The restaurant was one of those intimate, fancy places with low lighting, white table cloths and waiters who said things like “excellent choice” while they took your order. In all fairness he’d definitely gone to some effort tonight. Although she wasn’t really sure if the effort was to make her feel special or to impress her with his superior taste and income. She suspected the latter. He’d been funny and charming online. With time to edit his words he had managed to come across as witty, not cutting. Clever, not patronising. That seemed to have changed in person. She couldn’t help noticing his sharp, impatient tone with the waiter (not that she could see anything wrong with the waiter or his service- he seemed pleasant and polite enough) and the way the waiter’s eyes tightened a little as he tried to hold a forced smile in the face of her date’s condescension. So far he hadn’t said anything entirely unforgivable to her, but he’d eyed her up and down for just a little too long as she arrived , making her feel like she was a used car being inspected by a suspicious mechanic. The final expression he gave was more “I suppose you’ll have to do” than “wowsers how lucky am I?” So far he’d banged on endlessly about himself, humble-bragging about everything from his car to his recent promotion to how he’d “put that useless foreign cabbie” right in his place on the way here tonight. Ugh. This was turning out to be a nightmare. No more dating websites for her - this time she really meant it! Nodding in what she hoped were the right places (on a positive note he didn’t seem to care if she was actually listening) she tried to avoid eye contact. Which wasn’t hard given that most of his eye contact so far had been with her cleavage. She kept her eyes on a point slightly to the left of his shoulder and tried to fake smile her way through his monologue. At a table behind and to their left sat a couple. Or maybe not a couple, it was hard to tell. He was nice looking but he looked like he might have borrowed what he was wearing tonight, his shirt just a little too long at the wrists and loose across the shoulder. Not that it looked bad - the effect was actually a bit cute, she thought to herself. His companion was another story. Her clothes were so fitted that it took all her non-body shaming ethos not to think of them as “one size too small”. And labels as far as the eye could see, all strategically placed for maximum advertising impact. She’d never understood why people thought it was classy to plaster yourself in logos to show how expensive your outfit was. Surely the whole point of being really rich was that you had nothing to prove? Not that she was ever likely to find out. She couldn’t help watching the woman as she pouted, tossed her hair and laughed just a fraction too loud at something the waiter said, while the man sat looking awkward and embarrassed. It looked like he was avoiding his dates eye, too. She knew how he felt. The man glanced toward her. They locked eyes for a second, and she couldn’t help herself. Without really understanding why, she rolled her eyes dramatically. He grinned. She grinned back. She wondered if it would be wrong to excuse herself to the ladies and accidentally trip over next to him, giving her an excuse to speak to her unexpected partner in crime.
It’s happening again. I don’t understand how or why, but I think it’s somehow my fault. I’m standing here, in the middle of a party, and all of a sudden everyone just…stops. I don’t mean stops talking or anything like that. I mean they just stop. They freeze in place, glasses halfway to lips, mouths frozen open in a creepy rictus that a few seconds ago was a hearty laugh. It’s surprising how close a laugh looks to a predatory snarl when you stop it midway. I’m in a room full of frozen animals, ferocious hunters about to leap on terrified, motionless prey. It never gets any easier. But wait, what’s this? I see a faint movement across the room. Well, that’s never happened before. Focussing, I see a man. And it seems that he can see me, too. He knows what’s happening, that much is obvious. Slowly, his face breaks into a grin. He’s moving towards me. And it doesn’t look like he wants to be friends.
I don’t remember why I walked down that alley. It’s not the sort of thing I’d normally do - I wasn’t in the greatest part of town and the daylight was fading fast. Walking down dingy alleys in unfamiliar towns while shadows lengthen on the ground is the kind of thing that very annoying teenage girls do in scary movies. Not me. I’m not that type at all. I’m usually more of the “follow the map, get the thing done and get back home by late afternoon” type.
Whatever it was, I found myself that evening drawn down that alley and standing in front of a decidedly shady looking tattoo parlour. It was exactly the kind of place that you just knew was run by questionable types who sell pills from the back room. Not that I’d know from experience. God - I’m so square I’m practically a cube.
The tattoo artist was every bit as rough looking as you’d expect. Old faded jeans. Biker boots. Tight short sleeved t shirt that may or may not have been white when it was new, covered with an undone leather vest.
Tanned and slightly greasy looking.
“Come on in love” he said, and his smile was surprisingly warm.
I hesitated before walking over to look at the walls, and pretending to browse the dozens of designs hanging there.
“You don’t want one of them” he said gently. “Everyone’s got one of them- they’re our cheapie specials. Pre-drawn and bog standard. You don’t look the type to just come in and get a cartoon Cupid”.
