“I still remember the first time I saw you. It in was second grade during recess. You were wearing a pink polka-dress with ladybug hair ties for your pigtails. You were in the sand box, making sandcastles with a red bucket for your sand princesses. It was adorable. I wanted you to notice me. So I stole your red bucket and you hated me for the rest of elementary school. We were so dumb and naive back then. I miss it.

“I was given a second chance back in Ms. Miller’s class in fifth grade. I was assigned next to you in the back row. I would occasionally glance at you, only to snap my head away whenever you looked over at me. Ms. Muller always yelled at me for not paying enough attention. I never minded that.

“Throughout all of middle school, I was just subconsciously drawn to you. I was drawn to your newly dyed pink hair, your sunny smile, your vanilla perfume. I was entranced by you.

“I even became a cheerleader for you. A male cheerleader in middle school. Boy, was that rough. But I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted to be near you. Every time we took the bus to a competition, I would always sit beside you. I even convinced all the other girls to leave an open seat beside you. They thought it was adorable.

“When the eighth grade talent show came around, I just wanted to impress you. I had decided to do a comedy act, something to make you laugh. And I was all set to perform it until about a week before the show, when you came up to me bawling your eyes out. Your best friend had just bailed on your dance routine and you had no one to perform with you. Instantly, I agreed to be your new partner and learned the routine you spent a month perfecting in one week. I’m pretty sure I was the only eight grader in the world that learned the salsa in a week. We didn’t win any prizes, but I was just happy to dance with you. After the show, I told you my comedy routine and you laughed and forgot about the whole thing. I loved seeing you smile.

“Then, we reached high school. We were always friends, casual acquaintances, but I think I wanted more than that. I doubt you even remember this, but back in Mr. Machi’s IB English class in senior year, I once dropped my pencil. You reached over and when you handed it back to me, our hands touched for just a second. My face immediately went red and I turned away. That was the moment I realized I was in love with you. I was always in love with you. Since the moment I saw you.

“Kind of late there, I know. I wasn’t that smart, but you made me want to be better.

“From there, I new I had to tell you. Before it was too late, before graduation and I never get to see you again. With the help of Buddy—you remember Buddy? My best friend at the time—I had created the biggest, most dramatic, way to ask you out.

“Here was the plan: during graduation, I had convinced the principal to let me give a speech even though I wasn’t one of the brightest students. During the speech, I planned to give a whole lecture about how high school was miserable and hell—like every student knows—but you made it worth it. Then I would ask you out in front of everyone and then the marching band was going to start playing when you said yes. I was so sure you were going to say yes. But you didn’t.

“I did! The day before graduation you asked me out and my jaw dropped to the floor. I was in awe that you liked me back with that sly smile on your lips and that cute way you play with your hair. I was in so much shock that I literally stood there for five minutes with my mouth gaped open.

“But you stuck around and waited for my answer which was—of course—a yes. That’s when we started dating.

“Unfortunately, we had applied to different colleges because you were going to be an english teacher and I was going to be an environmental engineer However, we tried to make the long distance work. We visited each other on weekends and called every day. I would write you love poems and mail them for that ‘traditional’ love feel. You would mail back a copy with corrections and big smiley faces over everything you loved about it—there were a lot of smiley faces. You always kept the originals. Your roommate was noisy so you hide them in a birch jewelry box I gave you for your birthday. You kept that box and those poems for the rest of your life. I kept the corrections and the smiley faces.

“Sophomore year of college rolled around and I couldn’t stand not being with you. As a surprise, I transferred to your college in September, but you were weren’t there. Instead, you had transferred to my college as a surprise. We both got a good laugh out of that one before deciding on a new college that was perfect for both of us.

“Senior year eventually came and went. It was time for graduation. I had decided that I wanted to ask you to marry me so we wouldn’t lose each other in the real world. I tried to convince the dean to let me give a speech at graduation to redo my original plan. I still thought it was a real winner and would be nostalgic, but he didn’t let me. Instead, I made a reservation at your restaurant in town and would do things the classic way.

“At graduation, I found out why the dean didn’t let me give a speech—because you had already asked him. First, you talked about college, that was the requirement. Then about me. How you joined cheerleading in middle school to gain my attention because all the boys loved the cheerleaders. You were ecstatic when I joined and asked all the other girls to leave the seat next to you open on every field trip. Then, you made up some story about your friend leaving you in the talent show so you could perform with me. Next, in highschool, you purposefully touched your hand to mine. You wanted me to notice you and thought I was as dense as a brick. Which is why you were the one to ask me out.

“And now you were there, on stage, completing my original plan. Even though you were proposing, you had this sly smile on your face, like you already knew my answer would be yes; because it was.

