FWW-Story 5

This is my final full story for Fiction Writing. And...it has a title, but the titles are really quite bleh. So if you have a title idea, I'd love to hear it in the comments below. :]

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Arthur watched a drop of paint fall onto Michelangelo’s nose. They were in the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo on the scaffolding and Arthur on the floor. In Arthur’s lap was a pocket-size, leather-bound journal. It was opened to a page of small sketches, copies of what Michelangelo was painting on the ceiling.

The sound of a door shutting echoed through the chapel. “Drat,” Arthur said. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled through one of the wall panels into blackness.

His stomach flipped and he felt like he would throw up, but he held it down. Soon the feeling went away, and Arthur poked his head out of the top of an old washing machine.

Breathing in the dry Texas air, he looked around the laundromat. Faded blue paint, poking out from behind washing machines and driers, flaked from the walls. The windows that took up most of the front wall had been blacked out, and the door boarded up. Arthur crawled out of the washing machine and picked up an old lantern from the bench in the middle of the room. By the light of the lantern, he studied his sketches.

He had found the laundromat on his way home from school three years ago, a week or so before his parent’s divorce. Not wanting to go home, he had found a way inside the laundromat. The other kids at school had said it was haunted. Arthur didn’t believe in ghosts, but, once inside, he had an eerie feeling that his dad was in there with him and had hidden inside one of the driers.

Arthur shut his journal and stood up. In the right back corner, by a rusty loudspeaker, was a ladder. Arthur clambered up it and into the ceiling. Stooped low, he crept even further back until he came to a hole in the roof.

Once in the sunlight on the roof, he checked his watch. 5:30. “Supper” would be ready soon. By supper, he meant the cans of Spaghetti-Os his mom fixed for him every evening. After turning out the lamp and hiding it under a tarp, he climbed down a rope and dropped to the ground. As he did, his leg buckled and he stumbled, scraping his hand on the rough brick wall.

 “What were you doing in that old laundromat? It’s closed.”

Standing a few feet away, eating sunflower seeds, was a girl of about twelve. She had curly brown hair and a denim jacket over an aqua tank top. Arthur hurriedly shoved his journal into his pocket.

“That’s none of your business,” he said.

“What’s that behind your back?”

“Umm—it’s mine.”

The girl spat a mouthful of seed husks off to her side and shrugged. “You going to tend to that incision on your hand? I know first aid.”

Arthur looked at his hand. It was bleeding. “Yeah, well, so do I. But it’s nothing.”

 “My parents named me Jillian, but I’m Jill to you. What’s your name?”

“I’m late for supper.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and ran off down the street.

Jill spat out another mouthful of husks and watched them land in the dust. A few feet from where they landed, she saw a journal.

“Hey, Late for Supper! Wait!”

            Arthur stepped through the already half-open door to his home and shut it behind him. As he walked through the entry way and living room he picked up the scattered trash and dirty clothes. Sighing, he dumped the trash into the wastebasket and the laundry into their washing machine before tiptoeing into the kitchen.

            His mom was sitting at the table, rubbing her temples and staring at a piece of paper. The microwave was buzzing. Arthur could see the bowl of Spaghetti-Os slowly revolving inside. The microwave beeped, but his mom didn’t notice. Arthur took the bowl out, grabbed a spoon, and sat down at the table.

            The Spaghetti-Os were too hot to eat, so he reached for his journal. It wasn’t in his pocket. I must’ve left it in the laundry room. I’ll get it later. He grabbed a pencil and an empty envelope and started drawing. He thought back to inside the Sistine Chapel and tried to remember how  For now, though, he decided to do a quick sketch of his mom. She still hadn’t looked up.

            When he flipped the envelope over to draw on the back, he noticed the return address. It was from some legal office.

            “What’s this about?” he asked his mom.

            She looked up. “That’s…it’s from your dad’s attorney. He’s—he’s been put in jail.”

            “So he won’t be sending us any more money.”

“How’d you know about that?”

“I saw the checks,” Arthur said.

His mom’s voice broke. “But it’ll be ok. I’ll just have to get another job.”

“No, I want you to stay here with me.” You’re already gone almost all the time.

He heard a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Arthur said. He grabbed his bowl and ran to the entryway.

He opened the door and found Jill chewing her seeds.

“Your doorbell’s broke,” Jill said.

“We don’t need a doorbell. What do you want?”

She held out the journal. “You left this at the laundromat, Late for Supper.”

He snatched at the journal, but Jill shoved it into her belt in the back.

“My name’s not ‘Late for Supper.’ It’s Arthur. And give me my journal.”

“Hey now, don’t get tetchy. I saw that word in a book, by the way. Anyways, I’d like to offer a trade.”

He glared at her and tried to devise a way to get the journal back. He set his bowl down on a small nightstand in the entryway. “What kind of trade?”

“You show me what you were doing in the laundromat and I’ll give it back to you.”

“Ok. Let’s shake on it,” Arthur said, sticking out his hand.

Jill grinned and took his hand. As she did, Arthur reached around her back with his left hand and grabbed for the journal, but Jill twisted away. She laughed. Arthur’s face flushed crimson.

“Fine,” Arthur grunted.  “I’ll show you. Be there tomorrow at 3:15.”

“Oh, I have to go somewhere tomorrow. And nighttime’s cooler anyhow. I’ll be there at midnight tonight.” With that, she winked at him and ran off.

Arthur slammed the door and stormed off to his room, his supper forgotten on the nightstand.

Thirty minutes until I have to be at the laundromat.

