“Hurry up Max!” Elli shouted into the house.

“Coming!” Max shouted back in a strained voice. A minute later, he came through the door to the garage carrying their two heavy suitcases while still managing - just barely - to pull behind him a smaller carry-on bag.

“Geez, Max. You know there is such a thing as two trips.” She teased and popped the trunk for him. She was sitting in the front passenger seat looking up the directions to the airport while he took care of the heavy luggage and packing.

“I know I could take two trips,” he paused for dramatic effect, got into the driver’s seat, and continued, “but, I wanted to look strong.” He leaned in toward her and waggled his eyebrows with a grin that said I’m-being-silly.

“Looking like a couple of luggage bags are going to kill you while struggling to the car does not make you look strong.” she giggled before leaning over and kissing his cheek. “Start the car mister, or we’ll be cutting it close on time.”

He started the car and the newly weds were off on their way to the airport.

* * *

At the airport, Max once again grabbed the three suitcases from the trunk, but Elli grabbed the rolling carry-on insisting that she didn’t take it because Max looked like an idiot struggling haphazardly with the three suitcases and the small backpack they were taking, but because she wanted to feel useful.

The two made their way into the airport, both waddling slightly, Max from the two suitcases he swore must have bricks in them and Elli who’s baby bump kept growing larger. Ten minutes into the airport and they were rushing. The officer checking their bags must have thought they were transporting bricks too because as Elli and Max had waited, the officer unzipped, partially unpacked, and sifted through the contents of one of the two suitcases with the claim that “It was too dense too see through on the scanner.”

Now they were speedwalking through gate F to get to 14 which was, fortunately for Elli, close to a bathroom. As they were walking toward the tiny sign all the way at the other end of the gate, the announcer announced “Direct flight D2542 from San Antonio to Tokyo would be boarding in five minutes.” Just enough time for the bathroom she thought and handed off her bags with Max before hurrying there immediately.

* * *

Their seat toward the front of the plane paid off during the five or so times Elli got up to go pee in their fourteen hours on the plane. The plane touched down in Tokyo, and before long, the two were off of the plane, and Max was yet again struggling under the brick ladden suitcases he carried. He would have been rolling them, but one had a broken wheel and the other a broken handle which made them hard to transport.

A cab was called and they were taken to their hotel room, a pretty, modern room with a kitchen on one side and a king sized bed on the other with a bathroom through a glass door. Max set down the suitcases in a corner with a chair and a lamp while Elli sat down on the bed. They simultaneously sighed, then giggled at their shared relief in being freed momentarily from their weights. Tired from their long day of travel, ordered food from the hotel, and got ready for bed.

* * *

The next day was full of site-seeing and food tasting, but they soon realized was not the right place for their vacation as the doctor had told Elli to stay away from sushi and any other raw fish. This made their food selections smaller, and they ended up eating a lot more noodles and soups. Their favorite stop was the beautiful gardens surrounding Tokyo Imperial Palace.

* * *

A week went by quickly and their final day in Tokyo was only one day away.

On the nineth day in Tokyo, Elli's water broke before they were even out the door to begin their site-seeing for the day. The twins' due date wasn't for another three weeks! They didn't know where to go for a hospital and didn't know how to ask for help from the front help desk without a translator, who at the moment was nowhere to be found. Google Translator was their guide for the time being and they were directed to a nearby hospital by the crazed-looking front desk man who looked like he might be close to fainting.

A tall, white, windowed, building stood before them when they got out of the cab. Looking up, they saw a great many stories and began their walk inside. The lady at the front directed them to the right wing and were eventually brought to a pale blue room with a navy blue couch and white hospital bed. Early next morning, Jack and Josie were born into the noise of the city and the quiet of the pale blue room. Both of the babies were healthy which made the two new parents very happy.

...

Seven hours from Tucson to Vegas. Seven hours of sand and bullshit.

