[Dis]Connected

by Michelle Halket

  “I’ve asked you here because I respected James immensely and he made me promise that if something ever happened to him, I must…” Rowena looked quickly down at her lap and twisted her hands together. “I’m loathe to do it, but I promised him that I would tell you about our people—”

  “Your…people?”

  “Yes, my dear. Faerie folk.”

  “Faerie…folk.”

  “Have you ever wondered why sometimes a coffee shop serves you such incredible coffee it changes your entire day? Or how it is that some days you walk into a store and exactly the thing you are looking for is on the rack, at just the right price? Or how sometimes it feels like a hairdresser has read your mind?”

  My senses seemed to have abandoned me. “So you mean…luck.”

  “No, I mean the kind of coincidence that makes you feel like there is more at work. That makes people say, “The universe and the stars aligned for me today.” That’s us. We live amongst you, right there in the corners of your vision, and you simply do not notice. I’m risking an awful lot by telling you, but I am not one to deny a dead man his wishes.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.

  I frowned and blinked. I had so many questions that absolutely none came to mind.

  “Thank you for telling me. I guess I was too much of a work in progress for James to have told me himself.” I sounded bitter. She sighed and looked at me the way my mother did when disappointed.

  “He said you would say that.”

  I looked down at my hands, ashamed.

  “He also said to tell you something when you did. Would you like to hear it?”

  I swallowed and nodded, my heart hammering, hungry for just a little more of his essence, even through the voice of a stranger.

  “It took Michelangelo four years to paint the Sistine Chapel. It took Da Vinci four years to complete the Mona Lisa. Van Gogh created Starry Night only a year before he died. So be patient with your progress and take all the time you need, for you, too, are creating a masterpiece.”

  The words broke the last of the scaffolding holding me together, rupturing the cracks I had been plugging up with wine, antidepressants, and sleeping pills. My heart plummeted, tired of the weight. And finally, the anguish that never flowed freely in front of my family, at the funeral, at the house, at work…just let loose, tears pouring from my eyes like rivers finally, finally meeting the mouth of the ocean they belonged to.

  The saddest thing about a gravestone marked with a name you can’t stop saying, is that a part of you knows that slowly you will stop saying it, and your most vivid memories together will fade. You will lock that name away in secret, to remember only once in a while on your happiest or saddest days.

  There is something both immensely tragic and beautiful about preserving someone in memory that way. Like fire, they exist between a solid and a gas, a chemical reaction that consumes one to make the other. They are alive as they consume and yet, still dissipate—no matter how much you try to hold onto them—into smoke.

  The graveyard is silent, daylight melting into night. Twilight seems appropriate for the first time I visit him this way.

  James Samuel Smith

  1982–2018

  Loving Husband

  Returned to the light from which you were born.

  I plant the snapdragon seeds, a way to let him know that I know. A task I will tend to for the rest of my days. Then I stand, wiping the soft earth from my hands onto my jeans. I touch the gravestone gently, then press my fingers to my lips. I walk away.

  Somewhere in a London window, an iguana is waiting for me to come home.

  Somewhere there are people coming home and lighting a fire on this cold day.

  Somewhere else still, other magical people like James are doing their jobs: training dragons, running bookshops.

  As for me, nowadays, I can never be cool, so instead I will tell people the truth, but only part of it. I’m still a work in progress. My courses are going well. My job at the fruit-named place pays the bills. I feel the grief in full. I will learn to be patient with myself and appreciate the gift I had in James, a man who loved me so completely, he spoke to my comfort from beyond death.

  I will build masterpieces with the magic he left me.

  I will no longer hold my feelings hostage.

  Instead, I summon the rain.

  Gods and Mortals

  NIKITA GILL

  We loved like Hera and Zeus.

  Disconnected from truth,

  tricking each other into thinking

  the other would better us, cure us

  and that ours was a love

  which would last so long

  that we could take each other,

  our bodies and souls for granted.

  An endless chasm had opened

  between us before we realised

  we had convinced each other

  our blood ran immortal ichor

  Yet there wasn’t

  a drop of it between us.

  This is what a borrowed forever

  looks like; the person you love most

  falling into a chasm you both created

  and you are too far to save them.

  In the end

  there were no Gods

  to save us.

  We had killed them all.

  Where the Sea Meets the Sky

  CYRUS PARKER

  SHE AND I ARE LIKE TWO BIRDS OF A feather, two peas in a pod. We are every cliché ever written about two souls perfectly suited for one another. That’s why I cannot wrap my head around how things went south so fast. It was like waking up, looking in the mirror, and seeing a stranger’s face staring back at you. Still, I love her with a love that is more than love—that I know. These thoughts race around my head as we drive down the highway, raindrops beating against my windshield.

