Run

   To say that dating had not been going well for her would be like saying history didn’t go well for the dinosaurs. Whatever blast or alien abduction fatefully swooped in to take their existence accidentally took her ability to get a date along with it.           

                She arrived at the coffee shop on the agreed-upon time of 11:30. It was now noon, and there was no tall, toe-headed Luke in sight.

                She should have known that the cross-over from ghosting to standing people up would be high. She, herself, had ghosted quite a few guys up to this point. It was usually for crimes such as responding with too few words in their conversations, or, in some cases, responding with way too many words. Thinking back on it, maybe she really was just as bad as everyone else. What she did have to say for herself was that she would never stand someone up for a date.

                She checked her phone for the 30th time since sitting down. No messages. She went to the Bumble app, unmatched with Luke, and began to stand up from the table.

                “Hey, where ya goin’?” A voice called from behind her.

                She turned around and saw a man with dirty-blonde hair and thick-rimmed glasses walking toward her.

                “Um, I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” She said, pointing to herself.

                “Yeah, you’re waiting for me, right?” The guy asked as he approached the table.  

                “Luke?” She asked with more confusion in her tone than she meant to let escape. She didn’t want him to think that he was all but completely unrecognizable to her. She couldn’t blame him entirely, though. He did only have one photo with his actual face in it on his profile, and it was of him posing far from the camera by some statue. The rest of his photos were either of landscapes or his golden retriever. They come out with one study about how guys with pictures of their dogs get more likes, and suddenly, every profile is riddled with “fur babies”. At this point, it’s almost becoming a red-flag, she thought before shaking herself back into the conversation.

                “Yeah, I’m so sorry, how long have you been waiting here for me?” The guy pulled up a chair and sat down.

                “I mean, we agreed on 11:30. I’ve been sitting here for half an hour. I thought, for sure, you had ghosted me at this point.” She let herself laugh to loosen up the conversation. She wasn’t happy with him, but he did show up, so she might as well make the best of it.

                “I am so sorry. I mis-calculated the time it would take me to get here from across town.” He sounded sincere in his apology.

                She scanned his face for anything recognizable to his single picture. Maybe she could make out the eyes if she really thought about it.

                “I honestly didn’t really know what to expect since you don’t have a lot of pictures of yourself.” She said, trying not to let hints of disappointment seep through.

                “Yeah, I don’t like to take a lot of pictures of myself. That one you saw was from years back. I guess I should update it, huh?” He smiled shyly and looked to his lap.

                “It’s a great picture, though.” She shot the words out of her mouth a little too quickly. She didn’t want to make it any more obvious that she didn’t find him to be as attractive in person. “And your dog is so cute.” She added on, hoping that there was some secondary study—that he just happened to read—about how when a woman compliments a man’s dog, it means she is a worthy suitor.

                “Oh, thank you. That dog is my life.” He said, looking up to meet her eyes.

                Okay, so he wasn’t terrible looking, she thought. Oh man, maybe she also read the same fictional article about dog compliments and was applying it to him, as well.

                They spent the rest of the date chatting lightly about their jobs and hobbies. He was a runner and would go to various parks around town to run their trails when he had the time. She had played soccer her whole life, so she agreed to find a day to go to the park with him—assuming the soccer ball could join them.

                At the end of the date, she told him she would text him the next time she had a free moment to meet up. He told her that he had actually just gotten a new phone that morning—one of the reasons he was so late—so he gave her his new number, and they parted ways.

                 They texted a few times over the next few weeks. They agreed to meet up again for a dinner date the next weekend. She made endless jokes about him being hours late, but he always took the jokes well and did everything he could to ensure her that he would show up on-time.

                When the day finally came, he offered to pick her up from her house to take her to dinner. That was not a normal course of action for her. She didn’t like people knowing where she lived, and she was terrified at the thought of not being able to escape the date easily if things went sideways. She knew that these fears were less rational when it came to her situation with Luke, though. She had already met him in person, they had talked for weeks, and she felt he was trustworthy and safe. So, she gave him her address and agreed to be picked up.

                He arrived with a bouquet of flowers in hand. She was delighted to see him in formal clothing. Nothing bumps a guy’s number from a 6 to an 8 like well-fitting, big-boy clothes.

                She took the flowers and smiled.

                “That smile makes every one of those flowers worth it.” He said with a grin.         

                She blushed and made her way out to the car with him. For someone who works in tech, this guy did NOT have the car she was expecting. It was an old Toyota—she would have guessed 20 years old based on her zero knowledge whatsoever of cars—that had a rust-stained, brown paint job, and leather seats all but torn to shreds.

               “Did your dog do this?” She asked, motioning to the seats.

               “What dog?” He asked, seemingly annoyed at the mention of the chairs.

                “Uhh your dog? The one in your pictures on the app?” She was put off by his sudden stand-offish response.

                “Oh!” His eyes became instantly brighter. “Yes! Yeah, my dog scratches up everything. You should see my couch.” He said with a laugh.

                His demeanor changed so quickly, she felt an emotional whiplash from the interaction.

                “What’s your dog’s name?” She asked.

                “Doug.” He responded.

                “Doug? I thought it was a girl.” She laughed at the idea of a female dog named Doug.”

                “Why did you think that?” He asked.

                “It’s on your profile. You referred to her as the number one woman in your life.” She tried to remember exactly how he had put it.

                “Oh, yeah, that was a different dog. Doug is my other dog. Do you like Italian food?” He switched the subject while keeping his eyes fixed on the road in front of him.

                “Yeah, absolutely.” She responded while wondering what was up with his two dog story. He seemed so obviously annoyed at her for bringing it up in relation to his seats that she didn’t want to push it a second time, so she just dropped it.

                When they got to the restaurant, they were greeted by a hostess who warned them of the time they would be waiting before getting seated. “It’ll be able 45 minutes.” The lady said with a tone mixed with sorrow and hope that the two would get the hint and go somewhere else.

                “That’s fine, we’ll wait.” Luke said, and they sat down on a bench near the host stand.

                They chatted about their days and made references to the various phone conversations they had been having all week.

                After a few minutes, another couple entered the restaurant. The girl swore she recognized the guy, but she couldn’t quite place from where. She heard him tell the hostess his name and that he had reservations for a party of 2. That was when she realized how she knew him.

                She was frozen in her chair for a few seconds before her date finally asked her if she was okay.

                “I’m fine.” She said, not looking up. “I think I just don’t feel good. I’d like to go home.”

                “Oh. Are you sure? They’re probably going to call us, soon. Do you want to give it a few minutes, maybe it will pass?”

                “Yeah, maybe. I think I’ll just go to the bathroom really quick.” She grabbed her purse and began to weave through the restaurant looking for a restroom sign.

                Once she found it, she went in to one of the stalls and pulled her phone out. She pulled up the number for “Luke” prior to him getting a “new” phone, and she called it.

                There was no answer—which she expected—but she did hear a voice come on to explain that he could not answer her call at the moment. The voice was not that of her current date.

                Suddenly, everything started making sense to her. This man didn’t remember his dog because he didn’t actually have a dog. He had been sharing stories with her of his time as a website developer all because she had brought up asking him about it since she saw it on his profile. She had even been the one to call him “Luke” at the coffee shop. She had given him every bit of information he needed to pretend to be her original date.

                She then frantically pulled up her best friend’s number and tried to call her. No answer. She downloaded the Uber app and went to reach for her wallet to put her credit card information in, but her wallet wasn’t in her purse. Had it fallen out in her date’s car? Did she even bring it at all? She wondered.

                She was in a different part of town than she normally visited. She had no idea how to get home or who to call to help get her there. She also realizes now that this strange man knows where she lives. She wonders if bailing on him to hitch-hike home will somehow make him angrier and lead to a psycho stranger waiting for her once she got home.

                She also considered the option of just playing it cool, getting home safely with this man, and then doing the usual slow-ghost. She would talk to him less and less throughout the weeks until finally, communication would stop. She decided that this might actually be the safest option.

                She left the bathroom and headed back over to where he was sitting.

                “I am so sorry.” She said with a half-smile. “I did not mean to leave you sitting here, I just feel so gross. I hate to cut our date short, but do you think there’s any way we can just go back to my place? I promise, I’ll make it up to you another day.” She put her hand lightly on his forearm.

                “Of course, no problem. I’m sorry you’re not feeling good.” He placed his other hand over hers and gave her a concerned smile.

                She was going to be okay, she thought.

                They began to drive back to her house. She made light conversation with him about his schedule for the next few weeks. He—presumably—made up some websites he would be developing for various big-named companies. It was almost like he was bragging, which felt so funny to her knowing what she knows now.

                She felt like she was doing a good job keeping the peace in their conversation while internally, she was losing it. She was in the car of an absolute stranger. She had been lied to for weeks by this guy. She had shared unsavory pictures of herself with him. What was he going to do with those? She knew nothing of who this person actually was, and if something happened to her, no one would have any idea who actually took her.

                She did her best to maintain her composure while going through every horrible, murderous scenario in her mind. She listened to way too many true-crime podcasts to not be prepared for something like this, she thought.

                After a few minutes of chit-chatting, a car pulled up behind theirs and began to follow them closely. Good, she thought, at least there will be one witness to interview during her “First 48” episode.

                “Is that a cop?” Her date asked only seconds before the lights began to flash.

                They pulled over while discussing what it was they could be getting pulled over for. The cop walked up to the driver side window and knocked on it.

                “License and registration.” The cop said the second the window was down.

                Her date pulled out the license from his wallet and ruffled through some papers in the glove box below her knees before pulling out the registration.             

                “Is something wrong, officer?” Her date asked.

                “You just have a tail-light out. I don’t mean to scare you, I just have to verify that this is your first time being informed of that fact. You have 72 hours from this warning to get it fixed, you hear me?” The officer looked up at them both from a lowered chin.

                “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.” Her date said, relieved.

                “Tom Johnson? You Mindy Johnson’s boy?” The officer asked while handing back the license.

                She froze in her seat. Tom. His name was Tom. And now, Tom knows that she knows that his name is NOT Luke.

                Her date dropped his head in silence for a few seconds before saying, “No, sir, my family’s not from around here.”

                “Ah, my mistake. You two kids have a good night.” The officer waved into the car and began walking back to his.

                Tom still had his head down when he began to roll the window back up. He slowly looked over at her with a laugh. “Luke is my middle name, in case you were wondering about that.” He slowly began to turn the car back on.

                “Oh, yeah, I figured. I have a lot of friends that go by their middle names.” She spoke quickly while sweat beads began to pile on her forehead.

                He looked over at her, again, but this time, he didn’t look away.

                The car was running, but he did not appear to be ready to drive it. He stared at her for what felt like minutes before he said, “You know my name’s not Luke, don’t you?”

                The fake smirk dropped from her face, and her cheeks bloomed a bright red.

                “What? No, it’s your middle name, right? Tom is just your given name, I get that.” She said, trying to convince him of how understanding she was of the situation.

                He turned the car off and place the keys in his shirt pocket. He took his gaze off of her and looked back toward the road in front of him. “I really like you, you know?” He said with a new quality to his voice that she didn’t recognize. It was like he became a new person in a matter of seconds.

                “I like you, too. I don’t understand what’s happening.” She said--trying to sound naïve yet calm. “Why did you stop the car? You know, I actually am feeling a little better and maybe even hungry. We could go to the sandwich shop by my house and get something quick.” She played off the weirdness like she was completely blind to it.

                He looked at her again, pulled his keys back out of his pocket, and restarted the car.

                A wave of adrenaline washed over her. She was relieved, but should she be? Would she have been better off with a stopped car because she could have at least jumped out and ran with it stopped, she thought.

                “Listen carefully,” He began while pulling back onto the county road. “I am going to take you to this sandwich shop, and you are going to get out of my car and run. Run as fast as you can until you get home. I will follow you, but only because I have to. I won’t catch you unless you make it too easy for me to. It has to look real if you’re going to get away.” His voice was brand new, this time.

                She was a melting pile of goose bumps in the seat next to him. Her eyes were glued to the horizon in front of her. “I don’t…” She started.

                “You’re a smart one. I think you have a lot going for you.” He cut her off, “What we do with the women we take is not meant for women like you. I am only letting you have this chance to run because I have grown to like you. I don’t usually start to feel this way toward my subjects, but I have this fondness for you that I can’t explain.” He turned the car onto the road that the sandwich shop was on. “It’s up here on the right?” He asked.

                “Yes.” She said with a whimper.

                “You understand what I’m asking of you, correct?” He asked her as he turned into the parking lot.

                She understood nothing about the situation, but she did know a backroad to her house behind the shop. It was one her friends and her would eat at after school all the time when she was a kid. She knew all the woods near and around it. “Yeah.” She said, unbuckling her seatbelt.

                “Don’t try anything funny. If you think calling the police will help you, you can join the rest of the girls back where I’m going who thought the same.”

                She began to shake in the seat next to him.

                “Hey,” he turned to her, “Listen, you are never safe. Don’t you ever let a random guy come up to you anywhere without you knowing exactly who he is first, okay?”

                She nodded without looking over at him.

                “Remember, if you don’t make it hard enough to catch you, I will catch you. And if I catch you this time, I can’t let you go.” He turned the car off and began unbuckling his own seatbelt. “Run.” He said, almost under his breath.

                She threw the car door open and ran behind the building as fast as she could, leaving the passenger-side door swinging open behind her.

Secrets

                 What do you do when you know something that can ruin someone’s life?

                She thinks back to the time in college when she began dating a guy who told her on a drive to drop her off back at her house that he would be married with children within the year. They had only seen each other a handful of times at this point—and mostly only at night.

                She remembers hearing this absurd statement and turning her head to glare at him while he drove with one hand rested casually on the wheel.

                “You will NOT be married with a child by the end of the year.” She said to him with a tone of shock and amusement. She sure wasn’t going to be married to this guy by the end of the year, if that’s what he was trying to say.

                They bickered back and forth about it for a few minutes before she eventually let it go. There was no point in fighting over what she knew was a summer fling. Whether he realized it or not, she would not be saying “yes” to any proposal from him this year. She figured she would let him find that out in his own time, so she never broached the subject again.

                A week or so later, she was driving with a friend when she received a call from a random number.  When she answered, the woman on the other line introduced herself as the fiancé of the guy she had been seeing. This girl asked her if she had been hooking up with him and--being the terrified, people-pleasing 19-year-old she was—she said, “No.” She told her that they were friends but nothing more.

                She called the guy the second his supposed fiancé hung up the phone. He made some excuse about how she was a crazy ex who stalked his phone records and tried to blow-up all of his new relationships. While she didn’t believe him, she also didn’t care enough about him to fight it. She just dropped the relationship all together and went on about her life.

