Silver Meadow's Stories

A short story by Silver Meadow

Taylor is an hour late for his shift. 

Would be his usual fifteen if roads were clearer and traffic lights didn’t go dark. He presses two fingers under his jawline and—oh, he is alive, because nothing beats Cleveland’s overcast and Dollar Zone’s misery. Taylor didn’t ask to be born, but if he did, it certainly wouldn’t be here. Nonetheless, he stomps his boots on Dollar prison’s snow-covered welcome mat as the low buzz of the white lights hum a monotonous tune and deflated balloons prod the water-stained ceiling. Gray clouds blot the glorious afternoon sun, and the groundhog saw his shadow this year (allegedly).

Taylor breathes in customer service: stale and crestfallen. This paradigm has many generations. He’s plagued by most. Like the old-timer overcharged by 90 cents for a pint of milk who demanded a reimbursement, nine dimes away from the mansion he would buy. He fished for his receipt and said, “the problem isn’t the issue, but it’s the issue.” (Taylor knew he meant to say principle.) Or the kids parking-lot-cart-races that ended in an ICU because the wheels locked (anti-theft measurement).

But with job listings flooded with resumes, employers laughing from Mount Olympus, and student loans hovering like UFOS, Taylor’s options are scarce. He learned of an inverted world and its infallible cycles as he seldom grasped how ‘the gray area’ is Earth’s landscape guised as a place you enter at-will. It appears that a life of service isn’t on his bingo card, especially with a college degree, but that degree is without frame and collecting dust. So eight hour shifts aren’t too bad.

Taylor unzips his jacket, and here comes Jade already on their bosses’ back about something. Jade holds a bouquet of dying balloons and stands over her employer; not afraid to lose her job, her job fears the loss of her—anomaly—someone who’s done everything termination requires, yet she’s here, taking a hit of a kissing emoji balloon; harassing Liz with a squeaky voice. 

“Liz…where’s our Black History Month stuff?”

Liz sighs as she stocks the cosmetic aisle, “stop playing with helium…”

“Yeah, ‘fore I call Alvin and them,” Taylor chimes in.

Jade waves at Taylor, “Look, the old man made it.”

He cracks his knuckles and prepares to deal with all types of characters for eight hours straight. Switches the register’s light on. All that knuckle cracking in vain since too many won’t show up. Their retail fantasies are pierced by blizzards valiant employees must brace. He holds that sentiment near and dear to his heart at every whiteout, then again, you individuals with all-wheel drive who must fill the insaitable void of consumer bliss may prevail. Regardless, he’s ready.

Liz hangs the last hair brush up and those purple glasses slide to her nostrils. Ghostly fog plagues the lenses since they’re souls of team members she fired. Some retail reaper (store director). Hopefully, she failed to notice Taylor’s prompt arrival to his shift that started thirty minutes ago. Their boss grabs onto the shelf for support thanks to that hip surgery last November. 

Liz exhales sharply, “Black history stuff won’t arrive yet. We’re in January…”

“It’s February. We five days in,” Jade says, pointing at her invisible watch.

“Oh, I didn’t get the email, but it’s probably on the way.”

“Well it’s five days too late.”

Liz shrugs and makes her way around Jade: more concerned with unopened boxes littered throughout aisles. Ones Jade could handle if she wasn’t paid to do nothing. 

“Don’t make me blow up them balloons myself,” Jade says, “red, black, green.”

Their boss shakes her head, “late again, Taylor…”

If only his Camry had all-season tires like those individuals mentioned earlier (he would still end up sliding down Cedar road.) The city urged people to stay inside but Liz could also read the room—a foot of snow targeted the mistake on the lake. And Taylor is only 26, in what world is he an old man? Sure, always longing for something induces gray hairs but someone asked him what high school he attends the other day. His youth remains.

About two or three customers are in search of junk food, cheap toys, and tiny bears hugging crimson hearts. Dollar Zone’s parking lot is a frozen wasteland with each car trampled by the endless snowfall, but Taylor doesn’t mind an empty store. Here’s more time to sketch in his pocket-sized book. Would be nice if they close early though so he can play Dead Space and dream of becoming a graphic novelist. That’s what he does when he’s off: stay home.

“You think that lady gon’ come in today?”

Jade leans on the conveyor belt with a bag of chips she’s not gonna pay for. Taylor droops his head and picks at a scab on his brown veiny hand. Oh, that lady, how could he forget even for a millisecond?

“Snow gon’ stop her…”

Jade wags her finger.

“Uh-uh, don’t underestimate the power of love and luxury car tires…”

That lady’s insane. But she won’t appear in this type of weather. They witnessed her brace winter storms for off brand pop and plastic flowers, but this time is different. Taylor is lucky to be alive and wonders why he risked his life for a 12-8 shift. Why anyone wants anything to do with outside today or ever (location may vary). He searched and found the woman’s car keys two months ago. Some benign act of customer service—or at least he thought it was. Something he would’ve done for any semi-decent person and he would’ve forgotten about it too. Unfortunately, the woman has been showing up ever since. Every day. Sporadically. No pattern detected. 

No matter how long Taylor’s line is, she always waits in his just to buy a pack of gum or a tube of lipstick. Never mind the phone number he’s pretty sure the lady keeps leaving on his car. Her failed small-talk attempts only so because Taylor’s mind refuses to compute after pleasantries. She has a nice smile and gentle tone of voice, though. And she’s not unattractive, just too far out of his age range. Old enough to be his meddling aunt. However, today will be the test: if she appears, then yeah she’s crazy.

These customers with a basket full of items approach the register. Jade goes to be a nuisance elsewhere and Taylor scans items as a form of distraction, yet that woman in her gray overcoat and red leather purse washes over. The drive here was terrifying enough but now his neck hairs rise thinking about the way she stares at him, caresses his hand when exchanging cash, and lingers in the store for hours. Always dressed like she could buy every item off their shelves.

A few months ago, during the holiday season, she crept up on Taylor who was busy stocking the seasonal section. Salesfloor work is more tolerable than being up front, but will still leave you vulnerable to an onslaught of requests. He was focused on gift wrap, ornaments, and rosy cheek santa. Not that lady who disturbed Taylor with a shoulder tap (more like an unwanted massage). He believed someone was pranking him; perhaps some friends visiting. But, no, it was her. That lady. She held a cracked snow globe that trickled streams of glitter down her palms.

“Such a wonderful snowglobe,” she said, “look at those tiny lights in those tiny apartments…and that family sitting on that park bench.”

He was more concerned with that cracked glass, “Oh, you might wanna find another one, that one broke.”

Instead she shook the decoration and grinned at the sparkly snowfall. Never mind the droplets it left on the floor. And never mind the crack she inadvertently ran her finger across. Taylor—the saint he is—rushed to the first aid kit for her wound.

She grinned, “You didn’t have to do all that for me, handsome.” 

Her breath grazed his cheek, “May I get a discount? I think I can patch the snowglobe up.”

He didn’t need to observe the veins in her eyes or the tiny moles on her cheek. The woman was too close. Taylor directed her to the registers so she could be their problem. Then she blew him a kiss on her way out. His co-workers bursted into laughter when he shared that encounter since they believed it was harmless and flirty, and Taylor told himself that too. Even though he couldn’t shake that crawling under his skin or the gash she left in his memory. Her advances made his stomach coil.

“I’m thinking we should close early. Snow’s doing no one good,” Liz says.

Taylor inhales sharply: auto-pilot daydreams interrupted. 

Liz is the type of boss to keep the store open under any circumstances. If a tornado was hurling toward Dollar Zone she would stock shelves and check inventory then greet the twister at the door. She stacks two red baskets in disarray, “Why are you so jumpy?” 

If a lady in a gray overcoat took a seat in the corners of her mind: In a dark corner, tapping her foot, sending a vibration of terror to her frontal lobe, she’d be restless, too.