  The waves crashed into the concrete, sending a mist of seawater into the air. Her raven locks drifted on the breeze, the falling droplets cascading down in front of it like shooting stars against the night sky. I stood beside her—not so close as to make things uncomfortable, but close enough to catch her attention. As she gazed dreamily at the sea, she spoke.

  “I want to go there,” she said, her words falling from her black-painted lips like sweet nectar.

  My gaze shifted to the horizon, trying to locate this place.

  “Where’s that?”

  She turned to me, her espresso-cup eyes fixing on mine.

  “There,” she said, pointing a finger outward, “where the sea meets the sky.”

  I looked back to the horizon, tracing the faint line where the sea and the sky seemed to bleed into one another, and I couldn’t help but smile. I knew going to such a place was impossible, and no doubt so did she, but such a simple and innocent dream was endearing.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Lee,” I said, locking eyes with her once again. “My name’s Lee.”

  “Well, Lee,” she said as she picked away the stray strands of hair caught in her lipstick, “it was nice meeting you.”

  I nodded, my voice catching. “You—you too!”

  She smiled, looked down for the briefest of moments, and walked away. I watched her until she vanished, and it was only then I realized I had never asked her name.

  I spent the rest of that day playing back our meeting, convinced I’d never see her again, that our meeting was just a single frame of the film that made up my life. I decided I needed to try to take my mind off her, because there was no sense in wasting time on things that couldn’t be helped. So, I found myself at the place I usually go when I need to clear my head.

  “Hey, Lee. Jack and Coke?”

  “Yeah, thanks, Luke.” I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair.

  The TV above the bar was relaying the news. Some actor who had recently been in the news for allegations of sexual misconduct was found dead in his home. The police suspected, due to the nature of the murder scene, that there were multiple att
ackers, and that perhaps it was done to send a message of some sort. I pondered whether what he did truly warranted that type of ending.

  “Jack and Coke.” Luke set a glass down in front of me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Thanks, Luke.” I chugged the first one and put the glass back down on the counter. “Can I get another? Rough day.”

  “Sure.”

  “Rough day? You seemed fine earlier,” a woman said as she took the stool to my right.

  “It’s you!” My exclamation betrayed the cool poise I was trying to relay.

  “It’s me.”

  “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

  “It seems I’ve left quite an impression on you, then.”

  No woman I’d ever dated had been so sure of herself. I fell in love in that moment.

  “Here you are.” Luke set my second drink down before me. “Can I get you something, miss?”

  “Maker’s Mark, neat, please.”

  “Coming up.”

  “Straight bourbon, huh?” I’d always admired a woman who could really drink.

  “Yessir. Drink of choice.”

  “I’m impressed. Most of the women I’ve hung out with tend to dilute their liquor with something sweet.”

  “Ah. So, like your rum and Coke?”

  Shit.

  “Okay, first of all, it’s Jack and Coke, and second of all … touché.”

  She shrugged and took a sip from the stubby glass Luke placed in front of her.

  “And yes,” I said.

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, you did leave quite an impression on me. I’ve been thinking about you all day, as well as how big of a jackass I was to have forgotten to ask you for your name.”

  She chuckled into her hand. “I’ll give you a pass. Just this once, though, so don’t get used to it. My name’s Annabel, and if you say—”

  “Like the doll,” we said simultaneously.

  “I’ll backhand you into next week.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. She was scrappy. I liked that.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I said, holding my hands up in front of me in a half-assed defensive maneuver. “I bet you get that a lot.”

  She finished off her bourbon and waved down the bartender.

  “You’d win that bet,” said Annabel. “Another, please.”

  “You got it. Another for you?”

  I nodded.

  “So,” I began, taking in a deep breath. “Forgive me for being so forward, but do you have a boyfriend?”

  She looked me up and down, and the tiniest smirk tugged at her lips.

  “No, no boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Or partner.”

  I felt my cheeks grow warm, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t the whiskey. “Right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s fine. I blame society for the unrelenting heteronormalcy. Just do better next time and everything’ll be peachy.”

  I nodded.

  Luke returned with our next round of drinks and I downed that one like I had the first two. Despite the rocky start, things turned around quickly. That is to say, I stopped putting my foot entirely inside of my mouth, and we found out we had some common ground. We spent the rest of the night talking, laughing, and drinking, although I switched to Coke without the Jack a little ways in so I’d be okay to drive home. Not only that, but I wasn’t sure if Annabel would be interested in seeing me again, and I didn’t want to wake up the next morning forgetting a single moment of this night.

  Before we knew it, Luke was lifting our glasses to wipe down the bar. His not-so-subtle hint taken, we made our way outside and headed toward the streetlight near my car. Annabel stumbled, but I caught her and helped her right herself.

  “Are you okay? How did you get here?”

  “I took an Uber.”

  “Do you want me to give you a ride home? Or, we could go back to my place.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  I held up my hands defensively again. “I just mean I really like being around you, and I don’t want to say goodnight yet. I haven’t met a woman like you in a long time. No, ever.”

