Credit: Author
Now Playing: Dancing Right In Front of Me – David Gilmour
The sound of machine gun fire jolts me awake. The constant stream of rounds bashing against a hard surface is nothing but the rain, but I swore I was about to get blown to hell by supporting artillery. I’ve been playing too much Call of Duty, gotta stop these late night gaming sessions.
I look over at the outdated clock-radio sitting on my nightstand, brushing aside the mountain of receipts and gum packets and trashed cheap headphones to read the time. The harsh, green, transistor script reads out ‘6:47’ to me. I groan. It’s a goddamn Saturday.
I don’t know why I’m surprised that I’m exhausted. The only reason I spent so much time playing video games with Martin last night was to distract myself from the ghost which strolled back into my life and stole my fries last night. Allison’s been home for a week already and only just now reached out. Of course she did it in the most dramatic way possible, but that’s just typical Allison.
Not to say I haven’t missed her like hell. However, things changed in the last five years since she’s been away. Last night, she tried to pick up like nothing ever happened, and it took me every ounce of self-control I still had left not to say, ‘Hey, guess what? You left just before my mom up and vanished. I’ve had to figure out how to live with that in the last five years. So, you coming back like nothing changed is about as clueless as you could get!’
I don’t think I’m actually mad at her. I really missed her. We talked just like the old days, and I was on the edge of my seat with the Seattle stories. It’s just that resentment hanging in the back of my head. And I’m being unfair because she doesn’t know. How could she? I know I have to tell her, but I just don’t know how.
I shake my head and pull my tired ass out of bed. I’m awake, there’s no chance I’m getting back to sleep now. I look out at the sun rays peeking over the edge of the horizon. One of the benefits of living on the beach is that I get a full view of the sunrise every morning. At least today I know the sun is coming up, as obscured as it will be by the rainclouds that continue their damnable deluge of detestable disappointment. Nice one.
Rain. I’m sick and tired of the rain in this town. Every time I have some moral dilemma, or personal setback, or something, it rains in this goddamn town. There’s a chill it brings with it, though I’m sure it’s because of what happened last night. Why chalk it up to being October, it’s totally obvious that my emotional upheaval affects the weather. Cause that isn’t self-centered as all hell.
“Why do I constantly look for trouble where there is none?” I ask rhetorically to the universe. I’m half expecting Obi Wan Kenobi’s voice to come out of nowhere and answer me about how she showed up at the right time, and something on how the Force works through all of us. Sounds as crazy as fate, destiny, or any of the religious beliefs we have already, but those control the world and have throughout history for as long as history has been a thing. Priests don’t have lightsabers, though, so reality disappoints once again. I stare out the window as the water continually falls to the ground. Things tend to do that because of gravity. It’s pouring. Again. And I’m cold. Again.
I make the executive decision to get dressed, and after putting some deodorant on, I throw on jeans, my well-worn Rush t-shirt that my dad got when he saw them on the Signals tour in Boston on June 12th, 1982, and a flannel button down over top. Quick shave, brush my teeth, and comb my hair, and I’ve successfully done everything I can to avoid looking at my phone. The time has come.
I have one missed call and a text, from the same person, with the call coming in a few minutes earlier. One single text represents the worst thing possible about last night. It’s Allison. “I missed you these last five years. Last night felt just like old times.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I look over at an old picture of us from fall of our senior year of high school. She’s smiling a slightly crooked, toothy grin. Her eyes have this spark of life and a desire for danger in them. She looks normal, happy even. We had no idea of the massive fissure that’d drive us apart at the end of the school year.
“Why the hell did you come back now?” I head downstairs, musing about the weird happenings of fate. I flip the light on downstairs, because I’m sure my dad is still sleeping. He doesn’t have to be at the bakery until nine today, which means he’ll get up at seven thirty and be there by eight. I look next door to me and notice the light in one of the upstairs bedrooms is still on. I make a call as I lean against the window frame to get a view of her reaction.
“Have you been up all night?” I inquire, grinning.
“How did you know?” Her voice is bewildered.
