Eluding Fate

by Delilah Mohan

“A code so their husbands won’t question their whereabouts. I bet they are all closet drinkers. There is a rumor that the YMCA has a secret invite-only bar. I bet they drop the kids off at the daycare center and spend forty-five minutes every other day sipping wine while relaxing in the sauna.“

  “That explains why they are all so chipper.” She looked over her shoulder at the line of moms. “But if I were them it would take a lot more then forty-five minutes every day to relax me. I mean, look at them . . . that one kid is licking the floor, and the boy in the plaid shirt is using his boogers to draw pictures on the display glass.”

  We both looked at each other and made disgusted faces while adding fake shivers. “So glad that’s not my life. I’ll just stick with Charles Mantis. He’s so low key and doesn’t want for anything.”

  Rylee laughed, “You are one strange cookie, and you know that, don’t you?”

  I stood up, dusting the crumbs from my shirt in the process. “You wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m heading to the bathroom really quick. You staying or leaving?”

  “Probably leaving. I actually have work today because my life isn’t fun like yours.”

  I grabbed my bag from the chair next to me. “My life is hardly fun. The most exciting thing that’s happened to me in the last year was finalizing my divorce.”

  Her eyes rolled. “He’s a douche.”

  I nodded my head in agreement. “Well, I’ll see you around, bitch.”

  “Don’t act like you aren’t planning to see me this weekend. And next weekend. Probably the weekend after that too.” She blew me a kiss and was gone, leaving me to navigate my way through disgusting, nasty, booger eating children just so I could pee. I had just stepped over my last hurdle, literally stepping over the kid, when a yellow paper caught my eye. The fact that it was the same type of paper as the previous note grabbed my attention, and I couldn’t stop my curiosity from leading me toward it.

  Reaching up, my fingers found the words and traced them, memorizing the feeling of them under my fingertips and basking in the emotion they awakened. I pulled my fingers back slowly, trying to take the meaning and file it away. Searching for a pen and paper in my bag I racked my brain over what to write. When I finally came up with something I felt was sufficient, I unpinned the paper, placed it next to the other piece in my bag, and then pinned my own onto the board as a replacement.

  I left Jolts shortly after using the restroom and collecting the note off the Jot Wall. I spent the next few hours working on my novel, but my heart wasn’t in it. The only thing I could think about was the notes and how they related to each other and wondered who left them. I felt like I needed to know, but a part of me was also afraid to find out.

  Chapter Four

  SPENCER

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I jolted out of my sleep at the intruding noise and fumbled around until I found my phone, pressing the off button. I sat up and used the heel of my hands to rub the sleep out of my eyes. Nothing seemed to help erase the tiredness that took up permanent residence within me. I was tired, so fucking tired I could feel it deep within my bones, and I didn’t foresee it changing anytime soon.

  I stretched my arms over my head as I stood and made my way over to the desk that was shoved into the corner of my room. This place was too small for both of us, and I relished in the fact that we only had a few more days to be cramped in this place like a can of overstuffed sardines before we moved into the place I worked so hard the last few months to provide.

  Because that’s what I’m supposed to do for Victoria, right? Provide? I wasn’t really sure if I was doing it right, executing this correctly; following the rules . . . none of this came with a manual. All I knew was how wrong it felt. The harder I tried, the more she got angry at me, and I didn’t know what to do or how to fix it, so I did nothing, and like everything else, I was sure that was the wrong decision. There had to be a way where we could peacefully coexist, but I hadn’t found it yet, and I didn’t know if I ever would.

  I plopped down in the leather desk chair and powered on my computer, waiting patiently to pull my email and review my notes for today’s broadcast. It’s a habit I picked up when I first started working at FTS News, and I planned to continue doing it in the future, except with Victoria here, my day had to start earlier in order to get my studying in.

  Glancing up at the clock it was confirmed, four ten in the morning. It didn’t get easier, but it was necessary. I turned off my self-loathing and buried myself in studying. Once I was in it, I was all in, and if it wasn’t for Victoria knocking on my door insisting I turn off my alarm, I wouldn’t have realized it was already six. Well, three minutes past six which means I am three minutes behind schedule already this morning.

  I opened the door to find her standing there in flower pajama pants and a tank top. “Are you cooking?” she asked me, with more of a snarl than anything else.

  “Sure,” I grumbled as I pushed past her.

  “Can you not burn it this time?” she demanded, and it took every ounce of my carefully constructed control not to snap back at her. Instead, I nodded. I only had fifty-five minutes to make breakfast, eat it, and think of something for the Jot Wall before my scheduled shower at seven.

  I made eggs and toast, one of the only breakfast foods I could really cook. Scratch that, pretty much one of the only foods, in general, I could cook. We sat in silence at the little bar that was our temporary kitchen table while we ate. After fifteen minutes of suffocating silence I tried. I truly did.

  “How’s school?” she grunted a reply, and it was frustrating because I was wasting precious minutes from my schedule trying to talk to her, but she didn’t care. She still hated me. I tried again. “Are you all packed for the move? Four days away.”