No nightmare fuel discussion, Taylor shrugs Liz off. And just as he removes the black leather-encased notebook from his pocket, a line of customers file in. Liz jinxed them. He rubs the torn leather, thinking of characters trapped there. They want to live on real pages sold in comic stores or airports. Or at least on sketch paper unscathed by parallel lines. Something tangible. A gift from his mom on his 18th birthday when he was ready for the “real world” and wore a cloak of invincibility—its magic clearly wore off.

An old man slams a jug of milk on the conveyor belt. His breaths are laborious and mucusy like he’s been sneezing all day. “Can’t eat my cornflakes without it,” he says, flashing a smile.

Taylor forms a Dollar-Zone-has-the-best-customer-service smile, even if his insides are rotting (they’re rotting). The old man snatches the receipt off the machine and stomps off, snowsuit swishing as he allows a rush of arctic air in. After checking out an endless line of customers, by himself since Jade hid in the storage room, the store grows silent again. Finally, Taylor can refine his sketches.

They’re just not where they need to be. Just give him a little more time to make the plot monumental and characters real. Few more crossed out panels; some tweaks to origin stories. One day they’ll be like the greats, but that day is irrelevant until he reaches perfection. And the only person who called Taylor’s writing horrible was him (his 9th grade english teacher as well). He’s too afraid to put a face to his sketches and never showed anyone what he can do. What he learned from every comic his eyes tacked on. Oh well. He’ll find a character to redraw. 

Or not, because some lady rams into the checklane and dumps her items onto the belt, rummaging through her purse, “I’m in a hurry.”

Here lies a cart-full, and one scanner, and one him. Plus she adorns another retail store’s uniform, shouldn’t she understand the painful trope of customers rushing cashiers? “I’m in a hurry” equals “I have poor time management skills since I decided to visit the most situational environment before an important event but the world must yield.” And as always—Earth stops spinning. He pretends the register froze. Then sends her away.

Jade reappears. Dripping nailpolish on her journey back from doing “inventory audits.” She paints her nails green, “Is there a polite way to tell somebody they breath stank? And don’t say offer them gum, everyone knows that’s code for your breath stank.”

Taylor humors her because anyone entering the “real world” questions everything. Their past twelve years orchestrated and guided. Why do we put an emphasis on grade school? We’re only taught to behave as machines. That clearly didn’t work on Jade: in her senior year and will single handedly crumble the establishment. Someone has to. Old men as himself have answers.

 His mouth parts. Words almost exit but freeze on his lips. Some red bag floats through this flurry like lanterns in dense fog. To think, Taylor had a semi-decent day. The more he sank into his mind-numbing tasks the more he forgot. The heavier the snow became the less fears of her. This silhouette. His mind stuck on a repetitive face of light makeup and lasers that track him. She appears in Taylor’s peripheral. Deep in the parking lot creeping closer and closer.

He grabs Jade’s wrist, “Nope. Watch my back.”

He doesn’t run, that equates to fear, so he briskly walks to the storage room. Through the snack aisle, nearly knocking a stuffed animal display over, and tripping over the box Liz wanted Jade to unload yesterday. A rush of wind runs wild through the store and heavy boots slam on the floor; echo faintly. Most days, Taylor would grit his teeth and deal with her but today is different. His breaths are shallower, heart rate unsteady, and mind racing more than usual.

Heebie Jeebies

Taylor charges through the storage room doors. Pride hurt for running from her. But something about her, the way her eyes glow like Jaguars cornering its prey in the night. Better for her to believe he’s not here. That way she’ll leave the store expeditiously. She may be back tomorrow not knowing how ready he would be. He would bring up “his girlfriend” or better yet, “wife” and pray she’ll believe him unless she’s a long-standing Yandere. The countless passive solutions fires up his vagus nerve (more gray hair incoming). Taylor wedges into the corner furthest from the door; he’ll camp out here, praying Jade and Liz shoo the woman away. 

He flips through his sketches to past time. Pages land on a character he’s been developing since childhood: a boy named Ezra with a cloudy fro and bulky pair of green headphones. All his life Ezra has heard people’s thoughts; instead of capitalizing on his unique ability or saving the world from itself, he blasts music into ear canals. Music is for every occasion except during dinner when his mom glares at him if he brings them to the table, and while gaming since he plays with friends and needs to hear their minds strategizing to win. Anyways, one night at dinner, he overheard his parents telepathically communicate in an alien language. Something unknown. 

But Taylor never knows where to go after that. He tried orchestrating a grand alien extravaganza with the MIB, fancy ufos, and some big city like NYC or something. But every sketch earned a big slash. Not exciting enough. And Taylor kind of drops Ezra into other characters’ universes, haphazardly leaving him there. Always stuck. Always waiting. 

Ezra thinks Taylor’s a coward. The worst that red purse lady would do is wink at him. She just has a crush. Another blurry faced customer he’ll forget about one day. He closes the book and tugs his face downward from all that internal panic. For what? Liz and Jade told him to be man about it and tell her he’s not interested. Just say that. But if she fell this hard for someone who performed low-effort acts of kindness, can he rationalize? 

The storage doors brush open. Warm yellow light follows an elongated shadow stretched on the wall. If she’s crazy enough to ignore the employees only sign, he needs a weapon. Taylor’s heart slams against his rib cage. But this shadow cackles. Some laugh only a girl who hid Taylor’s name tag in the cooler for a month can create.

“Your girlfriend left witcho scary self,” the shadow says, “and we closing in half an hour.”

Taylor wipes the register’s grimy conveyor belt, freed from the break room dungeon. It’s time to close. Snow plows are put to shame by fresh layers frosting over what they cleared fifteen minutes ago. Cars, the few that are left, are frozen mounds of snowy peaks. Taylor can’t hide from her forever and the hopes of the woman giving up shrink every time she walks through the door. Does she have any hobbies? 

Liz approaches Taylor with brown hair clumped from sweat on her scalp; she drags a vacuum behind like a wagon, possibly destroying its wheels, “you gotta nip this in the bud. We can’t keep covering for you…”

She retrieves an envelope from her back pocket and presses it onto the conveyor belt. The pink envelope, now slightly dampening on the corners, drifts towards Taylor.

“Yo’ girl left that,” Jade chimes in.

Jade yanks her coat zipper up, gives Taylor an eyebrow flash, and pushes through the door. Her bookbag’s Sailor Moon keychain sways in the breeze. She skips off to the jeep waiting out front and Liz continues to destroy the brush roll by pulling it elsewhere. Taylor runs his thumb under the adhesive of the envelope. His name elegantly drawn on the front in gold ink, which only makes him want to “lose” his nametag again. A sparkly white card with red borders and roses shimmers under the harsh light, he stiffens, index and thumb resting on the front page, reluctant to turn to the next. 

Dear Taylor,

I shopped at Dollar Zone for years and I proudly say you are the kindest employee the store ever had. When you assisted me in finding my keys then flashed your marvelous smile, I felt some chemistry between us. In honor of Valentine’s Day, come with me to this beautiful new restaurant that opened downtown. I’ll pay for everything, I just need you to show up.

With Love,

Tonya

Taylor drags his feet along Dollar Zone’s parking lot. This card jammed in his coat pocket as evidence. He’ll surely build a case against her. This is harassment. But trudging through this plaza’s lot is the real torture. Somehow, his gray camry is unscathed by the foot of snow surrounding it. Only a light dust sparkles on his windshield like somebody brushed it off for him. Saves him time but also ripples fear throughout his veins. A light pole flickers, dimming with each burst of electricity. Sparking.

A horror film scene. 

