by DK Andrews
wrapping his hands around my waist. I accept it—he’s not going to hurt me.
“What was that about?” he asks, holding me tight.
I turn in his arms, facing his lips. “I just—I just wanted to run.”
“You are so pretty,” he says. I can see his pupils dilate with need.
In this moment, in his arms, I do feel pretty. “I know,” I say, freeing myself from his embrace. This might be the first time I ever believed that I could really be pretty.
“You are something else,” he says, grinning.
I laugh. The weather just couldn’t be any better. It’s sunny and warm. Only now do I realize how privileged I am—or, was, I guess—to live in this city with over 300 days of sunshine.
Sometime ago there was a temporary suicide prevention barrier erected on the bridge made of concrete crash barriers topped with a welded mesh fence. A permanent barrier fence now stands in its place. I was sad when it was completed—I was too late to commit what I thought would be a poetic suicide by jumping from the bridge. But I still admire this enormous arch that straddles the beautiful Harbor.
I touch the fence, it’s cold. I have fantasized about cutting through the fence and jumping down to my death. Surveillance cameras are always watching, though, so maybe I would have been saved.
“What are you thinking about?” Gabriel asks.
“Have you ever wanted to jump?” I ask, turning to him.
“Jump? From here?”
“Yes.”
“No,” he says. “I don’t think so. I mean if I jump I will die, obviously, unless I drop a heavy object first to break the surface of the water” he pauses “Sorry another piece of useless information, but going back to your question, I’ve never, ever wanted to commit suicide.” he looks at me. “I mean, when I found I was sick, I got scared, and while I got to the point where I learned to accept death, I never actually wanted to die.” He looks out over the water, deep in thought. “It might sound corny, but I think life is the greatest gift than anyone can ever receive.”
“You think so?” I sound more sarcastic than sincere.
“Absolutely.” He turns back to me, looking concerned. “Why do you ask? Have you ever wanted to jump?”
“Sure. You say that life is the greatest gift. Me? I say, I never asked to be born.”
“I guess no one asks to be born, but it’s totally up to us how we chose to live our life.”
I stare at the water and try to see through the glassy green surface to what lies below. I have my hands tightly clenched on the fence wires. The thought of jumping crosses my mind.
“Alina, what’s wrong?”
“It’s hard to explain. I’m just feeling anxious.”
“About what?”
“About everything, I suppose. I’m depressed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, sure, I’m functional—I can get out of bed each day and care for my brother. But the first thought I have when I wake up is, ‘how soon can I end this?’”
“End what?” Gabriel looks worried.
“My life,” I sigh.
“But why?”
“Lots of reasons I’d rather not get into right now.”
“But you overcame it, no?”
“What do you mean?”
“You want to live now! You are a Receiver, right?”
I nervously play with my bracelet. I can’t believe I still haven’t told him who I actually am. “Gabriel, look…” I pause and turn toward him, putting both my hand flat against his chest. His heart beats fast, which excites me. Gabriel takes one of my hands in his and leans forward. I’m motionless and speechless. I close my eyes and try not to think—to just go with the flow. I can feel the heat of his lips, and they are not even touching mine yet. I’m dying of anticipation.
“I can’t do this!” I shout as I rapidly turn away.
Gabriel runs his hands through my hair and directs my face towards his. I keep my eyes closed—I can’t look at him.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. Very softly, he touches his lips to mine. I keep my lips locked. I’m not ready to open up. He doesn’t pressure me, moving back a little. He gently runs his thumb on my cheek.
I put a hand out to distance myself from him. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m just not comfortable.”My heart is beating like a jackhammer, and my vision is blurry. I put my hands on my temples and try to gather my thoughts. What do I feel right now? Excitement? Commotion? So angry that I can’t figure out. My mood used to always be consistently sad, even at the times when I was with Micah; my heart would always break for him, knowing I can’t give him a better future.“I have issues,” I admit.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Gabriel asks, laying his hand on my back.