                In October of that same year—about 6 months after the “break up”—she saw a social media post that he was tagged in. It was a compilation of wedding photos—his wedding photos. He had gotten married. When she looked up the bride’s account, she saw that it was the same girl that had called way back when. According to their accounts, they had been engaged for over a year.

                He really was married by the end of the year, she thought. How did she not see this as a possibility when he made that crazy statement to her all of those months ago? Now, it made sense why he wouldn’t take her out on real dates or take any pictures with her. Why was she so bad at spotting these red flags?

                She took a few days to decide what she was going to do. Should she reach out to that woman and tell her? It was not necessarily too late. Yes, they were married, but wouldn’t an early divorce be better than living the rest of your life with a liar and a cheater? Would telling this woman ruin her entire life and plan, though? What if his cheating changed him and he would never do such a thing again now that he was married? Maybe he realized how lucky he was to get away with it once, and he would never risk it again. She thought about it all and decided it would be best to not change the course of this new couple’s life. A month later, she would be validated in that decision.

                In December of that year, the new couple announced the pregnancy of their first child. Well, she thought, married with a kid by the end of the year was not that far off if you were already engaged and planning a life with someone. To her, it still felt pretty ballsy to bring the idea up to your mistress. He must have really thought she was naïve to be brave enough to be so open about it and know that she would never catch on to what he meant. Turns out, he was right.

                When she found out about the baby, she was so happy she never reached out to the woman. Most likely, at the time she would have reached out, the woman was already pregnant. That woman would have been scared, vulnerable, and in a spot where she couldn’t have escaped easily, even if she wanted to. Plus, if the woman wasn’t somehow already pregnant, telling her about the cheating would have kept their—soon to be—beautiful daughter from coming into the world. She felt that keeping quiet was the right thing to do in this case; but was it always?

                They seemed perfect for each other. He was the kind to become who he dated, and, well, she wanted someone who wanted to become her. The guy didn’t have much of an identity outside of the people he associated with. He was raised to feel such shame for who he was that he felt that if he became the person he dated, then that person could never shame him for being himself because who he was just like them. The downside of this method was that he always had to be in a relationship because without someone else to be, who was he? The upside was, in this particular case, his new girlfriend wanted someone who she could mold into the perfect, nose-blind to her smell of crazy boyfriend. So, once he was able to morph into her exact values, beliefs, and lifestyle, they fit together perfectly—so they portrayed.

                She knew this couple through the ultimate frisbee league she played in a few days a week. She heard the rumors about them from time to time. She was often told stories of the girlfriend hedging her bets with other men in the league for the full first year of their relationship. Apparently, the girl had thrown a few lines out, but when no one responded favorably, she stepped back in line with her boyfriend. Obviously, her boyfriend had idea this was happening.

                She was also told about the names this girl would call her male friends—inappropriate things like “baby” and “babe”. She also had a well-known, flirty way in which she would rub the backs of and make physical contact with her male friends that could be brushed off as “friendly” were she to ever be questioned. She was one of those girls who could say, “You got it, baby.” And pat her frisbee teammate on the lower back without anyone being able to say for sure whether it was inappropriate or just her “style”.

                She had ignored all of the rumors. It was interesting to hear about, but she was not invested in the fate of this particular couple. The man was kind of an ass and the woman was the type of point-fire-aim crazy that she wanted nothing to do with.

                She noticed, as the years went on, that the flirty behavior from the woman increased dramatically toward their ultimate frisbee friends. On one occasion, she showed up to the field at the same time as this couple and their usual group. She sighed because she hated being faced with the awkward greetings between herself and this group. She decided to change in the bathrooms furthest away from the action in the hopes of avoiding everyone.

                When she walked in, she came face-to-face with the aforementioned girl and another male frisbee player exiting the women’s bathroom. The girl looked at her, horrified, and squeaked out a “Hey.” The guy, buttoning his pants, squeezed past her, as well, and they both scurried out of the building.

                She stood in the bathroom motionless for what seemed like minutes. She replayed the scene over and over to verify what she had seen. Should she tell the girl’s boyfriend? Should she go tell him right now? Or should she play it off like she had seen nothing and let the couple be? How did this girl get so many men to like her?

                The last question stayed with her longer than the rest due to the nature of this girl’s general vibe. She was immature while also being so obviously a player. Why had all of these men fallen for it?

                Either way, she decided that, this time, she would tell the girl’s boyfriend. They weren’t engaged or married. They didn’t have children yet. This would not destroy their lives, but it would give the guy a chance to run while he could.

                She approached the group of frisbee players toward the end of the evening. The guy was by himself wiping the sweat off of his forehead with a towel. As she turned his direction, she heard a woman’s voice project over the field.

                “Charles! Charles, come here! Everybody, Charles and I have an announcement to make!”

                The guy she had been walking toward looked up toward the voice. It was his girlfriend, Milly, calling for him to join her.

                Charles walked right past her to join his girlfriend. Maybe Milly saw her walking toward him, she thought. She must have known what was about to happen.

                Charles joined Milly on the sidelines of the field where the group had gathered to hear this announcement. She watched from afar as he put his arm around Milly’s waist and ushered her to continue on.

                Milly stated, loud enough for her to hear, that her and Charles were going to be having a baby.

                Her jaw dropped. Why did these women have to keep getting pregnant during cheating scandals? She thought about the other rumors she had heard about this couple. It was whispered about that Milly was saving herself for marriage. She had apparently gotten Charles on board with the idea through the usual brain-washing tactics she had been known for. So, how is it that she was pregnant, now? Obviously, believing rumors was a fool’s game—especially considering the compromising position she had just found Milly in. However, it was one of those rumors that was so well-known, it felt like the smoke had to lead to at least a spark of a fire.

                The field erupted in cheers and cries. Everyone was so happy for the couple. She looked specifically at the guy who had left the bathroom with Milly hours earlier. He was smiling, but he wasn’t jumping up and down or reaching for hugs in the same way that everyone else was. Either this guy was sad that he had just lost his bathroom hook-up, or…

                She was staring at the scene on the field for so long, she didn’t notice a friend of hers walk up behind her.               

                “What are you staring at?” She asked.

              Startled, she jumped and turned around.  “Apparently, Milly and Charles are having a baby.” She looked over at her friend in shock.

                “Ha! No way. That girl won’t even let him sit on her bed when they hangout. Plus, she’s been trying to cheat on him for months. The guys keep turning her down, but there’s no way she wants to stay in that relationship. I would think a pregnancy with Charles would be a death sentence for that girl.” Her friend pulled her back toward the bleachers.

                “Oh, she’s not trying to cheat; I caught her and David in the girl’s bathroom earlier.”

                Her friend stopped in her tracks and turned to face her.

                “No. You. Did not!” She screamed with a smile. “I knew there was something going on there. I saw them getting out of the same car once downtown. When I asked her about it later, she said they were just ‘friends’ riding together. I knew that was bullshit.” They began walking again. “I bet you that baby is his.”

                “Wait, you think the baby is David’s? Wouldn’t that mean she’s hooking up with both of them, then? She had to have hooked up with Charles at least once for him to believe the baby is his. So much for saving herself.” She couldn’t imagine the look on Charles’ face if he found out the baby wasn’t his. He had worked so hard to form himself into this woman that the un-raveling would leave him without an identity, friends, hobbies, or even a life at all. He would be devastated.

               Her friend nodded slowly. “You think we should tell him?”

                “Nose-goes.” She said, throwing her index finger to her nose and laughing.

                They changed the subject and began to walk back to their cars. Her friend drove off and she sat in her car thinking about what she should do about the situation.

                If it were her, she would want to know if her partner was cheating. However, that David guy does not seem nearly as prepared to raise a child as Charles—who, honestly, was only about as prepared to raise a child as a house lamp.

                She had always regretted not being honest when that girl called her phone all those years before. However, she is happy that their baby came into existence, and that wouldn’t have happened had she been honest about the cheating, right? Of course, when it comes to changing history, you never know what change you are going to make. Maybe, she would have been honest with that woman, and she would have confronted her man who would have apologized, went to therapy, got better, and their baby might still have come into this world in the same way. There’s just no way of knowing what impact her honestly really would have had.

                In this case, though, this baby is coming no matter what. What she could change was which dad was going to raise it. If she were potentially going to be a dad, she’d want to know that the baby was hers. She also considered the idea that maybe David did know and actively didn’t want to raise a baby with a psycho.

                After thinking on it for a few days, she decided that she was going to tell Charles. The next time she could catch him alone at a practice, she would pull him aside and deliver the news. The hardest part about that was that Milly was practically glued to his side—other than the times she was hooking up with David in the bathroom, of course.

                The day finally came when she went to the field and found Charles practicing with a few of his guy friends—including David. Well, better David than Milly, she thought.

                She waited for a break in their game and she called for Charles to come over. He looked at her, confused, and made his way over slowly. He stopped about 6 feet from her.

                “Uh, what’s up?” He said, shifting his eyes to either side of the field behind her. He looked nervous and uncomfortable.

                “Do you mind if we talk privately about something for a second? I know you don’t really know me, but I have something important I want to tell you.” She tried to take a step closer to him, but he backed away.

                “She could be watching.” He said, looking over each of his shoulders.

                “Who? Milly?” She said, looking over her own shoulder, now.

                “Shhh, don’t say her name out loud.” He was backing away even more.

                “Charles, what is going on? I don’t see her anywhere near us, we’re okay.”  She could watch his breathing pick up pace. It was as if she could actually feel his heart beating faster.

                “She’s everywhere. She’s god.” He said as serious as if he had said he had been diagnosed with some horrible illness.

                “What?” She said almost laughing. “Charles, she is not here, she is not god, and I have something I have to tell you, but I need you to step closer to me so I don’t end up screaming it for everyone else to hear.” She tried to step closer to him again, and again, he backed away.

                “You laugh, but she is everywhere. She knows everything. She gets in my mind sometimes and…” He stopped speaking for a second and began to shake. “She is pregnant with the next coming of Jesus, you know, and he has given her special powers.” He said with wide eyes. “She will not like that we are talking. She doesn’t like when I speak to other women. She’s worried I’ll impregnate them, too.”

                She stared blankly at him for what felt like an eternity. “What?” She finally spit out with a choking laugh.

                He turned around and began to walk off. She raced after him.

                “Charles! It’s not that I don’t believe you…” She said, trying to contain her laughter, “But what I also know is that Milly is sleeping with someone else. That might not be your baby!” She screamed at his head.

                He turned around in a rage. “Excuse me? Neither her or I slept with anybody.” He said with his teeth clenched.

                “You didn’t sleep with anybody, but Milly has been sleeping with someone else… I’m trying to say that Milly is pregnant, and the baby is not yours—nor is it the son of God’s. Most likely, it’s David’s, but she kind of sleeps around a lot, so, it could really be anybody’s. Except for yours, since you guys haven’t slept together…” Her voice got quieter toward the end of her sentence.

                “Whatever Milly does, I do. We are one. She is god, and she took me in to become god with her. If you’re accusing her of being unclean, you’re accusing ME of being unclean.” He started to walk toward her, now.

                “Charles, I don’t know what Milly has told you, but you are not god, she is not god, she is a shitty girlfriend, and you need to get out from under her spell the second you can. Also, you are scaring me, right now. I just wanted to reach out and let you know what I knew, but if you have no interest in that information, I will mind my own business from now on.” She was almost jogging backwards, at this point.

                Charles was picking up pace toward her. His eyes were dark and cold. Though his face was expressionless, the apathetic nature of his eye-lids hanging heavy over his eyes created a shadow that made chills run down her spine. She swore, for a split second, she could see Milly’s face flash across his.

                “You will never speak of us again.” This time, his voice was deep and layered. It sounded like what you might hear coming from someone being exercised in a movie about demonic possession.

                He stopped moving toward her and dropped his chin. “Next time, it will be you who she latches on to.” He said in that same voice. His hand raised slowly from his side until he was pointing directly at her.

                “Fuck that.” She said, and she turned around and ran toward her car.

                She was out of breath when she started her car and sped out of her spot. She picked up her phone and called her friend.

                “I tried to tell Charles.” She spat into the phone before her friend could even say hello.

                “I know you did.” The voice on the other end was monotone and unfamiliar. “Your little friend did, too, and it didn’t go well for her, either.” The words were slow and deliberately. She detected an unsettling hint of a smile in the person’s voice.  

                “Gabby?” She asked, confused.

                “Yes, ‘Gabby’ tried to talk to Charles. Soon, ‘Gabby’ will have some new friends and won’t be needing your acquaintance anymore.” The voice was sinister as it spit out her friend’s name.

                She hung up the phone and looked carefully at it as she called Gabby once more. It definitely was Gabby’s number, but who was on the other line? She wondered.

                “Gabby?” She said, again, when the phone was answered.  

                “Hey girl, what’s up?” Her friend responded as normal as ever.

                “Holy shit, I just tried calling you and the phone was picked up by someone sounding like a psycho. Were you just messing with me?” She spoke frantically.

                “What? I didn’t get a call from you. Are you sure you called me?”

                She checked her phone again to verify that she had.

                “Yes! It was you! I was calling to tell you that I spoke to Charles, and he went insane. Like, seriously, mental institution insane. But then, someone answered your phone sounding SO creepy.” Her eyes darted around her car as she decided on which crazy thought trail to lead her friend down, first.

                “I don’t know about someone answering my phone, pretty sure you called the wrong number, girl. But oh my gosh, I spoke to Charles, too! I have been meaning to tell you!” Her friend screamed into the phone. “He got all religious freak on me and told me Milly heard me say ‘everything’. He said she would curse me or some shit, it was so wild. I was speechless trying not to laugh in his face. Wait, what did he tell you?”

                “He said he would curse you?” She tried to remember if he had cursed her. “He told me that I was ‘next’ for Milly to take over or something, I have no idea. He basically said she was a virgin and how dare I question the validity of their Jesus baby.” She was immediately relaxed by how ridiculous the whole thing sounded when she said it out loud.

                The girls laughed and talked for the next twenty minutes about their individual interactions with Charles. They spoke with a mild level of nervousness, but by the end of their conversation, they had both come down from being scared to being as giggly as ever.

                When she hung up with phone with Gabby, she noticed she had a missed call from her mother. It was weird because her phone had never alerted her of a call. She pressed the phone button by her mom’s name and called her back.

                “Hey honey…” Her mom said with trepidation. “Are you…feeling alright?” She asked cautiously.

                “What are you talking about? I’m fine. Is everything okay with you?”

                “Well, just now, on the phone, you sounded…off..” Her mom was still speaking hesitantly.

