“Mr. Bigglesworth, you can’t eat in class!”
I looked at Pink Bunny for help, but he was useless to me. Gigi terrorized the class when she made us play Teacher and today was no exception - and besides, I’m invisible, I can’t eat anything if I wanted to!
“Don’t talk back, Mr. Bigglesworth. You go sit in timeout,” Gigi exclaimed, marching over to my empty chair. She yanked me away, my imaginary head smacking against floor, and dragged me across the room. “Now you sit there and think about what you did, mister,” she threatened as she threw me into a corner, locking a baby gate behind me. Stars twinkled in front of my eyes. I had to get out of here; this girl was unhinged.
To anyone else, Gigi’s future certainly included, at best, a CEO title or, at worst, a ‘Boss Babe’ sticker. But I knew better. She dragged me across rooms, kicked me down stairs, and tried to drown me in the tub once. My days was numbered.
A gust of wind blew into the room - an open window! Right above me! - but Gigi burst into tears.
“Mommy! I’m cold,” she wailed; more screams ensued. It was the perfect time to make my escape. I leapt up the wall, straining to grab the ledge. Pulling myself up, I glanced back at Gigi, still wailing and now kicking in the floor in a full tantrum. I slipped outside - freedom never tasted so sweet.
“Smell ya later, kid,” I whispered and slammed the window shut. Gigi jumped and looked around. I don’t know how long it took her to notice I left, but that’s no longer my problem. I walked off into the sunset, nursing my wounds and dreaming of a new, pain-free life.
It took a few days, but Sydney finally managed to put the clean laundry away; she hoped Todd would be pleased. He didn’t have much praise for her lately, but in his defense, she hadn’t been doing much to deserve it. She slept too long, ate too much, and devoted too much time to Facebook.
This was her biggest mistake of all: Facebook. Todd hate it more than anything, and said it filled her mind with useless garbage. Too many people sharing unsolicited opinions and advice, she didn’t need anymore thoughts clouding her already overworked mind, he would say. But, she would argue back, it was the best way to keep in touch with her mother. This wasn’t much of an argument to Todd, because he truly hated her mother.
Sydney sat on the bed for a moment, surrounded by piles of clean clothes ready and waiting to be put away, and began to cry. As a girl, she dreamed of a husband who hosted family parties and made jokes with her parents. He would buy special gifts for her mother and help her father cook the holidays feasts. He would make hot chocolate for their children, and pretend not to notice his milk mustache as they giggled. But this wasn’t Todd: he wouldn’t be in the same room with her mother, let alone buy her a gift. Sydney’s father passed before she ever met Todd, but Todd couldn’t cook to save his life anyway. He didn’t want children either, nor did he like chocolate. He didn’t even believe in marriage. But she loved him, still.
He wouldn’t even be around for the upcoming holidays because he refused to take off of work. Sydney slid off the bed and down to the floor, thinking about the impending loneliness. Here for two weeks, gone for two weeks; he initially boasted about how perfect this schedule was because they’d never smother each other. They would always have their space. She tried to plead her case this year, that the holidays were so important and she didn’t want to be alone, but he told her someone had to work to take care of her, since she wasn’t qualified to do anything.
Sydney laid down and curled up on the floor, the weight of her emptiness too heavy to bear at the moment. And that’s when she saw it; there was an iPad under the bed. Sniffing, she picked it up curiously, wondering if it was a gift Todd left behind, and sat upright. But it wasn’t wrapped, it wasn’t even in a box. She turned it on and gasped, her stomach sinking. The background picture showed a loving family she’d never seen before, with Todd right in the middle, a toddler in his shoulders and his arms wrapped around the woman.
Sydney unlocked the iPad - there wasn’t even a passcode - and noticed the Facebook app. She opened it, driven by familiarity. She opened the profile and the pictures clearly showed Todd, only his name was Phil. And he had a wife named Chrissy. And a 1 year-old son named Jackson. And a 3 year-old daughter named Harlow. She scrolled in a trance, unable to stop or look away from the last four years’ worth of Facebook memories all happening in tandem with her own.
He was tagged in a photo of Chrissy’s from a few days ago that showed the children playing in leaves, “these babies can’t wait for Daddy to be home from work!! See you tomorrow, my love!”
Sydney was suddenly fresh out of tears, and filled in an unbridled rage. The spell was broken, and just like that, she could see everything with fresh eyes.
“Well, another day, another dollar,” I thought as I stared in the mirror. Not that I could see myself; Death doesn’t exactly have a reflection. But Cristina did. She was examining her outfit again and wondered what was missing. Spoilers: it’s her shoes.
