The Test

Every year. every 18yr old takes a mandatory test. Speaking about it is prohibited. Everyone who gets 95% or above gets sent away, and nobody knows where to or why. You sign in to see your mark. and despite completely guessing on every question. you got a 96%. There's a knock at your door.

"Are you ready?" Mom asked as I came down for breakfast that morning.

"I guess so," I responded. Dad looked over the newspaper at me. 

"You guess so?" he asked.

"Yeah. I guess so. Not like there's much more I can say about it."

"Fair point," Dad said. 

Last month I turned 18. Every year, everyone who turned 18 in the previous 12 months takes a mandatory test. We aren't allowed to speak about it. We aren't allowed to ask anyone anything about it. We aren't even allowed to ask if anyone we know has ever taken it. All we know is the one thing we are told, about a month before our 18th birthdays.  Everyone takes the test. Anyone who has gotten 95% or above disappears. That's all we know. They're taken away after the results are posted on the Portal, and no one knows where they go, what they do, or if they're even still alive. 

"Did you take it?" I ask my dad, testing the boundaries of that rule. 

"You know I can't answer that," he said. "And don't say any more about it. The Portal is always on, and you never know who can listen in."

I rolled my eyes and sat down to the breakfast Mom was putting out.  It was a pretty typical breakfast.  Nothing special even though this test could determine... well, I don't know what this test could actually determine. 

I took a couple of pancakes off the plate, and some bacon. Mom poured me a glass of orange juice and herself a cup of coffee.  She topped off Dad's cup and pushed the cream towards him. 

Neither of my parents said much more. Mom looked nervous, Dad stayed behind his paper.  My little brother, Tristan, who had been silent until now, looked over at me. 

"Aren't you going to school today?" He noticed I wasn't in my school uniform. 

"No. No school for me today," I said. 

"Lucky," he said, pulling at the tie to his uniform. Tristan is eight and in Second Form. He hates the school uniform because in Second Form they make the kids wear ties.  In First Form and in Entry, kids wear romper suits with the school colours on them. Second Form is where the real learning starts. And as such, they are expected to wear the proper uniform. I smiled at him. I remembered when I started Second Form and had to wear a tie. Mom probably had to get three or four new ones in the first month of Second Form, because I kept pulling mine off and losing it between school and home. 

"It's a very important day for Jaime, Tristan," Mom said. "So he doesn't have to go to school."

"If you don't have to go to school, why don't you get to stay in bed later?" Tristan asked, 

"I have to be somewhere," I said. "I have an appointment."

"Oh." 

I wished I could tell Tristan where I was going and why, but it's forbidden to discuss The Test with anyone. And since I'd already pushed my luck asking Dad if he'd taken The Test, I didn't want to draw more attention to my family, in case someone was listening in on the Portal. It was possible, seeing as it was Test Day. 

I finished up my breakfast and cleared my plate. 

"Just leave it on the counter," Mom said.  "I need to reload the washer anyway."

I picked up my bag, then, rethinking it, put it back on the bench by the doorway. I didn't need it. It only had my school books in it, and I wasn't going to be needing those today anyway. I pulled out my tablet, figuring at the very least, I might need that. 

"You have everything?" Mom said, meeting me at the door after checking Tristan had his school belongings and taking his tablet off its charger and packing it into his bag, while Tristan put on his school shoes. 

"I don't need anything. Maybe just my tablet.  So yeah, I think I have everything," I said. 

Mom pulled me into a tight hug. 

"Good luck," she said. "I know you'll do fine." 

"Thanks, Mom," I said, pulling out of her embrace.  I gave her a kiss on the cheek because she seemed so worried, and walked out the door with Tristan in tow, pulling on his school cap. 

"Where are you going then?" Tristan asked.

"I told you," I said. "I have an appointment."

"Where?" he asked.

"In town," I replied.

"Is it a doctor's appointment?" 

"No," I answered.  "Just an appointment."

"But what kind?" 

He was getting annoying.