“Because you have never gotten out of bed this early. Logically speaking, if your light is on at this ungodly hour, you never went to sleep.”
“Oh har har Adams.”
“It’s true though! I ought to know you well enough by this point.”
“Are you calling just to give me a hard time?”
“Nah, come over for breakfast!” I look in the freezer to find…nothing I can make for breakfast. No sausage, no bacon, the fridge is out of milk, and we have a grand total of two eggs left. I guess dad hasn’t gotten to the grocery store yet.
“Casey, it’s way too cold and rainy for that,” she huffs.
“Fine, I’ll come over and make you breakfast. How does that sound?”
“You are just the best best friend ever!”
“See you in a minute.” I roll my eyes as I hang up the call, before grabbing my coat and braving the cold and rain. Living next door to Allison was just how things have always been. It’s actually the reason we met, when her family moved in, our parents made us interact. Soon after, proximity became key, and we became inseparable. In small towns like this, you pick your friends early and stick with them through high school, often longer. By the time you get to middle school, you know everyone’s shit, so you stick by people whose skeletons you’ve known for years. For those of us who never leave town for college and life, you tend to keep the same friends until you’re dead, even if you can’t stand them. Grantchester tradition, I suppose.
As I reach the door, I hear the lock click, and it swings open. My newly returned best friend since childhood is standing there, dark hair and freckles with eyes that shift between blue and grey, a delightful smile, and a pink t-shirt reading “I am the prettiest princess.” I can’t help but laugh at the shirt, it was originally a gag gift she got me for my birthday about five years ago. It was way too small to fit me, so she took it as a pajama shirt instead, but according to her, the look on my face when I opened it was priceless.
“Well, took you long enough!” She sing-songs before proudly giving me the same toothy grin from that photograph in my room.
“I can’t believe you still have that shirt!”
“Well, I couldn’t let go of everything when I got dragged across the country!”
“Aren’t you going to wake everyone else up talking that loud?” I enter the house and close the door behind me, sliding off my coat and hanging it on the oak rack by the door. A present my grandfather and I made for the Graves family about six years ago in his basement workshop, before Allison’s parents divorced and her mom reclaimed her maiden name of Barton.
“Oh, everyone is already up!” She states cheerfully.
“Allison, can I just ask. What the hell is it with you girls? I’m up this early because of an overactive imagination, you’re up by choice!”
“We just have stuff to do!” She flashes me that grin again. I was the only one who ever saw it when we were kids, and I guess that’s stayed true until now.
“Well, you’re weird.” I tap her nose playfully and head deeper into the house. The Barton house is wonderful. It’s a bit rustic, and definitely could use a bit of work here and there, but it’s warm and inviting and home. Allison’s mom, Andrea, has always fought for her two daughters. They’re her world, and I know it the divorce was brutal on everyone. Based on the name on the mailbox changing, Andrea went back to her maiden name of Barton, and I assume Allison’s little sister did too. I think Allison kept Graves just became it sounds cooler, but I got the sense from some of the stories last night that things with her dad, William, aren’t super rosy.
“Yes, you know this.”
“What were you working on anyways?”
“Trying to figure out why people like the ocean so much.”
I give her a quizzical look at the statement. It gives me the opportunity to study her face for a moment. There’s a quiver in her lip, a slight twitch in her left eye, and the bags underneath are more pronounced than last night. I know the traditional signs of an Allison Graves all-nighter, and she just pulled one. Maybe I’m not the only one with reconciliatory insomnia.
“You’re so weird,” I reiterate and move into the kitchen. She follows. My phone starts buzzing in my pocket, and sure enough, it’s Martin calling, probably up all night playing video games and wants to grab food before he goes to sleep. I decline and flip on ‘Do Not Disturb.’
“Well, that’s a ballsy move!” Allison chirps.
“Today is a you and me day, like we had when we were kids. I want to get caught up before bringing Martin in the mix, and the only reason he’s up this early is because he never went to sleep from our Call of Duty session the night before.” I walk over to the fridge to start getting out what I need to.