Kim’s hands melded with the steering wheel. He’d been driving for about three hours now, mostly due to the cold metal barrel that would make itself known every five minutes or so, and partly because of the dead body they have in the trunk. For three hours, all he had was an endless repetition of dirt, rocks, dead grass, and a casette tape of Bon Jovi’s Greatest Hits. All of this became so mindnumbing, he actually started to enjoy the sudden rush of excitement the gun’s barrel gave him from time to time. His balls would pucker up every time the car went over a bump, pinheads of sweat would form on his forehead whenever his right temple brushed cold steel, and his bladder whimpered and tightened as Jerry would jab the gun in his side.

“Jerry - buddy - I’m going to need to pee man.” Kim shifted in his seat “My dick’s going to fall off any minute now.”

“Nu-uh.” Jerry cocked the hammer, which Kim found puzzling considering he swore he had heard the click of the hammer several times now. At first it would send chills up to his nape, but after the fourth click, all it gave Kim was confusion, as he’d try to do the math in his head, trying to calculate if the hammer was actually pulled back or inert at this point.

“I’m just going to pee in the seat then.” Kim tried to scan Jerry’s face for any sign of shock by his periphery. “You really okay with the smell of piss for four hours Jerry?”

“I’ll just open the window jackass.”

“Look man, just give me a bottle. I told you I’ve done this before. I’m not going to crash you paranoid fuck.” Kim’s left leg was jumping up and down like he was on speed.

“Nope.” He cocked the gun again. “I ain’t taking that chance Kim.”

“Alright, just - Jesus - just let me pull over Jerry. I swear I won’t fucking run this time.”

Jerry replied with a quick jab of the gun on Kim’s temple.

“Shit.” Warm liquid slowly seeped through his jeans, he could feel his bladder untangling, and a shot of euphoria went curling up his dome, blooming the insides with fractals of feel good hormones that rebounded a chilling, shivering, wave throughout his body. “Fuck me.” He said under heavy breath. “You asshole.”

..................................................................

The wind that ripped across the brown sheet of sand would sway their Subaru from one side of the lane to the other. From behind, the car looked like a ship you’d control in Space Invaders, strafing to and fro, trying to avoid alien fire, as Kim would try to correct the car, festering in his own piss and forcing, ever so slightly, to open his eyelids as fatigue had set in.

It had been five hours of endless road, desert, and Bon Jovi, so, naturally, his mind started to wander. The tour bus on the rearview mirror piqued his curiosity. Such a shit way to travel he thought. Only reason people are in that bus’s cause of their stuck-up job, wanting to unmoor themselves from the daily humdrums of life, tired of being told what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. So they decided to get on a tourbus just so they can wind down, give their brain another image other than that of their dusty computer seared on the wrinkles of their brain, and that, sometimes, would pop in their sleep; they’d be in a beach somewhere, clear ocean-blue water seeming to meld with the clear ocean-blue sky, grains of sand in between their toes and digging underneath their nails, before, suddenly, the whine of a dusty CRT computer whizzes on and they’d wake up and see that it’s a Monday.

But they didn’t realize that it’s basically the same thing. Tour guide telling them what matters, what to look at, and why they should care; spouting facts and dates of years that they’ll never really need. At the end of the day, they didn’t make this happen. It’s just a trip they went on, something that just happened to them. No autonomy in it, no internal compass telling them to explore this or go over here; that insatiable wanderlust in all homonids being domesticated by linearity and “lunch before 12:30PM”.

As the tour bus stopped at a gas station they’d just passed, his attention shifted towards the land itself; the desert’s uncaring attitude, rocks in weird formations being bathed in the sun, alien plants that deserved to be in another alien planet - and not an hour away from Vegas. It was peculiar. On one hand, you had Vegas, gleaming in the night, an amalgam of cash and alcohol and vomit, where neon rainbows masks the exterior of every casino, and of every bar, and of every pawnshop, each of these establishments just a filter separating you from your money. And right up the bend, you had this careless desert, this sandy hostile wasteland blotted in hissing cacti and thorny plants, with insane rock formations that stood against time. Some fuckload years ago, Kim thought, this was submerged in water, and another or so years after, it was covered in black volcanic ash. Today, Vegas stands surrounded by dead grass, rocks, and sand. And in a million or so years after, it’ll be eaten up too.

