Chapter Twenty-Three

The only way I could think to describe Dr. Lee's office was "crisp." Like the air itself had been pressed and organized so neatly that I was slicing through it with every step rather than pushing it aside. Everything in the nearly all-white office, down to the pens on his desk, had its own location, position, and angle.

Dr. Lee stood and shook our hands as Charles and I entered. I guessed he was about 50, but he kept himself in such good shape, it was difficult to tell. There wasn't a single blemish on the dark skin of his face, though he did favor a meticulously styled goatee. His suit, a dark blue in contrast to his bleached surroundings, was tailored and ironed with a precision that fit his shape with every movement.

"Good morning," he said to us both. "I'm Dr. Francis Lee." Motioning to me, he asked, "Adam?"

"Yes," I confirmed.

"We spoke on the phone; nice to meet you. And you must be Charles," he concluded, shifting his attention to Charles.

"Hi," Charles offered feebly.

"Adam," Dr. Lee stated, "if Charles doesn't mind, I'd like for you to sit in on our sessions. I think you might be beneficial to our goal. Charles, would that be okay?"

"Yeah," Charles said, "that's fine." I couldn't tell if it was exhaustion from the last few days or if he just didn't want to be here, but Charles sounded distant, almost distracted.

"Great," Dr. Lee announced, "Now, to begin-"

"Sorry," I interrupted, "Would it be okay if I ran to the car really quick? I just need to put a few things away if I'm staying inside."

"Certainly," Dr. Lee told me. "Feel free to let yourself back in."

I stepped out, struck by how dim the rest of the building now seemed. Being in Dr. Lee's office was like staring into the overhead light during a dental exam.

I walked out to my car and slipped my phone from my pocket, placing it in the glove compartment. Even with its volume shut off, I still felt self-conscious about having it in Dr. Lee's office; everything about the environment made me feel unprofessional just for not wearing a tie. After fixing my hair in the rear-view mirror and wishing I'd spent a little more time on a closer shave, I walked back into the building.

I opened the door to Dr. Lee's office and found both him and Charles staring at the wall, their eyes fixed on the same point. I followed their gazes, trying to determine what it was that had captured their attention so fully but saw nothing of interest. The door closed behind me. Both of their heads snapped simultaneously in the direction of the sound.

"Oh, Adam," Dr. Lee said. His voice signaled relief, but his eyes seemed to be trying very hard to blink away their apprehension. "Charles was-" He cleared his throat, "just telling me about his visions. We were trying to find some physical reason for them, a trick of the light perhaps." He glanced back at the wall then back to me and offered a smile, then motioned for me to have a seat.

Joining Charles on the couch, I surveyed the wall again, still seeing nothing there worth studying so intently. But maybe he had his reasons. He was the doctor, after all.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I spun back to where Charles had been standing; he wasn't there. I was alone.

Everywhere around me was blanketed in a thick grey, like I was looking at the world from deep under water. But there remained no traces of my apartment or the outside world, no indication that there was anywhere but here. As I tried to regain control of the panic in my lungs, it occurred to me that, now, this wasn't the other dimension. Now, the normal world, the only place I had ever been, had become the other. The thought felt heavy in my mind, weighted by implications.

Charles appeared in front of me. "You did it!"

"Yeah." I was still shaken. "Yeah."

Charles looked around, appeared to be searching for something. I looked too but saw only layers of darkness. "So ... is this it?" I asked.

"Pretty much," he said. "You can see why we just got bored of it."

"Well," I ventured, "it does look like a nice place to be alone. Like you said."

"Trust me," he stated flatly, "it gets boring." He was still searching the area around us. "And the only time it wasn't boring after that..." He didn't finish the sentence, considered, uttered instead a grim breath of a laugh. "You want it to be boring."

I knew that signaled the end of that line of conversation .Changing the subject, "Charles, what are you looking for?"

He cast a few more glances to the space around us. Dejected, he replied, "They aren't here."

"Charles, I still don't know what you want me to do."

"I don't know!" he exploded, high-pitched. He turned away quickly, but I could hear ragged breaths fighting back tears.

