Chapter 17: Connection vs. Attachment (I’ll find a better title for this chapter soon)

With less than a week to research and write the article, Jane decided she’d better get busy experimenting, trying out a few of the connection techniques she had researched, putting them to the test, and observing how well they worked.
It’ll be fun! she told herself, though it didn’t all turn out that way.

She began by saying hello to various strangers she passed in the street on her way home and observing their reactions.

“Hi,” she said as she passed a man in his 30’s, maybe ten years older than her. “Nice jacket.”
The man stopped in his tracks, looked her up and down, then said hello back and asked for her number.
“Sorry,” Jane replied apologetically, feeling flustered but thinking fast on her feet. “It’s just that my boyfriend has the same jacket, and I couldn’t help but admire it.”
The man looked slightly deflated, but nodded and turned away.

Oops, she thought to herself. Some of these techniques work a little too well! I’d better dial back the research a notch.

She reached the portal of her apartment building with no further misadventures, and stopped at the mailboxes to see if anything interesting had arrived.

“Hi,” she said absentmindedly to another resident who was extracting a few envelopes and a stack of junk mail from his own box.

“Hello,” he replied cheerfully. He shuffled his stack of mail into his left hand, then held out his right toward her. “I’m Chase, by the way. I just moved in.”

Jane shook his hand and looked up at his friendly face. Their eyes locked, and suddenly…she couldn’t look away. It felt like he had turned on a tractor beam and would not release her. It took her a moment to gather her wits and make her mouth function again. “I’m Jane,” she sputtered. “I’m up in 3C.”

“2D,” Chase replied, still clutching her hand lightly.

Jane had taken self defense classes, and the moves to twist Chase’s arm behind his back and utterly disable him flashed through her mind, but she had never learned a defense against his tractor beam gaze.

Then, out of nowhere, it struck her. It hit her hard, right in the chest, somewhere near her heart. A sharp inner pain there made her gasp slightly, and she withdrew her hand abruptly and finally managed to look away from his piercing gaze.

“Gotta go,” she said lamely, slamming her mailbox shut and heading for the stairs. Usually, she took the elevator, but she couldn’t stand the thought of waiting for it to arrive. She only wanted to get away from Chase and figure out what just happened to her!

Had he slipped her some diabolical toxin through their handshake? Was she about to pass out, or curl up and die, or transform into some disgusting alien creature designed to join him on his quest to take over the world, starting with some random Chicago apartment building?

No, probably not, Jane reasoned, but the pain persisted and she made her graceless exit as fast as she could go.

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I open my eyes in the darkness,
and with so few details yet visible
in my pre-dawn bedroom,
it feels no more real
than the still-fading dream.
It’s difficult,
tricky
to drag myself away from the imaginary loneliness
with its physical, grinding heartache
when the only real place I have to stand
is also all
alone.

I close my eyes again
and hope to find myself
fallen into a rerun
of yesterday’s dream,
escaping European cities and intermingled jungles
with the princess.
That would be something,
at least.
Actually,
it would be nothing,
but still better than nothing,
and I would be happy with that,
though not actually happy,
but better than nothing.

Instead,
there’s Katie,
a sweet girlfriend from three eons ago,
now a nurse,
at least in the dream,
and I realize what’s going on
when she begins telling me a story
I know I’ve heard before from someone else.
“What would you do
if you knew
you were only a dream?” I ask her.
Her face and head
entirely vanish,
leaving only
a light-blue Oxford
to wrap its arms around me
for 2.5 seconds
before the dream can no longer
hold itself together
and I find myself again alone
in the dark,
but with the grinding heartache
somewhat soothed.

So that’s something.
It’s better than nothing.

The post Nothing, Something appeared first on Utah Fast Fiction.

A delivery truck turned the corner, then drove past his house, and it somehow reminded Logan that his father would come driving down the street in a few hours. He’d better get everything tidied up before dad got home if he wanted to avoid another scolding about being responsible.

The garage door stood open, with his latest woodworking project still cluttering the floor. That, too, would need to get put away, or perhaps he should finish the project. The design was simple, but elegant – half a dozen 2x4s hammered to a plywood sheet would soon become the perfect jump for his bike, unlike the boards lain across bricks that tended to topple the second his front tire hit it. That didn’t seem safe, and that, as his father had pointed out, was not responsible.

The thought of finishing the jump felt exciting, and suddenly a brand new idea popped into Logan’s brain – maybe he should become a carpenter! If the jump turned out good, he could mass produce them for other kids in the neighborhood, then other neighborhoods, then he could invent new projects, pay his way through college or trade school with the proceeds, which would mean he wouldn’t have to study quite so hard now, because he wouldn’t need to earn a scholarship! “Don’t worry,” he could tell his mother next time she asked whether he had finished his homework, “I’ve made my own scholarship.”

With school and career all worked out, his thoughts proceeded to the next tasks, which included raising a family, he supposed. What else was there? Step one: find someone to marry. Janet, who lived across the street, was pretty cute, and she would probably become even cuter as they grew older. Not that he would admit this to anyone. The topic of girls still made him feel a bit squeamish. Anyway, once he finished the jump, she would surely see him fly off it over and over, and probably feel impressed, whether she was ready to admit it or not. She would probably peek outside from behind the curtains just to watch his daredevil exploits. Maybe he would build an even bigger jump to jump over cars and stuff. How could she possibly not be impressed by that?

And then…then what? He guessed they’d have kids and take them on vacation to Disneyland. He’d teach them to be responsible, too, so everything would turn out right for the rest of their lives.

And then, he would retire. He would sit in his recliner and read the paper. He would take slow walks around the block and chat with neighbors about the good old days. He would complain about politics and prices, about his goiter (what’s a goiter?) and his aching back. He would tell and retell stories from his glory days – his youthful victories and heart-wrenching defeats. He would dwell most of all on his regrets, on wasted opportunities never to return, and wistfully wish he could do it all over again.

He would look back at this very afternoon, the day when his entire future began. He would look longingly at the sprinkler sitting peacefully in the middle of the lawn and wish he’d have turned it on, then run back and forth through the airborne water with abandon, setting responsibility aside for just a few minutes, or a few hours, and soaking in all of life’s beauty that he possibly could before it withered and vanished from before his eyes.

Logan stepped off the porch, turned on the water, kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head, then took an eager step onto the lawn, his skinny torso giving a small shudder as the first cold drops splashed against his bare chest.

Across the street, Janet pulled back the curtains just enough to peer out the window and watch.

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