She opted for high stilettos that are bound to hurt her feet five minutes out the door. “No pain no gain,” she would convince herself. She looked again in the mirror, unable to see me in the background, but happy with her decision as she walked out of her room and into the night.
Cristina came on my radar this morning as an accident waiting to happen. She wasn’t particularly careful, and her soul contract included a clause about vanity as her demise. The design of this life’s lesson centered around self-acceptance and living freely. Instead, she’s grown vain and self-absorbed. Before starting this life, she inserted a sort of self-destruct into the contract to start over if she strayed too far off the path.
Of course, it was up to me to determine what was considered “too far” off her path. It is exhausting to try and keep up with her internal self-loathing - when I’m exhausted I consider that “too far.” But all the same, she’s violated her soul contract, so she must leave this world to reflect and try again.
I traveled with her to a bar, and despite the cold she didn’t wear a coat, only her skintight, thin, long-sleeved dress. Before entering the bar, she snuck off to an alley and smoked a cigarette. I could tell her feet already hurt, because she alternated on which she stood and leaned again the wall for more support. What she didn’t see, because my cloak cast a deeper shadow over it, was the staircase behind her, and someone left the doors to sidewalk stairs wide open. She hobbled from left to right foot in pain, she stepped back a bit too far over the step’s edge. With gravity working against her, she tumbled backwards.
Now she could see me, and while she did recognize me, confusion set in. I escorted her back to the Reflection Rooms, where she could describe how she failed to achieve the goals she set in her contract, and what emotional tools she would need next time.
I went back to my office, where a completed soul contract waited for me. Calvin, at 93 years old, successfully completed the terms in his soul contract and was now ready to leave.
I woke up, and looked at the clock - 7:00 and I was wide awake, on a Saturday no less. I rolled over, pulled the covers up and tried to get comfortable again, a failed attempt to trick my body into going back to sleep. Maybe, I thought, if I just lay still my brain will shut off again.
But no. I looked over at Zaya who would not doubt be asleep for another three hours, easily, and thought about waking her up. But she’d be quite unhappy, even with the promise of cuddling and coffee in bed. Instead I laid there, staring up at the ceiling, lost in the thought of how much Dad had missed in the last few years.
He never met Kaya. He never saw my college graduation. He didn’t meet my brother’s twins. I hated this part of waking up early - that stage when your brain hasn’t quite booted up all the way to make new thoughts, but is stuck playing reruns.
But then my phone rang - who called before 8am on a Saturday? This was low, even for those robo-calls. I reached over to my nightstand to turn it off, but found I actually answered it. I could hear the faint “Hello? Hello,” on the other end as I realized my mistake and quickly acknowledge the fiend.
“Hey, this is Trevor.”
“I know who you are,” the voice replied smoothly. Trevor knew this voice and his body reacted before his brain (still starting up).
He jolted upright in bed, “what? Cmon who is this?”
“You know who I am,” the voice replied, “it’s not a trick.”
“Dad?”
It’s amazing how an instant can feel like a lifetime. They do this every year, though, and you’d think I’d be used to it by now. For as long as I can remember, I’ve taken this journey down, down, down, with few changes: the sky is still blue, the concrete is still grey, the woman who dropped me still has yellow hair, though its color has grown a bit muted. But the faces, I thought, those change each time; I’ve never seen the same one twice.
Still, the event tends to begin the same way. We were pretty high up, and the wind typically whipped around. Today, though, the wind remained slow, as if it had gone off to take a nap. A high ledge stood between them and my own fate; how lucky for them to have proper protection. They always separate into two groups once they place bets. They crowd together in uncontrolled anticipation, hurling friendly competitive jibes to the other side.
“You’re all going to be so embarrassed when we’re right,” the left side shouted to the opposite.
One in the opposite group leaned over the edge, “Hey, Tyler! Make sure you press the button exactly when it smashes into the ground! I want to rub it in their faces that they were wrong!”
“Let’s go! Can we drop it already?”
“Yeah, I can’t wait anymore let’s toss it!”
“Hurry up I have to use the bathroom, but I don’t want to miss the drop!”
“That’s enough now,” the woman holding me had announced, “we’re just about ready to go! Is everyone paying attention?” The other modded their heads excitedly. “Tyler, are you ready down there!”
There was a faint response as sound didn’t always travel well this high up, “yes I’m ready!”
“Okay great,” the blonde woman continued, “now let’s review what brought us here today. Kara was kind enough to volunteer her completely full and unopened water bottle, and we have our trusty champion who has never lost a match before-“ she’s talking about me! - “the Woodmere Middle School Famous gravity pencil! Who thinks the very full and very heavy water bottle will hit the ground first?”
The ones in the left group all started shouting at once.
“Me!”
“I do!”