                “Mom, I didn’t answer your call. I just saw that I missed it. What’s going on?” She looked at her phone screen again to see if she had missed anything.

                “What? We just spoke. You told me to tread lightly if I didn’t want to be next. It was very cryptic. I almost wondered if you and your friends were on something and playing some pranks or something. And honey, it was the strangest thing, but I swear, my phone became cold to the touch in my hand as you were speaking. Maybe it’s time for me to get a new one…” Her mom trailed off.

                “Wait, mom, what did the voice you heard say? Did it mention any names or anything specific? What do you remember?” Her hand began to shake.

                “It was something about leaving some girl with an ‘M’ name alone. Molly, maybe? Minni? I don’t know. It said it was ‘too late’ for you, dear. You have the strangest friends, you know I’ve always told you that…”

                She dropped the hand with the phone in it to her side and slowed her car down until she came to a complete stop. Holy shit, she thought. David and Milly are having some demon baby, Charles is possessed, and she and Gabby are either next, or already on their way to possession.

                She hung up the phone with her mom still talking and lowered her forehead onto her steering wheel. That’s the last fucking time I tell anyone anything, she thought.

The Experiment

“As a controller, your job will be to plant the seeds that we have discussed in order to solicit the reactions that your team will then record.” The woman spoke with an elevated chin. Her voice was crisp and each individual word snapped clearly in and out of existence.

                They both continued to walk down the endless hallway of closed, gray doors past others in similar roles. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of The Devil Wears Prada, Merrill Streep-like sleek, slender women with hair sharp enough to cut you if you came too close. Following closely behind these women were always girls like her—frazzled and confused.

                She would try to peer into the vertical window slits on the gray doors when she could, but the woman leading her was moving so quickly—despite her 5-inch heels—that she could barely keep up as it was.    

                “Who will be on my team?” The girl choked out. She was intimidated by the effortlessly beautiful women and the sterile, hush-hush tone set by the blank walls and silent conversations. She had so many questions bubbling up inside of her, but this one seemed to bubble just high enough to make it out.

                “Great question,” 

                She silently applauded herself.

                “Your team will actually be unbeknownst to you. We feel that if any of you know each other, it could compromise the experiments. It is best if you assume that everyone you come in contact with is one of the real people in the situation, and in order for us to ensure that you treat them as such, we keep everyone’s identities a secret.” The woman stopped at one of the gray doors and looked at her. The look was sudden and severe. Her eyes were terrifying and mesmerizing.

                “Before we send you off into your first controller meeting, I would like for you to observe a few of our latest experiments.”

                “Okay…” Her mind went blank as it always did when people in authority made sudden eye-contact with her. She felt like she had shrunk 3 feet and the woman had grown 12 in a matter of seconds.

                “Don’t be scared.” The woman said as if she had heard her thoughts. “You see how we are?” The woman gestured to the others just like her leading the other, terrified, puppy dog-like girls around. “We all used to be just like you. To be a good controller, you either learn how to be like us, or you won’t make it. We hired you because we think you have it in you to be one of us.”

                The girl raised her head some and rolled her shoulders back.

                “Thank you.” The girl said. She was more relaxed now. She didn’t think she had it in her to be this amazon of a woman, but if someone else did, that was all the motivation she needed to try. “Are all controllers women?” The girl hadn’t seen a single man through her entire process of getting this job.

“We only train women in this unit. However, you will encounter male controllers—you just won’t know that that’s what they are.”

The girl’s face was frozen in confusion.

                “Now, before we watch this video, I need you to understand some things.” The woman spoke as if her tongue sliced through her words.

                The girl nodded and straightened up even more, this time in an effort to look as much like this woman as possible prior to entering the room; She wanted to look like she belonged there were there to be any other people inside.

                “These experiments are performed on or in the vicinity of real people. They will alter people’s lives—their real lives. You have to understand that this is all in an effort to truly understand human interactions AND reactions. These studies will be able to be used in a court of law in cases where someone reacts a certain way to an environmental stimulus. We can use our case-studies to say that their reactions were typical or atypical given their situation. There are so many ways in which this research can change the world in therapeutic settings, in job settings, in interpersonal relationships—it will change our understanding of people in a way we didn’t think was possible prior to this.” The woman put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and lowered her head to meet the level of her eyes. “I need you to understand this because you will see people get hurt and change, and it will often be from your own doing. You will be playing a god-like role in real people’s lives. You always have to remember that it is all for the greater good.”

                The girl felt shivers swim down her back in waves. She didn’t want to hurt anyone—especially on purpose. She was always the kid in school that rooted for the underdog and stuck up for those being bullied. What would she have to say or do that would hurt people? Could she hurt someone intentionally?

                She nodded at the woman and looked toward the door. The woman took that as her invitation to open it.

                They entered a conference room like any other. There were no people in it—which caused the girl’s shoulders to relax back to their original position—but the room did have an oval, wooden desk surrounded by six chairs sitting on top of spotted brown, nylon carpet. There was a large TV attached to the center of the wall in front of them. The woman stepped inside and grabbed herself a chair. She motioned for the girl to do the same.

                The girl sat down, and the woman clicked the TV on.

                “Save your questions for the end.” The woman said.

                The girl nodded and sat up straight. The TV began to play.

                On the screen, they saw a young girl with a long ponytail of wild, blonde curls sitting cross-legged in a chair next to the desk of what looked to be a boss of some kind. There was also a woman sitting in front of the girl with a clipboard. The two boss-like women in the room sat high and confident while the girl sat with shoulders rolled in as if she was folding into herself.

                The boss at the desk began to explain that the girl’s coworkers had been complaining about her behavior at work for some time. The girl looked confused.

                “There are complaints?” The girl asked. “What are they saying?”

                “We can’t tell you the details without giving too much of their identity away, but you should know what problems you are causing, and if your behavior doesn’t change, we’re going to have to let you go. You have one month to prove to us that things can get better.” The woman at the desk spoke down to the girl like she was a child.

                The woman sitting across from the girl followed along with, “We have been getting these complaints for months, now. This is just the first you have heard of them. When they pile up like this, we can’t just leave them un-discussed.” She said as if these words would somehow soften the blow.

                “Who has been saying these things?” The girl asked with tears welling up in her eyes.

                “We can’t tell you that. If you knew who said it, it could put them in danger of retaliation from you. That’s also why you need to be very careful who you speak to regarding this problem. If I were you, I would keep this to yourself for the time being.” The—seemingly—main boss responded.

                “I’m friends with everyone…I…I get along with everyone. I’ve never had conflict with any of my co-workers before.” The girl said between sobs. “How am I supposed to fix a problem that you can’t even verbalize to me? I have no idea what I’ve done wrong.”

                The two bosses explained the same idea over and over to her. They never got any more specific than saying she has “behavioral problems” that needed to change. After the girl gave up asking questions, the two women had her sign some papers, and they told—again—that they would re-evaluate her behavior from the experiences of her co-workers in a month. After that, the girl would be told if she could continue to work for the company or not.

The girl signed the papers and left the office, walking straight to the nearest bathroom to cry for the next 10 minutes.

                The next part of the video was various clips of the same girl working days, weeks, and months later. She didn’t speak to any of her coworkers for the first few weeks after the interaction with the bosses. There were many clips of her co-workers questioning what was wrong with her behind her back when she would step out of the office for a break or for lunch. The whole dynamic of the office seemed to shift. The girl became weary of everyone, and, in turn, everyone became weary of her.

                After a few months, she began to loosen up at work. She started to be more open to her co-workers again, but it was still never quite the same for her—at least, for as long as the video showed. She resented her bosses, she resented the people she used to view as friends, but the majority of her anger and sadness was aimed toward herself. This poor girl was no longer the same person in any part of her life after that fateful meeting. She wondered every day who in her work circle disliked her enough to want her fired, and she wondered what it was about her that was so awful that someone would complain to begin with. Her self-esteem took a hit, her relationships outside of work began to suffer, and she sank into a darkness that she had never before experienced.

                The woman paused the TV.

                “So, do you have any questions?” The woman clasped her hands together in front of her and looked over at the girl.

                “I mean, I have so many.” The girl said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “What did I just watch? Who are these people? What did the girl do that was so awful?” The girl looked back at the paused image of the sad woman still painted on the television screen.

“Those are not the types of questions I am referring to.” The woman said with a small grin.

The girl thought about what an appropriate question might be before coming up with, “Okay, um, who was the controller, here? What exactly was the point of this experiment?”

                "Now we’re getting somewhere.” The woman’s face blossomed into a smile. “I can’t tell you who the controller was—not because it’s some big secret, but because sometimes, micro-experiments are also being done on the people surrounding the main ‘characters’—if you will. For example, the controller could have been one of the bosses, it could have been the HR employee who wrote out the ‘complaint’ and provided the rules for the bosses to follow in terms of how to handle the situation with the girl, but it also could have been the girl, herself. Outside of whoever the controller was, the rest of the people we saw could have been side-characters with reactions that we will study at a later date. For that reason, it’s best that those who study the interactions don’t ever truly know who the controller is.”

“Okay… So, if we don’t know who’s controlling the situation, then how do we know what experiment is being run?” The girl asked, confused.

“We never quite do know.” The woman straightened in her seat. “It seems that this experiment is likely meant to test the reactions of an employee when they have the idea of a--once trusted--complaining co-worker planted in their mind. I would guess that they are studying how her opinions of herself and the people around her change when she realizes there is one enemy in a bunch of her friends. We get to see how one disguised bad apple in a bucket of good ones can ruin the whole bucket. You see what I’m saying?”

                The girl thought about that for a second. “If I were that girl, I wouldn’t know who to trust anymore. I would question my reality and my view of myself. It would throw my whole world for a loop.” She finally said.

                “Exactly. Only, we can’t just take your word for it, we need to see it—and it’s ripple effects—in action. Having said that, that could just be a micro-experiment.” The woman picked up the remote and began to scroll through more titles.

“Wait, what do you mean?” The girl asked.

“Well, the main experiment may be on how her co-workers react when, suddenly, one of their friends at work becomes distant and cold for no reason. They may have had to tell this girl these things just to get her to react in a way that elicits the co-worker responses they were looking for.”

                The girl sat for a second thinking about this all for a second. Either this poor woman just had her life ruined for no reason, or she was acting this way to then change the lives of the innocent co-workers around her? Did anyone know anything concrete in these situations? She wondered.

                “This one is not as dark, I promise.” The woman interrupted her thought. “Also, pay close attention because this will likely be what you start out on. She pressed play on a video titled, “Ver.”

                Together, the woman and the girl watched as a handsome, young man—maybe 28 years-old—swiped on beautiful women’s faces on a dating app on his phone. He was sitting at a coffee shop with a hunched back and low-hanging head. His swipes were so quick, the girl wondered how he was even able to see the faces of the women before they were gone from his screen.

                He stopped swiping suddenly and sat up in his chair. He brought his phone closer to his face.

The girl and the woman were able to see the screen of his phone up-close—as if they were viewing it from his very eyes. How are they getting these shots? The girl wondered before being sucked back into the story.

                On his screen, there was a picture of a beautiful, young woman. She had thick, flowing brown hair and a devious smile. The first picture of her was one with her back turned to the camera, but her neck was swiveled around enough to make out her smiling face. Her eyes were large and chocolate brown. She had a look that said, “Come and get me.”

                The man stared at her for a few seconds before scrolling down to look at more of her photos. The woman’s name was, “Ver.”

                Every photo of Ver was identical to the last. She was photographed waist-up with her hair down and her face scrunched in a smile. The last two photographs, though, were of nature—which made little sense to the girl watching.

Why would someone put photos of a park on their dating profile? She wondered.

                The questions asked of Ver by the app including things like,

                “What’s you guilty pleasure?” To which Ver had put, “Snacking.”

                That seemed pretty vague, the girl thought.

                The next question asked by the app was, “How do you like to spend your weekends?” To which Ver had responded, “With friends.”

                Did this girl have a personality at all? The girl questioned. She guessed that it was only fair that someone that beautiful also be cursed with being that simple minded.

                The guy scrolled through her pictures a couple of times before swiping up—the super-like (as the apps referred to it).  

                Right away, the app told the man that he had matched with the woman--meaning she had also liked his profile. He opened up the messaging board on the app and began to write her a message.

                He wrote, “Hey there. Snacking is a guilty pleasure of mine, too. How has your day been?”

                The girl watching the TV took a second to remember how cringy early dating used to be before she found her own boyfriend.

                After a few minutes, Ver responded back with, “Good.”

                The guy stared at his phone. The girl could only imagine he was thinking that there must be more conversation from Ver on the way. Unfortunately, 10 more minutes went by, and nothing else was sent.

                The guy tapped his foot as he typed out, back-spaced, and re-typed another message to the girl. He ended up sending, “I had a good day today, too. Work wasn’t bad—for once. What do you do for work?”

                He waited a few more minutes before receiving the response, “Lol. Nice.” From Ver.

                Well, she’s a woman of few words, she thought as she stared at the screen in amazement.

                The guy was becoming obviously annoyed at this point. He looked around the room as if searching for a camera to make eye-contact with in-order to break the 4th wall of this television show he must be on. He needed someone to validate the hilarity he was experiencing with this girl.

                That idea was striking and unsettling considering there were, in fact, people watching him go through this experience.

                The guy went back to his phone and began typing yet another message to Ver. This time, he said, “Do you work in town?”

                He waited 15 minutes for a reply, but he never received one. He ended up placing his phone in his pocket and leaving the coffee shop.

                “That was exhausting to watch.” The girl said to the woman.

                “It’s not over, yet.” The woman said as the screen changed locations and time.

                It must have been days later; the man was on his couch in the evening watching TV and eating what appeared to be home-made spaghetti. He picked up his phone after seeing the screen’s edges light up. It was a message from Ver. She had responded back to his previous message—from days before—about whether or not she works in town. She wrote,

                “Yeah.”

                The man threw his phone on his couch in frustration.

                “God, talking to this girl is like pulling teeth. Why is he still even entertaining this conversation?” The girl asked more to herself than the woman watching with her.

                “That’s a great question.” The woman said with a curious amusement. “That might be what we’re here to find out.”

                They continued watching as the guy scooped his phone back up, swiped the app back open, and began furiously typing back to the girl. First, he typed out, “Wow, you’re so expressive with your thoughts. You should write a book.” He looked at this for a second before backspacing his words and typing out, “Good talk.” Again, he stared at his phone, backspaced, and finally ended up writing, “Cool. Where in town?”

                The scene changed, again. It looked like it was the next morning. The man was cleaning his dishes from the night before when his phone chimed. He looked at it to see a response from Ver. The response read, “Lol.”