I opted not to tell Martin that she’s back. There’s a part of me that likes things just being Allison and I, and it’s obvious that she wanted me to know but just me for the moment. I think it’ll give us both some time to acclimate before the power trio rides once more. Alternatively, it gives me some time to decide whether or not I want her as close as we used to be on account of the last five years. For the moment, keep it light and fun.
“Well, I approve of that plan. Oh, I got the sausage out a while ago, but it still needs to thaw a bit more. Maybe give it like twenty minutes?”
“All right, if you wanna keep starving,” I tease. I flick on the radio in the kitchen and tune it to 99.7.
“What’s up Grantchester? It’s seven in the morning on a soon to be sunny Saturday, and we’re ready to rock and roll. Up first is ‘Clarity’ by John Mayer, here on 99.7 WARP, we take you where you want to go,” the weekend morning DJ announces. While I appreciate the impromptu weather report, I can’t help but feel smugly superior at my delivery while on the air.
How we got the call letters ‘WARP’ is a mystery I’ll never know, but all the clever ‘Warp Zone’ taglines still make me grin even if it is cheesy. I think they were a student’s contribution some years back from Bishop College. With Bridget Bishop earning her place in history as the first person killed during the Salem witch trials in 1692, naming a university after her seems a bit unorthodox, but there’s been a subconscious competition with Salem for the weirdest town in Massachusetts. Grantchester embraced the weird cultural identity which came with the name of its university founded a hundred years after Bridget Bishop was killed.
“Ooh, I know that Casey face,” Allison teases, “Somebody doesn’t approve of the weekend DJ perhaps? You know you can do it so much better, don’t you? Maybe just glad you finally get to put your indie rock snobbery to use and get paid for it.”
Her laugh is so heartwarming. It makes me smile and splashes warmth across my face in the most annoying way possible. It’s our childhood years, our high school years, and all the years we missed out on in one playfully combative exchange. Our eyes catch each other, and we breathe out together. There’s something worth saying, but the words struggle to come.
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” the voice of the younger sister from the living room interrupts our moment.
Allison looks at me pointedly, “You want to take care of that for me? Because you’re such a nice person, and I’m helping you with breakfast.” Oh, she’s suddenly helping with breakfast so I get to handle Katrina. Great.
“Do I look like a man who has his will written this young? Do I look like a man who wants to die this young?”
“I’m still younger than you. You have seniority, therefore you command more respect,” she replies.
I groan and shrug my shoulders, deciding to throw in an eyeroll for dramatic effect. “You owe me for this,” I state and enter the living room. “What’s going on here?” I ask cautiously, alerting the girl to my presence. She turns on me and scowls but immediately softens when she sees who it is. Allison’s grin is more earnestly cheesy and loving, but Kat’s has an edge of mischief in it. Her hair is almost jet black, and she has the green of her dad’s eyes, but the spirit is Andrea’s, just like Allison’s. According to her older sister, Kat changed her name to her mother’s maiden name when her parents split, since she stayed with Andrea since the divorce. She bolts up from kneeling in front of her laptop on the coffee table and nearly tackles me with a hug.
“CASEY!”
“Hey KitKat,” I reply, grinning, using her old nickname. She looks up at me with the joy of reunion after a long absence coupled with a glare to threaten violence against me using nothing but her mind, and potentially sharp objects.
“You’re one of seven people allowed to call me that, don’t forget it!” She jokingly threatens. Half-jokingly.
“All right, what’s with the screaming? Why are you so tortured and troubled?” At my inquiry, she disengages the hug and her scowl returns.
“So, I’m trying to sign up for some of the college information sessions, because I’m second guessing some of my choices, you know? Want plenty of time to get applications in before all the deadlines close. Only the stupid website isn’t working and it’s pissing me off.” She crosses her arms, kicks the leg of the armchair in frustration, and plops back down on the floor with a giant frown on her face.
“All right, let me see what I can do. What happens when you try to sign up?” I lean in over her, bracing with my arm on the coffee table.
“It loads the page, then it crashes, reloads it, and tell me that my sign-in is invalid,” she explains, demonstrating that very process. I think through a mental list.