"Tris, it's just an appointment. I'll be home by dinner time. That's all."

He hung his head.  Tristan and I tell each other everything - I mean, within reason. I'm 18, he's eight. There are some things I don't tell him, or at least, not everything.

We got to the corner where I would catch the shuttle into town to the Testing Centre and Tristan would continue on to school. I gave him a hug and ruffled his hair, stealing his cap. 

"Hey! Give me that!" he said, laughing.

"Make me," I said, holding it over my head as he jumped to try and reach. 

"Come on, Jaime! Give me my cap back!" 

I placed the cap back on his head, backward, and offered my hand for a high five. 

"Learn lots, little buddy," I said.

"Good luck at your appointment," he said, crossing the street and heading towards the school. I walked over to the shuttle stop and waited. There were a few other kids I recognized from the neighbourhood and from school.  Darlene was there. She was in my Form at school. I didn't realize she'd turned 18 already.  She was a quiet girl at the best of times.  Today was no different. She had her head buried in a book. I sat on the bench beside her.

"Hey, Darlene," I said. 

"Hi, Jaime," she said. 

"Why are you studying? You know there's no reason to study." 

"Shhhh! Don't say too much!" 

"Dar, I didn't even say anything. Say, when did you turn 18?"

"In June," she said. "Why? When did you turn 18?"

"Last month," I replied. "I just didn't realize you'd already turned 18. I thought you wouldn't be 18 until next year."

"We've been in the same Form our whole lives, and you don't realize that we're the same age?"

"Kyle's not 18 until next year, and he's in our Form," I reasoned. 

"Kyle is a special situation," Darlene said. 

"How so?"

"He's gifted. He was accelerated into our Form. Probably the only kid ever accelerated."

"Huh," was all I could say. Kyle didn't come across as a particularly smart person.  He wasn't stupid, but he certainly didn't do much that showed he was gifted.

Just then, someone dropped into the seat on the bench beside me and sighed. Without looking, I knew exactly who it was. 

"'Morning, Eric," I said. 

"'Morning, Jaime," he responded,  "You ready?"

"As ever, you?" 

"As ever."  

I looked over at Eric and saw he was wearing his sleep clothes.

"Interesting wardrobe selection," I said. 

"Didn't feel like getting dressed.  Not like there's a dress code or anything."

I didn't have an answer for that, so I didn't respond.  I was saved from having to come up with something by the shuttle pulling up to the platform.  The rest of the 18-year-olds and I lined up and got on the shuttle, all heading towards the back together.  A few adults who worked in town looked at us as we got on. It uncommon to see teenagers on the shuttle into town.  We're not encouraged to go into town, especially not on our own.  Usually we go into town with our parents, if absolutely necessary.  But most things can be taken care of in our own neighbourhoods, and most shopping for school uniforms is done through the Portal. It's rare that anyone has to go into town unless they work there. Unless you've committed a particularly heinous crime, like murder, even legal matters are dealt with over the Portal.  

"Think of Something Ridiculous"

Something ridiculous.  What could I possibly think about that would be considered ridiculous?  Once upon a time I would have said a TV star as President of the United States would be ridiculous.  But then there was Ronald Reagan, who seemed to have done a decent job - when put up against the current US president - Donald Trump.  Who would ever believe that a man surrounded by sycophants and yes men, whose greatest accomplishment is a substandard reality show, would be elected president?

I wish this was fiction.  This is not fiction. This is the reality in the US.  And while I live in Canada, people don't seem to realize that what happens in the US affects Canada.

Sigh.

I Used to Love to Travel

This is a fiction piece I wrote for my writing group.  I try to write every day.  500 words at least.  I hope that this will help in preparation for NaNoWriMo - either with ideas or being in the habit of writing at least 500 words a day.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Whenever I’m feeling particularly nostalgic for the old days, I dig through my memory box and pull out my old passport.  Ahh, the places I used to visit.