I stood there for a moment, thinking; there was nothing else we could do here. I stepped closer to him and put my hand on his shoulder. "Charles?" He turned to me, his face warped by frustration. Fear too, I assumed, fear that this might not be fixable. He didn't say anything. "Charles, there's somebody who might be able to help us. Somebody I think you should talk to."

He knew exactly what I meant. "This isn't in my head, Adam."

"I know," I said, wondering at the same time if agreeing with him was the right thing to do. "But maybe he can tell you why they're here. Maybe he knows something about them."

Charles stared at me. It was a weak excuse, and we both knew it. But I could see resignation settle into him. "Fine," he sighed.

"Okay, let's go back," I said. I looked around one last time. Having gotten somewhat accustomed to it, it actually was a pretty nice place. I stepped out. Charles had been right; it was easier getting back than it had been getting in. A lot easier, in my case, eight years' worth of easier.

Charles immediately stumbled into the room behind me. I realized it had probably been a mistake to go first and leave him there alone. I turned to him. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he replied. "I don't know what I was expecting to happen." He was still referring to me banishing the shadows back to their own dimension, apparently paying no mind to my oversight in leaving him behind. All he seemed to be focused on was solving the problem.

As I reached for the phone in my pocket, I was all too aware it was the line to the only real plan I had left. If this didn't work, I wondered, if Dr. Lee couldn't help him, what then?

Chapter Twenty-One

"Okay, tell me what to do."

Charles and I were standing in my living room, the same place I'd first seen the effects of what was happening to him, and now I was trying to get into the same place that had done it to him.

"Just- Do you remember what I told you before?" Charles asked.

"Yes. Into my own stomach. And that never worked before."

"I know. I just need you to try. Please." He was walking a line between desperate and hysterical.

"Okay, okay. I'll try." Just like I had eight years ago, I took a moment to concentrate and stepped - to the same outcome. "I'm still here, Charles."

"Okay. That's okay. Sometimes it helped to imagine going in plus another direction, like backwards and in."

"Right. Wait, you had new tips and didn't tell me?"

"I ... It was high school, and we were stupid kids. Can we not talk about this right now?"

"Okay, sorry. Backwards and in. Here we go." I tried it, no change.

"Try forwards and in. Or to the left and in. Or right," Charles quickly suggested.

Using the different combinations, I made several attempts while continuing my thought aloud. "I just, I know we weren't really friends friends anymore, but you knew I wanted to be able to do it; you still could have tried to help me out."

"Adam, you're not concentrating."

"I am," I countered. I fell silent for a moment while I made another attempt before venturing, "Charles, did you like being popular?"

He didn't look at me, seeming almost embarrassed to answer. "Yeah, a little."

"I never liked Daniel as much as you," I confessed, though I wasn't really sure why. I could avoid eye contact, as I was still making repeated attempts at stepping into the other dimension, but I had more or less given up on it happening.

"Daniel was okay," Charles said absently. He sounded like he was talking to himself.

"He was okay, but- I mean, you never even invited me to go anywhere with your friends."

"I tried to," Charles said. I could feel him hesitate before continuing, "but nobody wanted you to come."

I stopped myself in the middle of another attempt. "What?" I demanded.

"I asked a few times - after I stopped being mad at you - but everybody said you were..." He trailed off.

"What?"

"You weren't cool," he mumbled to the floor.

"And these are the people you wanted to be friends with more than me," I concluded bitterly.

"You were the one who started it!" Charles defended. "You made me show them, even though I didn't want to."

"Whatever," I countered. We really were in the same place we had been eight years ago. The thought unleashed a torrent of long-fermenting emotions. I turned angrily for the door but stopped myself immediately. I wasn't in my apartment anymore.

Chapter Twenty

Charles and I spent the rest of the day outside. He seemed to be more comfortable there than he was indoors, and I was starting to feel like I really needed some fresh air. We sat at a park and watched ducks while we ate a late lunch; Charles was entranced by the way they would dip their heads beneath the water to peck at algae. I watched him staring at the ducks, lost in the moment, and I wondered what he was thinking about. But it seemed a better idea to let his mind stay wherever it was. It was the closest to peaceful I'd seen him since he came back.