Taylor won’t get caught lackin’. His fingers wrap the frosty door handle, but pause for deep elongated starchy footsteps: Tonya. Thick flakes of snow clump between her eyelashes. A few feet behind him and stoic. Who wouldn’t be if they can withstand snow caked on their shoulders? And Tonya during the day? Creepy. But at night? Like some familiar spying on the witches’ prey. A force you can’t hear but presence is felt.

“You lied.” she says, “You were here all along, handsome…I saw your car.”

Her eyes, redder than flames contrast her dark blue and severely cracked lips. Water stains immense and far as continents dance around her overcoat. Taylor wonders: did she go car to car wiping them off? Or he should’ve broke his habit of parking in the same spot every shift. Tonya’s red purse dangles in her limp fingertips like it burns to clutch. And despite the gravity of a pit sinking Taylor’s soul, words form at the base of his tongue:

“Ma’am, I’m not interested.”

Tonya giggles, “Yes, you are. Why else would you be so kind to me?”

Jade and Liz, this one’s for you.

A warm grin spreads on Tonya’s face. Her teeth pearly and sharp. Maybe not sharp. Taylor’s imagination is getting ahead of him (per usual). Her eyes trace Taylor from his silky waves down to his soggy black boots—on their last leg crying for help. Those eyes remain bright and wide on the ground and cement themselves there, smile still intact. If her dream is to become a statue, who is he to judge?

So Taylor yanks the car door open. No getting through to her. He must take flight. Hop in the drivers seat, head home, and enjoy the little time he has to relax. Maybe sketch Ezra working at Dollar Zone for fun. Maybe as the district manager evaluating their store (B-level, somehow). Nah, he’s too young, that would be illegal child labor. Besides Ezra ain’t even a people person, well, neither is Taylor. But Ezra really couldn’t survive retail: no headphones allowed, unless you’re Jade.

Thud.

Taylor’s train of thought interrupted.

Tonya.

She lies face down in the snow, not moving an inch, limbs stretched outwardly like she made one last effort to pounce at him. Finally trap him and lock him away in some cage. Taylor freezes, eyes wide as Tonya’s before she face-planted.

“Nah, man I’m out.”

Taylor slams the door and jams the key in the silver ignition. But he’s having a hard time cranking it and speeding off. His hand firmly grasps the key and shakes from the sheer grip. Something bounding him. Wait, she could be acting, maybe her last desperate attempt to keep Taylor from leaving? Or maybe she really is unconscious, or worse, dead. 

Taylor doesn’t have to help her, right? 

But a thought shoots him: what would Ezra do? Would he leave someone to their own devices in a medical emergency? Would he? He was projected to become a superhero if Taylor would finish the draft. If Ezra witnesses him speed away from Tonya’’s lifeless body he would say, “how could a villain create a hero?”  He should at least call an ambulance then. It’s cruel to leave someone lying in the snow. No, an ambulance would take too long and Tonya would really be dead by then. The roads are treacherous streams of snow and ice. 

He flips Tonya over by her boney shoulder; colors of red and black paint her face and the snow it was pressed into. Her eyes remain clamped together and Taylor hopes they won’t snap open. Faint blue veins run under Tonya’s brown skin. Her pulse, slow like molten lava, responds. He can’t just leave her here, right?

She’s not dead. But she’s not completely alive either. Taylor sighs deeply, gently placing her wrist back on the ground. The parking lot is vastly empty—good now Taylor won’t appear as a kidnapper, dragging Tonya’s lifeless body to his car. He carefully hooks her armpits and tugs. Truly, Ezra would do this. Her boots leave parallel lines in the snow leading to the Camry’s backseat.

She better not wake up either (at least not until they get to the hospital). Taylor’s exhausted and regretful eyes give Tonya a quick glance before shifting the gear into drive, starting their journey to the nearest hospital, Lewis Rio Clinic, thirty minutes away, with a stranger he never should’ve helped two months ago. Someone Ezra and comic book heroes would save.

Dollar Zone’s customer service goes beyond the store’s walls indeed.

Taylor scribbles his name for Lewis Rio Clinic. He must be Tonya’s point of contact because she has no family—her words—not his. So he sits in the waiting room: empty and drowned under white light. The doctor explained Tonya experienced an extreme case of hypothermia and dehydration. Some kind of paradox. They need her overnight to keep an eye on her fluctuating vitals. But Taylor wants to go home.

He can’t. The moment they drove into Lewis Rio’s parking lot the snow and frigid breeze picked up. Taylor would love to look out the window but there’s nothing to see, nothing but a complete whiteout, at night. He’s trapped here. His mom calls him every five minutes since his co-worker collapsed. The lies he spewed out to her but he can’t with the avalanche of questions that would follow. The moment the snow clears, he’s out. Although his eyelids attempt to close its shutters, no slumber for Taylor.

Some nurse taps him, and some Ipad blares whatever game these children play. Now this is the scariest thing about retail: blacking out. Whether you wanted to enjoy your favorite T.V. show, or even scroll through social media after work, sleep will hit you with the cleanest hook in human history.

The nurse grins, “You’re Tonya’s boyfriend, correct? She’s doing much better and would like to see you.”

Taylor could decline, but, some tiny inkling to see her fully conscious dwells within. He sits in a chair and observes thick icicles hanging from the hospital room’s window. Tonya chews on egg whites with a slice of toast, far more alert and demanding a cup of coffee despite the doctor’s order of no caffeine. She must wash those unseasoned eggs down with something flavorful at the expense of an inflated heart rate. Finally, she looks at Taylor who remains in the furthest corner of this hospital room.

“You’re so sweet for waiting here all night…”

“I ain’t really have a choice, we were snowed in.”

The woman can’t get too attached, this kind gesture is not a reflection of affinity: Taylor is just doing what’s right. He couldn’t sleep at night knowing he abandoned a woman with her face in the snow. In 15 minutes, Taylor plans on leaving. Why would he spend his day off in Tonya’s hospital room?

Tonya motions him over with a finger, he remains seated, “Did you get my card, handsome?”

“Can’t go, I work that day.”

“So you want to, but can’t?”

It’s best for Taylor to stop talking.

“…You may feel a little odd crushing on a woman my age, but it’s a-ok for me.”

Taylor coughs uncontrollably, playing pretend. So Tonya can keep her twisted fantasies in her corrupt mind. Just so a nurse can run in a cup of brisk hospital water. He’ll pretend he’s tied up with something important and sketch in his notebook until his mental timer goes off. So he can finally go home. And Tonya gets her coffee——decaf. In her words, “too sweet.” She goes on a tirade about her mistreatment.

“…My father was a doctor, so I know how patients deserve to be treated…”

The only piece of information that peaks Taylor’s interest; explains why her bill surpasses three hundred at a dollar store. She looks different without makeup, at least ten years shaved off her face, so an older gentleman would surely appreciate her. The disparity in experience is non-existent. They’ll chat about how great the 80s were and complain about self-checkout machines.

Some heavy footsteps echo in the hallway. They approach the door with brevity and plant right in Tonya’s room. A young woman storms in,“Ma, stop telling people I’m dead!”

Taylor was drawing Ezra’s encounter with inky eyed aliens, but this woman, with her skin aglow in the sun, illuminates the room. Tonya looks her up and down then rolls her eyes. So she could’ve been her point of contact. She’s alive and well. She sits at the foot of Tonya’s bed.

“What happened?”

“Obviously I was injured.”

“I know that, why were you out in the snow?”

“Retail therapy.”

Taylor’s eyes are on her daughter. The way she gracefully sits like feathers afloat, her eyelashes curl, the little swirls in her baby hairs—he fails to notice the other lady. His gaze averts when the young woman’s dark irises meet him. Middle school all over again (never approach a beautiful girl.)

Her name is Idra and she walks Taylor out. She wants to repay him somehow. Maybe a gift card? Something to reward his bravery and kindness. But Taylor is a man of a few words and they dwindle in the likes of her.

“It’s aight,” he says.

