in an office."


And he leaned in and kissed her. She didn't hesitate, if anything she embraced it, and kissed him back. The tension between them had been bubbling for ages, and they both finally felt it was an okay enough time to give into it, and neither one regretted it.


Yes, this was the best date either one had had in years.


                                                                            ***


After parting ways with Rina and Maddie, Lillian started to drive Alexis home. Alexis had her forehead resting against the passenger side window, Lillian was playing soft classical music on the radio, and it was starting to rain ever so gently. As they pulled up to a red light, Lillian looked over at Alex.


"You okay?" she asked, "You're not mad that I made you come are you?"


"No," Alexis said.


"...no to which?"


"I don't know, both, I guess," Alexis said, "Being there it just made me think about my family, about all the people who aren't here anymore, and you're right, I get it, I get why you're protective, cause a child shouldn't have to endure that much loss in that short amount of time span at their age. But she has a good support system. We didn't."


"Alex, you can tell me if-"


"I don't think I wanna be alive anymore," Alex whispered, "...my life is going nowhere. Look at what I do for a living. Meanwhile my brother and sister are practicing professionals and here I am, dressing up like a fucking pirate for kids parties, and it isn't even that shame that really gets to me, it's the fact that I don't feel like I deserve better. Like this is all I'm really capable of."


The light changed to green and Lillian kept driving, still listening to her friend, who was now crying as she spoke.


"...my parents don't expect anything out of me, and I'm in my mid twenties," Alex said, "I can go weeks at a time without contact and they don't even notice."


"Where's this coming from? You were in a good mood earlier."


"I was high, dude," Alex said, surprising Lillian; Alex wiped her eyes on her sleeves and nodded, "Yeah, yeah I was high. I took heroin before we went. Drugs are all that make me function remotely like a normal person anymore."


"Jesus, are you-"


"I'm fine," Alex said sternly, "they only drug test at mandatory get togethers, and I make sure not to do it within a certain time frame surrounding those. I'm not going to lose my job. I know it's wrong, or at least that's what society thinks, but...in the grand scheme of things, how wrong is it?"


"What do you mean?" Lillian asked, turning a corner, getting closer to Alexis's apartment.


"I mean, we went to a candlelit vigil for a little girl tonight. Someone brutally murdered a child. I think there's varying degrees of evil, and on that sliding scale, taking heroin isn't really all that bad. It isn't like I'm hurting anyone, and I'm not dangerous to myself, so who's the bad guy here, Lil? The guy who viciously killed a small girl in her Halloween costume, or the girl who works kids parties for a living and does heroin in her spare time?"


"...probably the guy who killed a child," Lillian said.


"Exactly."


As they pulled up to the curb, Lillian came to a full stop and looked at Alexis.


"You wanna stay over?" Alex asked quietly.


"...you don't wanna be alone? I can stay if you don't wanna be alone, I don't have to work tomorrow, so," Lillian said, "If you just want a friend around-"


"please," Alex whispered.


"Of course."


Lillian got out of the car, as did Alexis, and together they headed up the stairs into the complex. Lillian actually hadn't wanted to stay, she was looking forward to a quiet night by herself, but she figured Alex could use the companionship, and she didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone in this state of mind. So Lillian went into he apartment with her, they ordered in food, and they watched game show reruns all night, and in the morning, when Lillian woke, Alex had already gone out to get coffee and and brought her back some too.


All in all, sometimes the people you work with, Lillian thought, might just be most suited to be your best friends.

Published on
It was a gorgeous day, and Carol was determined to take advantage of it.

She took a bath, got dressed in her finest clothes and then headed outside to the garden, only to find Larry and Burt toiling away in the soil. They waved at her as she came out, and she smiled at them before heading to the gazebo, climbing the steps carefully to find Boris sitting on one of the benches inside.

"Good morning," she said happily.

"Is it?" Boris asked, looking up from his newspaper, "I can never tell anymore."

"Cataracts are a bitch," Carol said, making him chuckle as she seated herself beside him, "...so, got any plans for today?"

