by Tara Brown
“Done and done.” He answered my accusation with an evil grin.
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes, trying to play it cool. “Who?”
“Like I’d tell you.” He winked. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Well, me either. So there,” I said with all sorts of bravado.
“Okay, I’ll play along.” He snorted. “Who have you even kissed, besides your mirror?”
“Shut up.” I tossed my napkin at him. “I’ve kissed boys.” I’d nearly kissed him. The memory made my stomach hurt. “You didn't know that kid who lived next door before. He went to a private school.” I panicked, not wanting to discuss the boys I’d kissed. Not at all. None of them had been the one, the kiss all girls, even girls like me dreamt of.
“The fat one? Never took you for a chubby chaser.” He chuckled to himself. “You kissed him?”
“He was husky. That was muscle.” I couldn’t say it without laughing. Why had I said him? Why hadn’t I said the one that would’ve shut Owen up? Because I wasn't cruel. Not intentionally.
“No, he was fat, and now that we’re talking about it, I recall someone else. Don't tell me you forgot about that weird kid, Ricky Long.” He almost choked on his sandwich, giggling.
“I never kissed him,” I was insistent.
“You so did. That’s my fave, I can’t believe I almost forgot about it.” He grabbed a soda from the fridge and cracked it, taking a huge swig before rehashing the story, “You remember that make-out party in seventh grade where you got your braces caught in his neck in that game of spin the bottle?”
“I hate you.” I covered my eyes and groaned. “I never kissed him. My braces got stuck trying to give him a hickey. He asked me to so it looked like we kissed.”
“God, that was a great night.” He took another drink and sighed as if playing a montage of the moment in his mind. “I remember it like it was yesterday. It was dark. I was stuck with that Becky chick, the army brat who moved in eighth grade. I was fighting off her grabby hands when I heard Ricky scream. I ran over and there you were. Stuck to his neck like a vampire, and he was trying so hard not to cry.” He took another drink. “Remember?”
“No.”
“Yeah, you do.” He laughed harder. “Wait—didn't you also have to kiss that guy in tenth grade when we played spin the bottle again? Wasn't he the one who you said sucked your whole face in?” He sipped and made a face. “Angela Hallstead said she kissed him last year, and he did the same to her, sucked her whole face in. That should count for two kisses. Or a tour of duty. See, you’re actually kind of a ho, Zo.” He beamed with pride, likely from his stupid rhyme. “You’ve kissed like three dudes and didn't date a single one.”
The number was four, if you counted kissing Ricky’s sweaty neck. My face was on fire as I waited for him to recall the last one. He definitely would. In five—four—three—two—
“Oh wait. There was also West,” he pined. “Remember when he kissed you after we won the all-state game? That was so random and shit. He just grabbed you and kissed you.” He lost the sarcasm and mockery.
And there it was. The one thing I had that Owen wanted. Not me. Not my kisses. Just Westley. Of course he remembered it. Owen made me tell him the story over and over the night it happened. Even I got tired of my kissing Westley.
He leaned against the stove, looking about as sexy as a guy could as he daydreamed about a perfect kiss. I almost wished I could be part of the daydream.
Both were gorgeous and fit, muscled from years of football. West was leaner where Owen was built.
We daydreamed together.
Owen sighed. “If I could wave a magical fairy-making wand over any dude”— he popped out of his fantasy and eyed me skeptically—“you sure he was really into you? I mean, with your hair up and always dressing down, you could almost pass for a guy—”
“Shut up.”
He winked. “Get a new line.”
“Maybe he was using me to get to you. Maybe, he’s simply waiting for you to make your move.” I took his soda and drank it, hoping it cooled me off from reliving my most embarrassing moments. “Maybe he also has you on his bucket list.”
“You’re a bad person, Zoey Lynn.” He pointed at me. “I’m gonna put you on my bucket list, and you are not gonna get what you think.” He walked to the front room, muttering but I couldn't hear it.
“You sound like your dad.”
He glanced back. “Hurtful.”
“Did I mention West was the best kisser ever, and he even went for the accidental boob brush?” I said with a laugh as he rounded the corner.
He leaned his head back in. “Really hurtful, Zo.”
“I aim to please.”
One minute I was laughing and the next it faded. No, it turned off.
He stared at me, or through me, and something flicked on. It was a switch. I didn’t know how long it took or how long I was stuck there. Time got lost in the fuzz that became my mind.
A grin floated across my lips. It wasn’t real, but I forgot to take it away and relax my lips, so they were like the pole, moments before the flag was lowered to half-mast. Awkwardly lying about how everything was okay.
One minute I was laughing and getting my digs in and the next, everything was dark, and I was drowning in it. Maybe it was that in my peripheral I saw her note on the fridge. The note she’d left when she abandoned me. Maybe it was that I suddenly remembered she was gone and I was alone. Maybe it was that I would never kiss another boy, and I’d never been kissed. Not for real. Not the way I wanted to be.
I am going to die and no one will care.
I became lost in the fear of that thought, with my eyes stuck on the note. They refused to look away.
The blankness of the world cut into me, taking everything with it.
