Welcome to the home of The Werebat Chronicles and A PolterGAYst Tale. These two serialized horror-comedies are solely written by me, fresh installments each week (hopefully polished!). Werebats show up on Wednesdays & PolterGAYsts on Sundays. Unless otherwise indicated, all other art/stories/posts aren't mine, but reblogged and respectfully tagged. Writing's my hobby and this in an experiment. Enjoy!
By Bob Vitale As funny as it sounds ā do their sheets have higher thread counts? ā the idea of gay ghosts isnāt too far-fetched if you believe in ghosts in the first place. We were dispā¦
How long had he stayed, sleeping? He stretched. The butterfly pumped its wings on the steering wheel. He admired it for a few moments, then gazed over it and through the front windshield. Dozens of monarch butterflies covered the space in front of him, blinking. Within the myriad slivers of black and burnt orange, he saw green vines and patches of a tall stone wall above him.
Where was he? Where was she?
A strong puff of warm air hit his ear as if to answer him. Turning, he saw brown fuzz, then a plastic sheen, thenā¦it was an ostrich, ducking in through the passenger window, a dissatisfied look on its face. He slapped his left side against the door but it didnāt respond; it stayed, staring with dissatisfaction as he popped open the car door, bent out, and slid sideways into tall weeds and squishy persimmons.
As he scanned the overgrown yard between him and a two-story adobe building painted black and gray, he and the ostrich seemed alone. A soft curve of bent overgrowth trailed from the side of the building to his car. If he didnāt feel his keys in his pockets, he could imagine parking near the building first, falling asleep, then rolling forward until stopped by the wall. Unless he climbed the wall, heād have to follow the trail to leave this place. He wished heād crashed through it completely into some alleyway or field through which he could escape now so he wouldnāt need to worry about who was in or around the building and whether or not he could pass undisturbed. Driving out would be noisy even if he didnāt have to contend with an ostrich now snapping at his stirring wheel. If that woman with her fantasies waited in the building, sheād have time to respond.
That woman...
He thought he remembered the entire encounter but heād been so sleepy: meeting her on the sidewalk them both of them on his patio without walking out onto it; him asking her repeatedly to leave; her almost kissing him; her saying he was a bat; her shouting; him feeling she wouldnāt leave unless he agreed to drive her wherever she wanted to go. Was she dangerous, though? His judgment had been impaired. What could he do if she were dangerous? Throw fruit at her while calling 911? Hit her with his car and drive away and tell the police that heād hit her because...he hadnāt been kidnapped but still felt kind of forced to leave his apartment against his will?
One plan: he could request a driver through Uber or Lyft or a similar driving service app then and there, climb over the wall, find the driver, and ride off. On the ride, heād plan his return for his car, maybe ask a friend or the police - if he could determine a legitimate reason to bother them for assistance - to join him. Maybe his driver would look tough enough to help him fight off any danger. Theyād walk to his car, the driver would help fight of any danger, heād give them a ride back to their car, and then theyād negotiate payment for their time. Even if they didnāt seem tough enough, maybe theyād be carrying a gun and/or a taser and/or pepper spray with them.
He could climb onto the hood of his car and try to grab the edge of the wall and pull himself up, but he didnāt know how the ostrich would react as he bounced the car; he didnāt have much faith in his ability to pull himself up the wall either. Scanning the yard again, he noticed thick branches of a tree rested on top of the wall. He could climb over those. Between the trees and the building, he noticed a bell-shaped stone fireplace blending in with the color of the wall. He could easily climb over that. Abandoning his car in this place for any amount of time bothered him. He was neither rich, nor well-insured. He needed his car, needed it fully operational. If the woman was dangerous and saw him escaping, so much could be done to his car in retaliationāit would be as easy to cut the tires as it would be to set it on fire. He squished over persimmons to the shade of the tree. Heād stare at his phone there and further plan.
