by Kate Messick
It’s late, but the buses to Gunbarrel should still be running, though how often is questionable. I walk quickly to the station. Boulder is very friendly, but the station, especially at night, is creepy. I hurry into the fluorescent lit room. It reminds me a little of Joe’s zombie gauntlet and that makes me smile. I easily find the schedule for the DASH that goes between Boulder and Longmont. It will still be a good 35-minute walk from the bus stop to my place, but my boots are comfortable and will keep me warm.
“Damn it,” I say out loud. The sound echoes in the room and wakes up a bum I didn’t notice asleep in a corner.
“Spare some change?” the bum slurs, his words thick with liquor.
I just missed the bus, and the next one isn’t for an hour. I’m not waiting here. I throw the man a quarter and hurry out of the station. There is an ice-cream shop across the street and I wander in. I have my e-book and will soon have some ice cream. Ice cream makes everything better.
“What can I get you?” the teenager behind the counter asks.
I order a chocolate malt and get out my card to pay … it’s still at Tetreazy. I was in such a rush, I didn’t stop to pay my tab. I look for cash. I have two dollars and some unknown amount of change. It costs three dollars to catch the bus.
“Shit,” I curse loudly. “Never mind, cancel that.”
“But I already started mixing it,” the kid whines.
“Well, I can’t pay for it,” I respond heatedly. Once again, I regret my words but can’t take them back. I manage an apologetic grimace before I shuffle to the corner of the little ice-cream shop. I sit at the tiniest of tables and empty my wallet and then my purse. Two dollars and eighty-eight cents. I shredded my bank card the first time it let me overdraft my account and charged me for it. I think back to the bum I threw the quarter at.
I feel a tightness in my chest as panic starts to grip me. I take deep, steadying breaths. I can always go back for my card. I have uber on my phone. I’m not stuck. I’m not in high school. No one is picking on me. Joe is just teasing me. He doesn’t know any better. I chant to myself and take deep breaths until my heart stops racing. I notice a new text on my phone.
Dillon: You ok?
I put my phone down and take another deep breath. I hate Dillon and Joe right now. No, that’s not true; I hate myself right now. I have gone years without friends. I haven’t had the start of a panic attack since high school. Well, except for finding out Amorino is married, but that gets its own special category.
Sandy: I’m fine.
“Hey,” I say to the teenager behind the counter. We’re the only people in the shop at the moment, and the irony of the question I’m about to ask is not lost on me. “Spare some change?”
The bus takes a roundabout route through the south side of Boulder, picking up people before heading to the Diagonal. As if my last hour waiting for the bus alone with my thoughts wasn’t enough time, I have another forty minutes or so now. I’m not really mad at Joe. I mean, I am. He was being an ass. But I’m in a weird place. I’m not used to being unhappy with my choices. I usually move on so easily, and I’m just not this time. Amorino. My stupid landlord’s words about my future. And Dillon poking at Nozomi, at me. What am I doing with my life? Why can’t I just say it doesn’t matter and go back to having fun?
There are many parts of me that changed after my dad died. Parts of me that I never truly accepted because of whatever excuse I used at the time and am still using now. I cling to this idea that if I’m happy now, I won’t be sad, ever. But this is the idea of a hurt teenager. A teenager that keeps getting hurt over and over. Joe made me do shots with Steven every time I was needlessly defensive. It was so many shots. I didn’t dwell on it at the time. But, honestly, it really opened my eyes to how defensive I truly am.
I want to change. Tonight didn’t need to end with me leaving. I could have just drunk the martini, or dumped it on Joe, or ignored it. There were so many options, but I left. Because I’m uncomfortable with myself.
I bring up Nozomi’s back story on my phone. I don’t need to see it. Like everything, the typed page is burned into my memory, but I want to finish it. I lied to Dillon. It’s not finished, though it’s close. It’s not creative or fantasy. I couldn’t think of anything for Nozomi, so I just wrote down what I was going through. We’re obviously not the same physically, but mentally and emotionally we are. I need an outlet.
Greatest Fear: Being trapped in a future. Being so locked into my choices that I can’t enjoy the moment.
Ideal: Freedom – Chains are meant to be broken, as are those who would forge them.
Bond: I work to find a place. A people that will accept me and a purpose beyond what my father had planned for me.
Back Story: I was born two-hundred years ago. I killed my mother coming out and was raised in my father’s vampire court. I had private tutors, arms masters, and every advantage. My favorite tutor, Alaric Malcolm, spent hours teaching me strategy and history. But as soon as his lessons were over, I was alone. I never had real friends. My father pushed and pushed until I ran. I found brief refuge at a university where I learned about friendship and my mother’s people. But despite my years there, I didn’t feel like I belonged. Eventually, I returned to my father. He welcomed me with open arms but told me of his evil plans against my mother’s people. To stay with him was to become a weapon against half my nature. And so, I ran again.
I deleted the last sentence. Nozomi is more than conflicting natures and running. I begin to type instead.