                That was it. The man began to laugh in pure, annoyed delight. He took a screen-shot of the conversation and immediately sent it to—what appeared to be—a friend of his named “Hannah” with a text that said, “Are you playing a prank on me, or something? This is fucking wild.”

               Hannah responded back with laughing emojis, and they spent the rest of the day joking back and forth about the one-word responses of—who they deemed to be—the most boring girl in the universe.

                The woman paused the video and looked over at the girl. “What do you think?” She asked.

                “What do I think about what?” The girl crossed her arms. “That was the most annoying interaction I’ve ever seen from someone on a dating app. That guy should have known she would respond like that based on her app responses, though. Guys are always just looking for a pretty face, I swear.” The girl rolled her eyes.

                The woman stared at her for a few moments without blinking. The girl uncrossed her arms and looked down to her lap. Was there more expected of her right now? She wondered.

                “Um, I guess you want me to guess who the controller was and what the…purpose? Of it was?” The girl asked with her eyebrows raising at the same time as her voice.

                The woman smiled and dropped her head in a friendly way.

                “I don’t know who the controller was.” The girl said with little confidence. “I feel like it couldn’t have been the guy. He wasn’t controlling anyone. Was it whoever ‘Ver’ was?”

                The woman’s smile widened.

                The girl continued on. “If that’s the case, then is she just seeing how long a guy will hold on with basically no response from a pretty girl?”

                “I like the way you’re thinking about this. You and I could go back and forth for hours about what the purpose of this experiment was, but something you need to know right now is that, when it’s YOU on the other side of the screen, you don’t want to try to guess the purpose of the experiments. You just perform what you’ve been asked to perform, and you let those who study the interactions determine what the true purpose of it all is. In this particular case, we can guess that they’re looking for a general understanding of how men and women react to different types of potential partners on dating apps. There are many different types of people and ways of communicating when dating online. Some people are short responders. Some people write pages of information about themselves. Some people are consistent at responding and some are not. It is possible that we have sent this particular man quite a few women—like Ver—to see how he reacts to all different types of responders.”

                “So, there’s a person who works here who is playing Ver?” The girl asked.

                “It’s very possible, but it is equally possible that Ver is a real person, and the controller we sent in was the man, or even Hannah.” The woman responded.

                “Wait, what?” The girl looked at the woman suddenly. “How could Hannah be a controller? If that guy is a real person, how could we have known that he would reach out to whoever Hannah is in order to have her control anything?”

                The woman laughed. “These experiments can go on for years. Hannah could have been planted in his life weeks, months, or years before that moment. And he may never have reached out to her, in which case, we would find another way to use this case study to prove something else. However, think about what would have happened if Hannah was the controller and he reached out to her only to recieve an entirely different reaction.”

                The girl still wasn’t making sense of what the woman was saying. “What do you mean?”

                “Okay, let’s say the guy sends the screenshot, and Hannah writes back saying, ‘She sounds like a nice girl.’ Don’t you think the guy would have been confused as to how Hannah didn’t see the humor in the conversation the way that he did? Or, what if Hannah wrote back saying, ‘I don’t understand the problem, that’s how people talk.’ Then the guy would have begun to question himself in so many ways. He would have wondered if he was actually being too judgmental. He might have gone back and given Ver—and other girls like her—another chance in fear that they were the normal ones while he was actually the asshole who didn’t give them a fair shot. This man would have begun to question his own reality for days, weeks, or even years to come in terms of what to expect on these apps—or from people in general.”

The woman looked at the girl with a new softness in her eyes,

“It only takes one person validating or invalidating your reality to make a monumental change in who you are and what you believe to be true. You need to remember that before you go into this field, because you will be changing lives—you just won’t always know the changes you’re going to make.”

                The girl sat back in her chair and looked over at the TV once more. Was she cut out for this? She kept asking herself.

                “I know this is a lot to take in right now. You’re going to be given some time to process everything, and then we will start you with some controller meetings to get you in roles like those you have just watched. I can’t tell you which part you’ll be playing, but I can tell you that in order for these experiments to succeed, they are designed to ensure that you never truly know who’s actually in control at any given time.” The woman’s voice was lower than usual.

                “Unless it’s me.” The girl said without moving her gaze from the TV.

                The woman smiled. “Listen very carefully,” She said in a whisper, “You never know who’s in control, even when you think it’s you.”

                The girl looked back at the woman with goose bumps blanketing her arms. “What, are you saying they’ll tell me I’m in control so they can study my behavior, instead?”

                The woman slowly raised her eyes to the corner of the room just above the girl’s head. The girl took the silent direction and followed her gaze. They were now both looking right into the eye of a camera.

The girl felt a warm breeze tickle her ear as the woman whispered into it,

                “Welcome to The Experiment.”

The Date

Was this him? She glanced across the crowd with squinted eyes. She saw a tall guy with glasses and a brown, striped shirt heading her way. He was shorter than he seemed in the pictures, but he was holding flowers, so that made up for it.

                His bio said he was a landscape architect. That was pretty cool, right? Her friends said it was promising. Although, her friends tended to sprinkle a little judgment into their opinions on her dates. One of them had the 6-6-6 rule; 6 figures, 6 feet, and, well, 6 inches.

                This guy lied about one of those—hopefully, the others were true.

                He finally spotted her and waved. When they got close enough, she opened her arms for a hug. The first meet-up was always the most awkward part of talking to someone. She’d get comfortable with someone on a texting level, but being face-to-face with them was so much more intimate. It was usually like they had to re-do their awkward opening lines all over again rather than start from the place of false comfort they thought they had built through their phones.

               All of her fears of the first, awkward moment vanished the second he returned the hug. It was warm and comforting. It was not from the side or given by a man who considered her a stranger. It was the hug of an old friend. She was instantly relaxed.

                With no hesitation, they dove into a conversation about their individual days. They had both met with friends for lunch, but he had to work later in the day, and she stayed home to clean her house. The conversation was easy.

                They made their way to the restaurant they had decided on for dinner. He held the door for her which was either the sign of a gentleman or the sign of a guy who knows how to impress a first date. Either way, she appreciated it.

                They discussed the menu like a couple that had been together for years. There was no trying to fill awkward silences or think of topics of conversation. They just lived in the moment with no hesitation in saying things like, “Eating cheese this late will destroy my stomach.” Or “$25 is WAY too much for a grilled chicken meal. Where could they possibly be getting these chickens from?!”

                They laughed and shared a meal like this was something they had done dozens of times before. 

                He asked her about her family. He reiterated—an arguably annoying amount of times—how important family and “family values” were to him. She found this to be sincere, at first, but almost rehearsed after the third time he mentioned it. It was as if he really wanted her to know this about him, but he kept forgetting if he had already brought it up or not. She wondered if he had mentioned it on previous dates and got all of the conversations confused with each other. She knows that had happened to her a few times, so she silently forgave him.

                When the night began to wind down, he asked her if he could drive her home. She had been dropped off earlier in the night and planned on using one of the various car services to get herself home.

                “Oh wow, that’s so nice of you to offer.” She said while shuffling through a mental pros and cons list of accepting this ride.

                He seemed safe enough. She wouldn’t normally want a first date to know where she lived, but for some reason, this one made her feel so comfortable that she felt she could trust him. She wouldn’t let him inside of her house, of course. She’d just be dropped off and leave it at that.

                “Alright, let’s do it. But if you think you’re getting’ some, you have another thing comin’.” She said with a smile.

                He laughed and they began the journey to his car.

                They discussed and listened to various types of music as they drove. When they finally arrived at her house, they were on the subject of art. She explained that she was somewhat a collector of unique art. It was always her favorite souvenir to bring home from her vacations. He told her he’d love to see her collection, sometime, and so, she went against her usual rules and asked him if he’d like to come inside.

                The rest of the night was one for the history books.  

                They discussed their similar childhoods and values. They laughed and talked like friends who had known each other a lifetime. At the end of the night, he leaned over and kissed her.

                She felt all of the blood in her body fall from her head to her toes. Miniature fireworks shot off in her chest. It was a kiss like nothing she had had in years.

                After he left, they made a promise to each other to meet up again, soon. She already couldn’t wait for that day.

                They spent the next few days messaging back and forth. He wasn’t as responsive as he had been on the days before their first meet-up. She figured this was because of the grueling hours he worked. She decided on day 4—post-best first date of her life—to look him up online. She knows she should have done this first, but she dove so quickly into conversation with him that she figured she didn’t need to verify his identity. Plus, he turned out to be who he said he was, so she didn’t really need to look him up now, either—but she wanted to.

                She couldn’t find him on Instagram or Facebook, so she tried typing his name into google. That’s when time came to a screeching halt.

                She found an obituary for this exact man with the exact same photo he had used for his dating profile dated March 9th of the year prior. That was almost a year ago, at this point. An obituary? No way, she thought.

                She clicked on the obituary link and read it. Every word was exactly as he had described himself. Whoever wrote this obituary clearly knew him to a T. It mentioned his favorite sports and TV shows. It described the type of relationships he had with his siblings. It even mentioned his family dog—who he would NOT stop talking about.

                She stared at her computer, mouth wide open in disbelief for so long, she began to drool. She whipped her phone out, snapped a picture, and sent it to her “ghost” Tinder date.

                Her phone buzzed back at her almost immediately.

                “What the hell is that?” He wrote.

                “You tell me, I found it online.” She wrote back.

                “Are you fucking joking? That’s so fucked up, where did you find it?”

                She shared the link with him and paced around her kitchen. Who was this guy? Was this some sick joke? That is a recipe for bad karma, she thought.

                She sat back down at the table and put her head in her hands. Her roommate walked in after a few minutes of this and asked her what was wrong. She showed her roommate the photo and explained the crazy situation.

                “Call that bastard.” Her roommate barked. “There’s no way he doesn’t know about that, it’s fucking crazy.”

                She pulled his number up and pressed the green call symbol. He answered on the second ring.

                “Don’t tell him he’s on speaker.” The roommate whispered.

                “Hey, so… what the hell is this obituary thing?” She asked into the phone.

                “I honestly have no idea. I tried contacting the website to find out who posted it, so we’ll see if I get a response. That’s so crazy. It even describes me so well.” He sounded anxious. “I don’t know, but can I call you back? I need to call my parents or something about this and see what they may know.”

                He hung up quick, and she put her phone down. She looked up at her roommate.

                “He sounds genuinely confused. Maybe it’s really just some fucked up prank or something that he didn’t even know was played on him.” She shrugged her shoulders and looked back down at her phone.

                Her roommate looked at her with a tilted head and furrowed eyebrows. “Girl, are you okay? Am I missing something?”

                She looked up at her roommate confused. “What?” She asked.

                “Did you think someone answered the phone just now?” Her roommate took a step away from her and crossed her arms             

                “Um, yeah, Adam did. Didn’t you hear him? He said he has no idea what’s going on. He’s gonna contact the website and see if they know anything.” She was growing annoyed.

                “Girl, that phone just rang 7 times and then dropped. No one picked it up. Are you messing with me?” Her roommate began to laugh in amazement. “You’re fucking with me. Get out of here.” She said as she turned to grab a cup from a cabinet.

                “What? Did you not hear him? I think YOU need hearing aids or something. He literally explained everything and then rushed off the phone. Are YOU messing with ME?” She began laughing, as well.

                Her roommate turned off the sink faucet she was using to fill her cup with water. She put one hand on her hip and lowered her eyebrows once more. “You’re on something, girl. But if you figure out whats going on with obituary boy, let me know.” Then, she walked off.

                What the whole hell was that, she thought. She turned back to her phone and saw Adam’s name and number once more. Just out of curiosity, she clicked on the phone log to see what time he answered and how long they spoke for. The phone log said “Outgoing Call” with no pick up time.

                That can’t be right, she thought. She swiped to his number and called him again.

                “Hey, what’s up? I haven’t finished trying my parents, yet, but I promise, I’m gonna see what’s going on and let you know.” He sputtered frantically.

                “No, it’s totally fine, I’m sorry, I just... It’s funny and hard to explain, I think my roommate is fucking with me. I just wanted to call you and hear your voice. I don’t mean to put this obit thing on you—I thought it was some kind of sick joke or something, like maybe you made it up to get out of another first date at some point or something.” She giggled into the phone.

                He laughed back, “No, absolutely not. This is so fucking weird. I am so glad you found it instead of another family member or a potential job, you know? This needs to be taken care of now before it really messes with my life, so thank you for sending it to me.”

                Relief washed over her as she heard his comforting words. He was such a good guy—the best guy. She couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to find him.

                The conversation ended with them deciding to go on another date that night to get drinks. They both needed it after this day.

                Her roommate didn’t say another word to her all day about their awkward interaction earlier. When it was time for the date, she called an Uber in the hopes that Adam would offer to take her home once more.

                She got to the bar, first. She told the hostess that someone would be joining her, and she sat down. He eventually showed up, once again, flowers in hand, and a warm, wonderful smile on his face.

                She let the chills send a blush to her cheeks and smiled back. He sat with her, and they talked all night. There wasn’t much mention of the obituary other than him explaining that he would ask his parents about it when they got back to him. Once she was in person with him and his sharp, blue eyes, she had almost forgotten about the obituary all together.

                The night came to an end, and, just as she suspected, he offered to take her home. She told him she would use the restroom first and be right back. He smiled and nodded.

                She adjusted her makeup in the bathroom before exiting. Tonight was the night. She knew him, she liked him, she trusted him, and she was ready.

                She stepped out of the bathroom and made her way back to the bar. Before she got back to her seat, she glanced up and saw two empty chairs where she and Adam were just sitting. That was weird. She glanced around thinking maybe she just passed him on the way to the bathroom. He probably went in at the same time she did.

                She sat there waiting for a few minutes before deciding to check outside. Maybe he thought she would meet him out there, she thought. She walked past the hostess before stopping and asking if she had seen a gentleman matching Adam’s description leave. The hostess responded,

                “Is that the gentleman you were waiting on?”

                “Yeah, the one I was sitting at the bar with.”

                The hostess looked confused. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you sitting with anyone. I’ve been waiting, actually, for the guy you said was going to join you, but no one has come, yet.”

                She looked at the hostess sideways and then looked out the door to the sidewalk. “Um, I’m just gonna check and see if he’s out here.” She said dismissively before squeezing past the woman and exiting the bar.

                She grabbed her phone and called Adam. He picked up right away.          

                “You calling me from the bathroom?” He asked before she could speak.

                “No, I’m outside the bar looking for you, where did you go?” She glanced to either side of the building searching for him.

                “I’m sitting at the bar, still. Why did you go outside?” He sounded concerned.