Idra jams her lips and offers to buy him breakfast or at least gas money. Her determination leads them all the way to the parking lot. It’s rude to look away while someone talks to you, but Taylor’s voice will crack if he glances. Idra’s eyes are like her mom’s: once they fixate, they ingrain in your memory forever. 

“Well,” Idra says, “at least put my number in your phone in case you change your mind.”

But Taylor’s mind is blank.

They keep in touch. Idra updates him on Tonya since she got over her hypothermia but was hospitalized for her thyroid. She’s doing just fine though, in fact, their conversations are less about Tonya nowadays. Only a few days of chatting and Taylor feels like he’s known her his whole life. Like he finally met a woman who met him halfway; didn’t find his introversion unflattering. 

Taylors texts her in between customers on yet another snowy day. Honest work. Speaking of labor, Idra runs experiments in a refined lab and tutors biology on the side to save up for grad school. In turn, he felt the uttmost pride to reveal his place of work: some dollar store. Even that doesn’t make her back away slowly then ghost him.

“Are you seriously on your phone right now?” Liz collects his register’s basket full of things people returned.

Taylor is usually craftier than this. One time he snuck his doordash order since Liz “forgot” to give his first break. Yet Jade can get away with stealing expired makeup.

Liz laughs, “I’m only joking, as long as there’s no one waiting it’s fine.”

Liz is on the road to becoming a friendly boss. One who bends the rules they set. Gentle ticking time bombs. Maybe she’s less grouchy because her hip is improving or that older gentleman who gifts her magnets from different states showed up. Taylor doesn’t care to find out but he laughs along with Liz. Hopefully he can cackle his way to a supervisor role.

Then in comes Jade, back from thirty minutes turned hour break.

“Liz, did you show Taylor?”

Taylor scratches his head, “Show me what?”

“Your girl’s Yelp review.”

Customers interrupt with a cartfull; some couple buys a whole shelves worth of picture frames. Then they ask how much the frames ring up as because the sign back there says blah blah blah Jade was supposed to take every expired sign down. Yet Taylor smiles and makes everything right for the customer on this cold Cleveland winter day. Most people are in their homes and others are terrorizing retail workers.

The girlfriend unrolls a wad of cash: all one dollar bills. Their total came to $110. “I promise she’s not a stripper,” the boyfriend snorts. Taylor believes it can’t get any worse, but they “left the rest of the money in their car and would be right back.” but as always, they never return. At least his paid-time is wasted, that’s tolerable. They probably did all that to steal one item. Probaly those staticky muffled headphones everyone keeps stuffing in their pockets.

Jade sits on the conveyor belt, “Taylor and Tonya sitting in Dollar Zone, k-i-s-s—”

“That don’t even rhyme, goofy.”

He scrolls through their 3.5 star Yelp page; the latest review written at 4 am gives them 5/5:

Tonya Roberts

★★★★★

Dollar Zone is such a phenomenal place with hospitable staff! Especially their employee, Taylor, whose kindness knows zero bounds. Last week, I had a terrible emergency after the store closed and this kind gentleman drove me to the hospital! He could’ve called for an ambulance, or worse, left me face-down in the cold, but his bravery and chivalry shone through. This damsel in distress believes he deserves a raise!

“She corny,” Jade says.

Even bound to a hospital bed—Tonya finds ways to creep him out.

Dollar Zone’s door flies open and in comes a young woman: Idra. She lets down her hood and smiles warmly at Taylor. It’s like Idra allowed the sun in too since it pierces gray clouds.

“Buying some junk for Ma” Idra says.

Her trail of candy scented fragrance leaves Taylor at a loss for words. All he can do is smile back and nervously chuckle. He wasn’t expecting her and never considered possibilities of her spawning at Dollar Zone. Taylor straightens his nametag, brushes his waves, and smooths out his shirt. So entranced, he doesn’t realize Jade silently judging him.

“You like her?”

Taylor scratches his head, thinking. He’s still getting to know her, so like would be too much (he often daydreams about saving her from the villian.) He wouldn’t say no if she asked him out though, and kind of hopes she will, but if not, he’ll find courage somewhere to do it himself. This opportunity cannot be passed up.

Jade smirks and grabs a handful of Airhead gum, always unpaid.

“She’s pretty,” Jade says, “looks AI generated…Taylor and A.I. sitting in Dollar Zone—”

“Jade, I need you in the cooler section!” Liz rattles the store’s PA.

“I’ll come up with a word that rhymes…” Jade skips to the back of this mildewy store.

Some guy in sunglasses drops his basket on the conveyor belt: Taylor’s pet peeve. The least you could do is unload it,“there was a sign back there that said 40% off cases of water.” But Taylor’s register bestows no such thing.

“That may be a Dollar Zone member offer, do you have the app?”

The guy shakes his head, “Nah, I don’t have that,” he waves a coupon around, “i’m finna use this though.”

50% off household items, at another retail store. Taylor can’t fault customers because sometimes the fine print is that of invisible ink. So he smiles and calmly says, “Sorry man, but this coupon for another dollar store…”

“Huh?”

“I can’t accept this one, I’d get in trouble.”

“Can’t you read? It say Dollar Zone right there, homie.”

Yes, sometimes the fine print is too fine. And even customers’ lack of reading comprehension skills evades Taylor’s judgment. However, when said customer grows defensive, his empathy levels plummet. But this is customer service: conceal and relax, or else you’ll be jobless.

“This for Dollar Mode up the street, sir.”

The guy snatches the coupon, balls it up, then jams it in his stained coat pocket. He pays full price for all his crap then leaves. Now, Taylor has grown numb to rude customers and their offenses no longer enter his heart. But he hopes that man rolls over a nail while exiting the parking lot.

“What a jerk?” Idra gracefully sets her items on the conveyor belt. She’s a breath of fresh spring air after that encounter (all polite customers are.) Idra arranges her items in groups to make bagging them easier. A whole angel.

She watches the man get in his car like if they had a 1v1 his health bar would dissolve, “Seriously though, he was buggin’.”

“It’s aight, deal with people like that all the time…”

That man evaporates from Idra’s line of vision, she’s all eyes for Taylor. The guy in a goofy gray and green polo whose life source is drained by LED lights. Her glossy lips shimmer under them.

“You look nice in your uniform…”

He replays that compliment in his head at least fifty times a day, glady takes on Jade’s tasks, and harp strings play when customers go about their usual antics. And Idra visits a few more times, bringing the sun right with her. If that sphere of joy had a daughter, It would be Idra Roberts. Taylor means no disrespect to her mother, but, how could such a creepy lady have such a wonderful daughter? He does wonder what their relationship is really like. Why would Tonya pronounce her dead?

“Your A.I. girlfriend’s eyes don’t close when sneezing.” Jade interrupts his train of thought. 

The big pre-Valentine’s-day rush. Everyone grabbing last minute items this Sunday afternoon, and Taylor still hasn’t asked Idra out. What if she says no?

“You not even making sense right now, bruh.”

“She needed a price check on some eyeshadow then she sneezed,” Jade says, “she ain’t break eye contact with me or nothing…can’t your eyes fall out that way?

“Stay off the internet.”

But Jade will never. She goes live on Instagram, secretly records Taylor for Tiktoks, and broadcasts her every waking move. All Taylor does is post some sketches on his instagram page, on private, with a few followers, and an alias. 

Jade shrugs, “Really? it’s 2023. Internet equals inescapable, and I’m just being a Clevelander. You know, gossipin’? We ain’t got nothing better to do.”

That’s something Clevelanders do best. That and threatening those who want to live elsewhere: “they always come back.” Taylor dreams of leaving for some graphic novel publishing company. He’ll work with artists and other creatives if he finishes this story. When he finally completes Ezra’s worlds, arc, and plot. Will he?