"You're lookin' at it," Boris said, "Nobody's at the apartment, so I didn't wanna be there. Came here just to relax, which is funny, because there's nothing very relaxing about this kind of place."

"Hey, I made a lot of renovations in order to make this home much more appealing and welcoming," Carol said, "I'll have you know that since renovations have finished, all I've gotten has been great feedback from people!"

Boris smirked and kept reading, letting Carol know he was merely pushing her buttons. She enjoyed having him around again more. Just then they heard the sound of an ambulance pull up to the front of the home. Carol and Boris stood up and walked to the edge of the gazebo interior, watching from the rail as a few paramedics entered the home and, a few minutes later, exited with someone covered in a sheet on a gurney. As they wheeled the metal slab onto the ambulance and started to drive away, everyone stood around somewhat slack jacked. Finally a woman approached Carol.

"Who was it?" Carol asked, leaning on the gazebo rail.

"It was Alice Holbrook," the woman said, "In her sleep, peacefully,"; the woman then turned to everyone else within earshot and, cupping her hands around her mouth shouted, "who had Holbrook?! Who had Alice Holbrook?!"

After a moment a man on a cane came forward, his hand raised.

"I did!" he replied, and Carol rubbed her forehead.

It was time for something to change.

                                                                                           ***

"A woman died at the home this morning," Boris said, sipping his coffee as he sat in a booth across from Father Krickett, who was spreading butter on toast from a little plastic butter container that was set on the table.

"Sort of an everyday occurrence at an old folks home, isn't it?" Krickett asked, smiling a little.

"Sure, nothing new, business as usual, but...I don't know. This felt different. Carol was very upset about it," Boris said, "I can't blame her, really. It's hard watching people around your age croak, it puts you right at the top of the list. Never know when your time is finally up."

"God does enjoy playing russian roulette," Krickett said, taking a bite out of his toast and chewing before responding again, "but perhaps it's not the proximity to her own mortality that's upset Carol, perhaps it's something else. Carol's never struck me as the kind to be worried about the end of her life, personally."

"You're not wrong, she never has seemed to fear death," Boris said, filling in another section of the papers crossword puzzle before looking up at Krickett, "...do you?"

"Do I what? Fear death?" Father Krickett asked, setting his toast down and clasping his hands together on the table, clearing his throat and adding, "...I think people like me, who are religious, don't often fear death because we believe in the idea of eternity with our father in heaven. That being said, I can't deny the idea of nonexistence skeeving me out of a bit, sure. But overall, I like to think I'm not as affected as most, certainly."

Boris nodded, then set his paper down and picked at crumbs on the table, his voice low when he finally spoke again.

"...I'm scared," he said, "I never was, but...watching Polly die. It changed me. It made me scared. The idea that this, all of this, who I am and what I do and the things I like, just ends...yeah, that's kind of terrifying to me now."

"I believe it," Krickett said, reaching across the table and patting the old mans hands, "That couldn't have been easy, and I'm sorry for that loss. I'm here if you ever want to talk about that whole ordeal."

Boris opened his mouth, then shut it again and shook his head. In the months since Polly's overdose, he hadn't talked about her, not to Whittle or Krickett or Carol or anyone. He kept that entire debacle to himself, and some nights he'd wake up in fits from nightmares where he was discovering her body over and over again. These nightmares were causing him ridiculous amounts of mental anguish, yet he didn't tell them to anyone. He didn't want anyone to worry about him. He just wanted them to stop. He'd kept the pills Polly had stashed, and took Valium fairly regularly to get through the days and nights, especially after the nightmares.

"What's your day look like?" Krickett asked, "Any plans?"

"Not really. Just...not really."

Boris didn't talk for the rest of the morning. He simply went back to his crossword puzzle, leaving Krickett to read the rest of the newspaper before heading to the church. Despite the lack of discussion, both enjoyed simply having the other for company. Sometimes presence, not interaction, was all that was necessary for friendship.