He was on his bed, fiddling with his camera and staring through the darkness at his ceiling. It wasn’t just a journal. It was his sketches, his diary, his life for the past three years. He had to get it back, but he couldn’t bring himself to reveal the secret of the laundromat to Jill. He wouldn’t. But he had to.

Like the laundromat, he found the journal around the time of his parent’s divorce. He had found it among his dad’s leftover things after he moved out. Whenever he explored a new place in the laundromat, he made a note in the journal of what number it was and where it led to. He needed it.

He sat up and put his bare feet on the floor. Loosely knotting his shoelaces together, he hung them around his neck and tiptoed out into the living room. His mom was asleep on the couch. The TV was playing a late-night soap opera. Arthur stepped around the furniture and to the front door. He was about to go out when he saw his bowl from earlier. He picked it up and shuffled into the kitchen and put it in the near-empty fridge before quietly stepping outside.

The cool night wind blew energy into his skin as he sat down and put on his shoes. His watch said 11:48. He needed to hurry.

He ran the whole way and arrived three minutes early. Jill was already sitting by the back wall. When she saw him, she held out a bag of sunflower seeds.

“Salutations, Art. Seeds?”

Arthur clenched his fist. “Don’t call me Art. And no—thank you,” he added grudgingly.

Jill shrugged. “I’m ready when you are. I brought a penlight.”

“Whatever. I hope you can climb a rope. If not, tough luck,” he said and started scaling the wall. When he was at the top, Jill clambered up after him.

“I think I was faster than you,” she said.

Arthur didn’t answer, but pulled his lantern out from underneath the tarp and found the hole in the roof and crawled down. Jill followed immediately behind him.

Within two minutes they were inside the laundromat and Arthur flicked on his lantern, filling the room with light. “See? There’s nothing here.”

Jill ignored him and looked around. “Ooh, it’s kinda spooky. Told you nighttime was better.” She winked. “Anyway, if it’s nothing, why do you spend so much time in here?”

“I like to be alone,” he said, but he could tell she didn’t believe him. If I can’t convince her it’s nothing, maybe I can scare her. The Roman Coliseum is pretty gross—it should scare her off. He scanned the washers and driers, trying to remember which one was the Coliseum. “Can I have my journal now?”

Jill straightened up from inspecting one of the machines. “Nope, not until you tell me the truth. What are you hiding in here?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. There’s no way she’ll believe me.  “All right. Each of the laundry machines is a portal to another time and place.”

Jill squinted, unsure if he was being serious. “Ok. Take me through one.”

Arthur racked his brain. Which one, which one? Was it 12? 15? 3? He definitely didn’t want to take her to the Sistine Chapel. She’d never leave. He scanned the walls until his eyes came to rest on one just to the left of the center machine on the right wall. #4. I’m pretty sure that’s it.

He walked over to the machine, a drier, and turned the dial to thirty. “This means the drier’ll be open for thirty minutes. We have to get out before that dial hits zero or we’ll be stuck. Sure you want to go?”

Jill’s eyes shone in the lantern light. “Of course.”

“Fine. Just crawl through, and try not to puke.”

Jill stared at him for several seconds before stooping down. Then, she crawled through. Arthur waited a bit longer before following.

As he stepped out the other side, he stopped. They weren’t in Ancient Rome. They had come out from behind a garbage bin into an alley. Snow speckled the ground. Through a thin mist, he could see old cars rushing along the street several yards away. At the end of the alley was Jill, gawking at everything around her.

Oh, drat. I’ve never been here before. Rome must’ve been #6. He ran over to Jill. She spun around and practically yelled, “It really was a time machine!”

Arthur grunted. He looked up and down the street, trying to figure out where they were. At the nearest street corner, 7^th Avenue and Park Place, he saw a newspaper stand. Well, they do it in all the movies. I’ve always wanted to check a newspaper for the day and year.

He ran to the newspaper stand and checked one of the display papers. Jill ran up behind him.

“When are we?” she asked, still gawking.

Arthur set the newspaper down. “December 16^th, 1960.” His heart was pounding. He hadn’t been to a “modern” city before. As far as h could tell from his past experiences, each laundry machine led to a historical event, like the painting of the Sistine Chapel, the signing of the Declaration of Independence, or the Battle of Hastings. So what were they doing in 1960’s Brooklyn?

She was walking down 7^th Avenue, arms akimbo, spinning in the mist. Compared to hot, dry Texas, cold, drizzly New York was heaven. Arthur chased after her. The wind bit into his skin and the mist soaked his hair. Jill was equally wet and had to have been freezing, despite her denim jacket, but seemed unbothered by it.

“Come on, Jill, we should get home. I showed you what I do, now give me my journal, and let’s get out of here. It’s cold.”

“But isn’t this great? We’ve never had snow back home.”

“I’m serious, we need to leave. I’ve—well, I’ve actually never been here before, and”—he checked his watch—“we only have about 20 minutes left.”

She stopped spinning and flashed her teeth at him. “What a great reason to go exploring. I’m going to find a coffee shop.”

“No, come back or I’ll go without you,” he said, but she had already dashed around the buildings on the street corner. “No, Jill! Oh, you’re kidding me.”

He found her standing outside of a church. The sign out front said “Pillar of Fire Church.” Brick apartments, double-storied, lined the other side of the street. A mother and two of her children were sitting on the steps of one of the apartments. Jill was beginning to shiver now.

“That’s an odd name, don’t you think?” she asked.

“I don’t think there are many coffee shops around here,” Arthur said, pulling his arms into the body of his shirt.

“Maybe they have some hot chocolate inside or something.”