āDonāt know what you eat,ā an unexcited female voice said beside him. āBut this is what I snack on.ā
He turned to find a tall woman extending a slender tray toward him. She wasnāt the woman from his apartment but she had the same eyes that had fluttered from within the hammock. Now they looked at him within a band of skin much lighter in pigment than the rest of her face and the tip of her nose. He stared at her face and blushed at his staring. She said, āBerries, dates, mealworms, cashews, apple slices, and vitiligo, the same thing that Michael Jackson had. Google will answer any questions you have about vitiligo. Iāll answer some of your most important questions about us.ā She shoved the tray at him. āLike the question: where am I? Youāre still in Dallas, near home, and you slept all day in our backyard.ā
She grabbed a date and stuff a mealworm into it. āBecause you drove here.ā
āThanks, but why was a certain woman eager for me to drive her here.ā
āBecause you donāt seem to know what you are. And sheās not someone who thinks you should discover that alone.ā
āA bat, you mean?ā
She grabbed another date and stuffed a cashew into it. A tall shadow rose across her face and something nudged his waist. He brushed against retreating feathers as he turned. The man with the long finger said, āIāll be back. It was time anyway.ā He leaned onto a saddle perched on top of the ostrich. He opened his mouth and snapped at a flying date. āLAH-vvvv ya,ā he said with a mouthful as he turned his bird. He waved his long finger.
āA-y-e a-y-e. And he has two,ā the woman said.
He introduced himself. She replied, āYep.ā He asked her what her name was, the name of the man, the name of the woman whoād shown up at his apartment and directed him her. She said, āWhen I get to know you better.ā He asked, āAre you also a bat?ā She nodded. He asked, āWill you prove it?ā
She laughed. āYou were already shown proof,ā she said. āI could stand her for the rest of the night, wings out, fangs and talons curved at you, and you believe or you donāt the same amount. Your body will prove it to you better than we will.ā Ā
A phone rang in the building. āEnjoy the food,ā she said, then she climbed the tree, leapt from a branch, landed on the chimney of the stove, flipped up into a leap, and landed on a wide balcony of the building.
Iāll escape just like that, he thought, snorting. But as he reached into his pocket, he didnāt feel his keys anymore. That nudge heād felt mustāve been the ostrich or the man stealing his key. In which direction had the man and ostrich left?
He looked across at the house and sighed. He didnāt want to walk near the building; however, he worried for his carās well-being even more without his keys. Maybe heād find the man just around the building. Theyād laugh about his pick-pocketing ostrich, the man would give him back his keys, then share directions to the nearest highway.
Jayden hadnāt seen the woman whoād spoken to him. Someone with a soapy scent had picked him up and carried him, bent over their shoulder, his body crackling into a space that darkened as they went. A curtain had dragged across his hair and swept away the last of the light. A few moments after, he was laid face first onto a cool cushion. Then the person tugged at the Mylar somewhere around his legs. The material crackled and he heard another sound of scissors cutting. Soon, the someone yanked away the Mylar from his knees down. Then he felt a tugging above one arm. Heād felt the pop of the scissors through the fabric and the fabric lift from his muggy skin until his full arm was exposed up to his shoulder. The person pushed down on his back afterward. Jayden heard their footsteps trail away. Then a fluorescent light buzzed on and flickered before fully illuminating the space.
Jayden slid one bent leg onto the floor and lifted his upper body with the freed arm. His clammy palm and cheek peeled from a leather couch cushion. He blinked. He wasnāt sure if he was still wearing shorts or even underwear but at his arm, he saw the skin of his shirtless torso. Heād been placed on a bulky leather couch in the corner of a small kitchen, the kind typical of office buildings with cabinets and appliances all pushed to one side. On a dining room table near him, steam plumed from a French press near a bowlful of grapes and a visibly steaming breakfast burrito on a napkin.
The same female voice called his name from a walkie talkie next to the breakfast.