After lunch, we took a walk around the park. I decided there was one subject I needed to broach. "Charles, what did you mean you need me to come back with you?"

He kept looking straight ahead and didn't answer; for a moment, I wasn't sure he had even heard me. "You've never been there, the other dimension," he finally answered. "Whatever kind of power they have over me, you're not affected by it. I just thought ... I don't know, I thought you could help."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just come back with me, see if there's some way to trap them back where they came from." It surprised me somehow that he didn't have more of a plan, but I suppose I should have expected it. I was about to ask what he thought I could do to the shadows when my phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hello, is this Adam Fenton?"

"It is."

"My name is Dr. Lee. Francis Lee. Craig Curtis asked me to call you. He said you have a friend who's going through some trouble at the moment." Craig was Daniel's older brother; they must have just cut out all the middlemen in getting someone to me.

"Oh, yes," I answered. "Can you hang on for just one moment, please?" Then, to Charles, "Hey, I have to run back to the car; forgot something." I hoped he wouldn't notice the lie, but I'm sure it was obvious. He didn't call me on it, though. I started back toward the car.

"Yes, Dr. Lee?" I confirmed. "Well, it's my friend." I relayed the entire story as quickly as I could, ending with how Charles was now seeking my assistance in returning to the other dimension. Dr. Lee didn't seem fazed by the mention of the phenomenon which started all of this; knowledge about the other dimension must have been more widespread than we'd thought back in school. It seemed like something that a lot of people knew about but just lost interest like we all had. Eventually, it seemed, people just forgot about it out of nothing more than apathy.

"Adam, you will be paramount in assisting Charles," Dr. Lee told me. "These hallucinations are almost certainly psychological in nature, and as such, Charles' own brain holds the key to returning itself to normal. I will still need to see him, of course, but for now, I would suggest you go along with his plan. If he truly believes you will be able to help him, the chances are very good that you will be able to; that may be our best chance at solving this as quickly as possible."

I thanked him. Hanging up the phone, I turned back to look at Charles; he was watching the ducks again. I couldn't help feeling we were back at the same place we had been eight years ago: Charles had gone to the other dimension, and I needed to figure out how to do the same. Only now, it wasn't to keep up with Charles; it was to save him.

In Today's Chapter...

Watch me try to bridge a giant plot hole in just three sentences.

A Note

Hey look, my chapters are getting a little longer again. I was starting to feel like I was writing a Dan Brown novel.

Chapter Nineteen

Over the course of the next hour, I extracted from Charles as much of his story as he could remember.

As it turned out, he had not developed the same apathy most of our classmates had toward the other dimension. When he and Lannie had broken up, Charles had used the other dimension as something of a hiding place. And even after he had gotten over the relationship ending, he continued to use it in much the same way but with a broader purpose.

"I just needed someplace quiet to sit," he told me, "someplace where no one else was around."

Charles had always been a fairly shy person, but this seemed to be taking it rather far. He even admitted that he felt the same way, that he came to a point where he knew it was just a means of avoidance, but he kept going there.

"After I moved out of my parents' house," he said, "it got even worse; I was spending all my time alone. So I would go to the other dimension - where I was supposed to be alone - and it didn't feel so bad."

Two realizations struck me in rapid succession. The first, that Charles' life, even in high school, hadn't been nearly as perfect as I'd imagined. And the second, that he didn't come to me when he was feeling that way. Had I burned bridges so thoroughly that he really felt I was no longer even an option? Well, he was here now, so maybe I had just placed myself as more of a last resort.

During one particularly long visit to the other dimension, he told me, his vision had begun to shimmer around the edges, like his eyes had filled with unfelt tears. It was the first time he saw the shadows.

"I was trying to blink my vision clear again, and I was moving my head around and holding out my hands, trying to focus on them. And as I was turning, this small shape just darted through my field of vision. I didn't know what it was, but it was the first time anything like that had happened. And I was already getting pretty nervous about my eyes, so I left." His vision had returned to normal after a few minutes, and a few days saw him ready to venture back.