                                                                                               ***

"What do you mean you're closing the pool?" Burt asked, "That's the most exciting aspect of living in an old folks home!"

"I can't do it anymore," Carol said, "the death pool started as a fun way to compete with one another, but after renovating the home, after getting to know a lot of the people here, I cannot, in good conscience, allow it to stay open. It makes me sad to think of people the age of the deceased profiting from the deaths of their peers."

The door to Carol's office opened and Boris entered, shutting it behind him.

"Carol's closing down the death pool!" Burt said, turning in his chair to face Boris, almost like a child telling on another child to their parent, "I can't believe this, try and talk her out of it."

"I think she's right," Boris said, leaning against the wall, unwrapping then popping a hard candy into his mouth, "I mean, after getting to be friends with Polly, I was devastated by her loss, not ecstatic by what I gained from it. It was a fun idea, but it's time to grow up."

"Grow up? We're in an old folks home, how much more grown up could we get?!" Burt asked, making Carol chuckle.

"Burt, I'd like you to go gather everyone's sheets please, and inform them that we won't be doing the death pool anymore," Carol said, "I'll join you in a minute."

Burt sighed, nodded, then stood and exited as Carol looked up at Boris from her desk.

"Something on your mind?" she asked.

"...I'm gonna see Ellen and Lorraine today," Boris said, "though, truth be told, I don't necessarily feel as if I want to see either one of them. Most of the time we simply help Ellen with her physical therapy, and when we aren't doing that, Lorraine and I just bicker under our breath so she can't hear it."

"Well," Carol said, standing up and smoothing out her outfit as she approached Boris, "I think it's good for you to have things to do. Take your mind off other things, you know? Take advantage of your family, Boris. Polly wasn't able to. She lost everything before losing herself. Do it for her."

She patted him on the chest, then headed out of the room to catch up with Burt. Boris stayed and looked around the office. When had things changed so dramatically? It seemed like it'd happened so quickly, almost overnight, and he hadn't even noticed. He was beginning to wish for the days when everyone just sat around, complaining, as old folks like to do, instead of whatever it was they had embroiled themselves into these days. The good ol' days were gone, he knew. Time marched ever onward, stopping for no man, woman or child, and he was lucky enough if he was able to just keep up.

                                                                                               ***

Sitting in the therapy room, watching Ellen do basic leg exercises best she could with her nurse, Boris couldn't help but feel sick. He felt like he'd put Ellen in this position. He was responsible for the accident that had crippled her in the first place, and then he felt like perhaps the shame she attained from it was secondhand because she thought her parents thought less of her, and thus the surgery that then put her into a coma, was even worse. Now Ellen couldn't still couldn't walk well - though they insisted that would change over time with the therapy - and she couldn't remember her family.

"You know," Lorraine said, leaning towards Boris and whispering, "I knew a girl in grade school who had leg braces, and that's all this therapy reminds me of is that girl. Now everytime I watch Ellen try and regain strength in her legs, all I see is that girl and hear everyone laughing at her."

Boris rolled his head towards her and smiled.

"That's a nice story," he said.

"You know what I mean," Lorraine said, half laughing and hitting his arm playfully, "These associations make themselves. I'm not happy about it and I know they're not the same, but because that's the closest I've ever been to something like this before it happened to her, that's what I'm reminded of."

"I guess I know what you mean," Boris said, "...do you think she's getting better?"

"I do, yes. Slowly, but yes. In a few months, maybe a year, she'll be literally on her own feet," Lorraine said, sighing, "...whether or not she ever remembers us is another matter entirely."

"She would be so lucky," Boris muttered, making Lorraine grimace.

As her therapist took leave for a few minutes, Ellen rolled herself in her wheelchair over to her parents and smiled at them.

"I'm sorry you guys have to come for this," Ellen said, "It's probably awkward, considering I don't really remember you."

"No, it's fine," Boris said, waving his hand thusly dismissing the thought, "it's absolutely fine. Whether you remember us or not, we're still your parents, and we should be here to support you."