I hate that he is saying all the right words. It really complicates things. Why can’t he just tell me it’s all in my head, so I can write him off as an insensitive person who doesn’t listen?
“You know,” I say, “Sometimes I don’t believe you.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
I awkwardly move away from him and begin to walk along the bridge.
“I mean, you told me all about your past—about how selfish and ungrateful you were, and how suddenly you’ve turned into this sensitive, thoughtful person. Are you being sincere or just pretending?”
“I’m being honest! Why would I pretend? I am who I am. I told you I have changed. People change. I’m not a bad person, Alina, I just made some bad choices. For god’s sake, have more faith in people! Trust me”
Now I wish I hadn’t asked him; I didn’t realize how offensive the question would sound. He walks ahead, clearly not interested in listening or talking to me anymore.
I run through a list of cute things to say that might help me get Gabriel talking again, but I can’t seem to come up with anything cheerful or positive. I drag my feet and walk several steps behind him, frantically looking for words to say. Why must I always ruin everything?
“Where are we going?” I finally ask.
“We’re going to Fantasy world, aren’t we?” he snaps back.“To look for Nicole and Sophie?”
“Right, of course.”I pick up speed, trying to catch up with him. “Why are you walking so fast?”
“Sorry, that’s just the way I walk,” he says indifferently.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, I’m not mad. Just, just irritated, I think.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Sure there is.” Gabriel glances over at me and then keeps walking without an explanation.
“What can I do?” I ask.
He suddenly stops and cradles my face in his soft hands. “Stop doubting me,” he says emphatically. “I’m real.”
I’m dumbstruck, staring at his glimmering eyes. I’m losing control, I can feel it. I’m gasping for air.
“I know,” I finally say, embarrassed. I maneuver his hands away from my face and step back to avoid any further contact. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I honestly didn’t expect you to be so—”
“—so nice?” he interjects.
“Yes, so nice. I will be more considerate next time and watch what I say.”
“You don’t need to watch what you say,” he argues.
“But—”
“You can just be yourself around me,” he says, clasping his hands together. “But please, please don’t doubt me.”
“I won’t,” I say. I give him a smile, and we continue across the bridge.
He starts to tell me stories from his childhood but avoids any talk of siblings. When I ask if he has brothers or sisters, he quickly changes the subject. I guess I will never find out now.
I listen to him intently, and I’m mesmerized by the amount of information he knows—from the history of this city to the start of the internet to innovative technology. I’ve learned more from him in the past two hours that I did in ten years of school. The ti
me has flown by.
“Did you know that about 150 million years ago snakes like other reptiles had paws? Then there were errors in the nucleotide sequence-related enhancers—sections of DNA that bind to certain molecules and enhance the activity of a gene.
“I—” It’s all too academic for me.
“Oh,” he says, realizing that I’m not following what he’s saying. “Basically, snakes used to have paws, but they don’t anymore.”
“Right,” I say. “You do read a lot!”
“Yes, I do! Especially since I got sick.”
It dawns on me that we are probably nearing the end of my Mentior session and we still haven’t located Nicole and Sophie. At this point, I doubt we’ll see them today.
Gabriel turns in my direction. “I think it’s kind of good that Conversion doesn’t apply to old people.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if the Conversation didn’t have an age limit, then people would live forever.”
“True,” I say. I haven’t actually put that much thought into it, probably because it doesn’t affect me in any way—the date and time of my death have already been scheduled.
“The cut-off age to receive a new life is 39, and the older you are, the less of a life span you receive,” he says. “I guess the life energy of a young person doesn’t want to be trapped in an old body for too long. I don’t really know the science behind it, but it seems reasonable to me.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I say. “Are you parents older than 39?”
“Yes, they are.”
“What if something were to happen to them? Would you be OK just letting them go? They wouldn’t be able to take advantage of The Conversion.”
He doesn’t respond and just keeps walking. The question is too forward. We’ve almost