                She dropped her arm with the phone in it to her side and looked in through the window of the building. There he was. Sitting at the bar in the exact spot she had seen him minutes before.

                “Holy shit,” she whispered to herself. She raised the phone back to her ear, “That’s so crazy, I swear you were just gone from that spot. Did you leave at any time while I was in the bathroom?”

                He said no and asked her to come back inside.

                When she entered through the doorway, she looked at Adam before turning to the hostess and saying, “That’s the guy I was talking about.” Her and the hostess turned their heads to the direction of the bar to find that, once again, the seats were empty.

                Her mouth fell open and her face became hot with embarrassment. The hostess looked at her and then back at the seating chart at her stand.

                She walked back to her original seat and called Adam once more. This time, there was no answer. There was no answer for the rest of the night.

                She ended up getting herself a ride home. She didn’t understand what happened. The date went so well. They had so much chemistry. It really didn’t feel like it was all one-sided, but obviously, it had to be. She thought back on and replayed her responses to everything they had discussed. Did she say something wrong? Why would he just ditch her at the end of the night? She couldn’t make sense of the whole situation. How did that hostess not see him at any point? Why was everyone making her question reality today?

                She got home, and, once again, time slowed down.

                There he was. He was standing on the sidewalk that lead to her front door. He was smiling and holding the same flowers from before. She got out of the car, thanked the driver, and approached him with crossed arms.

                “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”

                “What is that stance for? You’re the one who left me at the bar!” He said as a light-hearted accusation.

                “I’m sorry, what?!” She walked toward him. “Are you crazy?! YOU left ME. I literally saw you in the window after I called, I came in, and you were gone. I sat there waiting for you for like 20 minutes before I finally left. That host thinks I’m a nut-job. Pretty sure I can never go back there.” She started to laugh. She realized that it didn’t matter how either of them got here, she was just so happy to see that he was, in fact, here.

                They discussed it some more as they argued about timing and locations,  but they eventually went inside and had the night that she had been excited to have for days.

                The next day, after he left, she sat down at the kitchen table to eat her breakfast. Her roommate came in and asked her how her night was. She told her all about the date and the bar mix up. She started to tell her about how she really, truly liked this guy when her roommate interrupted her.

                “Wait, you’re not still talking about obituary guy, are you?”

                “Well, yeah, his name is Adam. The obit thing is just a weird thing, I promise, he’s normal and not like a serial killer or something.” She laughed and took another bite of her cereal.

                “Wait, so you’ve met him in person?” Her roommate was staring her dead in the eyes, now.

                “Yeah, we’ve been on a couple of dates, now. He’s really cool, I swear, you’ll like him.” Just imagining his face in her head made her feel warm all over.

“Girl, I don’t know what is going on, but I did some more research last night on that dude you showed me the obit for, and I actually found this video. And just so you know, this isn’t made up, I messaged this girl and she said it’s all real.” Her roommate pulled her phone out and turned it sideways to show her.            
                Oh geez, what’s this gonna be? She thought.

The video began to play, and a news caster showed up in the center of the screen. She had the cadence and baritone of most of the people on local news. She started off by saying, “It’s been a cold and tragic end to winter, here in Ohio, as a young man’s like was taken, tragically, in a twist of fate.” The woman went on with just about as much emotion as one might have durong an explanation of how to correctly fold laundry.

The woman said that Adam Tempers was struck by a car in the downtown area on his way to a local restaurant for a date. He had been carrying flowers, at the time, and because they scattered across the corner of the sidewalk where he was hit, many of his family members and friends were laying flowers of their own in the same area to commemorate him.

She felt chills spill out of her head and down her back. What the fuck was this? The pictures shown on the screen were that of the guy she had been out with the night before.

“You said you contacted a girl? Like, the news caster lady?” She asked her roommate.

“Yup. Found her on the W24 News website. I wanted to make sure this wasn’t made up.” Her roommate was looking at her with pity, now. Did she pity her because she kind of just got broken up with, or because she thought she was losing it? Just that thought alone made her realize she was, in fact, losing it.

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of doppelganger joke or what this dude is pulling on you, maybe he stole this guy’s identity ot something. Either way, you need to ghost him asap. I can’t believe he knows where we live!” Her roommate was pacing, now.

“Oh my god, I don’t even know what to say. I just need to go.” She got up from the table, leaving her cereal bowl behind—something that would actively piss off her roommate—and she went to her room.

She tried to comprehend what this meant. Was her roommate right? Did this guy look enough like that Adam that he stole his identity? Or had he just maybe done something so awful that he faked his own death?

Either way, this relationship seemed like it had to end. Something was messed up, here, and clearly, she wasn’t going to get the answers she wanted. She really, really like him, though. She would actually miss him.

She pulled out her phone and blocked his number. Then, she went to the dating site and reported his profile as a scam.

Weeks later, she was driving through downtown when she saw Adam again. He was standing on the corner of an intersection, in his same, usual casual wear, with the same, yellow flowers. She all but slammed on her breaks at this sight. She recognized this intersection, but it took her a few seconds to realize it was the one the newscaster had been broadcasting from in that crazy video her roommate had shown her.

What a coincidence that ahe would catch this loser right at the location that that other poor guy had died. Did he even realize how heartless that was to be in that spot with flowers just like the one that poor kid had had?

Her phone vibrated, and she glanced at the screen. It was a message feom Tinder explaining that the profile she had reported had not been active foe over a year.

Her whole body fell into chills as she slammed on her breaks and pulled over by the sidewalk. She looked in her rearview mirror to see Adam still standing in the same spot. She got out of her car and began walking toward him. Before he could turn around to see her, she saw the memorial in the grass to the left of the light pole he was leaning against. It had his picture with “drive carefully” written underneath. She stopped in her tracks, looked up where Adam had been standing, and he was gone.             

Holy shit, she thought. I’ve been ghosted.

Jenga

                Her favorite part of the game was actually the part most people found to be tedious and boring. She loved to build something and feel the satisfaction wash over her once all of the pieces were perfectly in place.

                They stacked the individual blocks silently until the entire tower was built. She ran her palms up and down each side to ensure the edges were smooth and each block was perfectly aligned.

                She could see him watching her as she did this. It was a look she hadn’t seen before. She could tell on the drive up that something was off with him. He didn’t scoop her up in a hug when she first arrived at his house. That could be explained by his full hands, but even then, something was missing from his eyes. It’s like how everyone from true crime shows describes a serial killer’s eyes as “dead” when they smile. Maybe saying her boyfriend’s eyes were “dead” was a bit hyperbolic, but they were at least in a coma.

                “Did you want to go first?” She asked with a half-smile.  

                “Sure.” He said without meeting her eyes.

                He sighed and began to examine the blocks. With his attention off of her, she glanced over to the cell phone he had placed on the table when they sat down. She remembers when they first started dating, and they would make fun of other couples at restaurants with their phones out. They made a pinky-promise pact to keep screens out of site on their own dates. He had obviously forgotten the deadly ramifications of breaking a pinky-promise. She smiled to herself.  

What she was more alarmed by, though, was how often he would pick the phone up, turn the screen on, turn it off, and put it right back down. She wondered what it was he was checking for.

He began to poke at a block on the lower end of the tower. It was an outside block on the side opposite his phone. An outside block was a risky one, she thought. Why not a middle block? He must have seen the look on her face because he finished pushing the block out and glanced up at her.

“What? I wanted to take a risk this time.”

She laughed, “Since when are you a risk taker?”

He set the block on the table next to his phone. The phone began to vibrate as if the block’s presence woke it up.

He picked it up. A smile bloomed on his face so rapidly, he almost couldn’t contain it. It caused a spitting laugh to escape his lips.

“What is it?” She asked curiously.

“It’s nothing.” He said, still smiling. He set the phone down. “You gonna go?”

She turned her head slowly toward the tower without moving her eyes from his. What the hell was that? She thought.             

“It had to be something. Did someone text you? Just tell me.” She said as she gently pressed a few blocks before finding one that gave way easily.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It was just this friend from work. They sent me a meme that’s super funny, but I’m not sure you’ll understand it ‘cause it’s work-related.”

Since when did he describe people as “They” she thought. Obviously, this is a woman and he is being cagey about it. What stung more was the idea that she wouldn’t understand a work joke. She knew the ins and outs of his job. He had always shared everything about his co-workers and the office politics. What could possibly be so deeply rooted in the tech industry that she wouldn’t understand it?

She set her block down and the tower shifted.

“After you take this turn, I’d like to understand this complex joke that dumb little me wouldn’t understand.” She said facetiously.

He rolled his eyes in a humorless way. He was not feeling this date today. He didn’t seem to be feeling most of them lately.

“If you weren’t so passive aggressive, I’d feel more comfortable sharing jokes with you.” He said stagnantly. He felt two blocks before deciding on the one he wanted. It wasn’t an easy one to push. She didn’t know why he didn’t search a little harder.

The block came out, but not without some swaying from the tower.

“Whoa, easy. This will be the quickest game of Jenga we’ve ever played if you’re gonna play like that.” Without touching it, she wrapped both hands around the stack it as if to hold it up using an invisible force field. She knew it didn’t do anything, but it made her feel safer.

“Also, I don’t appreciate your attitude right now. What’s going on with you? I feel like you’ve been distant with me all day.” She lifted her hands once the swaying came to a stop. She then began her search for an easy give.

“Sometimes, I just wish you treated me differently, that’s all. I wish our communication was better.” His voice was softer, but the mellowed tone was ruined by the—again—vibrating phone.

“Seriously, who is this person you keep texting?” She was growing annoyed.

He glanced quickly at his screen before putting the phone face down on the table. That was new. It had been face up all the times before.

“I just made a new friend, okay? It’s not a big deal. You’re always making everything into a big deal.” He crossed his arms and looked off like a petulant child.

She stared at him dumbfounded. Who was this man? She remembers when they first started dating—back when he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. They would do dates like this and she would all but sit in his lap the entire time. He would kiss her shoulder and tell her how nice she smelled. They would watch the people around them and reenact how they assumed their conversations went. They used to be silly and cute and fun. What happened to them?

He uncrossed his arms and pushed at another piece. This time, he just went straight for it. It was on the very bottom of the stack on the right side. The whole tower tilted to one side but caught itself before it fell.

“I really feel like there are things you aren’t telling me, here. Who is this new friend?” She thought about the recent nights when he was out later than usual. He always came home showered with some excuse about hanging out too late with the guys and going back to their houses, first, before cleaning up and coming back home. Her friends said this was a major red flag. She had never thought twice about it--until right now.

“She’s a girl I met at work.” He said with an expressionless face. They both let the sentence hang in the air between them for what seemed like a lifetime.

“She?” She finally spoke up with raised eyebrows.

“See? I knew you’d make a big deal out of this. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you would get all jealous and think something more was happening. We’re just friends. I just knew you’d react this way.” He threw his arms up as if to put on a show for some invisible audience. Who was he selling this idea to? Who was he trying to fool?

She quickly pushed a block out from the center of an un-touched row. At this point, the game had become a habit more than something she was focusing on.

“That is a super aggressive response to me asking a pretty simple question. I don’t see why you’re getting so defensive—I haven’t accused you of anything. I just think it’s weird that you referred to your new friend as ‘they’ and then went off in this way when I asked about it.”

He ran his finger up and down the side of the tower as he took a second to think. Was this him conjuring a response? She wondered. Who is this man?

“You’re right.” He said as he pushed out a side block; the tower didn’t move.

“I shouldn’t have gotten defensive. I just know how my friend’s girlfriends get dramatic over things like this, and I guess I just assumed you’d act like that, too.” He placed the block on his growing pile by his turned-down phone.

She thought long and hard about this response. She pretended to be pre-occupied by her search for a loose brick. She knew his friend’s wives, and they weren’t jealous people at all—mostly because they had no reason to be. Maybe there were things she didn’t know about their relationships, but if she didn’t know, how would he? He never discussed marriage problems with his friends. They were dumbasses. They drank beer and talked about sports or the tech world. The deepest they ever got was discussing bowel movements.

She also had talked to him on a number of occasions about jealousy, cheating, and the idea of same-sex friends. They had always agreed to be very open with each other about those topics. That was back in a time where she used to feel like she could talk to him about anything. I guess we’re no longer in that time, she thought.

She pushed out a center block toward the top of the tower, and she glanced at him through the now open hole. He had his head dropped as if he was looking at something in his lap. When she looked up, she noticed he was on his phone.

The tower swayed once more.

He was so sucked in to this conversation, he hadn’t noticed when she stood up and walked around behind him. She glanced down his shoulder only long enough to see the name “Audrey” followed by lines of blurry conversation. Where were her glasses when she needed them?

He felt her breath on his neck and whipped his head around. The phone was turned over in his lap faster than she had ever seen him do anything.

“What the hell are you doing?!” He screamed at her.

“Jesus, I was coming over to give you a hug.” She lied. “Why are you screaming at me?”

The blood returned to his face when he heard this, but the sweat never stopped collecting on his forehead.

Something is up. She was now sure of it.

He gave her a hug and she returned to her side of the table.

“You scared the shit out of me.” He said with a heavy breath. He put the phone in his pocket this time and went back to searching the tower.

She didn’t know how to approach this, but she knew it was now or never. They rarely had time for dates like this. They worked opposite days and didn’t get to even talk on the phone anymore, it seemed. She just knew this needed to be addressed.

“I am not a crazy, jealous girlfriend, and you know that.” She said gently. “But you have to admit, it looks sketchy when you’re hiding your phone from me on dates and coming home late and showered multiple times a week. I mean, come on, you have to see how sus that is.”

In the past, this would have been something he would have agreed to in an instant. In the past, he would have been someone on the same planet as her with the same understandings as her. Whoever this new man was, he seemed to be on some other planet, and possibly with someone else.

“You’re being insane.” He said as he pushed out the other side block from the bottom of the stack. The whole thing was not resting on one, single block in the center on the bottom row. The tower took a few big sways before settling back into place. She couldn’t believe it didn’t fall over.

“What?” She snapped back. “I am being insane? Are you serious? You can’t see how that looks even a little bit like a cheating scandal?” She waited for the tower to contain itself entirely before she gently felt around it. It might have seemed crazy to someone from the outside, but it felt like, as long as they were still playing the game, none of the life being lived outside of it was entirely real. So, she kept playing.

“Audrey and I have hung out, like, once, and sometimes we text. That doesn’t exactly constitute a ‘cheating scandal’. See? This is what I mean about your drama and communication skills.”

She used the delicate touch one would use to pet the wings of a butterfly to nudge out the last loose block that she was able to find. The tower rocked, but it still didn’t fall.