The stamp in my passport for England, and then again for France when we got off the ferry at Calais.  The stamp for Belgium and Germany.  The stamp for Australia when I thought living down under would be fun (it’s not.  It’s hot in December and the flora and fauna are out to kill you!)  The stamp for Japan, when I travelled there with the volleyball team. 

The multiple stamps from the United States when I would travel to visit family across the country.  And the stamps to Africa, Europe, China, Russia, the Caribbean.   I was very well travelled.  Now?  There are no more public airports.  No more commercial planes.  No more travel.

Because five years ago,  came The War. 

I don’t even know if the countries I loved to visit exist anymore.  Travel is completely banned.  Crossing borders is impossible.  Unless you are in the army.  Or you can find a way to cross the border.  But it’s illegal and people who are caught trying to cross the border are killed on sight.  No trial, no excuses. 

The group in power now, I don’t even know what to call them.  What country they originate from seems to change daily.  All I can tell you is that there is no more government as we knew it.  No more elections.  We’re essentially overseen by a military faction.  Rumour has it that it’s the same in the United States.  Whatever is left of it.  Rumour is all we have.  There’s no more news that isn’t heavily biased towards the Faction.  Whatever news we hear, it’s dictated by the Faction.  Which is what we call the government.  There’s really no other name.  We don’t even know what country they originated from.  It wasn’t even a military coup of the government.  You can’t overthrow a government when the government no longer exists. 

It started out with rumours of war.  Factions in the Middle East banded together and started invading countries surrounding the Middle East.  Then, other countries started taking sides – both the invaded and the invaders.  Some sided with the invaders before they could invade their country.  Europe fell first.  Then Africa.  China joined on and North Korea blew them off the map.  Pretty soon, most of the nuclear weapons were either launched or destroyed.  Governments toppled before countries were invaded.  Citizens were clamouring to their governments for help.  To ensure their countries weren’t invaded.  Then North Korea and Iran attacked the United States with nuclear weapons.   Before we knew it, there was no more United States.  There was no more Canada.  At least, not in the way they had been before.  Some parts of what used to be the United States became part of Canada’s land, but when the walls went up, it didn’t matter.  Families were torn apart.  And communication on the other side of the wall was non-existent.  I haven’t heard a word from anyone in my family on the other side of that wall in three years.  I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead.

The war lasted four years.  In some ways, it’s still being fought.  The American army, once considered so strong, was quickly decimated when Iran and North Korea bombed the US.  First they took out whatever weapons installations they could.  That included nuking the Arctic.  Colorado is a huge burning hole in the ground.  NORAD doesn’t exist except as a memory.

The British and Canadian armies fell immediately after.  As did pretty much the entire European armies.  Germany, quite unsurprisingly, took side with the Faction.  China and South Korea are also pretty much nothing more than large craters.  And with the size of Asia – that’s saying something. 

Most of what we know about the outside world is what little we hear from the Faction news and rumours that people say they hear from the other side of the wall.  Someone is always saying they know someone who snuck over the border and came back with news.

I don’t believe it.   My cousin tried to sneak across the border to get news of our family.  That was three years ago.  He never came back. 

I Am A Warrior

I Am A Warrior

Every day, I get out of bed.  No small feat, truly.  While physically there is nothing wrong with me in terms of getting out of bed, emotionally, some days are harder to get started than others. 

There are days when I almost bound out of bed, ready to take on the day, excited for whatever tasks I have ahead of me at work, and looking forward to the evening when I get to spend time with my husband and my children.

Other days, I don’t want to get out of bed and face the tasks I have ahead of me at work.  I just want to stay curled up in bed and sleep.  Not because the tasks themselves are insurmountable, but because the black cloud that is always somewhere in the periphery, has found its way in front of me. 

No one knows the battles people face and fight day after day after day.  They see someone and make snap judgements based on what they see (I discuss this more in depth in my piece about What We See).  But really, you have no idea what any one person is facing at any point in their day.