My body was thick as if it was floating or made of static and just part of the air. My legs twitched with the need to run, not anywhere but everywhere.
“Zo.” Owen stepped into my long stare. He always saw it hit. “Just keep smiling until it passes.” There was no humor anymore. No more joking or razzing or bringing up old things. There was only the darkness and the light, the light being Owen reaching a hand in to pull me out.
But I couldn’t reach him. Or maybe I couldn’t lift my hand to his. I was stuck in the darkness.
I gained enough control of my trembling lips to mutter, “She left me here all alone.”
Owen’s footsteps echoed as he walked over, taking my hand in his before I actually drew blood where I was digging into my arm. I had no idea I was doing it.
“She left me, Owen.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Zoey. None of it does. We got six weeks and then nothing matters. If she left you here, it was because she knew she couldn’t keep it together. She would’ve made it worse. She would’ve died in front of you. She saved you from that.”
A small part of me didn't want to read her letter because if she was allowed to be that selfish, so was I. The only selfish act I had was not reading the letter. She didn't want me to come on her last adventure. She wanted to be free of me, this town, and everything else. She wanted to live for whatever time she had left and enjoy herself.
I wanted to stop and cry and feel sorry for myself, but she’d bought me food and supplies and she did leave me a letter. Though I hadn’t been able to read it, but Owen did, and he said it was good. He said she wrote that she loved me; she just couldn’t spend the last weeks of her life feeling stuck. And with the military martial law, she couldn’t take Owen without his parents’ permission. Something his father would never give. She knew I needed Owen as much as he needed me. So she left me here to die alone because, essentially, she would’ve died before me either way.
It shouldn’t matter but it did. I was always going to die alone in this world, alone and there would be no one to care that I was gone.
My greatest fear, the one that made me fuzzy and took away the control, was now my outcome no matter what.
Owen hugged me and kissed the top of my head. “It doesn’t matter, Zoey. There is no happy or sad or anything else. There were ten weeks when this all started and there are seven and a half left and then it’s over.”
I nodded blankly and wished we could fill up the tense air in my house with noise. But the TV was just as depressing as my mind. The radio was no better. Owen said the DJs and TV show hosts were all gone. They played shows on repeat so the people could be with their families until their end. And my mom was one of the few who didn't believe in Netflix or Apple TV. We were on a budget. I’d love to know how she felt about budgets now.
I would bet she was blowing every penny we had on the life she never had. All four weeks of it.
5
The Sixties
Celeste
Pacing the apartment, I struggled to breathe as I waited for the call.
Dad had said they’d FaceTime me at 3 p.m., but it was after 6. I’d called every four minutes for an hour; they didn't pick up. I’d had to stop and charge my phone. Now I was waiting for them to call me, but it wasn't going well. Instead of being patient, I was driving myself crazy.
They would be gone with the other people in their sixties in an hour and a half. I needed to hear their voices one more time. “Needed” might not have been a strong enough word. Required. I required it. Their voices were vital to my being able to breathe again or bear the weight of my heart in my chest.
It was impossible to imagine what was going on, without including all the bad possibilities, and I had no clue how things were in California.
The news was getting more and more local. We were slowly cutting ourselves off from one another. Our world was becoming smaller, less global. It was the reverse of everything. As each generation died, an era of technology, memory, experience, and its effect on the earth went with it.
A window smashed outside, making me jump, but boys laughed, reminding me it was normal New York.
Nothing much had changed here.
Against what I had assumed would happen, people banded together. We became neighbors again. The city, as the world had, became smaller. Our news filled with stories of rescue and love and kindness. Animals being saved and prepared for our demise. And children rescued from what might have been neglect.
Politics faded into the background, becoming unimportant. As did money.
Somehow, I didn't know how, the best of humanity rose to the top, becoming louder than anything I’d ever heard.
We had banded together, helping and giving as much as we could. It was weird. Surprising and strange.
Humanity was going out, not with a bang or blow, but with triumph.
Even more interesting was that the city was still running.
The rules had shifted a bit, crimes were handled quickly, with little to no publicity on how. I imagined we all knew what happened to the guilty parties, but what did it matter if they died this week instead of in four? There was also a new body removal crew that had been working since the eighties died.
I expected things were the same in California, where my parents were driving down the coastline for their last week. I hoped they were safe from riots or looting or violence. They’d sounded happy and peaceful every day we spoke, regaling me with tales of picnics and seaside walks. The taste of the ocean and the feel of sand under their bodies.
I nearly smiled recalling the disgusted face I’d made when they told me that. I hadn’t heard my father laugh so hard, not for ages.
“Anything?” Julia burst into the apartment, tossing a small bottle of water at me.
“No. And I’m freaking out. You?”
“No.” She scowled. “No one is answering. I know my aunt and uncle are in Tuscany, living some off-the-grid nonsense. So they won’t answer. But my dad should have by now.” She’d been trying her parents’ cell as well. They were fifties, not sixties, but they were also a bit intense. They’d fled to Switzerland to enjoy their last week in their favorite place. Everyone was going bucket-list crazy.
Except me.
I missed school, which had been canceled the moment the eighties died, along with structure and expectations. Everyone knew the day they were going to die, so they lived.