“Right here.” Jerry said as he looked out the window.

“What?”

“Just take a right. Into the desert, c’mon.”

Kim nodded, turned the steering wheel right, and blazed into it, leaving behind concrete roads, and dead metal signs. Ahead, an endless sea of sand awaits with a mirage forming in the horizon.

Dead body, Bon Jovi, and a gun. What can go wrong?

I knew it.

As soon as Estie had come home and told me about this trip she unilaterally scheduled us to take, it sounded too good to be true. She said she had won a drawing for a three day, all-expense paid vacation at an upscale spa resort in the Bahamas. I immediately told her it was a timeshare scam and she immediately ignored my refutations.

Now, as we stood at the doors of the resort, it was even more evident to me that this trip was pitched to her under false pretenses. I don’t know if she was in denial or flat out didn’t care but she went blazing ahead.

We walked through the grand doors into an all glass lobby that showcased abundant island scenery. The light breeze was coming through and swayed Estie’s long black hair from under her massive hat over the part of her back the strapless dress didn’t cover. She flew in a strapless white dress, Kentucky derby regulation sized hat and heels. I flew in what is socially acceptable clothing for international travel of athleisure and flip flops; easier outfit to pass through security in. I looked like her personal assistant I’m sure.

“Greetings and welcome!” a chipper voice called out from behind the desk. I just did a seven hour red eye flight with no meal service because of turbulence so I knew it was the crankiness that wanted so badly to tell he that “welcome” is a greeting so she was redundant and sounded ridiculous.

“Checking in for the Winner’s Suite, name is Estie Smith” Estie said all breathy from behind her gigantic sunglasses, like a Hollywood actor not wanting to be too loud so as not to be recognized. I couldn’t believe that saying something like “Winner’s Suite” wasn’t a dead giveaway to her. She works in tourism!

“Yes, of course Ms. Smith, let me just go get your itinerary”. The front desk attendant left to a room behind the large reception desk.

“Itinerary, Estie? Did you plan anything that we should have an agenda for already?” I asked, arms folded. She shook her head but didn’t turn to look at me.

The attendant returned with an incredible amount of paper. She started rattling off the names, dress code, and reservation policies of all the restaurants on site. She gave us her recommendation for a fish dish that is supposed to be the best on the island. She told us about the spa and locally sourced fruit facials. She then turned to me to tell me about the golf course. Apparently, I was not the personal assistant but more like Estie’s caddy.

Then, she dropped the bomb that I knew was already coming.

“Your presentation is tonight from 4pm to 8pm in the ballroom”.

“Presentation?” Estie dipped her sunglasses down and removed her hat.

“Yes ma’am, all our Winners are receiving a special presentation about how you can enjoy this paradise as many times a year as you want.” You can tell she has had to deliver this news to delusional tourists more than once.

“Oh, yes, sorry, I remember, thank you for reminding me.” Estie took the keycards and novel of literature and gestured to me to get moving down the hall towards the elevator.

“Estie, I told you this was going to happen! It won’t just be the presentation tonight, it will be three days of pestering us to buy into this place and we will get absolutely no relaxation! They will probably end up billing us for everything too!! I read about it online.” I was starting to panic like I usually do. Estie, on the other hand, was cool as the cucumber water they were serving in the lobby.

She pushed her back up against the bathroom door and disappeared for a few moments. I was standing out in the hall with all our luggage. Now I’m apparently her bellhop too.

She came back out with two name tags and two wristbands. She started doctoring them up, as if she didn’t just pull them from the trash.

“We aren’t going to be pestered at all. We are going to wear these nametags that already have been checked off and these wristbands that have already been used to identify people who are going to buy timeshares here. We are going to eat and drink whatever we want and we are going to lay by the pool for the next three days. When someone comes up and asks us about the timeshare program, we are going to say that my husband already put down a deposit and then ask them to book us a spa appointment, got it?” She put her hat and sunglasses back on.