“We got married the following summer. A June wedding, like you always wanted. We both found jobs in our respective professions that we loved. We settled into this world together, finding out places at each other’s side. Until finally, we decided that we were ready to have kids.

“A pair of twins! They filled my heart with joy. We named the boy after your father and the girl after my mother. Together we watched them grow and we grew together. Like a symbiotic relationship between flowers and bees. I need your very presence for survival. And you told me you needed mine.

“You told me you loved me. And I loved you.

“There was nothing special about our love. There are over six thousand weddings every day in the United States alone with people who love each other like we do. But you made it special.

“Even now, staring at your grave, talking to you in the great beyond. Nothing has changed. I still love you. I will always love you. My one and only, Meredith.”

I stood up and gazed at the setting horizon. “I’ll see you again next Sunday.”

Do you clasp your fingers together

Afraid to let your past

Slip through the gaps

Please

Open your fingers a crack

And let my fingers slip

Through the spaces

Of your hand

That carry the past

And instead

Take my hand

Into your future

They were out at sea,

Surrounded by poets of all kinds,

When suddenly,

He fell over board and began to drift away,

farther and father from the haven they've created

In the center of the chaos.

She threw the life preserver to him,

Filled with unreciprocation, lost emotions,

And thoughts she's never disclosed to anyone but

Him.

All useless, wasted

Time & energy.

But,

In saving him from drowning,

She didn't realize she was too,

And she's given him the last buoy.

She laughed incredulously and relaxed

Into the sapphire agua,

A grin playing on her lips

With a single tear threatening to slip.

With her last breath,

She spoke a quote from a work by her favorite author,

Ernest Hemingway,

While waves of water threatened to enter her mouth

And consume her greedily.

My, I was a damned fool.

He looked into her beautiful green eyes, sighing as he cupped her face in his soft hands.

“CassieNic, I love you,“ he whispered.

Her knees weakened and she held onto his shoulders. They were the words she had waited to hear since she first met him on the dance floor at the Cockle Club.

And now, he had finally said them.

Her heart beat against her chest as she pushed closer to him, gazing back into his deep blue eyes.

Tilting her head, she eased up onto her toes and kissed his gentle lips.

They melted into each other for what seemed like forever.

Then the song finished and they walked from the dance floor, hand in hand. Ignoring their drinks and their friends, they left the Cockle Club and drove to his apartment.

They made love all night and were married the next day.

And lived happily ever after.

My heart races, thumps, pounds. 

Blue eyes, blonde hair, perfect in every way. 

Perfect teeth, flawless skin, the person I love. 

I approach her. 

“Do you want to go to the play with me tonight?” 

She looks at me. 

We’ve never spoken before. 

“I can pay for your ticket.” 

I need this to happen. 

Her smile shows all of her perfect teeth. 

“Why not?” 

I smile back. 

“See you tonight!” 

I walk away before she can change her mind.

I wait outside for her. 

I hope she comes. 

“Wasn’t that fun?” 

The play was good. 

“Yes, I enjoyed it.” 

We walk downtown for hot chocolate. 

“Which booth do you want?” 

I pick one tucked in the corner. 

I need privacy for what I am about to do.

“I need to tell you something.”

Her open look hurts me. 

“Okay.”

I take a deep breath. 

“I like you.”

Disgust, revulsion, even hate spread across her face. 

“Get away from me.” 

I run, leaving my drink behind.

I can’t drink hot chocolate anymore.

I sit in front of a store window a block down.

Tears fall from my face and freeze on the concrete below.

“Are you okay?”

I look up.

A girl about my age stands there.

Her eyes are brown, almost black.

They match her hair. 

Her face shows concern.

“I saw you run out of the shop.  Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

I nod.

She sits down next to me.

I tell her everything.

“That’s horrible.”

I nod.  

I cannot seem to say anything more to this girl. 

“Do you want a ride home?  I’ve got a car.” 

She pulls keys out of her back pocket. 

I nod again. 

She lifts me up.

She pulls her banged up minivan in front of my house. 

“This it?”

It is. 

“Thank you.”

She smiles at me.

I am woken by blue light flooding by walls.

I grab my phone.

I have an unread text message.

That’s new. 

“How are you doing?”

Another pops up. 

“It’s Amity, from last night.”

I remember giving her my number.

I remember her giving me her number.

I remember her wanting to check on me in the morning.

I remember being grateful.

I walk into school like I do every day.

My head is hung low, my feet are shuffling.

I bump into someone.

Only, they’re not annoyed. 

“Hello!”

I look up.

It’s Amity. 