“Didn’t I tell you that we only have fifteen minutes before the washing machine closes?” Wow, come to think of it, that sounds really stupid.

She tossed him the journal. “You kept your end of the deal, Artie.”

“Are you even listening to me?” Arthur asked, warily checking their surroundings. He still had no idea what was going to happen, and it unnerved him. Then again, he reminded himself, it could be a famous baseball game or something.

Jill chuckled. “Fifteen minutes is plenty of time to have a snowball fight.” She quickly scooped together a rough ball of slush threw it at Arthur, hitting him squarely in the chest.

Gasping with the cold, Arthur hugged himself even tighter inside his shirt before shoving his arms back out. With several unpleasant words on the tip of his tongue, he scooped up his own snowball and flung it at Jill. It broke on her face, speckling her hair with dirty white. She laughed and chased after him.

Arthur started to crack a smile when he heard the sound of a plane zooming through the air. But the plane was low, way too low, and orange and red and black was flashing from the windows. The roar of the engines filled his ears as he yelled for Jill to get back. Jill was only a few feet away and needed no such warning. They ran for barely a second before they were knocked onto their faces as an explosion shook the earth.

When Arthur came to, he could feel blood running down his neck, but couldn’t tell if it was from his ears or nose. Dim screams echoed in his mind and his vision was fuzzy. He struggled to his hands and knees and turned around.

Fire, metal and brick were everywhere. Scattered among the wreckage were—no. He wouldn’t think about that. Jill was already up and running unsteadily towards the mother and children they had seen in front of the apartments. Arthur and Jill were far enough away from the blast that he knew they were not seriously injured, but the small family hadn’t had much time to get away.

Arthur wasn’t cold anymore, but an odd numbness filled his limbs and made it hard to stand. He had no idea how Jill was moving, but he had to get to her and make her leave. Their time was almost up. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to her, shielding his eyes from the wreckage.

Jill was on her knees, with two fingers on the mother’s neck. The mother had several large burns and cuts on her arms and blood was pooling beneath her. Her back must be really cut up. The two children, a boy and girl, had several minor scratches and scorch marks, but were largely unharmed. Passersby were flocking to the scene, staring in horror at the mess.

“Help me roll her over,” Jill said. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

Arthur complied. When they did, he immediately closed his eyes. The lady’s back was even more burnt and bleeding than he had thought. Jill started sobbing.

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know what to do now,” she said, looking up.

“Give me your jacket,” Arthur said and opened his eyes. “Take care of the kids.”

Jill quickly pulled her jacket off and turned to the boy and girl. Steeling himself, Arthur placed the jacket on the woman’s back and pressed hard, trying to staunch the blood. It wasn’t enough, so Arthur ripped off his own t-shirt and put it on her.

A voice in his head was screaming at him, Ten minutes left! Only ten before you’re stuck here!

He screwed up his eyes and pressed harder when he noticed blood seeping through her hair. He didn’t have any other clothing to use. Continuing to apply pressure on the jacket and t-shirt with one hand, he reached into his back pocket with the other and pulled out his journal. The paper wasn’t much, but it was something. Ripping the last few blank pages from the back, he pressed them to the woman’s head. He looked back and saw Jill tending to the crying siblings.

Soon, several EMTs ran over to Arthur and took over. He stepped out of the way and watched them put the woman on a stretcher. An older lady, presumably a neighbor, scooped up the two children. Jill was no longer sobbing, but her eyes were still wet. She ran to Arthur and buried her face in his shoulder.

Three minutes.

“Come on, Jill.” Arthur grabbed her hand and dashed back down the street. Jill stumbled along in her boots and tripped. Arthur pulled her back up and continued running.

As they rounded the final corner, he checked his watch. One minute left.

They turned into the alley. Arthur slipped on a patch of slush but regained his balance. The trash bin was only a few feet away. Sliding behind the bin, he saw the hole and dove through it, pulling Jill along with him.

He hit the tile floor of the laundromat hard. Jill landed on top of him. The drier beeped as the dial turned to zero.

Rainy Date

Kylie stepped out of the hair salon and under the awning over the door. The rain, which had been a light drizzle when she went into the salon, was now falling so heavily that it blurred the lights running along the street. Gritting her teeth, Kylie pulled her pink umbrella out of her Louis Vuitton handbag and struggled with the small button. A chipped thumbnail and several curse words later, the umbrella popped open. Kylie stepped out onto the street.

Brushing her freshly-permed hair out of her eyes, she checked the time on her iPhone. 5:43. Two minutes until she was supposed to meet David. That’s the last time I go to that hair stylist.

Kylie walked faster, heels dully clicking on the drenched sidewalk. The restaurant was a good eight minutes away walking, and she had taken the bus to the salon.  She had wanted to exercise more.  Stupid, stupid.

Three minutes later, she stood at a street crossing, glaring at the fuzzy red hand across the street. As she punched the button to make it green, she happened to look behind her. An old man—no, he couldn’t have been more than thirty—huddled next to one of the shops in ripped jeans and a shirt so soaked that it was nearly transparent. Kylie looked away quickly.

The hand changed to a green man, but Kylie hesitated a few seconds before crossing. When she did, her head was bowed and she stepped in a particularly large puddle, splashing her leg with muddy water, but didn’t notice. She was toying with the handle of her umbrella.

She was halfway down the block when she looked back. She could just make out the red hand again.

I’ll be even later and soaked through.

It’s just makeup and hairspray.

She turned around. 

Journeys

Journey Smollett sat by the inky river, watching the flock of black birds on the opposite shore. In the midst of them all was a yellow bird.