āJayden. Jayden, youāre here because we think you should have some things explained to you before you go back home. Eat your breakfast. Please donāt leave this room.ā
On the far end of the same wall the couch was against, he saw a closed black curtain hanging a few inches above the ground. It seemed to be the only exit. If he walked up to the curtain, his feet would be easily seen from the other side through the gap. He didnāt see a light switch but of course theyād see if he turned off the light.
So Freak Show Guy has friends who kidnap his dates when they see him being freaky?
Should he eat the food? Should he free his other arm and try to escape? He could do both. He was hungry. He walked to the refrigerator. The cool fog felt uncomfortable when it met the sweat across his body. On the top shelf, a carton of half-and-half was surrounded by clear bags of blood.
Great. Vampires.
The freezer was filled with individually packaged burritos.
Some vampire frat. All they need is beer and itās a party.
He grabbed two more burritos. If they were going to suck his blood and/or kill him - because, what else did weird kidnappers who wrapped you in the strongest fucking aluminum foil youād ever encountered and also stored blood in their office fridges do but suck your blood and kill you? - heād get more breakfast than theyād served him.
As he turned toward the microwave, someone all in black stepped back through the curtain into the darkness. He threw both burritos at the curtain. Both hit with a thud, then fell.
āJayden,ā the woman said from the walkie talkie. āJust eat.ā
He grabbed three burritos from the freezer, slammed the freezer door, opened the microwave, slammed it shut, opened it again to actually put the burritos in, slammed it shut,ā¦
Iām nerding out on this novel. I think I like the novel itself but Iāll admit that Iām so turned on by hypertext concept/execution that I might not be able to notice right now. Maybe the bats turn me on as well?
Excited to see the author, Zachary Thomas Dodson, speak/present at Wild Detectives Coffee Shop in the Bishop Arts District of Dallas tonight.
PolterGAYst, Or a Cautionary Paranormal Romance: Part 3
POLTERGAYST focuses on a gay guy who meets a ghost gay guy via a Ouija board; their friends; and the sex and puns and sorta scary things that ensue. If it was a movie, it would probably be R-rated for the sex (and the little domestic abuse scene between exes in this chapter *trigger-warning*)
Maybe itās been a trick all along. Maybe Jake - possibly with the help of Ouija-gifting Catch - controlled the planchette and the sock this entire time, pranking Bomer from some hiding place. Now that the funās started and Bomerās given in to the prank, Jakeās put down the controls and hopes toāwhat could he hope for?
But the sock! Itās swollen more since Bomer grabbed it, and it throbs within his grip now and seems to radiate heat. How does someone control that? How can anyone not present inside his locked apartment create this effect?
He steps around the table, sock still in hand. He listens. Of course, he wouldnāt hear the pulse or the breathing of an invisible man standing there. Of course, he wouldnāt feel that manās body heat. Or would he? Another flick of lightning brightens what seems to be emptiness in front of him; another series of poundings from Jake melds with the low rumble of thunder and Bomerās own heart rate.
Then a moment of quiet.
Then the sound of something crisp breaks. Lightning strikes. On the floor, Bomer sees a chip shattered. Some of the pieces slide backward, then lift up, then rain onto the floor. The chair closest to the strewn chips scoots backwards by itself, teeters.
He releases the sock. It retains its full, horizontal shape in mid-air.
I should be scared, shouldnāt I? But Iām not. Iām too surprised and intrigued to be scared.
āBomer, I need you. I need you. I NEED YOU,ā Jake whales while pounding. Itās exactly what their sex sounded like.
āI have to ummm shut him up,ā Bomer stutters, speaking to the sock, then to the empty space, then to the sock, then to the emā. āI guessāthatāI donāt ummm need to tell you to hide. Thatās my ummmāthatās my ex-boyfriend. But you already maybe understand that because we were all chatting with you. Iām trying to figure out his place in my life.ā
The sock begins to wilt.
