WATTYS 2023 SHORTLIST
Cara, a troubled college dropout, finds herself slowly falling for a handsome stranger - who turns out to be Death incarnate. But the arrival of a mysterious being puts Death's home for lost souls and his very existence at risk...
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My dad calls my cell phone seven times before I make it to the Greyhound station. Seven times that I let it go to voicemail, utterly sick at the notion of listening to whatever explanations and excuses he'd come up with.
I've never let my dad's calls go to voicemail.
I've never been so angry at him.
It's impossible to drive that woman's stupid, beautiful face out of my mind. The fact that she was sucking face with my father in our restaurant – where I would play on the greasy floors before I even knew how to walk, where my mother worked part-time as a waitress when she wasn't at auditions, where we were happy – makes the betrayal even harder to bear.
"Next," the very unhappy ticket attendant yells into the microphone. My head snaps up as my phone vibrates in my pocket with call number eight. "You're holding up the line, miss."
"Oh. Sorry." I rush up to the window, eyes scanning the flashing departure cities and times. Philadelphia, Albany, Atlanta, Hartford...
"Where you headed?"
"Uh..." It's hard to think straight as it is, but with every second that the teller stares me down I feel like my window of opportunity is narrowing. Why am I here? I know precisely what I'm running from, but what am I running to?
When the teller narrows her eyes and opens her mouth, probably to suggest that I step out of line, I see a new destination flash across the board: NEW YORK, NY TO BOSTON, MA - DEPARTING 10:27AM, ARRIVING 1:17PM.
"I need a ticket for that bus," I say without thinking as I point at the glowing sign.
"I don't have eyes in the back of my head."
"Oh, sorry. I need a ticket for the 10:27 bus to Boston."
"One ticket for Boston it is." The teller swipes my credit card and hands me the ticket, and I do my best not to dwell upon the pathetic state of my checking account as I head towards the correct terminal. Money. Yet another thing that I haven't thought through.
Boston itself has never particularly excited me – not any more than New York has – but I remember taking a train ride there with my family when I was a little girl. It was early-October, just like it is now, and my vision exploded with fall foliage and cozy towns nestled into the forest. My mother would point out deer that hid amongst the leaves, and my father would hold my hand as I leaned over the rail for a closer look. Life had felt like one grand adventure back then, far before our lives had been ruined by...My throat tightens at the memory as my pocket vibrates with call number nine.
Sure, sightseeing won't solve all of my problems; not even close. But maybe getting away is precisely what I need to clear my head, to disengage from my old life. New York is my home, but it's also a collection of my worst memories and experiences. Staying there any longer would be akin to signing up for torture, and clearly I can't count on my dad to alleviate that stress.