Recently there was a video circulating on Facebook that has gone viral.  It started as a photo of three young men leaning out of the window of a drive-through coffee shop and holding the hand of the person in the car.  The story came out almost immediately.  She is, evidently, a regular at that shop, and the boys – all of them teens – recognized her and recognized that she seemed distraught. 

She was. She had just lost her husband and was feeling overwhelmed.  She had tears on her cheeks when she pulled up to the window.  This was during the busy morning rush, and the boys were eager to get through the drive-through line as quickly as possible.  Until this woman pulled up to the window.

What did these boys do?  These boys stopped everything they were doing and prayed with the woman to help her find strength to navigate her new life without her husband.  They held up the line of customers to offer love, support and prayer to a woman they really only knew by her coffee order.  They also gave her her coffee for free, as an act of goodwill and because everyone needs a treat now and then.

My office is attached to a shopping mall.  As part of my lunch and for exercise, I always go for a walk that takes me around the mall a couple of times.  I see a lot of people during my walk, and I have learned from watching the people as I walk, not to judge.  The woman pushing the dog in the stroller?  Don’t judge (and man, did I use to judge people like that).  Maybe she lost a child once, and this is how she copes.  Maybe the dog is handicapped and can’t walk much, but she enjoys being out.

The older child in a stroller?  Maybe that child isn’t able to walk for long for whatever reason. 

I see business people walking to and fro.  I see people meandering – some older, some new moms pushing strollers.

We all have our own stories and our own battles to fight.  Some of us are battling inner demons.  Some of us are battling addiction.  Some of us are battling our own feelings of self-loathing.  Some of us are just hoping they can keep it together until the end of the day.

I battle depression.  More often than not, I win the battle.  And when I’m losing the battle, you likely wouldn’t know it just by looking at me.  Because I’m up.  And I’m at work.  And I am a warrior.

Living vs. Existing.

He sat alone in the cold room.  The only noises were the hum of the air conditioning unit, the vending machines in the corner and the constant tick-tick-tick of the clock above the doorway.  But he wasn’t aware of any of the noises.  Nothing seemed to distract him. 

In his hands he held a small, blue blanket.  He kept turning the blanket – what remained of the blanket in any case – around in his hands.  It was no longer a full blanket – hadn’t been for years.  It was just slightly larger than a handkerchief now.  Still soft.  He brought it to his nose and inhaled.  It still smelled of her.  Mint and… paper.  Like books.  Something she always had in her purse – a packet of mints or mint gum (which invariably opened and scattered all over the bottom of her purse) and a book.  She read constantly. 

The blue blanket had been their son’s.  It had wrapped him on the day they brought him home from the hospital, covered him as he transitioned into his ‘big boy bed’, and had followed him throughout his childhood.  As a young boy, he had stuffed the blanket at the bottom of sleeping bags when he went to friends to sleep over.  As a teen, he’d hung it over his window.  Before he left for university, his mom had cut this small square off the main blanket, before packing it into one of his boxes.  Even at 18, he was bringing his favourite blanket along.

One of his friends, who had studied in the fashion department, had taken a small cutting of the blanket and woven into a tie, which he had worn on his graduation.  This blanket had been with him his entire life. 

And now, this small piece, the only piece that was left, would likely follow him to his death. 

His son, his bright, energetic and entertaining son lay just doors away.  Machines were breathing for him.  Machines were pumping oxygen through his body while keeping his heart beating and his blood flowing.  His hands were still warm.  His eyes seemed to move beneath their closed lids.  But without the machines, his body would do nothing on its own.

The doctors had said he could exist like this for years.  That the machines would keep his body alive.  But he had to decide if that’s what he wanted to do.  And he had to make this decision alone.  He’d already said goodbye to his wife, the mother of the boy in the room down the hall.  He didn’t know if he could say goodbye to his son, too.  Not within a day of saying goodbye to his wife.   What would his life mean, if he didn’t have his family in it any longer?  Could he face the empty years?  Could he face going back to the house, knowing his wife and his son would never again walk through the front door? 