"They started showing up almost every time I was there," he explained, "I didn't know what they were at first - I guess I still don't - but then I saw one of them, I don't know, lift its arm or something. They always just looked like short, little ovals. Not perfect ovals, I mean, the edges weren't perfectly curved or anything, but one of them held up what I'm pretty sure was an arm, like it was reaching out for me. That was the last time I went there.

"I tried to sleep, tried not to think about it. It didn't work; I didn't know if I was imagining everything or what was going on, but then a few days later, I saw one in my room. It was just standing in the corner when I walked in, and as soon as I came in, it left. Like, it looked like it turned around and just walked through the wall. I don't know how it looked like it was turning around, but it did. I didn't sleep there that night, didn't really sleep at all that night, actually. I tried sleeping in my car, but I ended up spending most of the night driving. I just wanted to be as far away as I could. But I knew I'd have to go back.

"After the first few times I saw them with arms, I saw one that looked like it had a head. And a neck too. This short, stocky, little human-shaped thing, except it was only about three feet tall, and I knew it was looking at me. And smiling. Like it knew something I didn't. I could feel it smiling.

"That was maybe five weeks ago, and now whenever I see them, they have arms and heads. Like they're evolving. I don't really go back to my apartment anymore, even though that's not the only place I've seen them. They've been outside too. And inside other places I go: the store, the library. I've even seen them in the TV before, like in whatever show I'm watching, they're there. I can't get away."

I remembered my painting and the very specific spot over the bus window on which Charles had focused his attack. Had he seen one of the shadows riding the bus?

If it weren't for the implications that my friend was harboring a serious mental illness, I thought, I might have found the image quite humorous.

Chapter Eighteen

While I was finishing breakfast, I decided my first step should be to make phone calls to all the local hospitals and see if Charles had ended up at any of them. Just half an hour revealed he hadn't, as far as anyone could tell me. No one I talked to had been able to locate anyone matching his name or description. So, he had either been arrested or was, I could assume, reasonably close. It really depended, I imagined, on what time he had left, how much of a head-start he had.

It immediately struck me as odd that I had considered it a head-start. Did I think Charles was running away from me? Running from what he'd "seen" in the apartment? I couldn't even say definitively why he had left, but I did have the impression that I was trying to catch him.

Whatever the circumstances, he couldn't have gone too far. He had no money for any sort of transportation, as far as I could tell. And with the exhausted, haunted look he carried, I doubted he would find anyone willing to give him a ride. Wherever he was, it was a safe bet that he was on foot, and this gave me a significant advantage in catching up to him. Until I realized my keys were gone.

Every time I came home, I tossed my keys into a small, wooden bowl on my kitchen counter; I had done this for so long it had practically become a reflex. I started the practice years ago after frantic, early-morning searches for keys had made me late for work twice in the same week. Since I'd moved into this apartment, there hadn't been a day they had ended up anywhere but that bowl. That bowl was their home, and now they were gone. Charles had taken them.

I couldn't make sense of the thought, though, as my car had still been in the parking lot when I had gone outside earlier. Why would Charles take the keys and then not use them? Had he taken something from inside the car? Did he drive somewhere and bring it back? Had he wanted to take away my best means of finding him?

I walked out to my car to see if he had actually taken anything from inside. I didn't have much: a few dollars in change and a road map were all I could think that he might find useful. I reached the driver's-side door and tried the handle. Locked. Something moved in the back seat.

I stumbled backward in shock, nearly fell, regained my balance, and put a neighbor's motorcycle between myself and my car. I craned my neck to try and see into my backseat. Charles sat up, squinting in the sunlight.

I advanced back to the car. "What the hell are you doing?" I shouted through the window.

Charles opened the door but made no move to get out. His entire frame drooped; he reminded me of every cartoon robot I'd ever seen get shut off. "Sorry," he murmured.



Back in the apartment, Charles had just finished his own breakfast, through which I waited as patiently as I could before questioning him on what he had been doing sleeping in my car.

"I thought it was just at my apartment, that was the only place they were. I mean, I saw them sometimes outside too, but- I don't know I just thought maybe they wouldn't come here," his voice was rising, threatening tears, "or they wouldn't know I was here and I could just ... hide."