Black leaves, blown from the trees of ash, rustled around Journey’s feet. She looked up at the dim orb in the sky, its light seeping through the smoky clouds, and hugged her jacket tighter around her. The wind whipped her brown hair and chilled her through her jacket. Brushing her hair out of her face, Journey stood up and began walking down the path that ran along the river back home.

Soon she was walking through the gate in front of her house. A five-year-old boy ran at her and jumped into her arms.

“Whoa, calm down, Aaron,” Journey said, grinning. “I was only gone an hour.” It was then that she noticed his eyes were watering and her grin disappeared. “What’s wrong?”

He pointed back at the black brick house. “Momma was drinking again,” he said. Journey’s face hardened and she ran inside, still holding her brother.

Her mother lay facedown on a fraying brown chintz couch, arm flung over the edge. A large but empty beer bottle had fallen from her hand and rolled over to join a pile of similar bottles several feet away. Journey scoffed. She should’ve known.

“Selena,” Journey said. “Selena. Wake up!”

Her mother did not stir. 

Journey shook her roughly, finally getting a reaction.

“Wha—what do you want?” Selena Smollett said, half-conscious. Then her eyes seemed to register that she was speaking to her daughter. “Oh. Get me another drink, will you?”

“It’s only one in the afternoon—”

“Aaron, baby, will you get Momma a drink?”

Aaron shook his head vigorously and tightened his grip on Journey.

“I’ll get you your drink,“ Journey said, setting Aaron down on the floor. She went into the kitchen, grabbed a plastic cup, and filled it with water from the tap. Going back to the couch, she threw it into Selena’s face.

Selena gasped, now wide awake. “Journey, this is your father’s favorite couch!”

“Yeah, well, he’s not my father, and it’s the only couch,” Journey replied. “C’mon, Aaron.”

Journey left the room, followed by Aaron. They went outside and over to the chest-height, cast-iron fence. Journey leaned on it and stared down the road that led to the town. Aaron pushed his face against the bars and did the same.

“Some day, Aaron,” Journey said. “We’ll leave. We can go East. They say it’s a brighter place there.” Plus, that was where Dad went, Journey thought.

Aaron nodded his silent agreement. “I don’t like the dark here,” he said.

“Me neither.”

“Why’d you say he wasn’t your dad?” Aaron asked.

“Who, Rob? Because he’s not,” Journey replied. “Don’t you remember our real dad?”

“No.”

“I guess it’s better that way,” Journey said, talking more to herself than Aaron. “If you didn’t remember him, you wouldn’t remember how he went on another one of his stupid trips and never came back.”

“Where’d he go?”

Journey looked back at the road. “I don’t know. He said he was looking for someplace with a ‘real’ sun.” He had tried to take his family with him, but Selena thought he was crazy. Journey thought she did, too. He had to be crazy.

The government had sent them a letter saying he had died.

Just then, she saw a young man walking up the road towards their house. He was still a good ways away, but Journey could’ve sworn he was glowing.

As he drew closer, Journey became sure of it. He was glowing. Not brightly, but more of a shining aura around him. And he was walking straight towards their house.

“Hello,” he called when he was twenty feet from the gate. “You know, it’s rather awkward walking up to someone when that someone’s watching you the whole time.”

Journey looked closely at him. He looked about 18, with bright green eyes, blond hair, and very normal-looking clothes. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Evan,” he said, grinning broadly as he stuck out his hand.

Journey stared at his hand. “You know”—she smiled a bit—“it’s considered improper for a guy to start a handshake with a girl.”

“That’s how you do it here? Oh. I can never remember.” He pulled his hand back. “Anyway, as I said, I’m Evan. What’s your name?”

“Journey,” she said. “And this is my little brother, Aaron.”

“How do you do, Aaron?”

Aaron frowned. “Why are you shiny?” he asked.

Laughing, Evan reached down through the fence and patted Aaron’s shoulder. Then, very seriously, he said, “Fairy dust.”

“There’s no such thing as fairies,” Aaron said.

“Yep, you’re right. There’s not,” Evan said. He turned to Journey. “Well, it was nice to finally meet you two. I’ll see you both again sometime soon, I bet.” With that, he waved his hand and disappeared.

Journey blinked. “Bye? I guess?”

“He was weird,” said Aaron.

“Yeah, he was. I think I like him.” Journey wondered what he meant, though. It was nice to finally meet them?

She wondered when he would come back.

“Selena, you need to make him leave.” Journey said, scrubbing a dirty plate.

Journey and her mother were in the kitchen. Selena was blinking away tears as she poured two glasses of wine.

“I can’t, Journey. I can’t.”

“Why?” Journey asked.

“Because he…he loves me.”

Journey scoffed. “He’s an abusive jerk. He’s nothing like Dad was.”

“Don’t mention your father!” Selena snapped. “He went on his stupid pilgrimage, and I—” She sniffed. “Well, I stayed. And you stayed, too, so don’t mention him.”

“You made us stay,” Journey said, flushing.

“But he was crazy! He wasn’t good for you and Aaron.” Selena raised her head. “He showed what he really thought about us when he ran away.”

“Where’s my wine, Selena?”

Journey spun around and saw Rob slouching in the doorway. His face was blotchy and his voice slurred. Selena grabbed the two wine glasses and hurried over to him.

“Here it is, dear.” She smiled broadly at him, but Journey noticed a quiver in her smile.

Grunting, Rob patted her arm and stumbled out of the room. Selena flashed a stronger smile at Journey and said, “See. I told you he loved me.”

Journey scoffed and went back to doing the dishes.

