Ten Thousand Points of Light

by Michelle Warren

  He has to see my discomfort and the rigidness in my posture. But he’s grinning, teeth tugging at his lip, like my mortification is the best gift in the world. Evan nears and scrutinizes my empty wineglass.

  “What?” I snap, not wanting to give him the chance to construct another arrant one-liner.

  “Nothing. Just didn’t peg you for the drinking type.” He shoves his hands into his pockets with a shrug.

  “And what type did you peg me for?”

  A smile shadows his face as if I just played into his personal joke. He presses his lips together before he says, “An uptight, prissy princess who’s never done anything remotely risky in her life. Drinking included.”

  I set my jaw at his assessment. Even if it’s true, my mind dashes to consider a comeback. It zigzags from one brassy retort to the next. But what my instincts plead for me to do when he challenges me is bulldoze him right back, knocking him off his haughty high horse.

  This alluring option plays in my mind like a movie.

  I set my glass down and slink toward Evan until we’re face to face. I place my hand over his chest. At my touch, his chest muscles stiffen beneath his worn T-shirt.

  When he exhales, I read the wild excitement in his stunned eyes. He may have been joking, but I can tell there was a kernel of truth to his offer. He wants me. Though I don’t have time to consider why, the thought of being desired excites me. Deep down, I enjoy this new game between us.

  I lick my lips. His gaze drops to them. With his building interest, I lean closer until my lips catch the sandpaper scruff from his chin and the softness of his full lips. His accelerated breathing warms my face. Behind my controlled facade, my own heart lurches with excitement.

  Evan wasn’t expecting this aggressiveness from an uptight princess. Good. That’s the point. Now that he’s in shock, I send four words across his skin at his offer to shower together, “Not. On. Your. Life.”

  When his eyes widen with confusion, I give him a shove, sending him over the door’s threshold and into the hallway. With a cool sense of victory cheering me on, I slam the door in his handsome face.

  Perhaps if I had more alcohol circulating in my veins to lower my walls of reason, I would have the courage to approach him and prove him wrong. Perhaps if every move I made wasn’t so cautious or calculated, I could. At his challenge, I want nothing more than to be the opposite of what he expects or the opposite of what I expect.

  I become sullen with the acknowledgment that he sees my flaws. It’s enough for me to fight with my own negativity, but now I have to fight harder to hide them from him too? I already do it with everyone at work. I consider the bright side of this unfortunate conversation. In a few words, Evan’s cured my unwanted budding attraction.

  “Are you done for the night? I’d like to have my apartment back. I have uptight and prissy things to do.” I grit my teeth.

  “Sure thing, Cat. But if you change your mind about the shower,” he saunters for the door, “you know where to find me.”

  CHAPTER 4

  It’s night two of attempting to sleep on Aggie’s lumpy couch. It smells like Cheetos and sweaty feet. I lay awake counting the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on her ceiling. There are one hundred and eleven. I roll and face the bookshelf, only to find her porcelain giraffe collection. I grimace at their crazy marble eyes and pink feather collars and flop a new direction, tugging the covers with me.

  Tonight it’s not insomnia I’m suffering from, it’s that I can’t stop thinking about Evan. It’s not because he’s attractive. It’s not because he annoys me. It isn’t even because he flirted with me. It’s because he made he angry enough to imagine I could take control of a situation and fight back. That’s something I cannot ignore, because it’s a first in my short recollection.

  Yes, I had run away from my home and family to move to Chicago, but that was not an act of control. It was an act of survival. There was no way I was ever going to find out who I was before with my parents forcing me into the cookie-cutter shape of the daughter they wanted. During my two-year recovery, I lived under their watchful eyes, their list of rules, and listened as they drilled me with their unattainable goals. I was drowning. Everything within me screamed for a new life I could discover on my own.

  When Evan called me uptight and prissy, those words hit a nerve. Those are words I would use to describe my mother and father. Perhaps I had overcome those traits and loosened up before when I was in college and on my own. I can’t be sure, but when I imagine myself free as a bird like Aggie, my pulse dances.