“You guys hung out? When?” She asked while scanning her memories of all of his recent outings. Had he ever mentioned a girl being with him?

“You can’t even acknowledge your inability to handle this maturely because you know I’m right. And it was a few weeks ago, I don’t even know. It doesn’t matter at all because she’s just a random person at work.”

He pulled his phone back out and began texting furiously.

She had felt the shift in their relationship a month or so ago, but it hadn’t quite clicked with her then like it was right now. The feeling had never been something she could explain well in words—which is probably why it was so easy to ignore. It was like the kisses goodbye and the greeting smiles had lost their soft edge. What was once a fluffy and warm “goodbye” became rigid and forced. It might have happened so slowly overtime that she didn’t even really notice the difference until she saw the smile in which he answered this “Audrey” girl’s text. That’s when she remembered when the smiles she would get looked like that. That wasn’t a smile she had seen coming her way in a long time.

She thinks back to a moment from a few days before when she picked up his phone just to turn the main screen on to see the time. That’s when the phone prompted her for a passcode. He had never had a passcode on any device. He used to joke that he had nothing to hide and would probably forget his code, anyway. That was a different man back then. That was a different relationship.

He finished texting and put his phone back down on the table.

“I don’t want to fight the whole day, again. Let’s just finish this game and get out of here. I’m not in the mood to try to explain what good communication is to you right now.”

He forced his finger into a block that wouldn’t budge. Before he knew what he had done, before he could take any of it back, before he could cradle his hands to catch the pieces in a manageable way, the tower came tumbling down.

She reflexively jumped back as the blocks fell into place on the table. She noticed one land nearby with a red mark on it. She picked it up and examined it closely. It almost looked like grape juice or something--maybe wine? She thought. Wasn’t this a brand-new game? He had told her he just got it the week before and was excited to play it on their next date night.

“Fuck.” He said as he began to collect the pieces. “Let’s just go. This game is stupid.”

“No.” She said, “You can go.”

He looked at her for a moment.

“Oh come on, get over it. We’ll talk about this ‘cheating scandal’ shit later. I’m so sick of…”

“We’re done.” She interrupted him.

She stood up, threw the red-stained block at him, and walked away.

Gym Girl

Glutes, glutes, glute raises, glutes, oh, look, someone’s doing arm day. That’s new.

                She tried never to make eye-contact with the other women, but she was always curious as to what they were up to. It was funny because she could remember every exercise she saw someone doing, but she wouldn’t have been able to point out their faces in a line-up had one of them taken out an axe and tore the building apart.

                That was the etiquette of gym culture, though. Don’t look at me and I won’t look at you. The only person she ever looked in the eye was the greeter at the front. She was so pretty, it was hard to look away. She had grown a small crush on her over the months, but that crush just led to her being even more shy in her presence. She would never be normal enough to find a date, would she?

                Back to watching the old women attempt leg-curls. Today, she had her head up more than usual. She needed a warm-up run before she went to her favorite lifting machine. Her usual MO was to warm up quickly if no one was on her machine, then sprint over to it after about 5 minutes so she could take it for herself. On this particular day, there was a girl on it when she arrived, so she decided to run until the girl got off.

                She understood that some sets were longer and more grueling than others. On a heavy day, she might use that particular machine for up to 20 minutes before she moved on to a new section of her workout. Even then, those days were rare. It was the only machine of its kind in this particular gym, and she knew it was a hot commodity. You didnt hog a good machine, and everyone seemed to understand this unspoken rule. That is, everyone but this new girl.

                The girl was tall and thin. She had on spandex shorts and a sports bra with no shirt. That was a bold move. Even she wasn’t confident enough to pull that off. The girl had short, bright blond hair in a high ponytail. Her skin was so pale, it was almost translucent. She couldn’t have been more than 19 years-old.

                Her run went from a 10-minute warm-up, to a 20-minute warm-up, to a 30-minute warm-up. Soon, her muscles would be too worn to take on heavy weights safely. She couldn’t risk hurting herself by spending too much more time on this treadmill. She had real work to do, and this was the only day this week she would have the time to do it. She succumbed to her own pressure, and she got off the machine.

                It seemed wild to her that that girl could still be on the same bar machine for 30 minutes. That’s not even including the time the girl could have been on it prior to her walking in. Benefit of the doubt says its only been 30 minutes, but 30 minutes of the same 3 workouts was a lot. At the time she had gotten off of the treadmill, she had already counted the girl do 6 sets of SAME exercises. Clearly, this girl does not follow the same gym-bro social media accounts that she did because THAT was a big no-no.

                It wasn’t until she made her way over to the weights section that she got a good look at the girl. That’s when she really knew that something was actually wrong. The girl was not just pale, she was almost yellow. She was also dangerously thin. Her iliac crest stuck out of the top of her spandex like two wings opening up to take flight. Her arms and legs would be the perfect example of the anatomical structure of peripheral bones and ligaments. She was frail and emaciated like no one she’s every seen. How this girl could even lift a single one of the weights she had at her station was beyond understanding.

                She went ahead and grabbed a few weights of her own while keeping an eye on this girl. No one else seemed to notice her, but that was probably out of being the polite gym-goers they were silently trained to be, right? Either way, she didn’t think this was the time to be polite. She watched her clearly, and not just to put an invisible pressure on her to finally give up the machine (okay, maybe a little bit), but she also wanted to make sure that she would be there to catch this girl when she inevitably fell.

                She hoisted the kettlebell into position in front of her, and began to squat down. She jumped up, brought both feet to the center of her stance, jumped back into squat position, and squatted again. She did this 10 times before dropping the 50lb weight and grabbing her towel. Her heart was racing. She looked back over at the girl who was on round number 8 of the same 3-workout sets.

                The girl gave up using weights, at this point, probably because her baton-sized arms didn’t have the strength to begin with to hold a carrot. The thing girls like this don’t realize about weight lifting is it is not for calorie burning. It is possible to lose weight by growing muscle, but it’s not easy. It takes a lot of dedication and a high protein, calorie deficit diet. Otherwise, if you want to grow muscle, you do it for the muscle growth, not for the weight loss. You need to EAT. You need to feed those glycogen stores and re-build those muscles. This girl was doing, what, 10 sets of the same workouts only to go home and clearly starve herself? Her effort was for nothing if she wasn’t going to fuel her muscles after-the-fact.

                She had read about various eating disorders in her studies on nutrition and personal training. It’s one thing to read about it, but it’s another thing entirely to have someone suffering from it all but scream it into your face on a Tuesday morning at 9am. Some people can hide their disorders, but if a psychologist walked into this gym right now, they’d be able to make the diagnosis with a single glace. THAT, she was sure of.

                She did another set of her jump squats while silently counting the girl’s reps. She only did 3 split squats and with no weight, this time. What the hell was she doing?

                It wasn’t until the girl got to the Romanian Deadlifts that she became concerned. The girl bent over with shaking legs, and before she could raise back up, she dropped both of her weights to the ground and vomited.

                Did she just see what she thinks she saw? She had been watching the girl in the mirror, but this time, she whipped her head around and stared directly at her. The girl didn’t look up. She ran off, presumably to the bathroom, and was gone for several minutes.

                Do I call someone? What do I do? She thought. Surely, the machine would be hers, now, since this girl clearly cannot go on. She was sad and scared for the girl, but she had put in good time being patient for that machine; she couldn’t help but feel a little excited for herself in all of this.

                The girl came back with a towel and cleaned up her mess. Gross, she thought while turning back to the mirror. She did her final jump-squat set while the girl finished cleaning, and, no… no she’s not. Amazed, she watched as the girl picked the weights back up, and began working out again.

                She was never getting a chance at that machine.

                More importantly, that girl was not okay. This needs to be reported or something. This girl clearly needs medical and psychiatric help. Her body physically could not handle the stress she was putting on it. Even someone who did eat enough to fuel themselves would never put their muscles through this non-sense. They would know better than to overwork them to a point beyond failure. This girl was not living in reality.

                Who do you talk to in situations like this? Why was no one else concerned for her well-being? No one else seemed to notice the vomiting, either, and that was impossible with how packed the gym was at this time.

                She moved closer to the girl for her next workout. She was not going to let this girl out of her sight, now. She got her own dumb-bells and began her own set of RDLs. If these were going to make her vomit, it was from the liquor the night before, not because her body couldn’t handle it.

                The girl went back to her split squats….again. This was round 11? Maybe? It was becoming hard to keep track of. The girl went to bend her right knee with her left foot propped up on the bench. As soon as she started to lower down, her left knee bowed out to the side as if it couldn’t even handle simply existing on her body anymore. It wasn’t even the leg she was working, and it still gave out. She stumbled over, luckily, with no weights in her hands, and she caught herself just before falling to the floor.

                Okay, this has to be it. For real, now. This girl needs to go. She needs water, she needs a big, fatty meal, and she needs therapy. She felt that she could at least help her get some of those things.

                She walked over to the girl after she had collected herself from her fall.

                “Hey, are you okay?” She asked, not exactly knowing where she would go next if the girl said “no.”

                The girl didn’t look at her. She got back into split-squat position, and attempted to bend that right knee once more.

                Maybe she didn’t hear me, she thought.

                “Hey.” She said once more, this time waving a hand in front of the girl’s face.

                The girl ignored her, again, and kept on going.

                Alright, well, she tried, right? What else could she do? At least she could go home and rest easy knowing she didn’t just ignore this girl like everyone else. Besides, she could understand why maybe this girl was too embarrassed to say anything after the many incidents she had had in a matter of minutes. And if this girl was paying even the smallest amount of attention, she would have seen her overtly staring at her for the past 45 minutes. Maybe this girl just wanted her and her gaze to go away. Fine, she thought. You do you, girl.

                She did her second set of RDLS while the girl wobbled her way through a weightless bar-bell squat. The girl seemed to be disintegrating before her very eyes. She swears the girl looked thinner and paler than when she first walked up. Does your body burn your calories that quickly?

                On the girl’s third or fourth squat—she didn’t know, she lost track of time thinking about the calorie burning—the girl hooked the bar back on the rack before collapsing to the floor.

                Holy shit, she thought.

                She looked around in a panic but didn’t catch anyone else’s eyes. There was no way no one saw that. She put her weights down and sprinted to the front desk. THAT people did see. Everyone looked up from their phones and treadmill screens to see her leap across the gym like a gazelle being hunted.

                The only person at the front desk was the cute greeter. Great. Now she has to tell this girl through huffing adrenaline to call an ambulance while also blushing hard enough to turn into an actual tomato.

                “Hey, there’s a girl back there who collapsed. She has been working out way too hard, I’ve been watching her, she needs water or something, I don’t know, please call for help. We probably need an ambulance.” She flung out her thoughts rapid-fire while the girl stared back at her, puzzled.

                “Where is the collapsed girl?” She asked.

                “On the Smith Machine. Do you have a phone? I can use my phone to call 911, we just need people down there with her.” She whipped out her phone while leading the woman to the area she had just come from.

                The 911 operator had just picked up when she pointed to the machine where the girl had been, only, the girl was gone.          

                She hung up the 911 call in a panic. Where was the girl?

                “She was right there.” She said, pointing to the machine. It was empty. No signs of any disturbance or recent use. It was even racked in a different spot than the girl had left it when she fell.

                The spot on the floor where the girl had, just moments ago, cleaned up vomit was clean and dry.

                “Did you guys see where that girl went?” She asked some girls stretching on yoga mats only feet away from the machine.

                “What girl?” One of them asked.

                “The girl who threw up and then passed out on the Smith machine. She was super skinny with blond hair. She was wearing blue spandex and a matching sports bra. I’m telling you, you couldn’t miss her. She’s been on this machine for an hour, now.”

                The girls looked at each other.

                “Um…I used that machine like 10 minutes ago.” The other girl said. “Before that, no one was on it, and no one has been on it since.”

                She looked up at the cute front desk girl in utter embarrassment and shock. “I am so sorry,” She said, “I thought I saw… I don’t know. I’m going crazy, I guess.”

                The girl smiled and said it was alright. She returned to the front desk.

                I am literally going to die of embarrassment, she thought. Maybe they should have gotten that ambulance over here.

                She stared at the ground for minutes on end while the other girls got back to stretching. The onlookers eventually shifted their gazes back to their phones and restarted their workouts. What just happened? What is she missing? Where was that girl? Was she okay? WHAT WAS HAPPENING?

                She finally went back to the spot where she had left her stuff only minutes before. She grabbed her bag, put her weights away, and began her stroll to the front on the same walkway she had just been sprinting down.

                She would have to pass the cute girl again, and, as always, the girl would look her in the eye and tell her thanks for coming in. Only, this time, she was sure the girl would add “lunatic” silently to the end of her goodbye.

                She made herself as small as possible as she approached the front desk to leave. The cute girl stopped her with a, “Come here for a second.”

                God, no. She thought. Please don’t make me talk to you again.

                She slumped over to the desk and looked sheepishly up at the girl.

                “I’ve been working here for 8 years,” She whispered, “I know the girl you’re talking about.”

                She looked up at the cute girl in amazement. She wasn’t crazy! She knew it!

                “I was actually the one to call 911 on her when she collapsed. It was my first shift. Her name was Alyssa.”

                “Was?” She looked at her confused.

                “Yeah. Unfortunately, she didn’t survive the ambulance ride. It has haunted me every day that I’ve worked here, but when you described the girl you had seen, I knew exactly who it was. I just didnt want to say it im front of everyone else.”

Yeah, no point in us both looking insane, right? She thought. I’ll take one for the team today.

“I don’t want to say I’m comforted to know that she’s here, but it’s definitely nice to know that someone else was looking out for her.”

                She stared at this girl in amazement for the umpteenth time today. Okay, so, she saw a ghost. Was that somehow more insane than what she thought she saw? She didn’t even know anymore.

                “My name is Ellen, by the way.” She stuck out her hand. “We should get together some time to talk more.”

I see you, Alyssa, she thought. I see you.

                “I am so sorry, I don’t even know what to say right now, but, um, yes. Yeah, we definitely should get together. Do you have your phone? I can give you my number.”

                They exchanged digits, then, Ellen said, “It was really great to meet you today. I feel like you gave me a gift of sorts. Thank you.”

                Her face had run through so many different expressions in one day, that it seemed to be glitching at this point. She eventually landed on a smile before saying,

                “Rest in peace, Alyssa, just not on the smith machine on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

                Ellen snorted and covered her laugh with her hand. Was that taking something serious a little too far? Whatever, it wasn’t the craziest thing she had done today.

Roller Coaster

                She never liked the clown with its flattened, elongated smile. She could see the truth behind his exaggerated eyes. How could someone ever be made truly happy by a smile so obviously fake?