Lorraine was rather surprised by this statement. Boris had, since the accident, remained somewhat aloof and distant, because he felt like he'd failed as a father. What had changed? Why was he so suddenly being so welcoming and comforting? Lorraine looked back to Ellen and smiled.

"You're doing great, sweetheart," she said, "Absolutely great. We're very proud of your efforts, and we're seeing real progress."

"For what it's worth, even though I don't really remember much, it is nice to have people here to support me," Ellen said, "it...it helps me not feel so alone while dealing with something so challenging."

"And there's no shame if nothing changes," Boris said, leaning forward, "remember that. If you don't regain strength in your legs or don't remember us, that's perfectly fine. We'll be here to help, no matter what, okay?"

Boris reached out and stroked her hair, pushing her bangs out of her face, making Ellen blush.

After the session, once Ellen was back in her hospital room, Lorraine and Boris headed to the parking lot, a flurry of questions swirling in Lorraine's head. As they approached Boris's car - the Gremlin Polly had left him - he spun the keyring around his index finger before unlocking the door.

"What the hell was that all about?" she asked, "All that togetherness crap? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"

"Very cute," Boris said, "I think these days I'm just...trying to be more open, more with those I care about."

"I know that losing your friend hurt," Lorraine said, "and I can't begin to imagine what that kind of loss must've been like, to find her like that, to feel responsible maybe, but-"

"I don't feel responsible. I know she was the reason she did. Sure, I've debated endlessly whether or not I could've, or even should've, tried to stop her, but in the end Polly was going to do what she wanted, and no matter how much we might've mattered to one another that wasn't going to change. She was ready to go. Some people just don't wanna be here for the end, and frankly, I can't blame them."

Boris opened the door and climbed inside, shutting the door before rolling the window down as Lorraine bent down and looked into the car.

"Boris, I'm...I'm here, if you wanna talk about it," she said.

"Why does everyone assume I wanna talk about it? What does talking about it really do besides making me relive something I'd rather move past already? Don't you think I've talked about it enough? Don't you think, if anything, that I'm sick of talking about it? I appreciate the offer, Lorraine, I really do, but I don't wanna talk about the death of my best friend, thanks. I'm trying to move on, not stay stuck."

"Okay, I'm sorry," Lorraine said, pulling herself out of the window and patting the roof of his car as he pulled out of his parking spot and drove away, leaving his wife standing there, more confused about who Boris actually was than she'd ever been before.

                                                                                             ***

That night, Boris was asleep in bed when he woke to the sound of someone walking down the hall. He assumed it was Chrissy, or Whittle, but he climbed out of the bed nonetheless, pulling his robe on over his pajamas and heading out of his room towards the kitchen. He flicked on the light switch but the lights didn't come on, and then he saw her, sitting at the table. Polly. She looked at him, and he froze on the spot. She smiled at him, and he felt his chest tighten. He grasped at his chest, before suddenly waking up, back in his bed.

Another nightmare. This was getting old. Boris sat up and scooted towards the bedside table, where he opened the drawer and pulled out a small box. Inside were the Valiums he'd pocketed off Polly before he called anyone, and he took one with a sip from the glass of water he kept on the bedside table. He sighed, ran his hand over his face and coughed. He wanted this to end. Why wouldn't this stop?

Boris finally got up and, pulling his robe over his pajamas, he grabbed his car keys.

Father Krickett was surprised when he opened his front door, only to find Boris standing on his porch.

"What are you doing here?" Krickett asked.

"...I hope I'm not disturbing you," Boris said.

"No, I wasn't asleep," Krickett said, "I was reading. Please, come in, it's cold out."

Krickett moved aside, allowing Boris to enter. Boris walked in circles once inside, looking exasperated and fed up. His eyes were red, like he'd been crying, and his hands trembled. Krickett folded his arms, watching his friend, waiting for him to speak.