“Did you recently reset your password?” I inquire.
“Yeah, I had to. They make us change it every semester,” she explains.
“Okay, I might have an idea,” I state.
“Is it use fairy dust? Because that’s the fucking point I’m reaching. Or smashing the stupid thing.” Her use of language takes me a little bit aback. I remember the last time we saw each other; it was the day before Allison left for the west coast with her father. She was such a little kid then, and now to realize she’s almost grown and that she did so right next door to me is a bit of a trip.
“Woah there, watch your fucking language!” I tease her back, prompting a laugh that takes her by surprise. I gesture to her laptop. “May I?”
“Sure thing,” she replies. I kneel down in front of the coffee table, navigate to her settings and clear the cookies and cached data from her school’s website.
“Try logging in now.” I slide the laptop back in front of her, she punches in her username and passcode, and it works. She quickly navigates to sign-ups, punches in her info, and it goes through no problem.
“Casey, you are just the best!” She chirps and slams me with another hug.
I get a devilish grin on my face to match her usual facial expression, and I bring my voice to a low tone, “Now why don’t you go and make your sister’s machine view upside down? Or change the system language to Japanese?” The idea prompts a fit of giggling.
“I heard that! If you two cause any mischief, mayhem, or mess with my computer in any way, that will make me very unpleasant!” Allison shouts from the kitchen.
“Now, have we gotten the disaster of uncooperative school websites solved?” Allison’s mom asks as she enters the room. Andrea has a regal bearing almost. Gentle, calm, and sharp. She’s silk hiding steel, insanely smart, and suffers no fools. She’ll call you an idiot in a way that makes you thank her for the compliment. She also is one of the most genuinely nice, kind, and compassionate people I have ever met. Allison picked up a lot of mannerisms and appearances from her mother, including Andrea’s multicolored eyes of mahogany and moss.
“Yes mom, they are,” Allison assures her mother as she comes in. She looks at me and flashes me that smile once again. The smile that would stop wars. The one that only I ever get to see.
“Where are you two planning on doing today?” Allison’s mom asks.
“I don’t know Miss B. It’s such a dreary day outside, I was thinking a Star Wars marathon,” I said.
“Harry Potter!” Allison insists on fighting for an inferior franchise. Glad to see some things don’t change. I wheel on her and shoot her a glare.
“Star Wars! Somehow, despite being twenty-three years old, you still have never seen more than twenty minutes of A New Hope, and it’s simply unacceptable to have not seen the best movies of all time.”
“Harry Potter is infinitely better. You’re absolutely mental if you think I’ll say otherwise.”
“Vader ruled the galaxy for twenty years, second fiddle only to the greatest evil mastermind of all time. Voldemort had to kill one kid and take over a high school, and he couldn’t even manage that!” I get up in her face, but she plants her hands on her hips and stares me down. Unfortunately for her, the effect is ruined by the fact that I’m about six inches taller than her. Damn, this would be the perfect moment to kiss her.
“Voldemort is way more sick and twisted than Vader ever could be.” Her incorrect assertation wipes away the concerning intrusive thought. Now I’m gonna play to win.
“Voldemort was too much of a coward to actually face on any of his foes with his own mortality. Vader literally, literally, stabbed himself through the chest to kill somebody, because he knew he could take it. If that isn’t metal, I don’t know what is.”
“Voldemort’s whole plan relied on intelligence and cunning.”
“Yeah, fat lot of good that did him. Vader is vastly superior, case closed. Also, don’t think I missed you using ‘mental’ instead of ‘insane’ earlier. What are we, British now?”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I grin with victory.
“Oh hush!” She huffs as I return to the kitchen, keeping my back to her to hide the massive grin on my face.
My stomach has been doing flips for differing reasons since she showed up back in my life last night. Part of it is me dreading the inevitable confrontation or at least the conversation where I tell her all the nasty things from the last five years. The kind of conversation that ruins post-reunion bliss. The other part is a fun type of flip, a gymnast flying high to medal type of flip. I almost welcome the feeling.
Honestly, I should be freaking out more than I am.
Ark of the Lost Angels 
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