When she walked through the living room to her bedroom, she saw her mom passed out by Rob. An old antebellum movie was playing on the TV. Journey turned it off. Selena stirred and looked up at her. Journey bent over the couch.

“You probably won’t remember any of this, but I’m leaving. I doubt I’d tell you this if you were sober. I can’t watch you destroy yourself with Rob anymore. And I won’t let you mess up Aaron anymore. So we’re leaving, me and him. Don’t cry too long when we’re gone. You’ve got a master to attend to.”

After grabbing her already-packed bag from her room, Journey found her brother and helped him pack his own bag.

Journey sat by the road east, watching Aaron eat an apple. He was unusually quiet. She hadn’t even asked him if he wanted to leave.

“You did want to leave, didn’t you, Aaron?”

He nodded. “It’s not so dark anymore.”

Telling herself she believed him, Journey wiped her apple on her shirt and bit into it. But it had been two weeks, and she had yet to come across a city brighter than her old home. A job was equally impossible to find. She had been supplementing the savings she had brought with money earned from odd jobs, but it wasn’t much. 

At that moment, she looked across the road and jumped. Evan was standing under a tree, waving.

“Hello there, Journey,” he called. “Hi Aaron! How’re you two?”

Journey was too shocked to answer at first. “Three weeks.” she said. “You said you’d see us again soon.”

Evan walked over to them. “Ah, I do apologize for that. ‘A day is like a thousand years,’ as they say.” He grinned and held out his hand. “No hard feelings?”

Journey couldn’t help but crack a smile. She took his hand. “Fine.”

“You’re that weird guy,” Aaron said.

“I guess I am weird, aren’t I?” said Evan. “Well, he did say I would be a fool. ‘Foolishness to those who are perishing.’”

“What? We’re dying?” Journey asked.

“You’re always dying. Perishing means something else, something later but also now, in a way.”

Journey shook her head. “Whatever. Where have you been?”

“Oh, did I not tell you?” Evan said. “I’m a messenger. I’ve been delivering messages.”

Aaron turned his attention back to his apple and started drawing with a stick in the dirt road.

“Who do you deliver messages for?” Journey asked. “The post office?”

Evan laughed. “Ha, no. No, I work for a king. It’s kind of important.”

“You’re joking, right? There aren’t any kings. We live in a republic.

Evan waved his hand in dismissal. “Of course there are kings. And your republic is more like a dictatorship. But that’s beside the point.”

Journey stared at him skeptically. Gosh, he’s actually serious. Or at least, he thinks he is. “So, if you’re a messenger, then…do you have a message for us?”

“Yep.”

“Could you tell me?”

Evan became more serious. “Yes, but you’ve heard it before and dismissed it as foolishness. Would hearing it again make you believe it any more?”

“What? But you never told me anything.”

“You’re right, I didn’t tell you. Someone else did, several years ago. And you’ve heard people talking about it since then, too. You've been trying to convince yourself it was crazy.”

Journey could only stare at him. He had to be insane. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m a fool.”

Shaking her head, Journey walked over to Aaron. “Come on, Aaron. We have to keep moving.”

“Goodbye, then, Journey. And you, too, Aaron. I think I’ll see you both in”—he checked his watch—“one week. Do you like coffee? Au revoir!”

“You can stay away,” Journey muttered.

One week later, they had come to a new city. Black and gray towers jutted into the sky, obscuring the sun, but the multitude of electric lights made Journey feel like she was in one of the tanning salons that Selena used to frequent.

Journey walked out of a coffee shop to join Aaron at an umbrella-covered table.

“Before you ask, yes, I got you hot chocolate,” she said.

“Journey, I saw him again,” he whispered.

Journey groaned, but her stomach did a little flip all the same. “Evan? What’d he say?”

“He said Dad told you first. What’d he mean, Journey?”

“That would be your Dad, Journey. Not Rob.”

Journey spun around. Evan had been standing a few feet behind her. “Why do you just ‘show up’ everywhere?” Journey asked. “Go away.”

She immediately regretted saying it. “Ok,” Evan said and disappeared with a wave.

“No, I didn’t really mean—”

“I know you didn’t. That’s why I didn’t go far.”

Journey spun back around and slapped him across the face. “What do you mean it was my dad? He gave me the message?”

Evan rubbed his reddening face. “Ouch. You can slap. And yes, he gave it to you. But your mom thought he was crazy, and when he left, you started to think so, too. Don’t you remember the stories he used to tell you?”

Journey felt like all the blood from her face drained to her toes before rushing back to her face. “He told me the same one every night the year before he left me. Us.”

“I remember, too,” Aaron said.

Journey turned on him. “No, you don’t. You were only two.”

“I do remember, Journey,” he said, jutting out his chin. “There was a Dad, and his son, the prince, and the wizard killed the prince. But he came back and saved his wife from the wizard.”

“Stop it! We aren’t allowed to talk about that story. It made Dad go crazy and leave and…and—” Journey’s voice caught in her throat.

“You don’t really believe he died, though,” said Evan. “You never could. And you’re right.”

Journey slumped into her chair. Across from her, Aaron’s jaw dropped. It was true, she could never admit he was dead. But to hear that confirmed was something she never expected. It scared her.

“If…if he’s not dead, then why hasn’t he talked to us?” she asked, staring blankly through Evan.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? Here.” He held out his hands to Journey and Aaron. “Hold on.”

Aaron grabbed it without hesitation. Journey started to take Evan’s hand, but stopped. Did she really want to see her Dad again? The Dad who left her? Maybe he didn’t really love her, and that’s why he didn’t ever try to contact them. Maybe Selena was right.