I will not be used. I am not a weapon. I am not a human or a vampire. I am an individual. I journey to find confidence in who I am and be more than my two races. To maybe help others find their confidence once I find mine. And most importantly, find friends who respect and accept each other for their uniqueness. I will not run from my father or myself. I will find a way to accept both my mind and my future, whatever that will be.
I read the paragraph again. I’m happy with it, now I just have to get through the next week until our D&D game.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Reality, Bela Casa Construction, Home Development
Construction sites are loud, muddy pits of organized chaos. Smoothed out paths for large machinery sit in juxtaposition to tools and trash. These are both neatly stacked and haphazardly strewn about. Projects that look to be half finished and forgotten lay about, unattended for days until they are suddenly gone. It’s a mystery anything is ever built at all.
Sandy Yuhi
“What are you reading?” Amorino asks.
I hear the door bounce open and closed, but choose to ignore it, not looking up from my e-book. That’s my new plan: always be busy. Since Amorino is unavoidable as my boss, I just need to always be unavailable for anything personal. Devon is still doing an amazing job sticking with me when possible. But Amorino has found more assignments for him in the last few days.
“War Made New: Technology, Warfare, and the Course of History,” I answer, not putting it down.
“So, light reading, then,” Amorino responds, trying to engage me in conversation. I ignore him, my eyes taking snapshots of pages. I hear a long, suffering sigh. “We dug up some metal scraps in section eleven, prepping the ground for grass.”
I put down my book and gather my stuff to go document and clear the area. Amorino flanks me like an honor guard as we walk. I have been waiting for whatever the next trick is up his sleeve, but so far, he seems resigned to his new life in my dog house. I kind of like the imagery of that.
Speaking of dog house. Like I’m best at, I’m just pretending that I didn’t leave Joe and Dillon at Tetreazy like the petulant child I am. Even sent a cheery group text, asking when we’re doing it again.
We reach section eleven soon enough. A supervisor shows me what they have found and I compare it to the known shapes and types of materials from the blueprints. I let him know that he can pull it all out, it’s not connected to much else, but that he should expect to find more in the
neighboring sections.
“I would think it would be best to take it all out now,” I say.
“We build house by house,” the builder tells me.
“Ok, but you know when you get to site thirteen you’re going to have the same problem,” I respond. “Why not avoid it by looking ahead?”
“Because that’s not the way the contract reads,” the builder explains. “If we lose funding, we need to have as much completed as possible the minute the funding is gone.”
“Are you worried about funding?”
“No,” he answers.
We both look at each other for a moment, both aware that this action lacks foresight but unable to do anything about it. It reminds me of my life right now and I have to struggle to not laugh.
“I’m just here to offer advice and clear stuff,” I finally say. I have to turn my head up to make eye contact with Amorino and I feel warm rays of the sun on my smiling face. “Unless Mr. Bianchi has anything to add.” I pause and Amorino shakes his head and tells them to carry on. I turn and head back for my pod.
Amorino comes up beside me. “Things are not perfect in my life,” he says. The site is filled with the sound of machine motors, back-up beepers, and hammers the frames of the first few houses are already taking shape. “I could really use a friend.”
I keep walking for a bit. Conflicted but still smiling. Amorino has always been there for me. If he really needed a friend, I want to be there for him, but this could be just another attempt to use me to cheat on his wife. I still hate myself for that.
“If this is an attempt to sleep with me again,” I start to say and feel Amorino’s gloved hand slip into mine.
“It’s not. I just want to talk to my oldest and best friend,” he assures me.
He swings my arm and pulls me along, skipping like we’re little kids again. I feel a weight lift off my chest, and I can’t stop my laughter as we skip all the way back to my desk.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Reality, Sandy’s Studio Apartment
Technology has changed the way we communicate. It has made it easier to be complimentary and critical. Ingenuous and manipulative. You can rewrite thoughts until they say exactly what you want. But, at the other end, they are still being read by another human who will find anything and everything you didn’t write.
Sandy Yuhi
Dillon: So, you’re having lunch with your boss who has been making you uncomfortable at work?
Sandy: He hasn’t been so bad this last week.
Dillon: I don’t know. It sounds like a bad idea.
Sandy: That’s why I’m asking you for backup.
Dillon: Oh, I misunderstood that part.
Sandy: Actually, you were telling me you had lots of time off. I was wondering if you wanted to take the afternoon off and go for a hike in the fall leaves.
Dillon: I’m not much of a hiker.
Sandy: It’s ok. I’m not either. We will drive up and do an easy one in the Aspens. And I will have you pick me up from lunch so there is a set time limit with my boss.
Dillon: I don’t know if I want to meet your boss.
Sandy: Dillon, you won’t. I just need you to text me that you’re outside so I can rush off.
I’m a little surprised Dillon doesn’t want to do this. He has hinted several times at wanting to take some time off work and I thought the offer of a little adventure would pull him in, hook, line and sinker.
Dillon: I don’t like deceiving people. And this just seems complicated. I want to hike with you though.