His son had been an adventurer.  In high school, he’d joined an orienteering club and gone on a week-long camping trip with his friends, using only maps and compasses.  No GPS.  In university, he had studied environment.  He wanted to make a difference.  He studied forestation and deforestation.  He studied environmental impacts.  He was an environmental scientist.  Or, that’s what his degree said.  He would never become that environmental scientist.  The drunk driver that hit his wife’s car while she drove him home after his graduation, took care of that.  The head injuries he’d sustained, the doctor’s said, would likely leave him unable to speak, see, swallow on his own, to breathe on his own.  Basically, that driver took a strong, smart and lively boy, who looked for adventure, who lived every day to its fullest, and always thought so much of the people around him – and left him a shell.  A body, that needs machines to breathe for it, machines to pump his blood.

He made the decision.  He could not allow his son to exist.  Not when it meant he couldn’t live.  His son would not want to lie in a bed, being kept in existence, if he couldn’t participate in life.

He got up, steeled himself, and went to his son’s bedside to say his final goodbye.  He would tell the nurses his decision, and he would sit with his son, until his son no longer existed. 

The Guy in the Bar

I usually stop at the Toad in the Hole on my way home from work on Thursday nights. It's my late night, and Marie is out with her friends on the nights I work late. I don't like going home to an empty house. Too much of that in my youth. You'd think a strapping guy like me wouldn't be afraid of anything, and I'm not afraid to go home to an empty house exactly, but I just don't like it. And that's another story altogether.
 
This here story is about that Thursday night I stopped going to the Toad in the Hole.
 
The day started like any other day. I got up, kissed my wife goodbye for the day, and headed off to work. What I do is unimportant to this story. Suffice it to say, it's hard, honest work.
 
So, I'm sitting there, drinking a beer and eating some fish and chips and chatting with Mike, the barkeep. Mike's an alright guy. Sorry I don't see him anymore. But after what happened that night, I can't go back to the Toad in the Hole. But I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I?
 
So, I'm sitting drinking my drink, and eating my food and chatting my yapper when this guy stumbles in and sits right next to me. The Toad in the Hole is usually pretty quiet on a Thursday night - part of the reason I like to go there on Thursdays. So, there were plenty of seats, both at tables and at the bar, but this guy sits right down next to me. I could tell from his breath that he had already been to at least one other pub in the area.
 
"Gimme a beer, mate," the guy says to Mike.
 
"Looks to me like you've had enough somewhere else," Mike said.
 
"Who asked you for your opinion? Just gimme a beer. After what I've been through, I need it. You would, too, if you'd been through what I've been through."
 
"I'll give you one beer, but I'm giving you some food to go with it. I'll order you a spaghetti."
 
"NO!! Not spaghetti. Please, anything but that. I'll have what he's having," he said, gesturing to my plate of fish and chips.
 
"Right, I'll get that up for you right away." Mike said, drawing the gentleman a pint.
 
"Thanks, mate," the guy said, taking a long pull from the glass. "Ahh. That goes down smooth, now, don't it?"
 
"Guess so," I said, turning back to my dinner.
 
"What a night," the guy said, to no one in particular. I wasn't really interested. I only came to the pub to kill time between work and Marie getting home from her girls' night.
 
“I tell you, pal, after what I been through tonight, I don’t think I’ll bother staying sober anymore.”
 
“I’m not your pal,” I mumbled.
 
“We’re all friends, here.  And after I tell you my story, we’ll be friends for life.”
 
“I don’t need any more friends.”
 
“I gotta tell my story, pal.  I gotta get this off my chest.  I don’t tell someone, I’m gonna, well, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
 
“I’m not really interested.”
 
“You’ve got to listen.  Look.  I’ll talk.  Listen or don’t, but I’ve got to get this off my chest.”
 
I said nothing.  Clearly, no matter what I said, this guy was going to talk.
 
“The world is ending.”  He started. I rolled  my eyes.  Great.  So he was one of those doomsday guys.
 