"There's...there's something wrong with me," Boris whispered, his voice straining not to crack, "I'm scared, and I don't know what's happening. I keep seeing her. I have these extremely vivid nightmares and I keep seeing her, and then I wake up and she's not there, and it's like...it's like I'm living it all over again."

"I think what you're experiencing is likely due to PTSD from what happened," Krickett said, "Granted I'm no psychiatrist, but...it would make perfect sense. And there's nothing wrong with that, many people have PTSD and they lead perfectly normal lives. What you went through, Boris, was traumatic. Even for someone like yourself, who acts so strong and sturdy, it-"

"That's...that's just the thing, I'm not those, Krickett, I'm not. I would love to be, but I'm not, and I...I need your help, please," Boris said in a hushed voice, approaching the priest and pushing his face against him, crying against his pajamas, squeezing him tight.

Krickett, surprised at first, then smiled warmly and held the old man in his arms.

"You're fine, Boris, I'm here. I'll help you," he whispered, "I'll help you."

That was the thing about Father Krickett. Once he made a promise, he kept that promise, and Boris knew this all too well. He knew Krickett wouldn't let him down, which was what he needed most right now. Boris might not have been religious...

...but he did find some comfort in the arms of the church that night.
Published on
Calvin Klepper was sitting on the couch in his parents living room.

It was busy, people circling all around the room, talking in low hushed voices, barely audible, but he took no mind to them. A few people stopped and tried to give him a refreshment, a drink or a snack, but he politely declined each time. He sat there and he didn't say a single word the entire time, and after the wake was over, Calvin stayed there late into the evening, well after his parents had gone to bed. Eventually he fell asleep on the couch, and the next morning, he woke to his mother making breakfast. He ate, then he drove to his well paying job, quit on the spot and headed to a local hardware store.

Calvin bought a handful of various items, piled them all into his trunk and then drove back to his parents house. He outfitted their shed in the backyard with his new purchases, creating a small workshop of sorts, and he told them he'd be back in a bit. Calvin Klepper then drove to his apartment, told his landlord he wouldn't need the space anymore, and that he'd be moving back in with his folks. Calvin moved back into his childhood bedroom, did some light redecorating, and then, when his folks were asleep, he went back out to the shed, and he got to work.

                                                                                            ***

"Say cheese!" Calvin's mother, Amelia, said, snapping a picture.

Calvin and his soon to be wife smiled, and then kissed after the photo was taken. Amelia turned away to speak to Calvin's father, Barry, momentarily, while allowed Calvin's wife, Stacy, to look at Calvin and straighten his tie.

"Do I look okay?" Calvin asked, and Stacy smiled.

"You look fantastic," she said quietly, patting his cheek, "did you trim your beard?"

"Yeah, hah, I figured it should be somewhat presentable," Calvin said, "After all, we only get one wedding."

"Unless I leave you and you remarry," Stacy said, "Not that I plan on doing that, but you never know. I might run into a celebrity, and I'm sorry baby, but you just can't compete with the likes of Brendan Fraser."

"Oh I don't blame you, I'd leave you for Brendan too," Calvin said, making her laugh.

Calvin had waited for this day for so long. As he watched Stacy be whisked away by his mother, so she could help prepare the flower girl - a sweet little neighbor girl named Annie - Calvin watched her and felt a warmth inside of him that nothing else in his whole life had ever given him. Calvin had met Stacy in college, but the two of them stayed friends until their last year, when she suddenly showed up to his dorm room one night because she heard the music he'd been playing from a party down the hall, and it turned out to be her favorite band. The two stayed in his dorm the entire night, just talking about music and themselves, and went to breakfast the next morning. They were seriously involved less than a week later.

Stacy had chestnut colored hair and almond colored eyes, both differing shades of brown but both so beautiful, and each seemed to glitter when the light hit them. She had majored in nursing, hoping to get a job as a school nurse, which Calvin found sweet. Soon they had an apartment together, and shortly after that, Stacy was pregnant. A year later, they had a pair of twin baby girls named Chelsea and Lacie, and Calvin finally realized what he'd been longing for his entire life...fatherhood.