Evan laughed and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Come on, Journey. I want to show you something.”

She started to protest, but her chest constricted so much she could barely breathe. She screwed her eyes shut and gripped Evan’s wrist back, scratching him with her fingernails. Soon, however, she felt the pressure subside and she opened her eyes.

She shut them almost immediately. The city was as bright as a candle compared to this place. The brightness made her feel vulnerable, transparent. In the few seconds her eyes were open, she had seen no shadows.

“No,” she said. “Take me back. Please.”

But Evan wouldn’t. “Open your eyes,” he said.

Journey didn’t know why, but she did what he said. Aaron had walked forward several feet and was taking everything in open-mouthed. Spinning slowly, Journey saw glass and ivory towers in place of the old black ones. Golden birds fluttered overhead. Aaron ran over to a strawberry bush and started picking off the biggest ones.

“It’s—” she turned to Evan, but he wasn’t there.

“Beautiful?” said a deep voice behind her.

“I swear, Evan, if you keep doing that—”

It wasn’t Evan. There, standing by a peach tree, was her father. He looked the same, except for his eyes. Instead of their old adventurous gleam, they showed a mix of joy and remorse. Journey didn’t move.

He stepped towards her.

“No. Stay away,” Journey said.

He stopped.

“You left us. And never said anything.” Seeing her dad brought back the pain of feeling abandoned. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to hug him or slap him multiple times.

“I’m sorry, Journey,” he said. “I don’t expect saying this will make up for it, but I’ve wanted to say it for so long that I have to. I couldn’t come back. If you stay here longer than 24 hours, you can’t leave. You have to choose.”

Journey stood in silence for several seconds. “You chose this place over your family?”

“I didn’t know, Journey. By the time I realized that, my time was up.”

Journey looked at all the beauty and light around her. “If…if I leave, can I ever come back?”

Her father shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”

Frowning, Journey thought of her mother, back home with Rob. She already left them. What would be wrong with staying? But, then again, now that she had seen this place, how could she not tell her mom? Everyone deserved light. This light was so pure that Journey thought it might even be able to help Selena with her drinking problem.

“I can’t stay,” Journey said. “Mom needs this. I have to try and bring her back.”

“You may not be able to come back.”

“I’ll take my chances.” She ran over to Aaron and placed herself where he couldn’t see their dad. “Come on, Aaron. Help me find Evan. We’re going home.”

FWW Story #3

Chinese Chopsticks

I rolled the small, velvet-covered box in my pocket between my fingers. To ask, or not to ask? That was the question. What if she says no? Or even says yes? What am I supposed to say?

Kay sat across from me, poking around in her shrimp lo mein for the shrimp. She brushed her hair behind her ear and scrunched up her nose. She’s so cute. She set her chopsticks down and looked at me.

"You've barely touched your food," she said. "What's wrong?"

I smiled. I'm sure it was the fakest smile ever. I was about to pass out. I had the flu last week, and I still don’t think I’ve fully recovered. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine." I grinned bigger and put my hand under my chin. "I haven't been able to think about food with you looking so beautiful tonight." Gosh, that's cliché.

She laughed and put her hand out. "You're so sweet. I'll try and not look so beautiful next time."

I was about to make my move and pull the box from my pocket when someone's hands covered my eyes.

"Guess who?"

Oh, no. Not now. Please not now. "Hey, John."

My older brother took his hands from my eyes and slapped me on the back. "Who is this lovely young woman you're with, Calvin?" he asked.

I was nervous enough without John here. Even though at 25 he's two years older than me, he acts like he's 16. "This is Kay," I said. "My girlfriend." You'd have known if you were ever around. "Kay, this is my brother, John."

"Nice to meet you, dearest Kay," John said, extending his hand.

"Nice to meet you, too, John," Kay replied, blushing, and shook his hand. "Calvin's told me a lot about you."

What's John's problem? He was looking at her weird. I felt sick. "Um, excuse me. I need to visit the restroom. Why don't y'all get acquainted?" I rose from my seat and hurried to the men's room. Looking back, I saw John sit down in my place and immediately start talking.

It took me five minutes to calm myself in the bathroom. I don't know why I was sweating so badly. I loosened my tie and splashed water over my face. It was all John's fault. Why'd he have to interrupt just then? He hasn't cared about me or my life for the past seven years. But when I, who has never been good at talking to girls, has finally gotten a serious girlfriend, and is about to propose to that girlfriend, he shows up.

I finally emerged from the men's room and made a beeline for the bar. “What do you have for nerves?” I asked the bartender.

“Oh, sir, we have sake,” he replied. “Very good drink from the Japanese. Like beer.”

“Uh, no beer please. I don’t like alcohol. Do you have anything else? I feel like throwing up.”

“Oh, sir, I have just the thing. Just you wait.” He disappeared into the back room for two minutes or so. When he came out, he was holding a china teacup on a saucer. “Here you are, sir. Tea. Very good for nerves and stomach.”

“Thanks,” I said. I picked up the cup and sipped from it. Not too bad. “What kind of tea is this?”

“Oh, sir, that is chamomile-lavender tea. Very good for nerves.”

I grimaced. Wow, that’s manly. But my stomach was already starting to feel better, so I kept drinking. “Thanks again.”

“Oh, no problem, sir. Tell me if you need anything else, sir.”

After nodding my head, I braced myself and gulped down the rest of my tea. Not my best idea. My throat didn’t much enjoy it, but I needed to get back to Kay. And John. I needed to watch him.