                The greasy food didn’t sit well in her stomach, either. She didn’t like eating here. She could have eaten before she left, but she knew she would be forced to try a bite of this and that, anyway, so she might as well not have the extra calories beforehand.

                All other things aside, her least favorite part of the experience was always—and would forever be—the roller coaster.

She remembers the first time she ever got on. She was ensured ahead of time that the ride was safe; the straps were reinforced, and the seat was strong, sturdy, and made for people just like her. She had been told that many had gotten on this ride before her, and if any came out with injuries, it was their own doing. They either didn’t strap in correctly, or they made reckless moves throughout.

                She remembers sitting in a chair that was ill-fitting for her frame. The seat was suffocating, yet she felt she could slip through the crack between the seat and the strap at any point if things got too shaky. Then, when the straps came down, they were flimsy and weak.

                Other people have ridden on this, and they have been fine. She repeated over and over in her head. You can do this.

                When the ride first took off, it was all uphill. It was all adrenaline and endorphins blasting from her spine to her fingertips. It was a mixture of this was a mistake and I can’t wait to reach the top.

                Things were bumpy going up, but weren’t they always? The rise is never perfectly smooth, and she knew that was to be expected. Otherwise, the rise was wonderful. Her best memories were of that first ride up, right before she knew what was to come. At that time, she thought that once they reached the top, things would smooth out, and the ride would remain that way forever. She laughs at that thought, now.

                She had seen others like her take on a similar coaster, so she was ready for the twists and the turns that were inevitably on their way. She had heard about the potential drops, but she had never expected to experience one for herself.

Then, it happened.

                Seemingly out of nowhere, she fell. Her body rose in the chair, and all of the swimming endorphins from the ride up went airborne. The straps held her in just enough to keep her on the ride, but she knew, if the desire was there, or if the ride took a slightly different turn, she could have slipped between the cracks in a flash.

                It was amazing to her how quickly she forgot about all of the fear and instability of the drop once she was back on level ground. In a flash, she had gone from pure fear, fight or flight, nothing is making sense to thinking everything was fine and back to normal. How did it do that? She figured there was no point in getting off now, since things were back as they should be. Even when there was a head-snapping turn here and there, they were nothing like what she had experienced in the drop. Everything after that was child’s play.

                She remembers finally getting to a place of forgetting that the drop had even happened at all. When things were good in the moment, it was so easy to forget the pain of the past. It was like how mothers would swear-off childbirth for months after their first experience, but eventually, they would forget the pain, and go for another round.

She got to a point where she could feel her cart take on another incline. She had figured that, this time, the rise was to get her to a higher, permanent vantage point. It wouldn’t be like that first incline where the only reason to make it to the top was to crash right back to the bottom. No, a drop like that would never happen again.

She took another moment to laugh at her past naivete.

It felt so good to be up there, she remembers. She could finally see how all of her patience and perseverance through the hard times were worth it in leading her to this moment. This was the time in which she would be coached to believe that the initial drop was necessary to truly appreciate the smooth ride to come. That didn’t seem too far-fetched considering that this was the first time on this ride in which she could see a clear path forward. Things were no longer shaky. Her body had gotten used to the seat. Memories of the previous drop had faded. Even more than that, she began to believe that the initial fall was part of some well-thought-out plan to lead to a life that was easy, and bright, and on an upward-only trajectory.

Of course, that was never the case. In a matter of weeks, days, sometimes hours, even, there would be another drop. There would always be another drop. There would always be another landing, there would be more forgetting and justifying, and then, there would be another drop.

                Her friends would tell her to get off the ride. If you hate it so much, why do you get back on it? They would question her after each go-around.

What they didn’t realize was that exiting is not as easy as it feels like it should be. She understood their confusion, though. She, too, had once felt the same prior to her first ride.

Everyone assumes that the time to exit is on the fall. They think that once you’re in it, and you see it for what it is, that the clarity of your situation should give you the strength to get off of the ride. If only it were that easy. It’s like when you’re standing on something only a few feet high and want to get off. You feel like you should be able to jump, but because your eyes are at the level of your head, which usually adds about 5 feet to that initial 2, you suddenly think you are far too high up to land safely. It isn’t until you finally make the jump that you turn around and see that your feet were only a few feet off of the ground all along. When she was in the drop-stage, she felt she was miles away from a comfortable landing. Even if she could get the gripping buckles undone and slip through without being noticed, she knew she didn’t have a net to catch her. She didn’t have the foresight at that time to see how close she really was to safety; all she knew in that moment was that she had no way off but to wait out the fall and get to the landing.

Unfortunately, the landing proved to be the most difficult time to leave. No one leaves a dinner party during the first few minutes of awkward conversation; they way for the dinner to be served, first. They pushed through the introductions and shoptalk to get to what they really came for. In her case, she made it through the drops so she could reap the benefits that came with the rise. Why would she leave once she hit the ground? The drop was only worth it when it was followed by good times and smooth travels. The conductor knew this, which is why the ride was so well-crafted to provide just enough lift to keep you on and, eventually, erase any memory of the drop to begin with.

                She would soon learn that this is the trick that keeps you riding forever. You are given just enough ups to balance the downs—just enough carrot nibbles before the string is pulled away and you begin chasing it all over again.

That was why she always hated the roller coaster. There was never a good time to get off, and the allure of the rise always pulled you so easily back on. No one would ever understand that until they took a ride for themselves. She didn’t want that for her friends, but secretly, maybe she did. Maybe, if they got on just once, they would see what she sees. They would love it and hate it as much as she does. Maybe, then, they wouldn’t be so quick to judge her inability to escape it.

As always, on this night, she stepped into the line. This time would be different, though, she thought. This time, there would be no drops. He had promised her no drops. Sure, he had made that promise before, but what if this time, he actually meant it? As always, there was only one way to find out.

The Elephant

                She had to tell him. Was the bed the right place to do it?

                She stared at the ceiling. There was this one section of semi-raised paint that made a shape similar to that of an elephant’s head, ears and all. She didn’t know why she always looked to this exact spot when she needed a place to rest her open eyes. That elephant-shaped plaster had seen her through some of the best and worst times in her 6 years in this house.

                She heard him walking up the stairs. Her heart picked up its pace. She couldn’t see well in the light of the candle whose wick was down to it’s last few millimeters. That was fitting for this night; The last burning of a candle that had been lit only over the course of their 2 years together.

                She looked back to the elephant and thought of the first time she noticed it. She was 9 months pregnant with her second child. She had just moved in. This place was a magical rope tossed to her in the deepest part of her depression. She latched onto it and was finally able to pull herself out.

                She remembers staring at that elephant on many restless nights of breast feeding the youngest and placating the oldest. Between hungry kids, bad dreams, thumping air conditioners, and never-ending coughs, that elephant had probably seen more of her awake than asleep in those first few years.

                Then came the peaceful, still years. These were the years that--it would take her years to find out--were going to be the most boring of her life in the best ways. The kids began to sleep. She finished school and got a good job. She settled into this new life, elephant plaster and all. It is an honor and a privilege to be bestowed a boring life. She wouldn’t have had it any other way in all areas but one.

                Her silent conversation with the elephant was interrupted when she heard the door open. She could only make out the widening blackness as the dark hallway stole the room’s light. She could finally see his outline as he got all the way through the door.

                As usual, he undressed entirely—something she did not particularly love. She valued clean sheets, and underwear was a clean sheet’s best friend.

                He lifted the blankets and slumped into bed next to her. The back of the bed was lifted so they could spend a few hours watching TV. Even with the elevation, he still held his head at an unnatural tilt forward. He would be kyphotic before he knew it, she thought.

                She turned back to the elephant before speaking. She remembers the nights in her past relationship where she went to sleep by counting the numbers of reasons she should stay with that man. It was easier than counting the reasons to leave; those were endless.

                She silently told this elephant every secret she kept from family and friends about their problems. She liked to think it really listened to her. What else was that big ear for?

                She remembers the first time she added “cheating” to the “leave” column. She remembers that day well. She had never broken down like that over anything before. It’s the kind of heart-dropping, falling out of your own body feeling that you don’t experience with many other things. To think the person you love and know better than anyone could love and know someone else more is devastating. Your heart recovers, but it’s never quite the same after that. It’s like the door on your heart is large and inviting when your born, but the more people who come in and out and damage it, the harder it becomes to open it wide enough to let all of someone in.

                On the day she found out about the cheating, the door on her heart was officially shut. Maybe that was why this new relationship has taken the turn that it did.

                “What’re we watching tonight?” He asked without turning his head.

                “I feel like we should talk, first.” She said, terrified for his reply. She still wasn’t quite sure if she could do this.

                “Well, that’s never a good sign.” He said, his voice changing like it always did in times of conflict—or anything he perceived to be conflict, which was everything.

                She can remember all of the mornings where her youngest son went from toddling to walking to running into her room with his head bobbing up and down as he ran to her side of the bed for a morning hug. Every day, she could see more and more of his blond hair until she could see his whole face and soon, the rest of his body. It was the best part of her morning. She’d call down to the kids right when she woke up. She would hear the thumps of their feet up the stairs. It was one of her favorite sounds. Now, a thump up the stairs at any time other than the early mornings means an adrenaline rush and a whopping dose of fear.

                He was tense next to her. It was getting late and she had to work the next day. A knock-down, drag-out, hours long fight was not on the menu for tonight. It had never been on the menu before for her in any relationship, but it was the only thing this man seemed to serve.

                Was it worth it to do it now? Should she wait until the morning so she can sleep peacefully? Could she stand having him in her bed for one more night?

                She stared at the elephant for guidance. She thought about the times after the first break-up when she thought she had found the man of her dreams. She remembers coming home the night after they first kissed and staring at that spot for hours as the excitement kept her awake. It would take her no time at all to step back and see it all from an out-side perspective.

                She looks back, now, and sees those first few months as exactly what they were; a lost girl clinging onto an idea of a person. She had built the perfect mold and squeezed someone into it. Even with pieces poking out and holes left unfilled, she could only see the mold for what it was and not the un-fit man bursting out of it.

                She remembers the many nights that she laid in this bed and wondered why he wasn’t able to communicate with her. She wondered why he wouldn’t put his hands on her outside of her making all of the moves. She blamed herself for looking different or not being good enough. She went from not being able to sleep out of excitement to not being able to sleep out of fear and shame. At one point, she stared at this elephant and wondered if she was even worthy of living this life at all.

                “What did you want to talk about?” He was revving his engine. She could feel it.

                “I think, maybe, we should take a break for a little bit.” She said gently. “Maybe you should sleep downstairs for a few nights while we try to work through some of our communication issues.”

                That was it. The voice changed, the posture changed, HE changed. He went off onto one of his many monologues about how this was his house and room, too. He did enough to be worthy of sleeping in this bed. She didn’t give him any credit for anything. This was poor treatment of him, and oh, and by the way, he was the one who was upset at her for something she had done 3 weeks before, so SHE should be the one to leave.

                She stared at the elephant while he spoke. His words began to drown out in the hum of the white noise machine as she thought about the recent months. She has had a wonderful and blessed life. She came from a toxic household, but she was able to create an environment for her kids that was healthy and loving. She had worked hard her entire life to maintain her own mental health for herself and her children. She worked hard to build up her own self-esteem so she could be strong enough to build up those around her. She was a sturdy house with a strong foundation that could withstand everything necessary to provide the best life possible for her children, and she would be damned if someone tore it down, now.

She remembered the time a few months ago when her youngest didn’t run upstairs for the usual morning hug. She remembers asking him about it, and him saying that he had been instructed not to. She can’t remember how many times she had explained this morning hug process and its significance to her boyfriend. She made it very clear that the first faces she always wanted to see were her kid’s. When he was confronted with this information, he fought it. He made some excuse to skate around it and make it seem like it was somehow a favor to her. That was it. That was when she had made up her mind.

                “Get the fuck out of my house.” She interrupted his rant. “Get. The fuck. Out. Of. My house. Right now.”

                “Excuse me? How dare you spea..”

                “Get the fuck out of my house right now. Get. Out.” She said, forcefully, but without raising her voice enough to wake up the kids.

                He flung himself off the bed, threw on his clothes, and stormed out of the room. He slammed the door behind him.

                She got up to lock the door before getting back into bed. There will be no fear-inducing stair steps tonight. However, she would be sure to unlock it before the morning so her kids could run up to greet her.

                She went back to staring at the ceiling, and, once again, her gaze landed on the elephant. So many memories were held in such an insignificant chunk of dried paint. People who came before her probably never even noticed that spot. Even if their beds were somehow in the same place, and their pillows were also right under that part of the ceiling, would they have thought to look closely enough at that shape to even see how much it had the potential to look like an elephant? Will the families that come after her see it and wonder what it has seen? Would it share her secrets? If it had been a confidant in the lives before hers, then she was sure it would keep her secrets just as safe.

                The candle had almost died out. She hadn’t heard any ruckus from downstairs. This was it. This was the last “get the fuck out” that she was ever going to utter. This was the end of this story, as far as the elephant was concerned.

                She looked to the spot once more before putting on her eye mask.

                “Thank you,” She whispered into the dark, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

                And then, she fell asleep.  

The Job

“When you go to take your lunch, you’ll do it in that room, there. The code is the same one I gave you earlier—it works for all of the locked doors on this floor.” The woman talked down to her clipboard as if that was who she was giving the tour to.

                The girl smiled and nodded. Did she write down the code she was given earlier? Why didn’t she remember being given a code? She scanned her memory while trying to keep up with the woman.

                “This will be your desk.” She motioned to a small table that was one of many, all in arms reach of each other.

                “Oh…” She said hesitantly.

                “Yeah, not a lot of privacy, here. At least you’re in good company. Careful what you search for online.” The woman looked up and—for the first time—made eye-contact with her. She even attempted a wink, and it made the girl blush.         

                The girl smiled and nodded as her way of saying that she appreciated the warning.

                The woman started to walk back in the direction they had come from, but then turned around to face the girl again before she was completely out of ear-shot. She mouthed something slowly and carefully. While it was hard to make out at first, it looked like she said, “YES.”

The woman was nodding her head slowly but expressively. It was as if she was speaking to a child. She stared at the girl with raised eyebrows and wide eyes for a few seconds before dropping her head once more and walking away.

                That was weird, the girl thought.

                She set her bag on the small table and plopped herself into the child-sized chair. She had never had a job like this one. Administrative assistant. What did that even mean? She had yet to meet an administrator. She didn’t have any of the qualifications she thought one would need for an administrative job. She couldn’t believe it when she got the call for the interview.

                The interview process was definitely…unconventional. They asked her questions like:

                “How would you handle a competitive work environment?”