“It’s so heavy it will definitely beat that flimsy pencil!”
“Yeah there’s no way that thing wins every year.”
The blonde woman intervened again, “okay, okay, okay. Now who thinks our thoroughbred pencil will win?”
This time the opposite group, though smaller, chimed in just as loud as the first.
“Me!”
“It will move faster because the air slows the bottle down!”
“That pencil is like Tom Brady, it wins even when it can’t!”
“Everyone! We’re about to find out who wins,” the blonde woman began, “1 .... 2 .... 3 .... go!”
And that‘s how I got here. Falling 9.8 meters per second down the side of a building, as some small people cheer on my competition and me. I land with a thud, my point flying away, right next to the water bottle and once again hear the cries of two losing teams. Another thing that never changes: they never like that no one wins, except the blonde woman, she always smiles.
“But you said the pencil has never lost, Mrs. Johnson!”
“You’re absolutely right, Jayden, and the pencil still didn’t lose today!”
A short time later everyone arrives at the scene. She picks me up gently and whispers, “Until next year.”
And so, I wait.
Jo awoke with a smile on her face because today was the day she’d been waiting for all week. She worked the previous eight in a row at the restaurant, so she promised a day to herself. She stayed in bed, enjoying the plush covers in which she cocooned, and listened as the raindrops tapped on her windows while she simultaneously ignored the more unpleasant sounds of the city. Mother Nature must have glimpsed Jo’s plan and provided accordingly.
Her mental agenda included picking up coffee from the shop downstairs, finally testing out her new facial steamer, ordering her favorite Indian takeout, and finishing the night with a movie.
She quickly dressed in her finest rainy day attire - hoodie and leggings, of course, a vintage style making a comeback for obvious reasons - and placed her coffee order on her phone. She left her apartment, unlocking the door with her fingerprint, and made her way towards the coffee shop. She entered, scanning her fingerprint this time to unlock the door, and walked up to the woman behind the counter.
“Hi, I’m picking up an order for Jo - cappuccino and a scone.”
“I know your order,” she replied, “you’re the only one who orders those old-school drinks. We had to buy an antique maker and fix it up just to keep your business.”
Jo smiled coyly, “well I supposed if someone is dumb enough to pay this outrageous price every day for quality coffee, you should take advantage.”
She replied with a smile and leaned forward; Jo followed to complete the kiss. Jo glanced at the woman’s nametag - hovered over her heart and followed where she went without ever touching, and it read ‘Kit.’ She and Jo jointly owned and operated this very cafe - the Antique Star, an ode to the now-defunct coffee legend Starbucks - for the last several years. Kit proposed to Jo with the antique cappuccino maker, and as a wedding gift, Kit bought her bride the restaurant across the street. These were Jo’s babies.
Kit’s smile radiated suspiciously, “We’re training the new girl at the restaurant tonight. Don’t forget to be there to meet her at 3pm.”
The restaurant had only been open a year, but Jo knew she’d invest her soul into it. Of all the changes and technological advances made in the 22nd century, culinary institutes still followed the same tried and true practices passed down generations, and Jo loved anything from the past.
Jo’s smile faded, “what new girl? I didn’t hire any new girl. Who hired a new girl?” Jo looked around the coffee shop as if it’s patrons were guilty. “I’ve just trained three new people this week! Did you do this? All I wanted was a lazy Sunday, but now I have to kill you - why are you laughing?”
Kit couldn’t keep it together anymore, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Oh you should have seen your face. Thank you for that, it was just what I needed this morning.”
Jo bit into her scone - soft, buttery, and blueberry - her face stuck somewhere between a scowl and smirk.
“Kill me, huh?” Kit continued, “seems a bit extreme, no?”
“You would have deserved it,” Jo replied lightheartedly through a mouthful of scone.
“Enjoy your day, my love.”
“I will. But I won’t be saving you any samosas tonight,” Jo lied. She left the coffee shop, once again unlocking the door with her fingerprint, and set off to enjoy the rest of her day.
Night set quickly, Marjorie thought to herself nervously. She left work later than planned and cautiously exited the building door, staring into the abyss before her. This particular door exited her closest to the car, but forced her down a dark and narrow corridor between the earth and the building. To her right, she couldn’t make out the details of the stone wall, though she felt it rise above her and break off suddenly. The darkness hid the colorful bushes and friendly critters who inhabited them; the shadows were not as soothing. To her left, she placed her hand on the dull concrete of the building, now her anchor.
It came on quickly. Marjorie‘s stomach dropped each time she walked this path through the stillness. She willed her legs to move faster as her heart began to race - her Apple Watch beeping concerns over the sudden change - but the shakes were insurmountable tonight. She felt trapped inside a bubble, the pressure inside increasing with each heart beat throbbing in her ears.