His phone chimes with a text from Idra later that evening:

Hey, can you visit me at the hospital? Ma has to undergo an emergency surgery and I really need some support rn. The doctor said everything will be alright but I’m still nervous.

So he tries to convince Liz to let him leave early. But no, the Black history section received another shipment that he and Jade must unload. She’ll consider letting him leave 45 minutes earlier if they can get through it.

He does.

Alone.

Since Jade begged Liz to go on register instead; that way she can flirt with boys and work. No complaints. Most of his co-workers work on the sales floor because they’re “too cowardly” or “too mean.” That’s what Liz said. But Taylor breaks a sweat cutting up boxes, and organizing shelves and displays with unwavering kindness. Maybe that’s his Achilles heel. He eyes a Nelson Mandela shirt his Mom would like and buys it for her when Liz gives him the greenlight to leave.

By the time Taylor arrives at Lewis Rio, Tonya’s already in postoperative care. And Idra folds her clothes neatly then holds Tonya’s straw up to her droopy mouth when commanded. Her mom’s eyes are red and veiny. He apologizes for arriving so late, but everything’s fine. She’s a little loopy and borderline delusional from the sedatives and anesthesia. Tonya’s eyes go this way and that way, she even breaks out into song: “Cherie Amour” by Stevie Wonder.

“I look a mess.” Idra shakes her head.

A guy with confidence would detest, but Taylor stands there silently because he’s too afraid to latch onto this bait. It’s too easy. He doesn’t want to weird her out, so he says, “you need help with anything?”

“Oh, it’s all good. Your presence is helpful enough.” she grins.

Those pearly teeth and dewy skin shine. Idra is someone Taylor can admire from afar but can’t fully approach. Even after all this information they shared. So he settles down in a chair, watches Tonya wane in and out of consciousness, and sketches in his notebook instead. He’s thinking Ezra should have a love interest, a girl like Idra: sweet, kind, and gentle. But maybe he’s projecting too much.

He tenses when Tonya wails her arms and knocks her cherry slushy over. Well, at least she was silent for the last fifteen mintues. Idra rushes over with towels. She clearly loves her mother and tends to her every need. Like Idra would give Tonya the life jacket if only one remained. But her mother grits her teeth: her daughter’s efforts thwarted and petulant as thorns in your side.

“I’m fine, stop!”

“Mom, I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help, go to hell.”

Idra stops cleaning, “You don’t mean that, it’s just the—”

“Yes I do child. You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

Shadows of anger eclipse the wide-eyed scared child face Idra pulled. She slams the towel on the floor. The poor girl was probably being harassed by Tonya all day. Imagine taking care of someone who hates you? Perhaps, your whole life? Tears pool on Idra’s waterline as she storms out, “I’ll be back. Please watch her.”

Hopefully, she doesn’t leave him with Tonya all night, but Taylor is more concerned with her. He can’t chase after Idra like in the movies. Maybe he should text her in half an hour? Tonya interrupts his train of thought. She stares into his eyes, slow blinking but focused. Her eyes scream alert but her mannerisms are slothful.

 She asks, “what you doodling in that?”

Taylor humors Tonya, inches over to her with his sketchbook. Why not? He wonders what her post-anesthesia brain thinks about his characters. Tonya flips through them with a smile. Interesting how she’s less creepy now, one would think her strange thoughts would run out the gate. But that grin she wears fades with Ezra and his alien encounter.

“Hm, aliens,” she says, “just like Idra.”

Taylor scrunches his face.

Then the nurse comes in and checks Tonya’s vitals. She’s still out of it, but at least her blood pressure is regulated. She gets a new slushy for all that trouble (Tonya freaked out over a perceived air bubble in her IV tube.) But the nurse leaves, room falls silent, and they’re left alone again.

“You believe in aliens, handsome?”

“We can’t be the only ones I guess.”

She chuckles and sips on Red 40, gazing at the clear winter sky in the windows. Dark and twinkly. Much sharper than summer’s. And she tells a story. Back in the 90s, Tonya fell in love with some man who lived in her apartment building and often dropped her mail off since the mailman blended their names. Roberts and Robison were bound to intertwine, had a nice ring to it. One morning, Tonya asked him to get breakfast at the diner up the street. She remembered the lavender hue of his nails, and how he dropped ice cubes in a cup of black. More importantly, how George wanted to know even the most minute details like how Tonya’s hands felt under the blanket of sunlight or how many times she needed to chew to turn her toast into mush. A curiosity about this soiled planet, many would’ve ran away, most did, but her heartstrings strummed. They met at the diner, or some park, or lounge every weekend where George digested every word Tonya uttered.

Only after three months she fell in love. Tonya believed this man—with his warm aura and dark eyes—would propose. She understood what love truly felt like, finally it was hers. She discovered a bump growing in her stomach as well, Idra. And George loved Idra. He rocked her to sleep, sang lullabies, and stared into the night sky like something glowered back at him.

One night, he stood on the roof of their apartment, staring off into the horizon, “they’re calling me,” he said, “don’t dim your connection to her or i’ll never find you…” and when he kissed Tonya, her heart froze, he vanished before her eyes like stars tore him apart particle by particle. She reached but not even a speck of dust grasped her hand in return. George was gone. So as she looked in Idra’s eyes and saw her grow, the more she saw him. The more she believed Idra destroyed everything. That maybe he wouldn’t have vanished if they never had her. The only trace of George’s presence on earth. All was fine beforehand.

Idra wasn’t like most kids: she sat in dark rooms, watched others play games of tag, kickball, and got under her teacher’s skin because she never spoke. She preferred observation. Most days, Idra laid in the grass for hours, putting an eye up to the ladybugs in blades, earthworms in dirt, beetles creeping. She wanted to be a biologist. Tonya let her do whatever she wanted and kicked her out at 18. It was legal by then. She was the daughter of a psychologist; she’d be alright. So Idra made a name for herself while Tonya seethed at unrequited love.

Of course this story isn’t told without some odd outbursts like her whistling Hot Crossed buns or offering Taylor a sip of her drink (he prefers blue raspberry), but can he believe her? This story? From the same person who stalked and harassed him for months on end. Who thinks he secretly loves her? This woman is delusional with or without anesthetics. 

“I know you find her cute,” Tonya says, “but watchout, she cold like her daddy…”

The most profound sentence she’s formed thus far. Something that rings in Taylor’s ears for the next half an hour. Maybe Tonya is the more superior storyteller, naturally lavender colored nails? Really? Finally, Idra creeps into the door only half-way and motions Taylor into the hall.

“Sorry for leaving like that,” she says.

“She always like that to you?”

Idra squints at the ceiling lights, narrow, almost as much as Lewis Rio’s hallways. She nods, “But I must help her. That’s my mom.”

Idra smiles at Tonya: eyes-weighted, falling deeper into sleep in that hospital bed. It’s clear unrequited love ran in the family. Idra walks Taylor out and her boots scraped the pavement. Icicles plague this clinic and one shatters right before them; fragments jeweling under the stars. Idra picks one up and holds the piece to the moon, “This could’ve easily pierced us…”

“We wouldn’t need an ambulance,” Taylor points at Lewis Rio.

Idra laughs. The first time Taylor hears it. Better than her storming out with tears, as light as her spirit. One would think she’s carefree from the ease of it. So when they stand near Taylor’s Camry, he grabs onto whatever confidence is left.

“Uh,” he says, “you doing anything Tuesday?”

“Valentine’s Day? Nah, why?”

His eyes dart around. Taylor never asks girls out. Only envisions the rejection that would ensue. Of course some women liked him in the past, and this he was oblivious to. Regrets. His deduction for their kind gestures and prolonged eye contact was simply his disillusionment, case closed.

“Oh, I mean like, you wanna hangout that day?”

He awaits the fiery dagger of rejection. But Idra looks to the ground and smiles.