He could still recall the day they were born, and he stood there looking at her while Stacy got some sleep. He promised he'd never let anything happen to them, or his wife either, really. Sadly, Calvin would find out, that was a harder promise to keep than he expected.

                                                                                               ***

Calvin was sitting in his car, a pair of binoculars strung around his neck, as he waited. He sighed and checked his watch again. After so many months, you'd think he would've known this mans schedule by now, but no. He was still guessing, at best. He picked up his book on the seat beside him, the one he'd gotten from the local library, and started skimming it again. He wanted to have everything perfect. Then he heard a door slam shut, and he quickly dropped the book, raised the binoculars to his eyes and watched.

There he was.

Robert Grudin. Clean cut, nice suit, approachable haircut, perfect smile. Bastard. Absolute bastard. Swore up and down he was running on a platform that was meant to help keep the streets safe, keep families afloat, but Calvin knew it was all just a lie. He waited until he saw Grudin disappear into the building he'd parked in front of, then quickly got out of his car, raced across the street and knelt down, taking measurements. He pulled the pencil from his teeth, jotting numbers down in a little notepad, then once he was finished, shoved the measuring tape back in his pants pocket and headed back for his car, taking off before Grudin ever reemerged.

Halfway home he spotted a "Choosin' Grudin!" sign plunged into someones lawn, and, his blood beginning to boil, he quickly pulled off to the curb, hopped out, raced up to the lawn and yanked the post from the dirt. He then walked back to the street and bashed it against the curb and his car until the entire thing lay in tatters. Satisfied at his destruction, Calvin then climbed back into his car and headed home.

He'd chosen Grudin, all right.

He just hadn't chosen him to be elected.

                                                                                          ***

"Can I help you?" a voice asked, making Calvin jump in his skin a little as he turned in the aisle, spotting Wyatt's face. Wyatt didn't recognize him, that was for sure. Calvin scratched his forehead and blinked a few times before speaking.

"Yeah I'm...I'm looking for a fertilizer, a certain kind, immodium nitrate," Calvin said, his voice sounding hoarse, like he'd spent the entire day screaming.

"For sure, we have that. You redoing your backyard, or is this something or a job?" Wyatt asked, leading Calvin down towards another aisle, adding, "I only ask because it's not generally the one people buy to do small gardening around their home. We have much nicer stuff."

"You work here?"

"I own this place," Wyatt said, grinning, "Well, my dad owns it, but I basically own it now. He's long since retired and leaves me to do everything."

"Good gig."

"Not a bad life, no."

"...yeah, I'm in landscaping," Calvin said, lying, "I need quite a bit of it, maybe all you got."

"Doing a large project?" Wyatt asked.

"Country club," Calvin said.

"Well, then we got you covered," Wyatt said.

Wyatt helped Calvin pick out his bags, and even helped him load them to his car. Standing there in the parking lot afterwards, Wyatt patted the trunk and then shook Calvin's hand, still smiling like an idiot.

"Good luck on your job, man. If you need anything else, come back and I'll see what I can do," he said.

Calvin wondered why he'd been so concerned about seeing Wyatt at the reunion now. He hadn't even recognized him. Why would he, anyway. It wasn't like they were friends. Wyatt had been somewhat kind to Calvin in high school, but more often than not he'd also antagonized him quite a bit, and that left Calvin with some bitter memories he wished he could forget. His parents were on a small vacation to see his aunt a few hours away, so Calvin had the house to himself for a bit. He decided he would need caffeine in order to get some of this job done, staying up so late, so he pulled off into yet another parking lot, hoping to get some coffee.

Calvin entered the coffee shop, and waited in line. When he finally got to the front, he was surprised to see, of all people, Rachel Minnow standing on the opposite side of the counter from him. She was in an apron with a dorky little hat, and she immediately recognized him.

"I didn't know you worked here," Calvin said, "I swear I'm not a stalker."

"Please, stalk me, make my life more interesting," Rachel replied, monotone, "What do you want?"