  “No,” she simply replied.

  “Victoria,” I nearly growled.

  “Spencer,” she tossed back.

  “Victoria Sully, we have a schedule. How are things supposed to run smoothly if you refuse to do your part?”

  She got up and slammed her plate into the sink. “I don’t have a part, Spencer. This is your plan, not mine. This is your schedule, your plan, your decisions. None of this…” she spread her arms wide, gesturing to the piles of boxes neatly stacked awaiting the movers. “None of this is me.”

  She stormed off and slammed her door behind her, leaving me to clean up the mess from breakfast with very little time to write my thoughts for the board. It was Tuesday, and I made it a point to get Jolts coffee every Tuesday and Thursday as it gave me a chance to check the new post and more recently, it gave me the opportunity to pin my own.

  I made it to my shower at exactly seven. Stepping under the stream, I let the scorching water work its way through my muscles. I allowed myself a scheduled three minutes to let the water cascade over me. The timer on the shower wall went off and pressed the reset button, timing the rest of my shower to ensure I didn’t get off schedule. The timer beeped and I reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out of the stall.

  Seven fifteen.

  Thirty-five minutes to steam my suit, shave, and gather my work supplies so that I could be out the door in time to make it to the coffee shop. I finished getting ready at seven forty-five, which gave my day a five-minute head start. Still, I paused, concerned with Victoria.

  I knocked on the door, ignoring the blaring music coming from the other side. “Hey, you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she shouted over her music, but I suspected she would have done it even without music.

  “I can give you a ride to school, you know. I don’t mind taking the car today,” I told her, trying to offer her an olive branch.

  “Just go away, Spencer. I’m fine. I don’t need you to baby me,” she screeched, and I swear I heard her throw something, but I’m a coward at confrontation, and so I let it go and left.

  I walked to Jolts like I always did on my allotted days, enjoying the distractions around me keeping me out of my own head. By the time I made
it in the door, there was a person in front of me and two girls behind me, and all I could think about was ordering coffee and parting with the paper I had crumpled in my pocket, getting out the lines that best described my feelings and pinning them to the corkboard. It was liberating, and I’d recently learned that I needed that to feel the lightness that comes with freedom.

  I ordered my coffee, taking comfort in knowing I had at least two minutes to scroll through other people’s emotions upon the wall before depositing my own. I walked the length of the wall with nothing in particular catching my eye until I reached the part that disappeared behind the bar closest to the bathrooms, the same spot where I’d left my paper. Only my paper was gone and replaced by a white sheet of unlined paper with scrolling thoughts boldly written. Reaching up I unpinned the paper and replaced it with my own, then held the note closer to my face, rereading it. I wondered about this person, I would assume female based on the writing, whose thoughts made me question my own.

  My name was called, and I pocketed the paper to grab my coffee. Checking my watch, I noticed it was eight oh three. Seven minutes ahead of schedule; the day might not be so bad after all.

  Chapter Five

  MARI

  I sipped my coffee slowly and stared at the blank screen in front of me, ponder the new beginning I was about to embark on because every story has a beginning. It’s there, whether it’s disguised under trials and triumphs or declared for the creation of time, there is always a beginning. There is always an end. And somewhere mixed between the two there is always anguish and lust, love and sorrow but hopefully, all the joy surpasses the torment and story’s ending is unforgettable.

  Clinging to the yellow papers and the thoughts that its story provoked, I stared at my screen, summoning the words to start. My character’s story is no doubt full of sadness and pain, but I want to bring him happiness, if that’s at all possible, because even though he has lost his path, surely if he picks the right fork in the road it will lead him to something magnificent.

  Holding his umbrella in his hand, he looked down at the slurry of rapidly moving water and debris and wished for a moment that his life was different. That he was somewhere else, somebody else, instead of this tired man standing on the edge of a bridge contemplating the possibility of a next life, a new life. One where he would be void of the scars and pain that had been unfairly laid upon him.

  “Sir? Do you need some help?” a lady’s voice sounded from behind him, and he chose to ignore it, but the voice continued. “There are other answers than this.”

  “I don’t see,” he whispered, probably too softly for her to hear. “I don’t see how I can erase the years of torment that haunts my every waking hour and steals my dreams.”

  “I’m not saying it will be easy, it will be impossibly hard, but I believe in you, and I think you can do it.” The lady coaxed from behind.

  He gripped his umbrella tighter, hoping the object would bring him strength and balance. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough, and I don’t believe you truly want to die.” She shot back.

  “How would you know?” His voice had an edge of frantic to it, and try as he might he couldn’t disguise the nerves that had begun to rack through his whole body, causing his hands to shake.

  “Because . . .” she paused, leaving him to wait. “Because a man who really wanted to die, wouldn’t be holding an umbrella over himself to keep dry in a storm.”

  He looked at the umbrella above his head and followed it down to where it connected with his fingers, white-knuckled from his tight grip. Shifting on his feet slightly, he peered over the ledge at the angry body of water. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure if he was ready. What if there was no real end, and all he created was a new beginning? He could do that now, by not stepping off the bridge, couldn’t he? He turned around, determined to get the women’s opinion, but she was gone.