“Sure, I’d love to Taylor…”

From this moment he blacks out. Not physically, but emotionally because this moment was an error. He imagined her running away screaming or laughing in his face, or revealing her alleged alien form. This woman isn’t cold, and she’s clearly human, It’s just her beauty that transcends the solar system——Earth and its lies. Taylor feels like he could tell her anything. 

He calls off the night before his shift, Dollar Zone would live.

They settle on an arcade bar. Taylor isn’t a drinker but won’t mind wasting a dollar on 16-bit games. Even suffocating in crowded rooms, as long as Idra is here. And the machines glow and flicker light. Idra orders some colorful drink with a popsicle dissolving in it. On any old Ohio February day that wouldn’t fly, but the sun melted the snow away. Tricked gnats into thinking it’s early spring. Here comes the swarm—you know how Clevelanders acquire a will to live when the weather breaks—so 16 Bit-bar + Cafe it is on this glorious Valentines day. 

She peers over Taylor’s shoulder while he spams consoles for Mortal Kombat II. He always chooses Sub-Zero because his outfit looks nice. But he goes for Jade since she reminds him of the one he knows; who’s punching the air because she must cover his and her shift. She’ll understand. He’s always there to back her up or complete the work she doesn’t imagine.

Idra’s eyes light up at Raiden, “oh, I’ll choose him.”

Her fingers blur from how fast they move and eyes absorb every pixel. Almost like her brain is synced and melted into the screen. Some bluetooth connection. Taylor thought he was a focused gamer but Idra could press keys in slumber. Round after round ends in victory.

“Are you gamer,” Taylor asks.

“No, I just like patterns. Most games have patterns…”

“You real smooth with it, I don’t lose this game easily.”

She grins at Taylor. Her eyes sharp like Tonya’s. Each layer digesting the essence of your being. Kind of sweet actually. She’s a great listener who engages firmly in conversation. Someone Mr. Avoidant can learn from.

“I can see why Ma has a huge crush on you, she likes kind men.”

That put an acrid taste in his mouth but he smiles anyway.

“Aye,” Taylor says, “I don’t mean no disrespect, but, why is your mom like that towards you?”

Idra’s fingers freeze on the consoles, allowing Jade to body slam her a few times. And she was in a good mood, huge grin and bright eyed. Taylor ruined that. But valid. No sober-minded parent would pronounce their child dead. Besides, a good move to express his care for her emotions, at least she’ll know he cares.

“My mom is…well, she was hurt by many people and I guess i’m her emotional dumping ground,” Idra says, “You know, she never let me meet my grandparents because they would’ve hated me more than they did her. That’s what she told me…”

“Dang, you have a good heart for helping her. Most people wouldn’t.”

Idra chuckles, “Well, so do you. She told me about the whole lost keys situation.”

She probably left out how that prompted her to stalk him (and drive Dollar Zone’s loyalty and sales). 

“It wasn’t a big deal, just doing my job.”

“You leave a good impression on people, though. If you can better someone’s day that’s a great deal. Not everyone has charm. Like me, I’m just a blerd.”

Taylor? Charismatic? Maybe in those alternate universes he sketches. But in real life?

He’s a blerd, too.

Idra locks back into the game and wins yet another round. Brilliant. Perhaps everything Tonya wish she was so she buries herself in luxury brands and vanity. Beautiful on the outside. But Idra’s beauty radiates from her heart and glows on her skin. No one could assume she’s been afflicted the way she is. All that sorrow fueled grace.

She leans in and speaks softly, “I would do anything for my mom…”

Taylor processes 25% of her statement. He spends the rest spiraling. Taylor’s been holding an invisible ruler between them all night. She flutters her eyelashes from either flirtation or drunkenness—this isn’t a false dichotomy. Five drinks in. Even at her alcohol limit, she looks like an angel. He doesn’t want to admit this, but good thing he met Tonya. She led him to Idra. There’s still so much he wants to know about her, and hopefully they can meetup again. See where all this will go.

Idra’s social battery still hasn’t dropped below 90% and they wander around this bar for another hour. Everyone’s face blurs for Taylor as his introverted timer blares. Taylor usually locks himself in his room then reviews every conversation he held (against his will). Write, sketch, stream, eye strain. Never spend nights out with strangers, where’s the decompression in that?

Idra leans on an arcade game, “I’m ready to go home…”

“Did you drive?”

She shakes her head, “Uber.”

He isn’t sure if sending a drunk woman on an uber ride alone is wise. But he doesn’t wanna creep her out if he offers. Maybe she’ll text him when she gets home?

“Where you live, Taylor?”

“University Heights.”

“Oh, like by John Carroll?”

“Sort of.”

“You know, I was accepted there. I chose Case though.”

Her ankles buckle. The arcade lights she marveled at earlier cause her to squint. At this point, Idra doesn’t know her left from her right. Taylor thinks: would Ezra let her ride in some stranger’s car?

She tugs his arm, “you drove here right?”

He nods.

“Dang, how’d you find parking? Anyways, can you take me home? I live near you…”

Taylor drives under yellow street lights. The number of people wandering around dwindles since Cleveland snatches away beautiful weather as quick as granted. Snowflakes remind Taylor where he truly lives: Ohio. This place can only be so kind until it pulls the rug from under you.

Idra lives in Beachwood Heights. The community with smooth roads and the last mall on this side of town. She lives in some nice condo near said mall: gated and stretching acres. Taylor lives with his parents, still, and wonders why Idra is so interested. She’s another reason he limits social media usage. Comparison. People his age owning houses, traveling the world, in their dream job, and Taylor is stuck here; trapped in Dollar Zone with cheap dreams and brain rot. 

He walks Idra to her door but she loses balance, landing in Taylor’s arms. His heart shatters his ribcage. Taylor can’t fault her for getting this drunk since Tonya injures her with hate. She works hard for her mother’s approval. Somehow chasing something that isn’t designed to be caught. 

“Help me to the couch.” She barely keeps her eyes open. Taylor hits the lights and walks Idra to her couch. This condo was probably built a few years ago, it just has that aura. Gray laminate flooring, steel appliances, stacked washer and dryer, even central heating and cooling. He wasn’t expecting anything less. Idra is a smart woman who has something to prove.

“Can you get my heating pad? It’s upstairs in my bathroom…”

Stepping inside of her home was one thing, but going in her bathroom is too much. Taylor is intruding. He wouldn’t be in here if she was sober.

“I ain’t really comfortable with—”

“Pleaseeeee then you can leave after that, for real.”

He can’t say no to Idra. She’s been through a lot, and maybe Taylor is someone she can trust. He’s dependable. Throughout his life he never gave his parents a hard time. Didn’t get in trouble, went to college, and played the right cards—just received the wrong outcome.

Taylor wandered up these steel steps; walked through this hallway with photos of plant life. Her bathroom is cute, here’s a fuzzy pink carpet, and Idra neatly arranged her myriad of skincare products. Even left a sticky note affirmation: “I am enough,” tacked to her mirror. He quickly examines each cabinet since Idra failed to say where exactly this heating pad was. Yet it’s found and he gladly leaves her bathroom. Idra will wake up embarrassed she let some guy rummage around.

A door to his left beeps when Taylor steps back into the hallway like a microwave, but, unlike microwaves, the sound is continuous. Taylor shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t have the right to question the noises Idra’s home makes. But he touches the door handle anyway: cold. Maybe Idra’s thermostat needs servicing. Maybe Taylor should mind his business, give Idra this heating pad, then go home.

But the beeping grows louder, and he presses his ear to the door. Gusty winds rage. Did Idra leave a window open? Taylor twists the knob to find out. 

Snowfall. 

Snow inside some condo in Beachwood Heights. Colder than outside. And, Taylor would make a joke about her electric bill. But that’s not the most surprising feature to offer: a human-sized tube rests in the middle, all wired up and connected to computers. He opened the door to a mad scientist’s lair. 