"Charles, what are you talking about?"

He looked up at me; his eyes were equal parts fear and pain. "I don't know who they are; they all look the same. They don't have faces or colors. They're ... shadows." His eyes fell back to the table, and his whole body slumped with the revelation.

I wished more than ever that Daniel had written me back that morning; I tried to hide the panic I could feel rising through my thoughts. "Charles, I don't know what that means."

"I don't know!" He was crying now or something close to it, some visceral reaction that only a long-standing panic could produce. "I don't know. Call them ghosts or shadows or spirits, I don't know. But they're here too. They were in the walls. I couldn't stay here."

I stared at Charles; I felt like I was taking far too long to respond, but I couldn't imagine anything I could say. "What- where- ?"

He looked up at me again, his gaze cutting through every atom it crossed. "They followed me. They followed me from the other dimension into ours, and now they followed me here."

"Charles-"

"I need you to help me. Help put them back."

I could only stare, couldn't react even internally to what he was saying. Everything about me had been interrupted, cut off.

"I need you to come back with me."

Chapter Seventeen

I cast another glance around for Charles, but I already knew I wouldn't see him. Heading back inside, I told myself that I really had no evidence he'd run off. For all I knew about him now, he might be out jogging or picking up some cereal. Although, given his mood and state of mind, he didn't seem like the type to be up for a casual stroll to the store. Running away was really the only thing that made sense.

An obligatory apprehension had made its way into my mind, but it was accompanied also by a vague sense of relief. After all, I had never promised to keep Charles here, to keep him safe. All I had said was that he could stay, and if he didn't want to stay anymore, that was up to him. Who was I to tell him what to do? But I couldn't fully convince myself with this line of reasoning. I was his friend - had been his friend anyway - and I obviously still felt enough compassion for him to surrender my living room with no advance notice. He had placed his trust in me, and whether I wanted it or not, that trust had conferred to me a responsibility.

Still, I knew nothing about where to start. I didn't have his address, if he had an address; I had no phone number by which I might reach him, no idea where he usually spent his days; after four years apart, I basically knew nothing about him.

It occurred to me in that moment the great deal of trust I had put in Charles as well and how he had seemingly violated it, how close he might have come to dragging me down with him. I had practically invited him into my apartment as a stranger. Whatever the episode with the painting had been, he seemed to feel remorseful about it later, was aware of it anyway, but he seemed accustomed to it as well. If this was something that happened regularly enough that it didn't really faze him anymore, didn't he have an obligation to tell me before I allowed him into my home?

While my thoughts were busy with the moral dilemma into which I had been thrust, I still needed breakfast. I sat down with a box of Frosted Flakes and ate while my mind wandered. What was Charles' next move? Was he really crazy? Homeless? Both? How long could a person survive in that kind of life? I glanced up at the couch where he had slept the day before; it seemed absurd that I was in some ways feeling more nerve-wracked now than I had when he'd been here. My eyes crossed from the couch to the door. How long had he been gone? Had he slept at all last night or did he just leave after I'd gone to bed?

My gaze fell back to the table and the box of cereal. A simple maze was printed on its back, and I mentally ran through it, just to distract myself. Instead, it ended up reminding me of something Lannie had said about the other dimension the first time she and Charles had demonstrated their tandem excursion:

"It's a lot darker than here. You can't really see too much."

The line had stuck with me for no other reason than it just seemed really frightening. I imagined stepping into a space where so little light penetrated, and the thought alone lent my skin a feeling like it was hosting a disorganized spider parade. Is that what it was like going to the other dimension? Like stepping into a dark maze and the entrance sealing behind you?

I couldn't say first-hand, though; I never did learn how to go there. In fact, most of our classmates never did. By the time we graduated, there had been maybe thirty-seven or thirty-eight who had been able to cross over out of almost four hundred in our class. And most of them had already grown bored with it. It was a party trick with no real, practical application. As far as I knew, Charles had been the only one to put it to good use by hiding from me. I laughed wryly at the memory.