Without turning around, I smiled sadly. Actually I probably looked exactly like the type to walk in and get a cartoon Cupid, or anything generic. Calling me bland would be a kindness, and I know it.
“I can give you what you want” his voice came softly from behind me. “You just need to be very, very sure that you want it.”
It should have come across as a sleazy remark, but somehow it sounded completely sincere.
Turning, I tried to make eye contact with him. I think I looked right at him, but for some reason I couldn’t tell you what his face looked like.
“I don’t know what I want” I replied, and my voice surprised me. “I just know that I want it”.
A grin crept into his voice. “I get that a lot”
A chuckle. “Take a seat. You might not know what you need, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out”.
I don’t remember walking over to the tattoo bed. I don’t remember it hurting, although I remember the buzz of the needle. That’s strange, because tattoos are meant to really hurt, right?
All I remember from that moment on is standing outside in the alley again, this time with my back facing the store. Staring at my arm, just on the inside of my left wrist. A tiny symbol. That weird blue-green colour you see on really old tattoos, usually on the kind of guys that look like they’ve seen the inside of a prison or two- and not as guards.
The harder I tried to see it, the more it blurred, but I got the fleeting impression of an eternity symbol.
Raising her head, she blinked away the last fuzziness of sleep. Sitting up slowly, she wondered exactly what felt off. As her head cleared she realised it wasn’t just disorientation from a strange dream or sleep hangover, something really wasn’t quite right. Her head felt dopey, heavy, weird. She was outdoors , in a field of some type. So why couldn’t she feel grass beneath her? Flexing her fingers, she felt the mattress under her hands. Why was she on a mattress if she was outside??? There was no doubt about it, she had been lying on her own mattress, her own sheets were crumpled around her legs. “This doesn’t make sense” she thought.
Hitting send on that email felt like hitting the reset button on my entire life. For years now I’d been staying out of sight, just doing what I had to do to get by and not get fired. Which hasn’t been easy in this place. Working for someone who can objectively be described as “one of the world’s great arseholes” involves agreeing to the most ludicrous ideas, taking the blame when those ideas go pear shaped (as they pretty much always did) and enduring public dressing down by the idiot who came up with them in the first place. By the time this happened I had almost started to believe his ranting, gaslighting monologues about how it would all have worked if it hadn’t been for my incompetent execution of his “perfect” plans. It took me a while to realise everyone else could see what he was doing, they just kept silent because it was better to stand by and stare at your shoes than to be the next target of his insane bullying. Todays the day. I’ve seen out my four weeks notice without incident. Quietly staying low and collating documentary proof of dodgy deals, misbegotten plans and email chains throwing good people under the bus to save face for himself. Grabbing my bag, I smile and head for the lifts. I don’t even need to stick around to watch the fireworks. Just knowing the CEO will have the information I’ve been holding back for the sake of holding on to this lousy job is enough.
She’s always trusted me, my sister. Today she gets to prove that. She’s brave but not bold. Some people would say that doesn’t make any sense, but in her it does. I’ve seen her courage before, standing between my father and mother. Blue eyes never the first look away while his jaw and fist spasm in a pulsing rhythm. Knowing that while he’s gutless enough to punch a grounded, sobbing woman, he’s still not quite junkyard-dog mean enough to strike a ten year old girl. Not yet anyway. Give her another few years and his scruples will slither away to wherever the last shreds of his integrity went years ago. My sister knows this, I can see it where her own shoulders bunch just a little higher every time. But that doesn’t stop her standing up for mum while she still can. Both of us praying that this time mum will realise that she’s using her own little girl as a human shield in her long ago lost battle with what my father has become. What the whisky made him - or what he let it make him. But sis isn’t bold. When it comes to defending herself, she shrinks. No straight-up gaze then. She’s all sliding eyes and hunched body, sitting alone in the playground hoping the mean girls won’t notice her. Sometimes it even works. Not always. Last night got bad. Really bad. For the first time I wasn’t sure dad was going to keep his fist by his side when sis stepped in front of him. Mum got up and ran, leaving us there with him. We turned and ran too but mum made it to the car and out the driveway before we could get to her. She just left us. So now we have to run, too. We can’t stay here with him, not with mum gone. Grabbing her hand, I dragged her down the drive and out onto the street. He’s yelling our names along with a few filthy ones that kids our age shouldn’t have heard before, but we have. We slept in the park that night but this morning dad will be sober and he will be looking. I woke up early enough to check the car wasn’t back in the driveway, then went to sis and explained what we needed to do. We have to really hide. The cliffs aren’t far. There are caves down below, but no way down except in one place. There we can jump down to an outcrop, and from there it’s a scramble and a short climb down to my cave. I keep some stuff there. Water, food and blankets. I knew we’d have to do this sooner or later. She’s scared. Brave but not bold. But oh, so brave. I grab my sister’s hand and pull her toward the cliff edge with me. She nods slowly in my direction. Then we jump.