  Maybe I owned a porcelain giraffe collection. If I had, my parents would have called it tacky and childish. It didn’t matter what I did, or what I’ll ever do, I’ll never be good enough for them. It’s sad someone my age obsesses about these things, but in the after they were a huge part of my life.

  My phone chirps with a text message, tugging me from my antsy mood. I lift it from the coffee table. The time reads one a.m.

  EVAN: Ur damn water is fixed.

  Normally I would place the cell back on the table and ignore the message because this is what I do—allow texts to mellow. I deconstruct and look beyond the words to identify underlying meanings. Only then can I determine an optimal response. But tonight I stare at his words, refusing to let go. I snag my bottom lip with my teeth when a sassy response is the first thing that comes to mind.

  My fingers fly over the buttons and I type: It’s about damn time. My thumb hovers between one of two emojis. Which to pick? The angry purple devil or the smiley face? Adding the second would change the context, like all is forgiven, or worse, like I’m flirting. And given the clear messages I’ve been sending, I should not be flirting.

  For the first time after I stop thinking, select one, and press send. There’s a bloop as the Internet gods deliver the message to Evan. And as soon as they do, I regret my decision. Damn smiley faces.

  Three bouncing bubbles appear below my text. I grip the phone, waiting for his response.

  EVAN: Shouldn’t u b out partying with ur blonde leprechaun?

  I smirk at the visual.

  ME: Aggie would b thrilled 2 know her St. Pat’s costume left an impression. But no, ATM, I’m *trying* 2 sleep on her uncomfortable couch b/c she has running water.

  EVAN: It’s hard not 2 forget a leprechaun vomiting outside my window. N u should’ve taken me up on my offer. My shower is ur shower. Then u could have slept—

  The text cuts off, but my mind has already filled in the blanks. The bouncing circles return, and he finishes his thought.

  EVAN: on my super comfortable couch. :)

  What a smart-ass.

  I type a response but don’t press send. My heart races when I stare at my words. I would prefer your bed. My words are brazen. Too brazen. I swipe my tongue over my dry lips.

  For a reason I can’t explain, tonight I’m fearless. The stars make me believe I can be confident without consequence. They trick me into believing I can be carefree like Aggie. They justify I can flirt with a guy, have fun with a guy, and right now I’m wanting Evan to be that magical guy.

  I know what he’s seeing on the other side—the bouncing gray circles. I could continue to flirt but my neurotic apprehension whispers that no one could ever want me. It nitpicks at any uplifting thought, especially the sneaky ones that slip through its barrier.

  Immediately the wide net of hope I cast reels back, abandoning all positive encouragement. There’s not much struggle. It happens as easy as blinking or breathing. Before I can protest or fight, I delete my text.

  The cell feels too hot in my hands. I need to get rid of it. My blanket falls away when I sit up and toss the cell across the room. It slices through the air, landing in the serape-covered chair beside a glittery mermaid pillow. Now responding would take real effort, like defying the unyielding darkness of my mind or forging the comfort of my lumpy sofa. I scramble under the covers, tugging them tighter around my neck and squeezing my eyes shut.

  As soon
as I settle and find a comfortable position, the cell buzzes. From across the room it’s muffled, but my ears tune in to the vibrating case hopping across the cushion. I tighten into a ball.

  When it buzzes a reminder two minutes later, I inhale deeply and open one eye. The cell’s face lights, illuminating the ceiling. Evan’s texted again. I curse him in my mind. I want to know what he said but if I read it, I’ll write back. So I stay planted. I will not engage.

  Becoming involved with someone who lives in my building would be catastrophic. Becoming involved with anyone isn’t an option. I’m terrible with awkward confrontations, and imagining facing Evan in the wake of imminent disaster causes me to shiver with excess energy. I tighten my grip on my quilt and tug it over my face. My breath warms my dark cocoon.

  My hyper-anxiety often blurs any chance of logical thinking. Or maybe it’s overthinking? In this case, it discourages me from relationships or one-night stands I have yet to have. I nervously tap my foot on the arm of the sofa.