āYou can stay. Make yourself at home. Just donāt judge me, please. When you meet him again knowing that we dated. Ohāand watch out for chips.ā
The planchette quickly spells out: Coolio.
When he unlocks the door and begins to turn the knob, Jake shoves the door into Bomer. āYou little fucker,ā he shouts. āI hope your neighbors call the police on you for not letting me in.ā
B: I donāt have to open anything for you.
J: Where did we go wrong?ā he asks, slamming the door. āYou know Iām your guy. This ājust being friendsā and playing games is bullshit.ā
Lightning flashes.
B: No games.
Thunder rumbles.
J: Yes, games.
Jake locks both deadbolts. Bomer reaches for the locks but Jake uses his body to shove Bomer away. Bomer steps backwards toward the wall, steps he immediately regrets.
B: I didnāt quit. I didnāt send a break up text. I just accepted itāafter you stopped calling and texting.
J: That wasnāt serious. It was more a breakup draft text that I accidentally sent. Itās like accidentally tapping the emoji thatās beside the emoji you actually want to send. Or tapping whatever nonsensical thing auto-correct assumes youāre spelling.
B: What did you mean to send?
Jake closes in, and slams one palm on the wall beside Bomerās head, blocking him from the rest of the room. Grinning, he nuzzles Bomer from the side, sniffs his hair, pants out quiet laughter. Bomer wishes he smelled alcohol or weed on Jakeās breath or body, something to explain away this behavior that might be perceived as threatening. Itās just the smell of Fritosāprobably no substance has altered Jake from who he is.
J: Maybe it was a āletās take a breakā text. An āI need to find myselfā text.
B: You wonāt find yourself here. Try looking up your--
Bomer gently pushes Jake away. Jake, with his free hand, shoves Bomer against the wall.
J: This is exactly the place to find myself.
B: Maybe with a black light.
J: This is better than any other place Iāve tried.
B: Did you already try other guys tonight but they all rejected you?
J: Those--theyāre just assholes in the night.
B: Literally, right?
J: You donāt understand.
Jake sniffs Bomerās chest.
J: You smell so good. A little sweet sweat and pancake batter. Like bomeraide.
B: Jakeāoff!
J: I heard you in the kitchen talking about me. About wanting me. Just give me your bummer. My bummer.
He slides his hand to Bomerās bummer.
B: Go home. Truth is: I donāt want this anymore. Get off of me and go home.
Bomer again gently pushes Jake away but Jake grabs both of Bomerās wrists and exerts a lot of strength raising them. Bomer enlists his new, gym-made muscles, forcing his wrists down against Jakeās grip like a variation on arm wrestling. But Jakeās stronger. That used to turn Bomer on; the thought of heading butting Jake turns him on more now, though. So he does. Their foreheads meet as thunder cracks.
Jake releases him. Light-headedness and droopy eyes follow. When Jake cries out, Bomer assumes Jake is also light-headed, droopy eyed. Until he blinks, and sees Jake bending into a Downward Dog yoga position.
In mid-air!
Floating toward him!
Jake pounds down at empty space and his fists bounce off the same invisible plain. When Jake is just overhead, Bomer hears - then sees - his doorās locks unlocking on their own.
Bomer stands as the door opens, watches a bent over Jake float over the threshold and down the corridor, still pounding while crying, his voice still loud even when he is no longer visible around a turn that leads down the staircase to the first floor. Had Bomer heard Jakeās punches or the sound of feet tromping down the corridor? He closes the door and leans back into it.
On the floor near where Jake began to float is the sock. He walks over to it and picks it up. Itās still warm. Jake hollers. Bomerās bomer stiffens as he rushes towards a window.
Downstairs, Jakeās butt rams the glass entrance door open. His legs kick the rain. His phone and keys spring from his pockets and splash down on the parking lot. Then, he falls and scurries towards his car. Near where he fell, his key ring ascends into the air. The headlights and taillights of Jakeās car blink on and off a few times. Then the keys fly towards Jake and hit the back of his head.