Taylor’s feet glue to the doorway. He locks eyes with someone or something looking back: part-man-part-something from comics he would read. His eyes aglow and veins visible, stretching all under his skin. This form cannot hold. He blurs between human and unknown. Just floating, submerged and at the mercy of whatever——whomever.

He thinks: what would Ezra do? 

Run.

Taylor closes the door and makes his way back to Idra who rested on the couch. Who’s supposed to be laying there still.

“Aye, I gotta go.” He sets the heating pad down. His breath is visible and his lips crack. Almost as though her freezer was open all day. Drunk Idra couldn’t wander too far and she’s in the safety of her home with experimentation rooms for man-sized creatures, she’ll be fine. Taylor tries the door, of course it rattles but doesn’t give way. Of course it’s locked. He goes for the window next.

“Taylor.” Idra stands behind her kitchen island. There’s no way she was standing here the whole time.

Taylor points towards the door, “I’m finna go, I got work tomorrow…”

“Why?”

“Tryna pay off my student loans, you know how it is.”

“No. Why do you think you can leave?”

Taylor awaits laughter, none granted.

She says, “you saw him. I know you did…”

Flurries trickle out of the vents. Her condo is like some cooler. Taylor brings his phone in Dollar Zone’s because fears of being trapped. Locked in and shivering as oblivious customers grab their liters of sugar. Maybe that phobia should’ve extended beyond his place of work. 

Idra creeps near him, “sit.”

Taylor settles on her frozen couch. More solid than sedimentary rock. She paces around her coffee table as if she wasn’t room-spinning drunk 15 minutes ago. Idra tells things her way, her perspective. She grew up running after her mother’s love. Always within reach but never fully grasped. But Idra never gave up. Ever. She devised many ways to win her mother over. Elaborate gifts, fully funded trips, running her errands, and no matter what brute force Tonya used to push her away, Idra only ran back faster.

But Tonya cut ties; cursed her name.

For years Idra kept her distance. She studied hard, interned, and became the best she could in a world such as this one. Acquired the knowledge to fully study her anatomy—her D.N.A. Over-analyzed the stories Tonya shared about her father and how he left. Idra constantly wondered why she could withstand extreme cold, lift a car, and feel the world spin. Spiral.

Idra started with her father, she would look to the stars, meditate, anything to connect. She imagined he left some kind of paper trail for his child but he didn’t, truly abandoning them both. Idra knew her mom was suffering, she thought back to that photo of them Tonya hid in her jewerly box. So Idra thought of bringing him to her instead. The idea was outlandish but feasible. She was to extract her alien D.N.A and transform an unassuming human male. 

“I tested everything out with some guy no one cared about anyways. He’s rude to retail workers,” she snickers, “remember?”

That man who gave Taylor a hard time over some coupon. Yeah he was rude but that doesn’t make him an eligible candidate for cruel experimentation. Which failed. But she knows what to do this time, and what better person than Taylor? Someone her mother rambles about: that cute Dollar Zone employee.

“You’ll understand, Taylor…”

Snow piles around them. Taylor’s clothes stick to her furniture in this indoor whiteout. 

He wakes up strapped to a chair, limbs free from freezing, but bounded by zip ties. Idra bangs on the tube her test subject floats in and awakens him.

“Ma will love me after this. She’ll be happy.”

Taylor yanks at his zip ties. He can’t be whatever the guy in that tube is. At all. Idra types away at a computer, posture stiff and lungs expanding vastly like she’s a creature in a human suit. “You’ll fall in love with her. You’ll complete her…”

“This ain’t right, bruh. Let us go.”

“I don’t need to do the right thing to get the right results…”

Idra swabs his mouth for her collection of D.N.A. and runs her icy hand along his face, “you won’t look that different. Relax.”

That’s an appropriate thing to say before altering one’s genetic makeup. She connects an IV tube and attempts to prick Taylor’s skin. He squirms, using every ounce of strength. These ties will snap, his life depends on it.

“Hold still, this won’t hurt…”

Idra struggles to find a good vein. She should’ve added medical school to her mad scientist literacy. Even the experienced ask him to ball his fist and still fight for a vein. Unlike them, Idra pushes the IV drip away and the saline solution splatters on the wall, Frosting instantly. Thank God she gave up. But that’s the least of Taylor’s possible afflictions.

A computer screen counts down for a case of fog. Ice. Some needle filled with glowing liquid threatens Taylor. The point is sharp and protrudes two feet long. His imagination got a little ahead of him again, but not too far from reality.

“You plan on poking me with that?”

Idra laughs.

Taylor believed—if he were to have an alien encounter—he would spot the signs. Would be too wise to fall in their traps. Perhaps even befriend them and exchange information. If humans could share information of value with creatures advanced enough to travel light years. 

Only one minute remains on the clock for whatever extraction or fusion going on. All Taylor knows is that needle will go nowhere near him.

“Idra,” he says, “you ain’t gotta turn men into aliens for your mom to finally love you. Have you ever thought it’s her fault for not loving her child?”

But she sighs, “you come from a household of love, that’s why you’re so kind. Love is something I must earn. I don’t have it.”

An electrical wave slams against her condo. The whirring harmonsily shuts down. Nothing but silence. He can’t make out objects in the room anymore. Everything still. Hopefully, this stops Idra. 

“Oh well,” her voice full as the darkness, “a few seconds off won’t hurt.”

With each burst of electricity, Idra takes a step closer with that doomsday needle. Sparks fly around this room from frying computers. Endless rows of code flood their screens. Idra and her fifteen tooth wide smile more terrifying than her mother. Taylor screams but too faintly. All that cold air dries his vocal chords.

The room flickers on and off on and off.

These zip ties burrow in Taylor’s skin. He attempts to wiggle free. Nothing makes sense. They were just hanging out a few hours ago playing Mortal Kombatt II. He looked forward to seeing where things went with Idra, but life has sharp turns, and this occurrence, Taylor finds himself victim to. Life’s uncertainty. People’s uncertainty. That if life hands you lemons they’re probably disguised hand grenades.

He pleads, “Idra, I know you’re a good person. Don’t be like this.”

But she kisses his cheek—cold. A chill surges through his veins as the needle inches closer and closer to his arm. Regret washes over Taylor. Everything he’s done and has not all lost. All in vain. If he was smarter, wrote cooler stories, drew more elegantly, he wouldn’t be here: working mind-numbing jobs; harassed by older women and probed by their half-alien offspring. Taylor would have a condo in Beachwood Heights. The place with smooth roads and poor phone reception. 

Jagged lines form on the test tube’s glass. 

Shatters.

Idra should’ve let her test subject rest, her rude awakening provoked him. Whatever solution he was in floods the room. Shame on her for unawareness. He undermined his aquatic prison each time Idra’s power clicked off. The needle flies out of Idra’s hand as he tackles her. Taylor doesn’t condone violence, most times, but this time is okay. 

Idra lies unconscious like her mother a week ago. If he didn’t help her he would’ve never met Idra. Wouldn’t be in this situation. But what would Ezra think of that deduction? Cowardly. Because life isn’t about doing the right thing to yield agreeable results, it’s about having a moral compass, no matter how much planet Earth works to harden you.

The guy stands over Taylor. Hopefully he won’t kill him for not accepting his coupon; he doesn’t. Instead, Taylor’s zip ties are torn off with the dude’s teetering alien strength. As genius as Idra is, the results of her experiment are unstable. Either way, Taylor flees from her apartment.

He doesn’t stop running until he reaches Legacy Village. Unfortunately, all the restaurants and businesses are closed. The red and brown brick sidewalks empty. No keys in his pocket, Idra stole those, just that frozen phone Taylor attempts to warm with his breath. Shivering on some bench in the dead of night. Better than being trapped in Idra’s lair. His phone vibrates, life still dwells with a one bar signal and a text from Jade:

I figured it out. Taylor and AI sitting in dollar zone, E.T. f-o-n-e home.