Still, even though I'd given up trying long ago, I couldn't help but marvel uneasily at what it would be like to go there myself, to feel that darkness all around me.

Chapter Sixteen

I woke up at about 10 the next morning, later than I'd been planning, and immediately checked my e-mail. Daniel hadn't responded. I hadn't expected to see anything from him, but I had still hoped. I was starting to feel desperate for assistance.

Rolling out of bed, I peeked into the hallway. I didn't want to make too much noise in case Charles was still asleep, and with yesterday being so rough that I had just slept in later than I had all year, I would have honestly been surprised if he wasn't. I crept down the hallway and into the bathroom. I even held the knob so the latch wouldn't click shut before thinking that, if he really was as tired as I was imagining, a noise that soft probably wouldn't do much. I showered, shaved, and made my way back to my room on damp tiptoes.

The real trouble now was going to be stalling. Until I heard back from Daniel, there wasn't much I could think to do. Luckily, I had the day off, so I wouldn't have to worry about leaving Charles alone in the apartment. Maybe we could even get out together, see a movie or something. First, though, was the matter of breakfast. My stomach wasn't used to going so late without food, and it was starting to demand an explanation.

I walked back down the hall and peered around the corner to see if Charles had woken up yet. The pillow and blanket I had given him last night lay scattered on the couch, but Charles wasn't there. I stepped further into the living room to ensure he wasn't standing somewhere out of my field of vision. He wasn't. He wasn't in the kitchen either. I doubled back down the hall; he wasn't in the bathroom. I opened the front door and checked around the building. There was no sign of him.

Some time during the night, Charles had left. I thought of the week or so of fighting we had shared and every time one of us had walked away without saying a word to the other. There was no fight now; as far as I knew neither one of us was upset at the other. Still, this was starting to feel all too familiar.

Chapter Fifteen

As tired as the day had left me, I still laid awake for much of the night, recounting everything that had happened. One day earlier, I had worried myself over economics exams and English essays. Today, I had a ruined painting in my closet and a potentially schizophrenic old friend in my living room. And I couldn't sleep.

I tried to figure out what my next move should be; there was one possibility which I had been mulling over since Charles and I had started reminiscing earlier that evening. While I was recalling Daniel's extensive comic book collection, I remembered that he had told me his brother was pursuing a degree in criminal psychology; I guess reading so much about super-villains and evil geniuses had sparked something of a fascination.

Daniel himself had moved more than halfway across the country to attend the University of Iowa's creative writing program, and we'd exchanged a few e-mails since then but hadn't really kept in touch. Silently thanking whichever of my neighbors didn't bother securing their wireless network, I reached for my laptop. 

Daniel,
Haven't talked to you in a while. How are things? Still haven't seen your name on the New York Times Best Seller list. I assume it's a typo.

Anyway, something weird came up. Charles called me today, and now he's staying at my apartment, but I think there's something going on with him. He's acting really strange. I remember you saying your brother was getting a psychology degree, and I wonder if there's anybody he knew from back here or if he has any advice. If you could give him my phone number or just ask him to send me an e-mail, I'd appreciate it.

Thanks. Good luck with all the novels.

Adam

Before hitting send, I gave the letter a quick proofreading. For Charles' sake, I had tried to keep from revealing too much about the situation, but seeing the basic facts laid out in writing only seemed to emphasize just how absurd things were. I was sending a letter about one friend to another, both of whom I hadn't seen in over four years, and both of whom were now playing a significant part in how my immediate future was going to play out. Trying to push the thought from my mind, I hit send, turned off the computer, and made another attempt at sleep.

Chapter Fourteen

The next day at school, Daniel had a question.We had just finished taking the history test, which I was actually feeling pretty good about, and he was waiting for me by the door.

"Hey," he said as I walked up to him, "so about the movie tomorrow. Do you want me to invite Charles?"

The question took me by surprise; Daniel kept to himself so well that I hadn't even considered the possibility that he'd think of turning this into a group outing, let alone the possibility that Charles might come along. Several thoughts assaulted me at once. Would Charles think I made Daniel ask him so I wouldn't have to? Would Charles even want to go? How would he react to Daniel and I going in the first place? I suddenly realized I knew just as little about Charles' feelings as he knew about mine. Neither of us had been telling the other anything.