  Vanished.

  Was it his imagination? Did he really hear her at all? He could write it off that he was crazy; after all, he is standing on the edge of a bridge in the middle of a storm, holding an umbrella while he contemplates jumping into the frigid rapids below . . . but he wasn’t crazy. He knew with a sound mind what he was doing, and what his purpose had been. So, that leaves only one valid explanation about the voice of reason he heard.

  She was an angel.

  His very own guardian angel.

  Too much? I asked myself as I completed the last sentence of my book’s beginning. Probably. But who am I to reject dramatics when it comes to me so naturally. My phone buzzed on the table next to me, reminding me that I’m supposed to meet Raylee to give a speech for career day to her class.

  I piled my notes and computer into my bag and headed for the Jot board. I could lie to myself and say I’m reading the wall, but I’m not. I’m searching for a piece of him, of someone, to care for. It didn’t take me long to find it, the yellow lined paper was peeking out precariously from under a doodle of a rose that someone had pinned, nearly covering it. A little bit of anger coursed through me at the nerve of someone covering this paper that needed to be heard, needed to be felt, needed to be free.

  I moved the rose aside and traced the inked letters on the legal paper. Memorizing the feeling I got the first time I read those words but knowing it won’t be the last. It’s a part of me now; he’s a part of me, whoever he is. I unpinned the paper, smoothing out the wrinkled sides, before placing it in my bag and withdrawing the replacement paper I had written out. Somehow, I hope he finds this and draws strength from it.

  After pinning my paper, I looked over the board a few minutes more, intrigued by it all, but not nearly as inspired as the paper that rests within my bag. I took a step, lifting my head to view the top of the board when my whole body was thrown sideways by a solid force just moments before scorching liquid seeped into my clothes and the smell of coffee permeated the air.

  “Shit!” I screamed in a completely unladylike fashion as I tried to pull the hot seeping clothes away from my body. I looked up to see a shocked Mr. Mysterious as he stood utterly still, watching as my white shirt became nearly translucent from the coffee.

  Chapter Six

  SPENCER

  I was on time this morning, which considering the weekend of moving and how exhausted I’d been recouping from the physical aspect of it, it was a miracle I made it out of bed. Yeah, I hired movers; it was the smart thing to do. Until they canceled last minute leaving me with an almost expired lease and piles of boxes. It messed with my timing. I was planning to spend my whole weekend unpacking while they moved but instead, I was stuck renting a truck and doing most of the move myself.

  Don’t even get me started on Victoria. She intentionally didn’t pack until Friday night, knowing the movers were scheduled to arrive first thing Saturday morning. I got home from the gym at six forty-five, and the first thing I did was knock on her bedroom door like I always do. She never answers the door, but I like to make sure she’s in there.

  Only this time she did answer the door, and we were face to face, and I couldn’t look at her. I could never look straight at her because she doesn’t look like her piece of shit mother. She doesn’t look like me. She looks like him. She’s a damn carbon copy of Simon and every time I look at her I swear it feels like I’ve taken a bear trap to my chest.

  So instead I looked past her, over her shoulder, avoiding his replicated eyes that only look at me accusingly with contempt. “What?” She spat when I did say anything.

  “I just wanted to make sure you got home and see how your day was,” I told her, focusing on a stuffed bear on her desk. I had given her that bear for her birthday when she was five.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, and I tried not to look at her because her disdain stifled the air around me making me feel choked. Fuck, where had I gone wrong?

  “Are you packed?” I asked her bear even though the question was directed at her.

  “No. I’l
l start later.” She shrugged it off like it was no big deal, but it was a big deal. We had schedules to keep, and I was trying my hardest to do this for her so she could have the freedom to roam and not feel cramped.

  “Victoria, we have movers coming in the morning. It needs to be packed and ready to go before eight.” I tried not to sound annoyed because any indication of emotion caused some sort of lashing out from her, and exhaustion had already taken up permanent residence in my bones.

  “I said, I’ll do it later.” She turned on her heels and slammed her bedroom door in my face. I was left standing there, staring at the white door wondering if it would ever be worth it.

  I heard a clink of metal hitting the ground, and I shook my head, trying to shake away my weekend’s memory. Dwelling on the move, the lack of a plan, and my niece would do nothing to improve my day.

  At Jolts I went straight to the wall this time, eager to find a piece of the message I knew was meant for me. It had to be for me. There was nothing, just my last note stuck under someone’s doodle and I thought maybe she missed it, but I could be wrong. Maybe it was all in my head, just another part of my quirky psychosis that I knew existed, but I was afraid to address because it was all I truly have.

  I waited in line and ordered my coffee before taking a stool by the bar to wait it out. I should have ordered before checking the wall. I checked my watch, eight oh nine. I had a feeling I was going to run behind schedule today, and all because I didn’t balance my time better. I screwed up. Consequences, every action has a consequence.