  I have too much to resolve before I can invite anyone into my disheveled life. With the decision made, I want to sleep, but I lay awake for hours. I peek out from beneath my covers and count the stars on the ceiling again. There are one hundred and nine this time. I count them until I’m certain of the number—definitely one hundred and eleven.

  In the morning I buy Aggie breakfast to thank her for allowing me to crash for the weekend. With a backpack of overnight clothes, I head home. Today my apartment door’s locked. Thank goodness. I allow myself inside and slip on the chain lock. As soon at it clanks into place, I lean my back on the door. Finally. I’m alone.

  I head for the shower, eager to wash away the stench of Cheetos and feet. Mercifully it works. Beneath the pelting heat of the water, I find myself crouched on the tub’s floor, inhaling steam.

  I’m two sides of a coin. On one side I’m a shiny mask of busyness, searching for perfection and achievement in the after. This is what the outside world sees. The other side of the coin is dull and corroded. Behind closed doors, I’m searching to find my past memories, while unsure about every move I make. And worse? I’m insecure and lonely beyond reason.

  What if I can never get myself together? What if I never remember before? What if I’m not good enough at my job? What if no one ever loves me? What if I’m this lonely forever?

  That last question breaks me.

  CHAPTER 5

  Thursday after work I stop at Veruca Salt’s Chocolate Shop on Oak Street. With a box of chocolate-covered salted caramels tucked under my arm, I knock on room 206 at St. Agnes’ Assisted Living building in the Gold Coast.

  “Come in,” a deep voice rings from the other side.

  Pressing the door wide, I find Ozzy in his chair near the picture window. A twisted wood cane leans against the wall at his side. Today he’s entertaining a pretty nurse. Her blue-eyed gaze is tethered to his quick, fluttering hand gestures. He’s performing one of his dazzling magic tricks, which typically ends in a thirty-minute harmonica serenade. He’ll show off his wide range of talents for anyone he can corner.

  The nurse claps and cheers when he finishes, and the heaviness I’d been carrying on my shoulders lifts as soon as I step inside.

  Ozzy owns a tiny home on Astor Street in one of the nicest neighborhoods in the city. I fell in love with it the moment I ran past it a month after I moved here. It was abandoned, in need of love, and I went on the hunt to find the owner. That’s when I found him.

  At the time I couldn’t afford it, not that it was for sale. It didn’t matter. I’ve been determined to make it mine. We’ve grown to know each other well during these past months, and I’ve happily adopted him as a grandfather. He’s been better family than my own and my voice of reason compared to Aggie’s crazy.

  “And I thought I was your only gal.” I say hello to the nurse and drop my things on the nearby table. I kiss Ozzy on his brown balding head, right between two large age spots.

  “You know I have to fight them off, but I only have eyes for you, sweet pea.” His eyes burn bright with the playful lie.

  Truth be told, the only woman he has eyes for is his late wife, Ada. A silver framed photo of her sits on a side table, watching over him. She’s lovely with dark hair rolled in soft curls and a string of pearls around her graceful neck. It’s an image taken around the time they were married.

  “I’ll be back at nine with your meds, Mr. Elliot.” The nurse closes the door and disappears.

  “How are you today?” I drag a chair close and sit.

  “Any day I’m here is a great day. And any day I get to see you is even better.” He pulls a pair of gold wire-rim glasses from his shirt pocket, opens the arms, and slides them onto his face. Behind thick lenses, his mossy brown pupils magnify to the size of quarters, which brings a smile to my face.

  He continues, “But more importantly, where’ve you been off to? I haven’t seen you in four weeks.”

  I glance at the floor, feeling guilty for not returning sooner. For this week I can blame the late nights spent at work. “You have a better memory than me.”

  “I have something that helps.” He reaches to his table and picks up a flat rectangular box. He lifts the top, revealing a second layer of protective wax sheeting. Underneath, there’s a grid of plastic compartments. All of them empty except for one, where the final chocolate salted caramel lives.