“So I hear.   December 21, 2012.  The Mayan Calendar.”
 
“No.  I mean now.  As we speak.  There’s something going on out there.  People are changing. I started noticing it at work.  Then with my wife when I got home.”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“I got to work today, I’m an accountant.  I know, exciting job.  Anyway, I got to work today, and the person who usually greets me was there.  I mean, she was there, but it wasn’t her.”
 
“What is that supposed to mean?”
 
“It looked like her, and it sounded like her, but it wasn’t her.”
 
“Then who was she?” I couldn’t believe I was getting involved in this.
 
“It wasn’t a she. It was an it.”
 
“An… It?”
 
“Not It.  It.”
 
“Oh. Well, excuse me.”
 
“Anyway, I  thought maybe that was just one, but when I got up to my office, there were more.”
 
“More?”
 
“More.”
 
“More what?”
 
“More of them, of course.”
 
“Who are they?” I asked.
 
“I don’t know.  I have theories, but I can’t be sure.”
 
“What do you think they are.”
 
“Like I said, I can’t be sure, but I have theories.  I won’t say what I think until I’m sure.”
 
“How will you know?”
 
“I have some.”
 
“Some?  What do  you mean some?” I asked.  Now I was hooked. Good gracious.  What on earth what I doing?
 
“I always loved biology in school.  I would have been a scientist, but I was rubbish at the Maths I needed.  I know.  Ironic – bad at Maths but an accountant. I did very well in Business Maths, but I was rubbish at Trig and Calculus.”
 
“And that has what to do with this story?” I asked.
 
“Well, you see, I had to do what I did.”
 
“What do you mean?”  I was starting to regret engaging this guy in a conversation.  Or rather, allowing myself to be engaged in his crazy talk.
 
“Well, I have to find out what’s causing it.  So I needed something to test.”
 
“Wait.  I don’t think I like where this is going.  I don’t think I want to hear the end of your story.”
 
“You need to. I have to tell someone this.”  I sighed. 
 
“Mike, another beer,” I groaned.  “Please.”
 
“So, I had to find out what was happening.  Why were they changing?  What was changing them.  So, I took a couple.”
 
“You… took a couple?”
 
“I got rid of the rest, but I took a couple with me.  I subdued them, and that was hard.  They bleed a lot.”
 
“They… bleed a lot?”
 
“Like stuck pigs.  I couldn’t believe how much blood there was.  But I couldn’t take them all with me.”
 
“Wha…?  Okay, buddy.  I’ve heard enough.”
 
“NO! You haven’t!! I have to get this all out.  So, I first noticed that they don’t move the same way.  More fluid.  Less… clumsy.  Then, I noticed their eyes.”
 
“Their eyes?”
 
“Yes. Their eyes.  Their eyes are clear.  No clouds.  It’s like they’re seeing the world for the first time, yet they’re not all that impressed by it. They’re almost bored.”
 
“Bored?”
 
“Yeah. Like they’ve seen it all before.”
 
“Like, maybe, every day?”
 
“Yes.  Well, no. Not exactly.  So, I just watched for a while.  Pretended I was going about my day.  But really, I was watching them.  They acted like the people I worked with every day for the past fifteen years. But different.  They moved differently and talked differently.  They looked at me when they passed my office.  They looked hungry.”
 
“Hungry?  Was this near noon, perhaps?”
 
“You don’t believe me.”  He stated.
 
“Well, you’re not making a lot of sense.  Pretty much all I’ve heard is that you had a pretty typical day.”
 
“Just let me finish.  I watched them.  I was going to talk to my boss, but he was one of them.  I realized, I was going to have to handle this on my own. I knew I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.  So, I started with my boss.  He was pretty easy.  Went down fast.  I got rid of any of the ones who changed.  Anyone who hadn’t, I locked in the conference room.  For their own safety, of course.”
 
“Of course,” I agreed.
 