But when I saw them, all the effects of the tea seemed to go away. John looked like he was caressing Kay’s outstretched fingers, and they were both laughing.

I felt like I was about to explode but joined them anyways.

"Well, it certainly didn't take you two very long to get comfortable," I said quietly. My voice was shaking.

"Oh, Calvin," Kay said. "John was just..." I didn't pay attention to the rest. "Oh, Calvin," she had said, like I was some sort of afterthought or something now. And she was still grinning. Didn't she know what was going on?

"I think you should leave, John," I said. John just laughed. I decided I hated his laugh.

"Calvin, don't be a killjoy. Come on, we were just getting started."

"I think you should leave, John."

"Calvin," Kay said.

"You really should leave, John."

He put his hands up and rose. "Ok, ok. All right. No need to get pushy. I needed to get going, anyway. Bye, Kay. Nice to meet you. Bye, Calvin." And he left.

I sat down and put my hand back in my pocket. The nerves were back, and with them, the sick feeling. I needed some more of that tea.

"There was no need to be rude, Calvin. I thought you two were best friends when you were in high school?"

I ignored the question. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to the bar.”

Kay gave me a suspicious look. “You hate alcohol.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m going to get some tea.”

“I’ll come.”

“Ok.”

When I sat down, she sat down next to me and started rubbing my back. Letting out a deep breath, I thanked God that John wasn’t here anymore. I called the bartender over. I noticed a little tag on his shirt that said “Jian-min” and some last name I couldn’t pronounce. “Jian—am I saying that right?—Yeah, can I have some more of that tea, please?”

Jian grinned. “Oh, of course, sir. Jian. I’ll make your chamomile-lavender tea right away, sir.”

When he said what kind of tea it was, Kay just stared at me before she started giggling. But she quickly caught herself. “Um, ok, Cal. What’s wrong?”

“I—I told you. Nothing. Well, it was nothing.”

“Your brother seems like a good guy. It sure was nice of him to stop by.”

Jian set my tea on the bar. I mumbled “Thanks” and downed it. Kay just looked at me.

“You didn’t seem happy to see your brother,” Kay said.

“Should I have been?” I asked.

“He is your brother.”

I took a sip of my tea. “We haven’t talked in over two years, and even before that we weren’t on good terms.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. But that was before he went to college.” Before he changed. Why did he change so much in college, but I didn’t? Or maybe it was me who changed—no. That wasn’t it. He changed. It’s his problem. “You want some tea?”

She laughed a little. I love her laugh. “Sure. Jian, can I have some lemon tea?”

“Sure thing, ma’am,” Jian replied. He disappeared again.

As I walked into my apartment I threw my keys onto the table by my phone. I’m terrible about remembering to bring it with me. I turned it on. A message said “1 Voicemail from BROMEO <3<3<3.” I smiled despite myself. When I first got my phone when I was fifteen, that’s what John had put his number in as, and I’d never bothered to change it.

I dialed the voicemail and put it on speaker. John’s voice came through slightly garbled. I flipped the phone over to clear things up and started taking my shoes and coat off.

“Heya, Calvin. Listen, I’m sorry if I did something wrong at dinner. I just found myself a few weeks ago thinking about how great buddies we used to be and wondering what happened. Mom said you were out at dinner. I probably didn’t pick the right time to drop by.” He chuckled. “I know, bro. I know.” What? What did he know? “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to catch up tomorrow, at Starbucks. Text me a time that’ll work for you. Ciao, bro. Arrivederci, au revoir, auf weidersehen, and all that stuff.” His voice clicked off.

I picked up my phone. My first thought was that he wanted something. He’d always borrow things from me when we were younger. But then, a part of me wanted to talk to him, despite what he’d done. I texted him. “1pm?”

A few minutes later I got a text back. “Great! 1 it is. Don’t be late.” Ha. If I knew anything about him, he’d be the late one.

I pulled the ring out of my pocket and set it on my nightstand. “John, why’d you have to do this tonight?” I said. “Now I have even longer to think about it.” Sighing, I flipped open my laptop and started working through my emails. It kept me up until two in the morning. Thankfully, tomorrow was Saturday. I closed my laptop, fell back on my bed, and promptly went to sleep, still dressed.

Kay woke me up the next morning around 11:30 with a box of jalapeno-cheese kolaches. After I had thanked her and began eating, she picked up one of my hands.

 “Hey, how about we play Chinese Chopsticks?” she said.

That confused me. I’ve never taught her to play. I haven’t played since John and I were in high school. “I don’t really want to.”

“Come on,” she said. “I haven’t had much practice, so you’ll have to go easy on me.”

“All right,” I said. Then I winked. “I’ll try.”

We played while I ate my kolaches. Kay wasn’t very good at first. I beat her in under 30 seconds every time. But she’s a very determined woman, and it didn’t take her long to get the hang of it. She even beat me at the end.

She laughed. “I think I’m good now that I’ve beaten you. I have to get back to the salon soon, anyway. The girls and I are going out for lunch in fifteen minutes.” Her eyes lit up. “Call me about tonight?”

“Sure thing. Love you.”

The door clicked shut behind her. Her talking about going out with the girls reminded me that I was supposed to meet John in a little more than an hour. Why’d I say yes last night? I didn’t want to talk with him. That tea must have made me too relaxed. What should I even say to him? I don’t want to talk with him. I picked up my phone and pressed 4. His number was still on speed dial.

“Hey, I don’t really have the money for Starbucks today,” I said when he answered. “Payday is next Friday. And you know it’s torture to go to Starbucks and not get anything. But you can go by yourself.” He’s practically a young version of Scrooge, but not so grouchy. He won’t pay for himself, and I won’t have to meet him to talk.