She had to modify the spelling to fit the syllable framework, but A+. 

Taylor calls the police. Although the military or even the MIB would be more suitable, he gotta start somewhere. His parents give him an earful on the car ride home: don’t let women manipulate you. Don’t let people serenade you off a cliff. You know what? Ohio is the problem. You should make like your cousin from Indiana and leave. She’s somewhere the sun always shines. He didn’t share that Idra is an alien, just crazy, a half truth. He wakes up to a text from Liz next morning.

Taylor, you pulled a gimmick yesterday. You threw everyone’s schedules out of whack and left us swamped. I’m surprised by this behavior as you’re one of Dollar Zone’s hardest workers, i’d argue Jade is #1, reminds me of my granddaughter in Wisconsin. Who hates me. Anyways, if you don’t show up on time tomorrow (4-c), you’re fired. I mean it.

The next morning, he wanders into Tonya’s hospital room. The police didn’t apprehend anyone, but rushed Idra’s victim to the hospital. He should be fine and fully human by now. But Taylor? Questioning reality.  More than he did before February 14th. His heart rate not even accelerated from Liz’s threats. Brow in no sweat over what life means. Valentine’s day will never have the same meaning again.

“The sky’s so beautiful.” Tonya looks out the window.

Taylor shares every ounce of his ordeal.

Tonya laughs, “I bet a candle-lit dinner with me don’t sound too bad now, huh?”

It still sounds bad, at least Taylor believes, however, not his worst nightmare. Kind and unassuming extraterrestrial women are. Tonya sips on decaf coffee and shakes her head. Idra was bound to go rogue and it’s all her fault. She had to throw the blame somewhere, and since George wasn’t around she’d choose Idra. Every year of her daughter’s life filled with avoidable anguish.

“But,” Tonya says, “I know I failed her. I never found myself worthy of love…”

Her parents were callous. Tonya’s dad worked all day and mother only did what a parent should: shelter, food, and clothing, but no warmth inside their home. Never buying her that special toy or understanding what she liked. Tonya grew up searching for love: friends let her down and boys twisted her malleable heartstrings, but when she met George her heart of stone cracked. Tonya discovered love truly did blossom within. That a feeling like this oughta be cherished—its fragility was apparent.

Then little ol Idra, with her dark eyes and smooth skin, graced planet Earth. She had triple the love Tonya did so she clung to her mother no matter what. Idra would find beautiful flowers to gift her on walks home from school; would put extra marshmallows in Tonya’s hot chocolate. And Tonya shut the door in her face.

She wipes her eyes, “That’s why i’m here, battling my thyroid. Sitting in this hospital bed with nothing to distract me. How could I be so cruel?” 

Taylor hands her a box of tissues and wonders the same thing. Maybe Tonya isn’t the villain and neither is Idra. Everything is more complicated. Terrible she pushed the only family in her life away. Only person who needed her affinity.

“Ma?” Idra creeps through the door, balling up her sleeves.

Obviously guilty, perhaps embarrassed.

She falls to her knees and sobs. Despite Idra’s attempts to probe him, it’s hard to watch her cry. To stand in a room with crying women. This is a family matter Taylor doesn’t need to witness but he won’t move. What would Ezra do? Probably something emotionally supportive like patting their backs or something (he’s projected to be emotionally available.)

Tonya slides out of her bed and hugs Idra: the woman who should be in prison right now; the one Taylor fell for. They embrace for quite some time. Long awaited. Some nurses wander in then step out since emotional emergencies isn’t what Lewis Rio deals with. 

Tonya sniffles, “I’m sorry…”

Idra pulls her blubbering together and stands up straight. She looks at Taylor all teary-eyed but still sweet. He never understood when people said love makes you do crazy things. She loved Tonya enough to kidnap, not one, but two men with plans to destroy their DNA. Her sparkly eyes tell him she didn’t mean harm. He won’t call the MIB on her.

Thick snowflakes graze Tonya’s hospital room window. But no clouds. No haze. Just a blank blue canvas. And in Taylor’s average straightforward Cleveland life, he can add alien encounters to it—kind of cool. What an odd occurrence?

Idra folds her hands,“Mom, I…”

Her eyes glide towards the sky, pulling her to the window. Idra’s feet drag like she’s entranced; as though someone projected a spiral up there. Tonya calls after her but not even she can get through to her. Idra brushes past Taylor with snowflakes in her irises. Eyes open longer than humans can withstand, so Jade was right. 

“He’s calling us,” Idra says. 

Tonya trembles. The last time someone said that it led to abandonment. Tonya inches up to Idra. She may break if she dissolves; evaporate into stars.

“Who? Idra, who?”

But Idra looks over her shoulder, “join me,” she says, extending her hand. Tonya stops in her tracks and stares out the window like it’s a meteor shower or an anomaly as such. She clutches her chest as her hand rests in Idra’s. And Taylor, well his curiosity brings him to this window too. Nothing spectacular: just snow. Understandable how someone who’s never witnessed it could marvel but Northeast Ohioans are more than aware. Stars are partially visible and that’s the only thing worth noting.

Idra and Tonya stand united at this window, in this hospital room, and like dandelions floating adrift, they disintegrate. They deconstruct with smiles on their faces; warm and bright, leaving Taylor in an empty room. What should he tell the nurses? Your patient got called up by an ex-alien-lover? He presses his face on the window. He consumes every piece of sky allowed.

Nothing.

He steps outside and stands at Lewis Rio’s entrance. People walk in and out, a stretcher here, parked emergency vehicles over there, but no Idra and Tonya Roberts. No one seems to know nor care that two women teleported to some alien planet. That’s what Taylor believes they did, and he doesn’t have any reason to keep Idra’s number, he wonders: what would Ezra do?

Taylor shrugs at that, but what he does know is that Liz will slash him with her scythe if he’s even a second late. Per usual he marches in, types in his little numbers, then switches the register’s light on (no way she’ll reward him with salesfloor work today). Surprisingly, Dollar Zone is pretty dead, for now.

Here comes Jade with a Hello Kitty sticker on her cheek. Eating a bag of off brand chips. She squints her eyes real hard, staring Taylor down. He knows she’s about to be on something weird. She’ll probably share some obscure fact or chastise him.

“Liz on a conference call, so you can make a break for it.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t need to be here, Taylor.”

“Bruh, what are you saying? I’m on the schedule.”

Jade sits on the conveyer belt and eats a handful of chips, spilling them all over the place. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Nah.”

“Last week, I swiped that little notebook out yo’ pocket because you always carry it around so I thought hiding it from you would be funny. Then I flipped through all those pages, and saw those characters, and said, ‘nah, this he needs.’ Now i’m thinking the world needs this, too.”

Wise choice. Taylor would flip Dollar Zone upside down and shake everything out if he lost his unofficial official sketchbook.

“You don’t need to be here,” she says, “Go out there and do what you need to do.”

Jade never speaks with authority, in fact, she repels it. Yet in this moment, Taylor met the Jade who noticed Dollar Zone was almost a week late with Black History Month merchandise. She’s strong enough to snap Taylor out of it. To free the stampede of characters (especially Ezra) from their paper prisons.

Jade waves her hand, shooing him away, “Go share the stories, now.”

Taylor bounces but leaves the register’s light on because someone will help them. Even though no one is there truly someone will model their customer-service skills. But Taylor? He finally obtained the impetus to give Ezra the journey he deserves. And who knew that some overly-flirty woman and her mad scientist daughter (and his annoying-like-a-little-sister co-worker) would be that for him? No detail wasted, no experience in vain, even in a city as brown, gray, and snowy as this one.

The End