“A couple of the women were far more vicious than the men.  They had more fight in them.  Once I’d taken care of the office, I took a few of them and put them in my car and brought them home.  I wanted to show my wife what was happening.  But when I walked in the door I found out that she, and our sixteen year old son, had both changed.  I had to take care of them, too.”
 
“What do you mean by take care of them?” I was afraid of the answer.
 
“I took care of them.  Made sure they couldn’t change anyone else.  Because they can do it, you know.”
 
“Can they?”
 
“They can.  You gotta watch for it.  You can’t miss it, when they’ve changed.  They’re themselves, but not.  You’ll see. Well, it’s been real.  I’m going to go.  After all, I have work to do.”
 
“Should you be driving in your condition?”
 
“I didn’t drive.  I live right ‘round the corner.  Walked here, din’t I?”  He was slurring his words at this point.  I was glad to hear he was walking home.  But I wondered if we shouldn’t be following him.  Or calling the constables.  “Watch for it, mate.”
 
“Right,” I tipped my glass at him as he staggered out the door.
 
“You believe that shit?” Mike asked me, clearing the guy’s plate, cutlery and empty pint glass. 
 
“Naw.  But I’m a little worried that maybe there’s something that’s gone down in the city?” I glanced up at the TV above the bar.  “Turn that up, Mike.”
 
“In late breaking news, London Police responded to a distress call at an office complex on Charing Cross Road.  Upon arrival, Police found several office workers locked in the company’s conference room and a scene of horror as they searched the rest of the office.  Police are looking for this man, who the surviving office workers say locked them in the conference room before beginning  his rampage through the office.” They posted a picture clearly taken from a security pass.
 
It was the guy who just moments ago had been sitting beside me.
 
“Shit! Mike! That’s the guy.  The guy who was just here.  You ever seen him before? Know where he lives?”
 
“He said he lived right around the corner.  Nowhere around here anyone could live besides Highland Acres.”
 
“You gotta call the constables, Mike.”
 
“I’m on it.  Look, you go home.  I’ll let the constables know you were here.  They can call you, right?”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?”
 
“I’m sure. Not like you or I did anything.  I’ll give them your number.  You okay with that?”
 
“Yeah.  Marie should be home by now.  She works on Charing Cross Road.  She might have seen or heard something about this. I’m sure she’s worried.”
 
“I’ll be in touch.  Or the constables will be.  See you next Thursday?”
 
“You bet.  Take care, Mike.”
 
“You too.  Crazy fucks out there, huh?”
 
“Craziest.”
 
I drove home calling Marie’s mobile phone and our house phone.  There was no answer at either.  I was worried.  It wasn’t that late, but late enough.  Marie usually got home around ten, and it was eleven thirty.  She’d often be in bed by now.  I tried the house phone again, thinking maybe she’d been sleeping and the phone had roused her, but not in enough time for her to answer before the answering machine got it.
 
I pulled into the drive and saw Marie’s car in the drive.  If she was home, why wasn’t she answering the phone?  I unlocked the door and saw her sitting on the chesterfield, with the television on.  She was watching some reality show we’d both agreed was banal.
 
“Good evening Aaron.  I’ve missed you. How was your day?”
 
That wasn’t Marie…

I Understand

I understand what you meant.

I understand what you said.

But what I don't understand is why.  Why did you say what you said?  Why did you feel that what you  had to tell me was what I needed to hear?  What made you think that what you had to say was something I don't already know, or haven't already heard?

I understand you care.

I understand you think you're entitled to say what you want.

But what I don't understand is why you want to say those things to someone you're supposed to love.  Why would you say things that are hurtful? 

I understand that you're lonely.

I understand you have issues, too.

But what I don't understand is why I give and give you friendship, and you give nothing in return.  I was there for you.  You were never there for me. 

I understand that you're busy.

I understand you're stressed.

But what I don't understand is why you think you're the only one.  Stress is not something that's specific to you.  We're all stressed.  We're all busy. 

I understand - and you have no idea.