How does that happen without something or someone picking up the keys and throwing them?! Can this be real? Did I just meet a gay ghost via a Ouija board, flirt with him, kinda sext with him, and then watch him help me defend myself against my ex?
His bomer throbs. No oneās ever defended him like this before. Of course, no one wouldāve needed to had he not answered the door, had he never dated Jake in the first place. But he had. And moments ago, heād been helped. He hopes this someone (Rykurt. His name is Rykurt!) returns so he can kiss him in gratitude. Is that what you do in this situation or does that reek of ādamsel boy in distress?ā His bomer throbs as if to say, do more than kiss this hero.
The entrance door seemingly opens on its own. No one passes through it before it closes. He leaves the windows, no longer caring what Jake does. He tidies up instead, fluffs a pillow, straightens the floor mat, sweeps up the broken chip, adjusts himself. He strikes a match, his heart pounding, his bomer throbbing as he lights a few more candles. Every candle reminds him of long, stiff--
Someone softly knocks at the door.
When Bomer looks through the peephole, the corridor seems empty. He stares until he feels another set of gentle knocks beside his head before he hears them.
You donāt have to open your door for anyone, he thinks, his body throbbing in several places. But this isnāt just anyone. This is aā.
I could see the streaming bats in the sky again.
Tumbling toward a certain death, panicked. As was I.
I watched my life's work, all the species I had discovered,
escape over my head. The sharp clap of musket fire, though
I could not see its source. Slow and beautiful, the bats fell
from the sky. The burnt husks of extinguished stars.
from the prologue of Bats of the Republic by Zachary Thomas
WEREBAT focuses on a gay guy who discovers that heās a werebat, and follows his experiences from there.
THE MORNING AFTER
Jayden woke, warm and snug, surrounded in neon pink light and a soft crackling sound. His earlobes throbbed. In a mirror above, he saw himself on top of a glossy, black blob bound up to his neck in Mylar.
Iām a shiny mummy.
He tugged his arms as he saw them crossed over his stomach as if he were in a straight jacket. They felt glued to him. One leg crossed over the other, unwilling to uncross, and he assumed his feet were also bound, maybe just from the tight wrapping, maybe from whatever held his wrists taut. The black blob sunk and shifted like a bean bag chair as he twisted and crackled, and the top of it was segmented in triangles of black leather, the angles matching both the pattern of little folds in the shiny fabric that bound him and the neon pink rods installed at diagonals along the walls. In the mirror and in his peripheral vision, the room looked otherwise empty, the neon the only source of light.
What had that Freak Show Guy done to him?
Was he in that apartment, again? He didnāt remember a room or space like this in the guyās small, one-bedroom home. Heād been abducted and taken somewhere else. Would it matter if he screamed? In movies and TV shows, when the kidnapped screamed, only the captors heard.
He tried swinging his right hip and shoulder up, the Mylar sounding like a long shhhh as he lurched twice before the front of his body flopped into the bean bag. Then he swung his left hip and shoulder, hoping to roll over, but he seemed to only sink the right side of his body deeper, and shove his nose into an uncomfortable angle. So he breathed deeply and tried swinging himself the opposite way, and he was successful, rolling downhill until he slammed onto his back onto a concrete floor. The wind wasnāt knocked out of him but the slam still hurt.
He looked up into the mirror. The shiny mummy and the blob.
His body pointed toward a wall behind his head completely covered by a black curtain, the only wall without a hot pink rod attached to it. The entrance to the room must be there. He bent his crossed legs and torso up as much as theyād bend, probably only an inch, then he scooted himself in line toward the curtain.
The shiny mummy turns into a caterpillar, and escapes!