“Well, then what does that make me on this trip if you have a rich husband?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “You are my accountant and close personal friend.” Accountant, figures.

She grabbed her luggage and went sashaying down the long hallway. I went shuffling behind her, knowing full well this plan was doomed to fail and we would be checking into the Ecolodge by the airport as early as 4:30 tonight. Maybe we can at least get a nap and some good Caribbean food before we get booted out.

“Why do you think she’s divorced?”

Eddy sighed and took a sanity-saving sip of his mocha. “Because that ring on her other hand uses a setting that’s typical of engagement rings yet there’s no matching wedding band. I doubt she’s just moved it because she’s not left-handed. Plus her whole demeanor has the clipped, icy countenance of someone who’s been fighting a lot.”

“You fight a lot.”

“I know. That’s how I recognize it.” Eddy tapped his fan on the table, trying to drum out his impatience. People-gazing used to be a fun, solitary past time. Until apparently he had adopted a stray puppy.

Mark he reminded himself, with the detachment of someone reading a lost dog tag. He still refered to him as ‘boy’, ‘you’, or ‘child’, yet nothing seemed to deter him from showing up every Friday, sitting next to Eddy and routinely engaging him in conversation. He only looked at his phone maybe half the time now. It bothered Eddy a bit.

“She looks wealthy,” Mark commented, nodding in fake wisdom at the tall woman in dark heels and designer pants suit. “He probably left her because she worried too much about her career and he couldn’t take it.” He sipped his own coffee - not iced, anymore, but still loaded with sugar - and tried to copy Eddy’s people-watching air of superiority and apathy. Except his overeager, people-pleaser puppy vibes wrecked it.

Each week they had begun a strange, anthropological study of the local coffee shop patrons. Neither of them spoke to anyone besides the other, which was still one person more than Eddy wanted. Worse, Eddy had to admit lecturing his new social symbiote had a strangely satisfying effect, as he absorbed all of Eddy’s words like a sponge no matter how cutting they might have been. Not that he always agreed - often, he violently disagreed, launching a long tirade of verbal ranting that felt exhaustive and yet seemed to make the young man even more enamored with his company. Eddy decided Mark was secretly a masochist. Worse, Eddy knew he himself tended towards sadism of the verbal persuasion.

“It’s not nice to presume men don’t like powerful women,” Eddy snipped, although honestly Mark’s commentary had improved over the past month. Oh god...it’s been a month. “Where did you get that sweater?”

“Oh - do you like it? My grandma actually gave it to me last Christmas, and I found it in my closet.” Mark positively glowed under the spectre of Eddy’s approval. His clothing had evolved after Eddy had flat out refused to have his fashion levels lowered from sitting by a “rotating rack from Hot Topic”, as he’d said. After an awkward afternoon asking Eddy’s advice on a local Target clothing ad, he now wore dockers in alternating tan, grey, and soft brown along with v-cut sweater tops or button-downs that would look better with a bow-tie or a jacket, but Eddy wasn’t pushing it. He’d shut Mark down after he asked for tips on hair care, flatly stating “I am not Queer Eye. Go watch a YouTube video.”

“Your grandma’s vintage, you should wear what she says more often. Unless it’s homemade, then just hide it until she visits.” He sipped another shot of sanity. Lord, he needed it.

“The girls at school said I look better,” Mark said quietly, but his tone wasn’t the level of happiness it should have been at that remark. Fuck, why do I know that. Eddy bit his tongue.

“They’re not blind.”

“Why can’t women just tell you what looks good, you know?” Mark still had some issues to work through. Eddy could relate, but he couldn’t excuse it. The work had to be done.

“Do you tell women how you want them to dress?” Eddy asked, eyebrow raised in challenge.

“No, but I don’t care. If they care, then they should say something.”

The fan opened, a sign of a learning moment about to begin. Mark’s eyes grew bright with recognition and his phone went down to the table. Eddy waved his fan lazily. “Why do you think women care about clothing?”

“Um, because it shows how economically well-off a guy is?”