I’m glad we’re texting. I’m hurt that I reached out and he’s turning me down. Maybe my plan is a little childish, but I need something. I think he’s just very powerfully guided by his moral compass. This isn’t about me. I hope anyway.
Sandy: Well, the hike is not actually the point. I mixed up Dillon and Strider. I forget how sweet you are.
Dillon: Thanks, I think?
Dillon: Are we hiking?
Sandy: Another time.
I’m disappointed as I type the last two words. Dillon would have been the perfect company after whatever Amorino has to say to me. Dillon has such a happy life. I love hearing about it. His family is so close, his mom and dad married for thirty-three years. He has two sisters, one older and one younger. The younger sister still lives in their home town and has followed in their parents’ physiology footsteps, even joining their practice. His older sister has also gone into technology and works in special effects for movies.
Talking to Dillon is like a breath of fresh air. But I also enjoy poking at him for it. It’s like the bad things in life had never touched him. And even he agreed that he’d been pretty lucky. Other than the usual hazing in grade school, chess club would never be cool, he seemed to make it through reality unscathed. He takes my teasing in stride, almost always quoting some book that could teach you a similar lesson.
Dillon and I are both reading The Lies of Locke Lamora at the same time so we can talk about it. We had just started, but I’m already on the last book that’s out; I just learned it’s an incomplete series, blast. The author‘s world-building is incredible: I can close my eyes and smell Scott Lynch’s streets and feel the cool, cold surface of Elderglass under my fingers. I wish that I was Locke, the brilliant con artist, and could come up with some genius scheme that would fix everything.
But I’m not. I’m me. And getting picked up toward the end of lunch is my best solution. I only know two people that might be willing to do that, and the first already turned me down.
Sandy: Hey, I know you work in Aurora, but I need a favor.
Joe: I love it when people owe me things. What can I do to make that happen?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Reality, 303 Distillery
Located just off the Diagonal as one leaves or enters Boulder, 303 Distillery started as bathtub vodka in some guy’s basement. Knowing he had a good thing going, but not many funds to run with, he purchased a series of old shipping containers, turned them into buildings. And, much like his vodka, started his business from scratch. With time and love it has grown as all things should. Should being the key word.
Joe Smartin
I pull up in front of the distillery five minutes early but text Sandy anyway. I will call her in five minutes if she isn’t out. Things have been a little strained since Tetreazy and I was looking forward to getting the chance to make it up to her. It’s a beautiful day. The Colorado sun is warm in the bright blue sky.
Sandy is seated, facing the parking lot at the back of an odd arrangement of metal and wooden tables. She doesn’t look upset at this distance, but I know this isn’t a lunch she’s comfortable with.
“Hello,” she answers when I call five minutes later.
“Hey, I’m here. If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to miss our opening.”
“I really need to leave now. This is my ride,” I hear her say to her boss.
“One minute,” she says back into the phone.
I hear the clunk of the phone being set on the table and muffled voices come over the line.
“Just blow him off.”
“Amorino, I’m not blowing my friend off.”
“Friend? Sandy. Come on. You probably paid a taxi driver to stage this.”
“Joe is my friend,” I hear her snap and see her stand.
“Ok, Joe is your friend,” Amorino says. I can’t help but feel like this is a very inappropriate exchange between a boss and his employee. “Sandy, just sit for one more minute. I’m not lying to you.”
I see her shoulders slump and I decide not to wait for this to play out. It takes me ten seconds to exit my car and be at their table.
“San-San, we need to go,” I state, knocking on the metal table obnoxiously with my knuckles.
Amorino turns to me and holds out a hand. “Friend Joe, I’m assuming,” Amorino says.
“We’ve met.” I shake his hand politely.
It takes him a moment to place me, but I see his eyes
flash darkly as soon as he does.
“Joe, this is my boss, Amorino,” Sandy introduces us, though It’s not necessary.
“Good to meet you officially.” Amorino’s handshake is overly firm.
I keep mine polite. “Likewise.”
“Sorry. You didn’t need to get out of the car.” Sandy is already holding her stuff.
To my surprise, Amorino reaches across the table and gently rests his hand on Sandy’s arm. “Think about it.” His voice goes down a notch as he says it and his thumb rubs a circle in her fleece coat.
“I won’t. You are full of shit.” She steps back and pulls her arm free of Amorino’s loose grip. I happily place myself between Sandy and Amorino’s view of her perfect backside as she storms off.
“Good to see you again,” I say as I walk away from the table.
Sandy is on the passenger side when I slip into the driver’s seat. “You shouldn’t have gotten out of the car,” she chastises.
“Someday, I’m going to help you out and you’re going to say thank you,” I respond. “Where to?”
“Anywhere that’s not here.” Not one for plans, I had expected this.
I put the car in gear and press start on my GPS. Sandy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
“So, do you need a job?” I finally ask in the quiet of my car.
“No, that’s the problem. I’m under contract and can’t quit,” she answers flatly. “Dammit Joe. I just … he claims that everything was above water. She knew and was ok with it. So there is no reason for it to stop.”