Since he could only bend a small amount, he wasnāt certain how he was going to bend up enough to open a door or window if there was a door or window behind the curtain. Each time he scooted, he unsuccessfully tried ripping his arms and legs from being crossed. He was glad the floor wasnāt carpeted because he wasnāt sure if the static created from Mylar rubbing across carpeting could start a fire and he didnāt need one more dilemma. Maybe he shouldāve tried to stand while still on top of or beside the fancy bean bag. That wouldāve been practical. Itās okay to not do everything efficiently the first time youāre kidnapped, he thought. He was already more than halfway to the curtain.
The shiny caterpillar will explore, AND THEN return to his bean bag to stand. Ā
A draft from under the curtain cooled his hair and cheeks and across wet lines that angled from the corners of his eyes down passed his throbbing ear lobes and jaw until they ended at either side of his neck. He realized then heād been crying or was crying. He paused at this realization and suddenly the Mylar seemed suffocating. As much as he moved, he still seemed bound as tight as he was when he first woke. His phone probably wasnāt on his person; in fact, since he hadnāt felt the shorts and tank heād been wearing shift and scrunch at all since heād moved, he assumed he was naked beneath, except for whatever was used to tie back his arms and bind his legs and ankles. Naked, phoneless, bound, and still uncertain what to expect beyond the curtain (did a draft indicate a door or an air vent or something else?), he wasnāt sure if he could escape wherever he was.
In movies and TV shows, captors punished those theyād kidnapped for attempting to escapeāeven if there never was a possibility of escape in the first place. He thought of Freak Show Guy on the ceiling, contorted like some kind of demon or beast.
What kind of punishment could THAT kind of thing inflict?
He assumed heād been kidnapped because heād seen the guy for what he wasāwhatever that might be. Since he wasnāt dead, though, either the guy hoped to persuade him not to tell, then would free him ORā¦
ā¦he needs me for food!
At this, he rolled his eyes and snorted a laugh. None of this is believable but I guess if my worst case scenario is that Iām going to be eaten by someone I hooked up with, he thought, heāll eat me whether I try to escape or not.
He imagined that his last few moments alive before being eaten would either beā¦
ā¦scooting through the building he was in until Freak Show Guy found him, then bent down to bite him or break his neck or something violent OR ā¦
ā¦scooting in a circle around the fancy bean bag, imagining nu-disco playing, the neon lights blinking softly becauseā¦
ā¦both scenarios seemed like ridiculous, drug-fueled fantasies from a horror movie. And, he was in a horror movie, wasnāt he?
He imagined nu-disco playing anyway as he angled up and scooted, angled up and scooted to the beat towards the draft.
Soon, his head nudged the curtain. He angled and scooted again. The curtain skirted down his forehead and came to a rest across his nose. The top half of his head stuck out into another space. He couldnāt see a ceiling, only walls that tapered into darkness. He couldnāt see much to his right or left, but when he bent his neck up to see over and behind his head, he saw a strip of light, so he flopped his body sideways toward the curtain to angle himself for better view.
Across a long empty space, one fluorescent rod hung above a table. Two people stood on the other side of the table. He only saw them in silhouette, though, one with long, straight hair (though it couldāve been a head-covering) and the other wearing a wide-brimmed hat. The one with the hat turned, perhaps to look his way. He tried to be still, but a crackling sound grew louder and louder. Looking down his face, he realized his body lifted the curtain up and that the Mylar reflected the pink light across his body. When he glanced again at the table, the silhouettes werenāt there. The crackling-more like a tapping sound as it closed in-intensified and the pink light flickered on long, jutting things above his head. Was this Freak Show Guy scuttling down toward him?
āDinner time?ā he asked, with a laugh, his eyes tearing, his torso shivering and crackling.
āOh, no,ā said a soothing female voice above him. Drinking straw-like objects moved slowly far above him, catching the pink light. āBreakfast time.ā
**
Adalynn entered the lecture hall for her favorite entomology classā¦disappointed. She hadnāt caught Jayden on his āwalk of shameā (or, rather, his ābike of shameā orā¦āroute of shame?ā). She also hadnāt decided what to yell at him from her car window to embarrass him as they crossed paths, but sheād wanted the opportunity. She still wanted it, even as she sat down and unpacked her tablet.