WHACK. “Nope. You can look good on a budget, that’s a false signal. Try again.”

“Um, because it shows a guy knows how to take care of himself?” This had been the main theme of their sessions. Self care. Mark seemed to be grasping at it, yet the mechanics still eluded him at times.

“Closer. But why do you think women dress up so much if guys don’t care what they wear?” Eddy waited patiently, keeping his mouth hidden now behind the fan. His fear was that Mark might one day catch a smile, or worse that he might actually make one.

The wheels in Mark’s head started to whirl. “Because...I don’t know, girls just like clothes more. Like, they have more options and they fuss about it more.”

The fan clicked shut. “Exactly. When a guy puts effort into dressing up, it shows he respects what they’ve been taught as a way of life. I would imagine a girl who showed a knowledge of whatever animated things you enjoy would similarly spark your interest, yes?”

“Oh yeah! Nerd girls are hot.” Mark agreed enthusiastically.

Another sip of sanity. Gods help me.

“I just don’t think it’s fair they judge me like that.” Mark’s anger bubbled up, still not subsided. If Eddy could siphon it off he probably would have been able to heat an entire espresso machine. “I mean, nobody’s asked me out yet.”

“Really? What are the current social norms for asking someone out again?” Eddy’s eyes twinkled as Mark’s face fell.

“The boy’s supposed to ask,” he muttered.

“And did you?”

“They don’t like me.” Mark’s happy demeanor crumbled back into his old depressed self.

“Is that all it takes to elicit you asking? If so, then wait until someone does.” Eddy sucked down the last dregs of his cup. It was nearly time to go.

“I’m almost 19! Nobody’s ever going to like me!” Mark suddenly yelled, his eyes growing dangerously watered.

“Why? Do you have some expiration date?”

“You wouldn’t understand. Girls don’t respect you if you haven’t gotten a girlfriend before. It’s like this dumb Catch 22.”

Eddy closed his eyes so they wouldn’t roll out. “First of all, do you even understand that reference? And secondly, why does your past dating resume mean anything? I’ve never slept with a woman before and I’m nearly 32. That doesn’t make me less of a catch.”

Mark’s ire turned puzzled and confused. “But...you don’t like women.”

“When did I say that?” The ice in Eddy’s voice chilled any ghost of warmth from Mark’s styrofoam cup. The chill quickly reset the younger man’s boiler point.

“Oh. I...I just assumed you were...because...” He looked up and down Eddy’s outfit, another loose blouse with a belted sash this time.

“What does ‘assuming’ do again?”

Mark sighed. “It makes an ass out of u and me.”

“Good boy. Now, again, just because I’m in mint condition does not mean a smart, discerning woman wouldn’t be lucky to have me as arm candy. Obviously I’m fabulous.” Eddy shook his bangles as he adjusted himself to sit taller. “And I’m not so stupid as to turn down a potential fine companion whether they’re female, male, or nonbinary. When I choose to date, it will be because I genuinely enjoy the other person and vice-versa, not just because I met someone else’s standards for dating. Relationships are two-way streets.”

“I just...I get lonely.”

Eddy sighed and rubbed his temples. “Lord, do I know it.”

“How do you get over that?” Mark looked at Eddy like he held some magic answers under his bravado and Prada glasses. Those eyes - so desperate the answer seemed futile - struck something in Eddy who suddenly had flashbacks to a childhood marred by bullies, lonely lunch breaks, and hiding inside on recess.

Oh hell no - we’re not going back to that.

The fan smacked Mark on the head this time. “Companionship isn’t only about sex, child. Learn to socialize more by practicing. Observing. Finding people. Otherwise get a cat and learn to live without.” Standing, he shook himself and his bangles and jewelry went tink tink to signal his exit. “Time for me to go home.”

Scrambling to his feet - a respectful gesture Eddy had taken three weeks to train Mark into - his coffee shop companion waved awkwardly. “Uh, see you next week?”

“Never bet on it,” Eddy turned his chin up, quickly masking himself with his fan.

-------

Except he showed up the next week, the following week, and the next three weeks after that.