"Uh, large plain black, and some kind of muffin if you have any," he said.

"We have blueberry, raspberry, strawberry, peach, apple-" Rachel said, quickly listing them off until he interrupted her.

"I just want a muffin, I don't wanna start a fuckin' farm," he said, making her smirk.

"Go take a seat, I'll bring your coffee and surprise you with something," Rachel said, "my break is coming up anyway."

Calvin seated himself near the window, furthest away from everyone. After about 8 minutes, Rachel finally brought him his coffee and a small platter of different muffins. She seated herself across from him and had a cup of coffee for herself too. She picked up a muffin and took a bite, watching as he sipped his coffee.

"Weren't you like, a successful artist?" Calvin asked, "Didn't you get accepted to like a really prestigious art academy?"

"Wow, bring up my failings immediately, cool," Rachel said, "Cause I don't think about those enough on a daily basis."

"Sorry," Calvin said, laughing, "I didn't...I'm not good at talking to people, even people I've already met. I'm just kinda surprised to see you working in like a half assed coffee shop. Hey, you're not the only one, alright? I failed plenty."

"Good to know I'm in the presence of such spectacular failing company," Rachel said, smirking, taking another bite of her muffin and eating it before continuing; "I just...I was, yeah, I was accepted, and I went. And uh, I was doing pretty well, getting noticed by agents and even galleries during student presentation weeks, but it didn't really pan out."

"...how's being an artist not pan out? I mean, aren't you kind of your own boss?" Calvin asked.

"Uh, because about 3 years in, I tried to drive my car off a bridge," Rachel said, "I should explain, it wasn't...it wasn't intentional, at least I don't think. I was given medication for a few different medical issues, and I guess they didn't really mix well, and then I went to this really fancy gallery show one night and I drank a little and that only exacerbated the issues all the more and before I knew it I was heading home and I kind of...fell asleep at the wheel, I think? I don't know if it's a dream or I hallucinated. I saw this...this totally strange looking horse standing in the road, and you could see through his skin, and you could see his skeleton and his insides and...I don't know, the next thing I know I was being taken to the hospital and people thought I was suicidal and that was the end of school."

"Jesus," Calvin mumbled, sipping his coffee, "that's horrific."

"I fucking hate horses," Rachel said under her breath, "annyyyywaay, what about you? How'd you fuck up so badly?"

"...actually I didn't," Calvin said, "I was doing great. For as shitty an adolescence as I had, as terrible as high school was, I actually flourished in college. Met a woman, got married, had two daughters. Things were...kind of perfect, storybook life."

"And what, you don't have any of that anymore?" Rachel asked.

"...no," Calvin said, "no I don't."

"But you didn't do anything to make them leave?" Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I didn't," Calvin said, "...someone else did."

This only made Rachel all the more curious, but she decided not to push it, and instead she changed the subject.

                                                                                          ***

Calvin was making dinner that night.

He was making his wifes favorite dinner, and he already had the table settings placed. He was humming along to the song blasting out the radio in the kitchen, and was just about to take the meal out of the oven when the phone rang. He picked up.

"Hello?" he asked, expecting Stacy, but it wasn't Stacy; he waited then replied, "...yes, this is Calvin Klepper, why?"

Calvin couldn't really remember much after that. He remembered dropping the phone, hearing it break. He remembered the sound of the timer on the oven blasting away, indicating his meal was burning, and he remembered falling slowly to this knees, panting, clawing his way to a wall until he slid further down, finally laying facedown on the kitchen floor. Eventually his neighbor in the apartment next door came over to see if he was okay, and when she finally got him off the floor and he told her he needed help, she agreed to drive him.

It was over so quickly, they told him. Stacy and the girls probably didn't even suffer, because it was so fast, so swift, so headon. When Calvin learned that a local potential politician was responsible for the accident, he was told there'd be justice. He was told that somebody of this caliber couldn't get away with something so horrific, and he'd stupidly believed them. What was he thinking? Of course famous people could get away with anything. And then, the clincher, a few weeks later during a press conference was when he heard the very same man who'd killed his family - who never took any blame for this act whatsoever - say out loud that he'd buckle down on public intoxication, and that families had a right to safe streets.