                She said she would compete. She was always a competitor. She liked a challenge.

                They asked her how far she was willing to go to get the job, or, really, any job.

                She said she’d do anything for it. Most of the questions really had more to do with her desire to work than whatever qualities she possessed that would come in handy in the event that she got the job. While it struck her as odd, she would have answered any question to get a job paying what this one was.

They asked her if she would do exactly what the boss asked of her, and she said yes. She knew there could be inappropriate implications in that question. She might end up giving some male higher-up a back massage or something. She didn’t care. She needed this job. This job for her was life or death, and if life meant wearing low-cut blouses and limiting her boundaries for a year or two, she was in for it. She just needed something to get back on her feet, and with what they were paying her, she’d be practically flying in just a few months.

                She was only just getting uncomfortable in her two sizes too small, plastic chair when a man came up to her desk and asked her if she’d fax some papers for him.

                “Of course.” She said with little confidence as she scanned the room for a fax machine. Was she shown a fax machine earlier? She couldn’t remember in the haze of being led through so many different departments. Come to think of it, she wasn’t shown any rooms with things like printers, scanners, or supplies. What was she even shown? Stage freight forgetfulness was not her friend.

                “Yes.” The person said to her forcefully, almost as a command.

                She stared at him, lost in her own thoughts before replying,

“Yes?”

                “Yes.” He said again, only this time, he said it as a way of telling her she was correct. He smiled, dropped the papers on her desk, and walked off.

                She stared at the back of the man’s balding head for many moments before looking down at the bundle of papers that he had dropped onto her desk. She cradled them in her arms and headed over to one of the many small desks near her own.

                There was a young, petite woman with bright blue hair sitting at this particular one. Maybe it was wrong to feel this way, but the girl assumed that bright hair must mean that this woman would be open to talking to strangers. Why are those two things correlated? The girl didn’t know, nor did she have time right now to dive into the psychology behind that one.

                “Hey, um, I’m so sorry to interrupt you. Today is my first day, and I was just asked to fax something. Where is the fax machine?”

                The blue-haired woman lifted her head up and began to laugh.

                The girl began to blush, again, as she shuffled once more through the memories of the rooms she had been shown earlier. Was the location of this machine so obvious that it was funny that she would need to ask?

                “Do you know where the fax machine is?” The blue-haired woman asked back.

                “Um, no, that’s why I came to ask you about…” Before she could finish speaking, a piercing alarm began blaring through the speakers above their heads. She looked up in the assumption that she would see smoke or other heads—just like hers—looking around the room for answers. Instead, she found that she was the only one who seemed alarmed.

                While scanning the room, she noticed that the other cookie-cutter desks were all filled with only young, small, attractive women. She didn’t see a man in sight.

She was relatively small, herself. She was 23. No woman here appeared to be over 25, and some even appeared to be as young as teenagers. This didn’t shock her as much as it should have. She had worked for sketchy, older men before. She knew what qualifications really got you hired in jobs where you’re basically desk art. Although, now the whole, crazy interviewing process make way more sense.

                The alarm stopped after about 30 seconds.

                “What was that?” She asked the blue-haired girl.

                “You don’t know what that was?” She asked back with a sly smile.

                “Um, n…”

                “Number 34, to my office, now.” A voice said from over the intercom.

                Who is number 34? She thought. Do they have numbers? She looked back at the blue-haired woman who was smiling quietly to herself. She wasn’t actually doing anything. She had papers on her desk, but as the girl got a closer look at them, she realized that they were filled with lines of jumbled letters.

                She turned away and began walking back over to her desk. For the first time, she flipped open the first page of the papers she was holding. Again, just letters. Lines of random letters. What the fuck is happening? She thought. Is this company dealing in something so cryptic, they have to communicate in code?

                When she got to her desk, the intercom clicked on once more with the command for number 34 to make their way to the main office.

                She sat down and laid all of the gibberish papers out in front of her. That is when she noticed a number etched into the top left corner of her desk. It said, “#34”. Her head shot up so quickly, she gave herself a neck spasm.

                She collected the non-sense papers and sprinted over to the room she did remember being shown. She opened the door and stepped inside.

                “You don’t need to sit down for this.”

                The man from earlier was sitting in a chair fit for a king. It had a back that reached feet above his own head toward the ceiling. The arm rests were so round and wide that looking at them from the front was like looking at that face of two large cinnamon rolls as the upholstery swirled inward toward the middle.  

                “I like you. I can tell that you will fit in very well, here. You’re the type I could listen to all day. So, let me make this very clear, I will give you one more try. Say it again, and you are done. Do you hear me?”

               Say what again? She thought for a moment before responding.

She took a moment to glance around the room. On one wall, she noticed pictures of young women smiling. 40, to be exact. “Top 40” The wall read.

                She noticed her own picture in the #37 spot. Wow. She already made top 40 and she didn’t even know where the fax machine was? It made her feel extra bad for whoever was in the 38-40 spot.

                As she continued to scan the walls, she noticed that the wall across from the top 40 was…

                Oh, fuck.

                She saw…faces? Women’s faces? It was as if actual faces, skin and all had been removed and slapped onto the wall. Skin, lips, hair, holes where eye-balls used to be. Faces… They couldn’t be real, though, right? These faces also had numbers. They were random and came with years. They said things like, “#17, 2014” and “#23, 2012”.

                They also all had speech bubbles cut out of post-it-notes taped childishly to the corners of their mouths. Every one of the women was being made to say only one word. As she looked closer, she suddenly realized what that blue-haired girl was trying to do when they had spoken earlier.

                “Yes.” She said with a smile.

                “Good.” He smiled back. “Now go file these documents in order.”

                “Yes.” She said, and she walked out.

Bring it on. She thought. Bring it on.

The Others

                He approached her at the party with only one thing on his mind. She had seen him eyeing her all night, so he knew this needed to be handled delicately. Social graces were something he was not known for.

                Shit.

                She turned to face a new subject just as he was at a range where eye-contact was acceptable. She wasn’t playing any games tonight.

                He reached out a shaky hand and tapped her on the shoulder. The girl she was talking to was facing him. She gave him a look out of the side of her eye that said “Go away, creep.” It was as clear as anything he had ever heard.

                Sorry, he thought, I’m not going away.

                The girl turned her head, but not her body. She looked him shoes to stubble. When she finally gave in to meeting his eyes, she rolled her own and then turned her head back around with a laugh as if the girl she had been facing said something funny only moments before.

                Why won’t she talk to me, he wondered.

                He had carried the weight of the universe on his shoulders for 4 months, now. He had watched his back when walking to his car. He had set up security cameras in all corners inside and outside of his house. He tried therapy, but that only lead to 2 weeks in a psychiatric ward under civil commitment. When he got out, he began searching for her. If there was anyone he could talk to, it would be her.

                The risk was everything, but the reward was more. He just needed one moment of sanity to get him back on track. Clearly, she did not need the same.

                She was hard to find. He only knew her first name, but they were taken from the same location, so he knew she was in the area. He had gone every day since to that same spot from 4 months before. Eventually, she showed up, too. It was too tempting not to, and he knew that. He had followed her for a few days until he found himself at this party. He knew she couldn’t make a scene, here, so he entered the building like he was right where he belonged.

                He had theories about what she was capable of, now. He had tried to call for her during the few times their cars were only feet away. Either she didn’t hear, or she ignored him.

                He sat on the couch that her friend had been leaning on. He nursed a beer while pretending to watch the 90s music video playing on the television. Who were these people?

                He called out to her. He screamed to her. He told her he needed help. He told her they could be a force if they did this together. He told her that he had a safe place to stay, and that this time, he would have video, so even if they went missing, people would know what had happened.

                She didn’t respond.

                ANSWER ME!

                He sat quietly for a moment as the party-goers filtered in and out of the living room. From behind the couch, he heard her—or was it her friend?—say, “They’re here.”

                This was the first time he had heard something so clear come out of their conversation. That seemed odd because he knew they had been talking the whole time, their words were just drowned out by the music and chatter, that is, until right now.

                Was she doing it? Was she trying to warn him?

                Before he could make sense of the moment, he heard it again, only louder, “Right here, they’re right here.”

                He turned sharply to face her, but she was gone. How could that be? He had heard her, right? Did this mean they could communicate at larger distances?

                He stood up slowly with a growing smile. This was it. This was what he had been waiting for.

                As he scanned the room once more in search of her, he saw the lights.

                No. Please, no. I won’t do it again, I promise. He thought. Where is she? Did they take her, too? Was this his fault? He had only wanted someone to talk to.

                Please, don’t.

                In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

                The girl returned from the bathroom. The friend she had been talking to by the couch was gone, as well as the man who had been trying to communicate with her all night. When she asked another party-goer about the girl by the couch, he said, “You’ve been standing at that couch alone for 45 minutes. We’ve all been watching you and wondering what you were doing.”

                She giggled and swayed on her feet before slurring something about having had too much to drink. Even just faking it made her feel embarrassed for all of the moments in college when she really did behave like that.

                She glanced back at the couch and tried to remember her interactions with the girl. Did she handle the man’s touch properly? Did she say anything too suspicious?

                She wished she could have warned that sweet man not to reach out. He had been talking to her for weeks. She had written down his every thought in a diary. He was Taken #43 to her. Some of the taken were odd, or creepy, or downright awful, but this man was genuine. He thought of his dog’s well being, he took notice of the neighbor lady’s flower bushes. He thought of everyone. He was one she was going to miss. If only he had known that they were everywhere. Half or more of this party were made of them, and the other half were made of her.

                She felt terribly that he felt so alone in the end. If he could have just stuck around long enough, or listened a little bit closer, he would have understood what she did; She knew that survival didn’t mean banding together with their kind. Those days were over. Survival in this new world meant either being one of The Others or blending in just well enough that no one could tell the difference.

Cage Match

            Here it goes again.

            The battle between whether to stay or to go begins. She didn’t know why, but 9pm seemed to be the favorite hour for internal cage matches. This match would be different, though. The side to stay had some new inventory—a new, spiky ladder, if you will. He has written a song for her. It seemed small and insignificant from someone who wrote songs for a living, but this one was different. This one was for her. She had spent years begging for him to write a song with her as the muse. She felt that, on this occasion, this song was an expression of desire for her that she had never experienced from him before. It was an outreach, an olive branch, or at the very least, a single finger to grasp onto. It was just enough to get the stay team’s side a leg-up in this round.

            The day that she heard the song for the first time, it moved her. Her heart became weightless as if her torso filled with helium, causing her organs to float around carelessly. Her smile was so bright, it was as if she took in the light around her until she, herself, glowed. The fight was over for that night. The usual cage match may as well have been rigged toward the stay side.

            For the first time in his songs, she heard genuine passion in his voice. She could tell that the lyrics were written from a place of feelings so undeniably strong, that he must still be head-over-heels for her. Why had he never just spoken these sorts of words to her? She thought that maybe their recent rough patch had sparked a new flame in his desire to really make this work this time.

            On this night, she listened to the song on repeat on the drive home from work. As she walked in and placed her work bag on the shoe bench, she noticed his phone buzzing on his desk in the other room. When she stepped into the kitchen to look for him, she heard the rumblings of the water pipes and realized he was upstairs showering. His phone buzzed a few more times, but she ignored it. Humming the melody to his song, she set her dirty lunch dishes in the sink before being interrupted by the buzzing once more.

            She walked over to the—now motionless and daringly quiet—phone. She glared at it as if challenging it to a staring contest. It buzzed again. Did that mean she won?

            This time, as the edges of the phone lit up, a banner with a name on it slid across the top of the screen. She recognized the name, though she didn’t understand why that name was on her boyfriend’s phone.

            She picked it up and swiped to the messages page. After seconds of frantic scrolling, she found the newest cage-match weapon for the leave team, except, this time, the weapon was nuclear.

            It was a text from her boyfriend to another girl that read, “Listen to my newest song. I wrote it for you.”

            In the text was a link to the song in question. It was the song that she had been singing along to for days. It was the song that played as the credits rolled for every cage match since she and the song had been introduced. It was the song that he said he had written for her.  

            Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new winner for the night.

                It would be two years before she finally got to hear a song actually written for her by this man—a break-up song, if one can believe it. By this time, the network had canceled the cage-matches, and a new scheduled programming was set to play at that time slot. This time, the screen in her mind was riddled with questions like; what would she make for dinner the next night? Or, what time would she and her new boyfriend would meet with friends the following weekend?

            What she didn’t know was that the show hadn’t disappeared from the TV station entirely—she just no longer picked up the right channel. Every now and then, when the antenna hit just right, she would get a glimpse of the fight songs and rope-jumping scenes. Only, these weren’t reruns; These were new characters, new reasons to stay, and brand-new reasons to leave.

            Here it goes again.

The Dishes

                Fluffy soap bubbles flew onto the clean dishes as she scrubbed the same pan for the 4th time this week. She laid the pan back down and rinsed the clean dishes off with the sprayer. When she finished, she rested her hands on either edge of the sink and spent the next few moments hanging her head in what—she hoped—was a look of desperation. 

                She turned her head to the right just enough to get a glimpse of the neighboring window. She didn't want to be too obvious. As it turns out, her fear was unfounded. The blinds of the window across the way were shut and motionless.

                She sighed in both relief and annoyance. She hadn’t prepared herself outwardly today like she usually did. She was in too big of a rush this morning to do her usual touch-ups. Still, she felt a twinge of disappointment that her performance wasn’t for an audience.

                She had laundry to get to, but what if she missed something in her moments away?

                Being a stay-at-home mother was both tedious and monotonous. She was in a constant state of tired of the same thing while full of energy for something new. Getting acclimated to this new way of life wasn’t easy in the beginning. Other parents would bond over the stress of endless chores and mountains of laundry. At first, she felt similarly and could empathize with the loss of a sense of self. Now, she had only one gnawing question for every lifeless parent standing awkwardly at the park. She would never ask it, but she looked for answers in each person’s demeanor as they discussed ever-changing children’s shoe sizes.

                On one occasion, a woman she had become close with asked her what her favorite thing about staying home with the kids was. Realizing that this might be her only chance to test the waters, she replied,

                “The secrets".

                When the woman shot her a look of confusion, she realized her potential mistake and corrected herself,

                “The dishes.” She said quickly, “The dishes are my favorite part.”

                The other mother smiled and nodded.

That was a risk, she thought, and maybe not one worth taking again for a while.

                A few moments later, the other mother shot her a look out of the corner of her eye that disappeared so quickly, it almost went unnoticed.

                The women’s gaze settled back on her own child before she said quietly,

                “The dishes are my favorite, too.”

                That is when she knew.