But, no, she actually didnāt want to tease or embarrass him; she wanted to slap a hot pink sticky note on the fridge like him that said sheād be gone for the whole night and most of the next morning, no return time designated or expectedātime off from everything without the need to inform half a dozen people like her brother or their parents or a babysitter or anyone. And, when she returned, everything at home (Hawthorn, dinner, laundry, etc.) would be handled. Ideally, she wouldnāt consider it āescaping.ā Jayden didnāt call it āescapingā; he called it āfun.ā
Someone smelling of coffee and cedar rocked her seat while sliding in beside her. They said, āIām nervous about tonight.ā
She turned to him, Osvaldo, her best friend in the class, and lied, āJaydenās just as nervous.ā
āWhat does your brother like to do besides bike, again? You havenāt told me much about him.ā
No, I havenāt told you much about him. I have told you much about anything that concerns my personal life, have I? she thought. Theyād been friends for a semester and a half. A semester and a half! Sheād taken a break from college and in her first college class post-break (another entomology class, in fact), the professor had assigned them an icebreaker: whatās your favorite type of bug and why do you like it? One-by-one, each student was required to introduce themselves and answer.
The handsome man sheād sat next to, introduced himself as Osvaldo and said, āThe praying mantis because their posture and eyes make them the most sentient or human-looking bugs.ā
āUgh,ā sheād thought, ātheir eyes look like theyāre following you at all times from all angles.ā But she hadnāt only thought it; she said it aloud to the class.
āThey are looking at you at all times,ā Osvaldo had said. āBut just at YOU!ā And then heād bent his forearms up to his chest, his wrists limp to resemble a praying mantis, and then heād leaned toward her with wide eyes, moving his head side to side while locking his stare on her until theyād both blushed and started laughing. Heād invited her to coffee after class. Sheād considered it a first date until heād mentioned he was gay.Ā
The two of them hung out at least five days a week in classes, lectures, labs, study groups, coffee shops, school activities, and for little field trips (all with fellow classmates), and when they werenāt nerding out on their mutual passion for insects, they were losing track of time in conversations about films, art, articles, food, music, and almost anything else, except for anything about Hawthorn or Jayden.
Why was her personal life always absent from their conversations? Maybe after a few years absence from college, she wanted to ensure her success in college and network and she didnāt want to alienate her younger classmates with talk of single mother things and baby thingsāand maybe she was distancing herself from those things, too, whenever she stepped onto campus. Or maybe she wasnāt sure how to invite any man she found attractive into her personal life, again. But she wanted to, and she wanted it to be Osvaldo; but instead of bringing Hawthorne along when they hung out or inviting him over to her apartment, sheād eagerly set him up on a blind date with Jayden. The moment she suggested it, she was confused and regretful.
He asked, āDo you think heād want to look at monarchs? At sunset? Theyāre still all over that lake we walked around. Is he spontaneous? Can we just grab our coffees to-go and maybe something for dinner and bike over there?ā
She imagined slapping a hot pink sticky note on the fridge that said:
Man of My Dreams / Lakeside
She said, āSounds fun.ā
He said, āIf he doesnāt want to, expect a text that says, I ditched your brother. Wanna see butterflies?ā
āAs your friend, Iād like that. As his sisterāā
āYouād understand?ā he asked, smirking.
Did she actually want Jayden to date him? Her expectation: more time with Osvaldo. The possible reality: Jayden would mess things up so badly-tonight or in the near future-that the man of her dreams would distance himself from her in one way or another. Maybe sheād lie, tell both her man and her brother that the other had cancelled, and then sheād ask her man if he was still interested in her joining him lakeside.
He said, āIām excited, too. Iām looking for a good man.ā
She thought, āOh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuā!ā
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