I startled awake to the sensation of my head dropping toward my chest. I must have dozed off sitting at my desk. It wouldn’t be the first time these last few weeks, but I need to be careful. The snide remarks at the water cooler and in the lunch room tell me it’s becoming a frequent enough occurrence that my workmates are starting to notice - and talk. It’s not really my fault. My call centre job is mind numbing at the best of times and I’ve had to start taking extra shifts to cover my ever increasing expenses. My habits might be my own business, but they don’t come cheap and trying to pay for them is making my daily unscheduled naps everyone else’s business now. Even the most good natured work mate will only cover for you so often when they’re having to make up for your shortfall when the monthly numbers get run. Blinking my eyes back into focus, and swallowing to try to get some moisture back into my mouth, I glance aside to see if anyone’s noticed my little Power Nap. I freeze. Okay so maybe I’m not awake after all. Instead of a grey cubicle wall I’m looking at a white wigged, frock coated gent sitting on a stiff backed wooden chair. He leans towards me, concern creasing his features. “Add you quite well, Mr Kant?” He whispers. “Quite well, thank you” I reply, in a voice that sounds nothing like my own. “Quite well? Mr Kant?” Wait - what now? “ I believe the good gentlemen present are most eager to hear you speak, sir.” Says my new companion. “I’ve heard it said that one day your thoughts may change the world”. His voice is cultured and his manners old fashioned to the point of sounding ridiculous to my ears. Looking around further, I see men in the room dressed in what looks like fairly historically accurate period costume from the mid eighteenth century. What the hell is happening? I don’t remember leaving work, let alone going to a costume party. What is he talking about? And why did he call me “Mr Kant?” Now I’m feeling frantic as I take in more of my surroundings. It’s not just the clothing that’s from the seventeen hundreds. It’s the whole room. Expensive, heavy looking wooden furniture. Thick velvet curtains. And there’s a piano to one side of the room. Wait. Something’s off. That’s not a piano, although it looks a little bit like one. Holy crap…is that….. a HARPSICHORD?!!!! No, no, it can’t be. Those things weren’t common past….the eighteenth century. Finally I look down at myself. I’m wearing a velvet coat. What looks like some type of knee length pants, stockings and…women’s shoes?!! Heels and a buckle on the front? Oh god. Frock coats. Harpsichord. Shoes with heels on men. Mr Kant… Oh dear sweet mother of god. I think I might be Emmanuel Kant. At a party. And they’re waiting to hear what I have to say for myself..
“Hey you”. “Hey”. He looks a little uncertain. He knows something’s bothering me and he’s not sure what, and it has him nervous. He’s like that - he can read me so easily. We’ve known each other for over a year now and been best friends for six months of that. Surely he must have picked up on what I’m thinking. I mean, he always seems to know without being told when something’s on my mind so surely he’s noticed how I must look at him. The waiter comes over and we order. As they walk away he looks straight at me. “Come on, out with it”. He grins a little. “Somethings bothering you, and you know you’re going to tell me”. His cheeky smile is reassuring. I think he knows what’s coming and he’s glad I’m going to be the one to say it first, to break through that awkward cycle of longer and longer eye contact then suddenly turning away that we’ve both been doing lately. The “is he going to finally kiss me this time” moments that never seem to come to fruition. He’s scared of hurting the friendship, of being “that guy” who can’t be friends with a woman without trying to hit on her. Well this is different. This time the woman is every bit as keen to take it a step further, and it’s time I broke the ice. I just know he would have done it himself by now if he wasn’t such a decent guy. I huff out a nervous breath. “Okay.” I start. “The thing is….” I rise part way of of my seat, lean across the table and kiss him. He yanks his head back, eyes wide. “Oh”. “Oh shit”. Frozen in an awkward half stand, I feel like I’m going to be sick, or pass out, or both. He doesn’t look relieved. He doesn’t look delighted. He looks like I just told him his dog died. “Jasmine…I’m so sorry” he finally gasps. “It’s just…” “No” I say. “No need. In fact, please don’t”. I grab my bag from the table and turn, tripping awkwardly over the chair in my rush to get away” Face burning, I run from the cafe. Well….that didn’t go as planned.
If you’re reading this then two things have happened. We’ve found a way to get through to your side. To tell you the truth I wasn’t sure it would ever happen, or at least not until it was too late. The second thing is that matters have gotten so bad that you may not have enough time left. So please take this seriously. It’s not a prank or some type of trick. They’re coming for you, and they’re coming fast. I only hope there’s time enough left for you to take action before they find you.