“How are you feeling?”

Her happiness almost blinds me. 

“Better.”

I am rewarded with a smile.

“Do you want to walk with me to class?”

What do I say to that?

Nobody’s ever asked me that before. 

“Sure.”

I hope that’s an appropriate answer.

I hope it’s not a trick question. 

“Great!  What class do you have next?”

What if I’m doing this wrong? 

“Math.”

Do I ask her what her class is now?

I will. 

“What class do you have?”

She smiles again. 

“English.  Let’s go!”

I follow her through the crowds.

I grab a sandwich from the stacks and head to the counter.

I pay and start to head out of the cafeteria.

It’s always noisy during lunch. 

“Over here!”

It’s not for me.

It never is.

But then my name is called.

I look up.

Amity is waving at me from across the cafeteria.

I walk over to her. 

“Do you want to sit with me for lunch?”

I do. 

I say so.

She smiles at me.

I think about her on the bus ride home.

In the afternoon.

In the evening.

In the morning.

Riding back to school.

I look for her when I walk into school.

But I don’t say anything, not yet.

Yesterday might have been a fluke.

Chance.

Coincidence.

Accident.

Pity.

I wait until she notices me.

She calls me over.

Yesterday was not a fluke.

I grab the same sandwich as yesterday.

Amity calls me over to the same table in the cafeteria.

Now, she has other people there.

None of them look like they belong there.

They’re all from different groups.

Amity introduces them as her friends.

I don’t see it, but I trust her.

Months pass.

I get to know Amity’s friends.

They become my friends.

I learn what binds them together.

They’re all like me.

We hang out together.

Sometimes we’re at someone’s house.

Sometimes we’re in school.

Sometimes we’re downtown.

But we never go back to the coffeeshop.

Eventually I realize something.

I act different around Amity.

I smile more, I laugh more.

I’m happier.

I walk up to Amity.

I wipe my palms on my pants. 

“Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?”

She smiles at me. 

“Sure?  Where?”

I realize my mistake.

There’s only one coffee shop in town.

But I’m not going to ask her to drive me somewhere. 

“The one in town.”

Will she notice?

Remember? 

“Sounds great! See you after school?”

She dosen’t remember what happened a year ago. 

“Sure.”

She forgot.

I enter the coffee shop.

Amity’s waiting for me. 

“Do you want to choose where we sit?”

I look around.

I see the booth where I sat one year ago. 

“There.”

I point to a table across the room.

I take the last sip of my coffee.

I feel the caffeine take hold, making me jittery.

I can’t be on edge for what happens next. 

“Can I tell you something?”

Amity looks calm, but a little concerned. 

“Of course, anything.”

I take a deep breath. 

“I like you.”

It comes out in a rush, biput I know she heard me.

She struggles to keep her face neutral.

I wait for rejection.

I wake up to a buzzing.

My phone screen is lit up.

I answer it.

Amity’s voice pours from the speakers. 

“I’ve decided.  I’ll do it.”

This is big. 

“Are you sure?”

I hope she’s ready.

“Yes.”

I take a deep breath. 

“Meet you tomorrow?” 

“I’ll drive.”

She is waiting for me at her car. 

“Ready?”

I nod.  

We climb into her car and drive away.

She pulls up along the side of the road. 

“I don’t think I can do this.”

She is almost crying. 

“You can.” 

I know you can.

I know. 

“You’re right.”

For a second, all she does is breathe.

“Let’s go.”

We leave the car.

We walk up the driveway.

We knock on the door.

Amity’s mom answers. 

“Mom, can you get dad?  It’s important.”

She does.

“Mom, dad, this is my girlfriend, Cara.”

Abbott hates the way he puts himself before others, wishing he were more selfless, like his supposed soulmate Finn, who he would be with forever if he hadn’t taken a bullet for Abbott. Literally.

He remembers the day it happened. The blood waterfalling out of Finn’s chest; the gurgling of his throat as he breathed one final time, his Abbott’s eyes locking with his from across the room before he never saw again. Abbott tried to get over there, he really did, but he wasn’t fast enough. That bullet was meant for him, and he knows it.

He wishes he could talk to his Finn again, just one last time. That’s when he started searching.

He remembers picking up the first business card and slipping it into his wallet. The bold print across the top declaring, “Out-Of-This-World Medium! Connect with the Other Side!”

He called the number that night; but received only a voicemail asking him to wire a thousand dollars to Kabul. He sighed deeply and hung up the phone.

Since then, he’s called fifty or sixty more numbers, but to no avail: scams, all going straight to voicemail.

Abbott has one number left on his list, and after that, it’s over. With shaking fingers he dials the phone, circling around to each number. Three... four... seven...