That was what pushed Calvin over the edge. Later that night, still stewing in rage from the hypocrisy, he stumbled onto a show on the History network all about bombs, and that lit an idea within his brain. Yes.

That was the night Calvin Klepper decided he would blow up Robert Grudin.

                                                                                               ***

Calvin was standing outside the classroom, reading a book as he waited for the door to unlock and class to begin. He heard a few other students join the area, but he didn't pay any attention to them. It wasn't until he heard a backpack be set down right next to him that he finally looked up, only to see Wyatt Bloom standing there, leaning against the wall. Wyatt grinned.

"Isn't this cool, man?" Wyatt asked.

"...what?" Calvin asked.

"Shop class, dude," Wyatt said, "Like, all the tools and stuff. Get to learn how to bend metal and make it do whatever we want. It's gonna be sick."

Wyatt then offered Calvin some gum, which he graciously accepted, unwrapping and popping it into his mouth, chewing.

"My dad owns like a hardware store, and so I get to hang out there a lot and look at all the tools, and some of them look so dangerous, but you just know they're fun. I'm gonna make a buncha stuff," Wyatt said, chewing his own stick of gum before adding, "Wouldn't it be cool to make something unexpected though? Like, make a bomb or something?"

Calvin nodded.

"Yes. It would be cool to make a bomb," he replied.

                                                                                              ***

Calvin awoke in his parents shed the following morning, having fallen asleep at the table he was working at. He stretched, yawned, then stood up. He grabbed the now empty coffee cup on the table near him and shook it, before thinking. Calvin headed inside, and he took a shower, then he got dressed, then he went to the coffee shop. When he entered, he saw Rachel sitting at a table, reading a magazine. Calvin sauntered over to her and plopped himself down in the chair across from her, surprising her.

"Oh, hey," she said, "What're you doing here? It's really early."

"...you wanna go get some breakfast?" Calvin asked.

"I guess, my shift doesn't start for like another hour," Rachel said, checking her watch, "But sure, let's do that."

Calvin drove Rachel to a nearby diner, where they sat in a booth and ordered. He offered to pay for everything. Sitting there, Rachel couldn't imagine why this weird guy she barely knew from high school was asking her to breakfast, but she did at least feel as though it wasn't for any romantic kind of reasons.

"So," Calvin said, putting his menu down, "You ever meet up with Sun?"

"No, she never showed," Rachel replied, "I was stupid to think she would. I just...I guess I thought she might, and that'll teach me to ever have hope."

"Hah," Calvin chuckled, "Why did you wanna see her so bad anyway? You guys weren't really friends, right, you said it yourself."

"I..." Rachel stammered, unsure of what to say, until she started sniffling, making Calvin reach across the table and hold her hand; she finally managed to say, "...I was so in love with her, and it's never gone away. I just wanted to see her again. See how well she's doing. See if maybe she...I don't know. It's so hard to be unable to be with a person you care about so much."

Calvin nodded, saying, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

So Calvin and Rachel ate their breakfast, talked for a bit, and he took her back to work. They agreed to hang out again soon, before Calvin headed back to his parents house. He locked the door once back inside the shed, an entire palette of coffee cups in a brown styrofoam holder placed on the table beside all his tools and effort. He sighed and looked back at the photo on the wall, running his fingers across it. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He had to do this. For everyone who'd ever had someone taken away from them, in one way or another. Calvin set up his materials and got back to work on his bomb. Grudin had promised that he'd make the streets safer, and Calvin was going to hold him to that promise. The way Calvin saw it...

...by removing Grudin entirely, the streets would be safer.
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About

So Happy Together is a dramedy about couple Aubrey & Brent. After Aubrey plays an April Fools joke on Brent that she's pregnant, Brent confesses out of panic that he actually has a secret daughter with an ex wife, and everything changes overnight.