I missed my parents.
I missed small events that felt large; tea with Darius and grinning into his eyes, oblivious to the world ending all around us.
“I’m trying again, this is shit.” She tapped his number on the screen and paced, starting to resemble me as she took nearly the same path around the room with her phone. “Dad!” she screamed as he answered. “What the hell?”
His voice was deep on the other end, coming across as more of a garbled mess from the distance.
“Well, I don’t care. We agreed. Every day at 4:00 p.m. and it’s almost 7:00 for God’s sake.” Tears streamed Julia’s pale cheeks. She was thinner than before, wasting away a little more every week as if her body was also on a countdown. She wasn’t coping well with the end.
Who was?
My phone vibrated in my hands. I tapped it on and lifted it to my ear, hurrying into the bedroom and closing the door. “Hello?”
“Celeste!” my eldest sister, Audie, shouted. “Have you heard from them?”
“No, nothing. I was hoping you were them, actually. My call display isn’t working anymore.” I sighed, disappointed.
“Shit.” Her voice oozed with the sharp sound of desperation, but she wasn't fully committing to it yet. “But you spoke to them last night?”
“I did. They were in Monterey and eating some awesome charcuterie that they bought from a little roadside stand. It sounded nice. They looked happy and sounded happy. In fact, I thought they might be stoned.” I tried to muster the image, forcing it to be the last one in my mind. Fresh and sparkling with glossy smiles and gazes that suggested two glasses of wine, maybe three. Warmth.
“Yeah, that’s when I spoke to them last too. I just hope they’re okay.”
“Me too. Dad said they were going to one of the centers, and they would call from there. I’m worried. Dad’s never late.”
“No, but Mom is ever the artistic mess. Maybe she’s making them lag,” Audie added, “or maybe the centers are really busy, and they haven’t had a chance to call yet.”
“Maybe.” I didn't want to talk about them checking into one of the places people went to die every week to help make body removal and cleanup easier. Mass cremation where your ashes were pumped out into the air was a terrifying notion. Particularly because I didn't want to face my parents’ death. “Are you doing all right? Are the kids okay?” She was the one sister with children. It made me sick to know they would be alone. They were fourteen and nine. They would die separate of one another. I pushed the thought out of my mind. I was getting better at pushing away thoughts of things I couldn't change or handle.
“Kids are great. Honestly, I wish I could be so oblivious. They think summer’s been prolonged. No matter how many times I explain that Roland and I will be gone in three weeks, they don’t seem to get it. Hannah is understanding it all better. Being fourteen, she’s cluing in as the ages of those passing gets closer to something tangible. It doesn’t help that the oldest went first. The kids don’t know any truly old people besides Mom and Dad. And they haven’t gone yet.” She sounded weary, not only from our parents, but maybe tired from preparations. She was the female version of our father, in his precision and control anyway. Her kids would be cared for down to the smallest detail.
“Is Bethany still coming?” I asked about our middle sister. The one closest in age to me, where Michael, our brother, was closer in age to Audie.
“She is. Aunty Beth is going to take care of them for the week of the twenties. After that, Hannah will have to take care of Marshall. And then Marshall will spend that last week alone.” Her pitch rose to the tense one from before, even cracking. I hadn’t heard the sound in years. Maybe a decade.
“I’m so sorry, Audie.” I didn’t bother fighting the tears she hated and sa
w as weakness. “Useless” is what she called them when I was little. A waste of energy I could be spending on fixing my problem. Surely, she had changed her tune on that since our problems had grown exponentially.
“Me too, Celeste. Me too.” She broke. The crack was loud, echoing. “I just wanna protect my babies,” she sobbed.
“I know,” I whispered and listened. She cried for a long time as if my shoulder were right there and not completely across the country. She and Roland lived in Washington, near Spokane. Near home.
Her crying lessened and eventually she sniffled and spoke, “If they call, will you let me know?”
“I will.”
“I love you so much, Celeste. I’ll talk to you later.” She was back to being herself, as if her personality was controlled by a switch.
“I love you too, Audie.” I hung up and watched the clock, silently waiting for a call that never came, holding on to that animated image of them in my mind.
A picnic.
Rosy cheeks.
Glossy eyes.
Wide smiles.
God help me.
No, help them.
6
You’re a ham
Zoey
“Come on, crazy. Let’s go see what the fanatical folks on ham have to say tonight. They’ll make you feel better. They make us look sane as balls.” Owen took my hand in his. He had a small addiction to ham radio and adding “balls” to the end of every comparison. Week five was over and had been a hard one. Grandma Kay was gone. We’d talked on the phone a few times, but it didn't change the fact I never got to see her again. She went to Arizona to be with friends in the end. I didn't blame her, but I would miss her. And her death made the realness of this much more tangible.
Owen pulled me up the stairs to my attic where he had made a control room. Elaine let him put it in a year ago. He even put up some scary old antenna on my roof. He couldn't put it on his house because he didn't want anyone to know. It was acceptable for me to be a loser with a ham radio. He had a reputation to uphold. I was the girl who got her braces stuck in some dude’s neck.