“Oh, that’s cool,” he replied. “My boss was feeling generous last week and gave us all a bonus. I’ll take care of you.”

What? No. No, no, no. “Oh, um, well...I...ok. I’ll be there at one.”

“Awesome. See ya there, buddy.” I could hear his smile. “Thanks for agreeing to come.”

“Um, yeah. Ok. Bye.” I ended the call. Why couldn’t I come up with an excuse?

While I was taking a shower, I tried coming up with things to say to him. I couldn’t.

I walked into Starbucks at 1:05. Squinting, I scanned the room for my brother. To my surprise, he was, indeed, early. He was sitting by the window in the back, next to the restrooms. As soon as he saw me he grinned and came over.

“Hey, bro,” he said. “Nice to see you again.” He held his arms out while he talked, so I high-fived him.

“Yeah,” I said, “nice to see you, too.”

“I ordered you an iced caramel macchiato. That’s still what you get, right?”

I nodded.

“Awesome.” He stood there for a few seconds, looking awkward, then gestured back to his table in the corner. “Um, how ‘bout we sit down?”

I knew I shouldn’t treat him so coldly, but it’s his fault, anyway. “Sure,” I said. We walked to the back and sat down. Almost immediately, the barista called out our order.

“An iced caramel macchiato and an iced hot chocolate!”

“I’ll get them,” John said and got up, soon returning with our drinks.

“Hey, sorry I was late,” I started.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” He shrugged. “How have you been? We haven’t talked in ages.”

We made small talk for half an hour, until John said, “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I really didn’t mean to upset you.”

I felt my cheeks grow hot. I drank some of my macchiato. “Upset me? No, ‘course not. You’d never do that. I’m completely fine.”

“Great, ‘cause I was starting to think I did something to make you mad—”

“Oh, no. Other than go to college my best friend and come back a partier who hardly talked to me unless he needed a designated driver. You’d mock me in front of your ‘friends’ ‘cause they did, too.” He winced. My face burned even more. “And we hardly heard from you after you left for your junior year. And then, when you show up five years later, you flirt with my girlfriend when I was about to propose to her. Yeah, you didn’t do anything.”

He looked genuinely hurt. Maybe I pushed too hard, but it was his fault. I had wanted to say this for a long time. He couldn’t just show up out of the blue and expect me to forgive him for throwing me under the bus.

After a few moments of silence, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“You never ‘realized’ anything about me. It was always about you—your ideas, your choices, your friends. I was just there. And now I have something, and you came and tried to mess it up.”

“I didn’t come to mess it up, I came to see how you were,” he said.

“Yeah, well, thanks. You messed that up, too, seven years ago. Remember how Mom would tell us that we would grow up and leave our friends, but we’d always have each other? Well, you found new friends. You didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, brother.” I hadn’t realized how loud I was, or that I had stood up. People were staring at us.

“I was an idiot, ok, Cal? I messed up. I admit it. But if you’d just listen to me—”

“You never listened to me.”

His face finally fell. “Then goodbye, I guess.” He walked over to the door, only a few feet away. “I’m sorry, again. Ask Kay tonight, she’ll say yes. She told me she wanted you to ask when I was teaching her Chinese Chopsticks.” And then he disappeared through the door.

Completely deflated, I sank back into my chair. He taught her? That’s what they were doing? I couldn’t believe it. And she told him she’d tell me yes? Why would she tell him?

I ran outside, looking for John’s yellow pinstriped pickup. It wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I called Kay. “Hey, babe. How do you feel about Italian tonight?”

Two weeks later, having found out where he lived from Mom, I pulled up in front of John’s house. I sat in my car for a while, struggling with myself. “You need to tell him,” Mom had said. “Make up with him. He loves you, Calvin.” So here I was. But would he want to talk with me, after what I said to him?

I got out of my car and walked up his cracked sidewalk to his door. I knocked and waited.

I didn’t wait long. Soon I heard him fiddling with the lock. When he opened it, his jaw dropped, then he closed it and looked grim, then he just looked sad. “Hey, Cal,” he said.

“Hey, John,” I replied and tried to smile. “So, Kay said yes. The wedding’s set for December 18^th.”

He half-smiled. “Awesome, bro. I’m happy for ya. You two are perfect for each other.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Oh, and, um, I was wondering…” I hesitated. “How’s life been?”

He stared at me for a second before he answered, skeptical. “It’s been pretty good. Been working for a lawn service company.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You?”

“Great.” I laughed a little. “Any lady in your life yet?”

“Nope.” He, too, chuckled. “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

“Listen, John, um, I wanted to ask you if”—I started fiddling with my watch—“I mean, if you’re not busy, of courses…would you be my best man?”

He lost the feeble grin he had been wearing. “Why would you want me, Cal? Don’t you have someone better?”

I could tell that he was still thinking about all those things I had said at Starbucks. I couldn’t blame him, though—I still thought about them, and hated what I had said. “Because…because you’re my brother, John. We were always together.”

“And what if I get drunk and need a designated driver?”

I winced. “Mom said you gave up alcohol.”

“I did.”

We just stood there, staring at each other in silence, for what felt like several minutes. I finally couldn't stand it. “John, I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” he said. “Remember what Mom used to make us do after we had a fight?”

 “What, make us run into the street and hug?” I asked, chuckling.

“Yeah.” His grin was back now. He waited a few moments before holding out his arms. “I’m your man.”

I blinked the tears from my eyes before stepping forward and hugging him, hard.