He takes a deep but shaky breath and lifts the receiver.

Raising it to his ear, he pauses. It rings three times... four... and then he hears the click on the other line.

An all-too familiar voice answers, gruffly whispering, exactly like the very last time he spoke, that fateful day:

“Abbott?”

I giggle about when we first met. You still had pastels under your fingernails. It was a Thursday and you were towing my car because it threw another fit. The weather was at it's rarest. It was unusually warm for a December in Pennsylvania. You drove me home and handed me a business card.

Please call me

Was written on the back. Two weeks later i’d call you and you'd show up at the same spot where my car threw the last fit. Coincidence or fate maybe? “Same problem?” You'd say. And then you'd give me an odd stare glasses in the night? You'd stay quite while I bite my lip. You'll keep your head down underneath the hood and the car will spit and sputter until it goes silent like that night with you.

I know you wonder why I didn't call but I couldn't just call you. I was in a relationship with a violent man. A man who'd chase me if I ran. And I did and that's why all my stuff was packed in the back seat and it explains the blood on my sleeve. I did what I had to do.

You saw what I wanted to tell you and you looked like you already knew and you still said nothing. I’d tell you where I want to go. And we hop in your truck and we head for the night. You’d grab my hand even with another man's blood on my shirt. You take me as I existed and I’d lay my head on your shoulder. We live happily ever after until the cops find me.

The others around you

Condescending, disappointed

20/20 blindness

To you

But you don’t care

When you look in the mirror

You smile

And she smiles back

His zits were like rotten red roses adorning a putrefied carton of milk, repulsively endearing. He reaches for my long hair that’s as oily as the ocean. His fart like stench fills my bubbly red champagne lungs, his breaths panting like a dog. The sky is screaming and crying tears of anger down on the roof of our home like a battering ram.

“Well, the weather could be better.” He sighs like the dirt floor that shifts beneath us.

Crackle, pop, and crackle. Crick, crack, crick crack. My dear bacon bringer’s knees and back moan and groan like a door desperate for oil as he clomped along. I followed with steps a swan would be envious of, gliding across the floor like a Roomba. His swampy palms inclose over my pustule covered hand that match his face as he leads me to the table covered in fairy lights that remind me of the beady-eyed spiders that adorn my bedroom at night.

His eyes meet mine as I avoid making eye contact with the green and yellow well done creepy crawlies in the edges of his eyes and stare into his booger colored pupils, his stringy fried truffula tree textured hair grazing my clammy cottage cheese skin. The fungus colored slabs of hair on his forehead move up and down like an elevator as his left eye twitches like a squirrel after three cups of coffee.

His smile spreads across his face like eczema and a Cheshire worthy grimace spreads across mine.

“I love you more than bed bugs love Tea Tree oil.” He mewls softly, like the murmur of the humid wind that surrounds me.

“I love you more than elephants love mice,” I reply as loud as the clattering of the rickety old radiator in the corner of the sewer like room. He stands like a bent toy soldier and trudges as if through a swamp to the other side of the sweating room. With a clatter and a bang, he hauls a witchy cauldron into his twig arms and drops it onto the table with a loud crack that I’m sure even the crown heard. The cauldron as black as the withering soul in my body is filled with a slimy creature like a blobfish dyed green, it rolls and stews releasing toxins into the room like pollution. With the flourishing swoop of a crane, he ladles the roiling stew into two bowls like a scientist scooping the brains from cadavers and putting them away for later. With a loud snap, his elbow bends like a broken hinge, slowly and hesitant, towards me, the bowl resting in his Jack Skellington like hands. I flutter my spider-legged fake lashes and reach for the spoon, taking a heap as big as the trash islands in the ocean and take a bite, hungry as a vulture. The simmering stew tastes better than moldy fish oatmeal. The melody of smacks and slurps fills the cave of a room.

“Dear, Dear Drazella, I love thee more than women love flowers on Valentine's day” He sneers like a moldy fox.

“Oh my darling, darling Vlad, I love thee more than Victoria loved Victor,” I reply as softly as the shuffling of the extra-large roaches in the corner.

With a smile that turns the stomach, full of spiders and green residue, he leans in. With a smile as intoxicating as the wine beside us I lean in as well. The ghoulish tension in the room could be cut with a guillotine. Then our lizard-like lips meet and we share a kiss only two slimy and repulsive creatures like us could achieve. My eyes peel open like a couple of moldy bananas, and my dear Vlad is wearing my beautiful chunky vanilla protein shake skin, cause as they say “You never really understand a person until you climb into their skin and walk around in it.”