Leaning against the concrete wall, she shut her eyes tight, slid down to ground, and remembered her senses:
“One thing you can hear,” she thought and listened, “absolutely nothing. Not even a chipmunk rustling in the bushes.” The silence closed in around her - her watch’s cries unnoticed.
“One thing you can smell,” she continued and inhaled deeply, “dirt? Does dirt have a smell? It smells like air.”
This wasn’t working; she cried in frustration.
“One thing you can touch,” she hiccuped and ran her fingers along the wall, where she noticed the bumps in the concrete. It felt like the horrible popcorn ceiling in her old apartment. She inhaled deeply.
“One thing you can taste,” she resigned and stretched out her legs, feeling the gravel under her calves, “stale.” She clicked her tongue and realized she didn’t quite enjoy dry mouth. Slowly, she opened her eyes for the last one, the tears finally subsiding.
“One thing you can see,” she said aloud and lifted her head up to the night sky. The moon swam out from behind the clouds, full and gleaming. Marjorie hadn’t noticed - how could she? - the moonlight presented a pathway to the lot.
Feeling depleted, she rummaged in her bag for a piece of gum, hearing the crack as she took that first bite, and tasting the fiery mint on her tongue. She counted twelve chews before standing, and brushed the dirt off her backside. As she walked down the path she recounted her sensed again, faster this time:
One thing she could hear - her heels clacking on the pavement. One thing she could smell - the putrid garbage in the can she passed. One thing she could touch - the contrast of fabrics between the rough, woolen exterior of her skirt, and the silky interior of the pocket. One thing she could taste - the winterfresh gum slowly losing its flavor. One thing she could see - the moon, signing directly over her car as she unlocked the door and sat inside.
She was not okay, not by any means. But she could make it home.
It was a beautiful day for a bath. Laying right in sun he stretched out as much as he could, his feet quivering slightly, and let out a yawn as wide as his mouth would let him. He sat up; his tail cloaked around his paws, and began the grueling process of self-grooming. He paused in a moment of exhaustion, and examined the outside world from the safety of his window, which was not to say that he couldn’t tough it with the other Wilds - referring to the cats who stayed outdoors all the time - but he simply chose the indoor life. And the Large Wilds rewarded him for it. They rubbed his belly and hid snacks around the house for him to hunt. He like the Large Wilds, even if they didn’t have any fur. They always let him sleep on their soft spot at night, when he wasn’t out night hunting behind the glass, and tossed him objects that made his senses light up and eyes open wide.
They deserved a reward too, he thought as he resumed his bath. He would must get them one. They didn’t understand his voice, but his purrs weren’t enough to convey the gratitude and love he felt. By the time he completed his bath, he had a plan.
When the time came and the sun began to set, he cried his way outside, the Large Wilds let him go when he wanted. He set off immediately to hide behind the nearby bushes. He dug a little and laid in the unearthed ground, his recently cleaned fur now riddled with dirt and leaves. He waited, and waited, and waited, until the sun had finally set in full. And then he spotted it: movement and a swift tail. He began to prowl without a thought or hesitation. His body simply new what to do and did it. The small creature drifted through the grass, stopping abruptly to chew a little and glance nervously. He paused his hunt when something better caught his eye in the air.
What was this flying creature doing out after dark? He never saw them out this late. He abandoned the small tailed creature and follow the flight path from below to a nearby tree. This would be a perfect gift for the Large Wilds, but how to get it? He flattened his body in the grass underneath, waiting out the creature, but after many blinks (and even a quick nap), it did not leave its place in the tree.
He rose and wandered again, searching for movement and sniffing for scents. He saw another small tailed creature, only this didn’t have the same tail as the first one. He followed to investigate, and the sun was rising back, signaling that his time was running out. Feeling desperate, he began the prowl again for this new strange tailed creature. He watched it travel behind bushes, keeping a distance until his body alerted him to the proper moment. It ventured behind a tree, and suddenly he had the creature trapped between himself and some barriers. He was indeed a good hunter.
His fur stood on edge, tail poofing up to match his competitor’s. He hissed his meanest hiss and meant to show him who was boss. His Large Wilds deserved this prize and he would win it for them. He lunged at the creature, and - oh no what was that? The smell was awful. He could taste it. He gagged and vomited as the strange tailed creature ran away. He could barely keep his eyes open they burned, and his nose filled with a putrid scent. How would he find his way home?
But he heard them, they called his name. His ears unaffected by the mysterious attack, he followed their sounds all the way home.
“Copper, there you are! Why are you making that face? Oh gross, you stink. DAD! The cat got skunked!!”