  “How about this. We go back to my place, and you can stay the night only if you promise to hold my hair back for me if I have to vomit. And make me a huge breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  I laughed. “Of course.”

  “Also, you’re on the couch. Or the floor, whichever is more comfortable for you.”

  I nodded and smiled. “Okay, deal.”

  She smiled back, and goddamn, what a smile it was.

  “Can I—can I kiss you?” I asked, feeling my face grow red as soon as I uttered the words.

  She didn’t even answer, just leaned in and pressed her lips against mine. I pulled her closer to me, and she broke the kiss.

  “Sorry to ruin the moment and all that, but it’s fucking cold out here.”

  I laughed again, and nodded. “It is, isn’t it? Let’s get going, then.”

  I placed my hand on the small of her back and helped Annabel into the passenger seat of my car, put her address into Google Maps, and made the short drive to her apartment. The rest of the night was one for the history books.

  She didn’t call me the next day. Or the next. Or even the day after that. She didn’t even text me. I supposed we were both playing that game you see in all those movies and TV shows, where neither person wants to seem needy, so they both wait for the other to make the first move. I’m not so proud a man that I would risk losing her, however. So, I shot her a text.

  “Hey.”

  I waited around for her response, but it didn’t come. Not immediately, anyway. I started pacing round the living room, checking my phone every ten minutes, with that night replaying in my mind. I wondered if I had done something wrong—I mean, I knew I’d made a few faux-pas at the beginning of the night, but I wondered if I’d said or done something else. The dread started growing, and I began wondering what she might be doing, if she was with someone else—or if I had simply waited too long and missed my chance. I began to contemplate driving to her apartment and seeing if she was home, but before I let myself become fixated on that idea, my text notification went off.

  “Hey.”

  It was Annabel. I exhaled and collapsed onto my couch.

  “What are you up to? Sorry we haven’t talked since the other night, I’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah, same. I just got off work.”

  I blew out another sigh. I didn’t know why I’d let myself get so worked up over nothing. Of course, she was at work. Why wouldn’t she be at work?

  “How was your day?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you doing anything later?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Do you wanna hang out?”

  Those three dots that meant she was typing came up and stayed there for a solid minute before disappearing. Then they reappeared, and disappeared again. Finally, she responded.

  “Sure. 7:00 fine?”

  “Sure. Same place?

  “No, let’s get coffee.”

  “Okay. Send me the address and I’ll see you at 7!”

  Cafés weren’t really my typical hangout spots, but I’d go anywhere to spend time with Annabel.

  I returned to our table with our drinks—a black coffee for Annabel, and a caramel latte with soy milk for me.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. Her eyes went back and forth from staring intently at her coffee cup, to wandering the décor of the coffee shop. She never once looked at me.

  “So,” I said to break the silence. “Where do you work?”

  “I work at a restaurant,” she said, her eyes finally meeting mine.

  “Oh. Are you a waitress?”

  “I’m the executive chef.”

  My jaw dropped. “I’m not going to lie—I am impressed.”

  “You say that a lot.”

  “You impress me a lot.” />
  “Well, you should be impressed. My knife skills are second to none.”

  “You’ll have to show me one day.”

  “Sure, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

  We went on like this for a few weeks—meeting at cafés, talking, and really getting to know each other. It turned out we had a lot in common. Not just on a superficial level, either, but on a soulful level. The inner workings of our minds, our hearts, were so interconnected with one another’s that I came to believe we were destined to be together.

  After we had been to every café within a ten-mile radius, we started going to the bar again. We’d get drunk and explore the town. Some of our favorite hangout spots were the boardwalk where we first met, and a graveyard just down the street. I cannot explain why we decided a graveyard was a great place to sober up, but between the haunting atmosphere and the thrill of trespassing, mixed with a little public intoxication, it was the perfect cocktail to allow us to be completely raw and vulnerable with one another.

  One night, we were under a tree toward the back of the cemetery grounds, staring up at the stars and talking about our plans for the future.

  “I just want to be happy. Whatever that means,” Annabel said.

  I nodded, and traced Orion’s belt with my fingertip.

  “What about you?”

  I dropped my hand back down to the grass and tried to envision my ideal life. Every single future I imagined for myself had one thing in common.

  “I want to be with you.”

  Annabel was silent. I sat up and turned to her.

  “There are so many aspects of my life that I haven’t figured out yet. In the grand scheme of things, I’m completely lost, so I live my life in the here and now, one day at a time. But when I think of my future, I have a hard time picturing one without you in it.” I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. “What I’m trying to say is … Annabel, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now, and I was wondering if you’d like to become, like … you know … a thing.”

  She was silent for what felt like an eternity. Then, she erupted in laughter.

  “What … What’s so funny?” Indignation made my face grow another ten degrees hotter.