  “It’s my candy calendar. I eat one a day, making that goodness last. I know you’re visiting soon when there’s only a few left. Looks like you got here in a nick of time.” He removes the last one and pops it in his mouth.

  “Lucky for you I have new set.” I reach for my bag and extract the same exact box. He accepts it with a curling smile.

  “I may just give you my house. You’ve practically paid for it in candy already,” he says with a full mouth.

  “You know that’s not why I’m here. I can’t resist your charm.”

  He laughs with shoulders. And in doing so his entire body jiggles, including his belly. “Don’t I know it? How’d you think I talked Ada into going out with me?”

  “I’m sure all you had to do was smile.”

  “Ha! If only it was that easy. She liked what she saw, of course, but she couldn’t be coaxed. She said I was a rebel and she didn’t have time for that.” His slender fingers swing in wild gestures.

  “You? A rebel?” I lean closer, preparing for the story.

  “Well, in my youth I was what you call today, um,” his gaze wanders as if searching for the correct term, “a player.”

  “I should have guessed.” I laugh.

  “Now hold on, let me explain. I liked courting the ladies and they liked me well enough, but my best friend Eli didn’t have the same luck. He was a funny-looking fella, lanky, chipped tooth, and shy but real nice. Anyway, I’m not sure how but one day he talked Ledie, one of Ada’s three sisters, into a date. The catch was Eli needed to bring a date for Ada’s older sister Eugina.

  “Not one to turn down a woman, I agreed to help. But when we arrived to pick them up and I laid eyes on Eugina for the first time, I knew I wouldn’t be able to follow through.”

  “Oh no.” I cover my mouth to hide a smile.

  “Did I mention how my bad manners and stupidity far surpassed her lack of beauty? I can say that now but back then it was all I could do to dust that house as fast as possible.”

  “You didn’t.” I slap my palms on my thighs.

  “Excused myself to the restroom and promptly climbed out the window to escape.” He clucks his tongue.

  “Poor Eugina.”

  “I know, I know. Crazy enough my stupidity was rewarded. Ada was sitting on the back porch when I tumbled out the window and landed at her feet. When I looked up and saw those beautiful sparkling brown eyes… Hmph. And those gams! The connection we had in that moment was undeniable, and I’ve loved her ever since.” He places his palm over his heart.

  “No wonder she didn’t give you the time of day.”

&
nbsp; Ozzy lifts the top off the new box of candy and offers me a caramel. I select one and drop it in my mouth. On contact with my tongue, the salt waters my taste buds.

  He takes one for himself, chews and continues, “And rightfully so. But if I wasn’t such a ninny, I wouldn’t have met her. And if Eugina didn’t tag along on Ledie and Eli’s date as a third wheel, she never would’ve met her husband, Ned, at the movie theater.

  “Eventually Ada cooled off, seeing how happy her sister was with Ned. That’s what she claimed anyway, but I have my own theory. I think she couldn’t stop dreaming of me. I was a hottie.” He licks his fingertip and presses it into his arm, while making a sizzling noise.

  I giggle. “And cocky?”

  “Whatever it was worked. We were married three months later.” He adjusts the bridge of his glasses.

  “You work quick.” My eyes widen.

  “Things were different back then. But when you know, you know. Besides, someone good’s coming for you. And when he does, destiny will trip him up and make him fall at your feet.” He leans back in his chair, gripping the armrests.

  My face scrunches as I take some time to consider.

  “Don’t keep me hanging. I know when a woman has something on her mind.”

  “It’s just—I don’t know. Nothing.” I shake my head. I’m thinking of someone I should not be. There’s a long pause as I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  Ozzy clears his throat and talks the way he does to fill the void. At first his lectures occur in a jumble, making no sense, but in the end there’s something to learn. Usually.

  “Every night when I sleep, I dream I’m in my twenties. I’m young, strong, and I can do anything. Including fly. Those are great dreams. And when I wake and see this wrinkled face in the mirror, and you know what I say to myself?”

  “What?”

  “I say, damn, Ozzy, you look even better. I wish Ada could see me now.” He glances skyward.