Maybe it was finally seeing that, maybe it was just that I wanted to carry on my careful show of indifference, but I responded with a simple shrug. "If you want to."

"Okay, great," Daniel replied. He hurried out the door and down the hall, off to his next class.



I was nearing my locker at the end of the day, and I got there just in time to see Charles' back as he walked away. Lannie Sanders was by his side - they were holding hands. I tried not to stare.

Daniel popped up from his bottom-row locker. "Hey, Adam," he said.

"Oh. Hi."

"So Charles can't go," he reported. "He said he's busy."

I had a feeling I knew what that meant. Charles had Lannie now, and I had apparently lain claim to Daniel. I didn't feel like I'd come out on top on that one.



Once I got to know him, though, Daniel actually turned out to be a pretty interesting guy. After the movie, he had asked if I wanted to see his comic book collection. I still wasn't thrilled at the prospect of spending my Saturday with Daniel, but it hadn't been nearly as bad as I'd thought it might. Plus, I didn't have anything else to do.

Daniel's collection was extensive by my standards, but he kept insisting it was nothing, that I should see his older brother's. "He moved out about a year ago," Daniel told me, "but he's got just boxes and boxes full of comics. Probably worth thousands." He showed me his issue of Wolverine #131 which had had been pulled off store shelves after it was noticed that a racial slur in one of the panels had slipped past the editors. So Wolverine was just a little bit anti-Semitic; didn't see that one coming. By the time I left, I had actually started to enjoy myself.



At school on Monday, Charles and I found ourselves alone at our lockers. We mumbled our hellos, and set about gathering up the day's necessities. "So," Charles said, glancing at me, "how was the movie?"

I was surprised by how the question sounded. There was still a forced politeness to it, but it was the first remark without some underpinning of contempt I could remember from either of us since this situation began. I wondered how good of a weekend he'd had.

"It was okay," I said, feeling a little more comfortable myself. "Pretty standard superhero movie."

"I still have to see it," Charles stated. It would have been easy to infer that he was asking me to go with him, but I knew that wasn't the case. This was just small talk now.

"I think you'd like it," I told him.

"Cool. Well, have a good day."

"Yeah, you too."

And I think we both meant it.



And that was how things stayed until graduation. Charles and I still talked - we didn't shut each other out - but we never made plans to spend time together, never saw each other outside of school. We had different things going on now. He had his new friends, I had mine, and we both understood that was the way things were.



Now, sitting beside Charles in my apartment, I wondered if he was thinking about any of that. Our conversation had focused itself only on the good times, the times before everything had fallen apart. We'd eventually turned on the TV to some standardly unfunny sitcom that I don't think either of us was really interested in, and we sat in silence. Just what it might be that was going through Charles' head had me wondering, and, at the same time, had me worried.

Chapter Thirteen

I was in my room studying when there was a knock at my door. "Yeah?" I responded.

Daniel poked his head in. "Hi. Your mom told me you were up here."

Even though we'd planned to study together, I was surprised to see him. I had figured he would avoid showing up and would have some apologetic excuse the next day to make it seem like he really had wanted to come. But here he was, his head hanging past the end of my door, waiting.

"Uh - yeah, come in," I told him.

"Thanks." He crossed to my bed where I had my books laid out. I cleared a spot for him to sit at my desk, unsettling landslides of unfolded laundry. "Thanks," he said again, sitting down, "I didn't know where you lived. You left before I could ask." I looked over at him, confused. "I had to ask Charles," he explained.

So Charles had knowingly taken part in my ignoring of him. This seemed like a pretty heavy blow to the mission. "Oh?" I remarked, trying to sound casual, "What did he tell you?"

"Well, he told me where you lived." I had to hand it to Daniel; he was honest, and he got to the point. And at this moment, he was also frustratingly ignorant of what he was supposed to be telling me.

"Right." I measured my next shot. "So, did he ... was he angry? or happy? upset?"

"I don't really know."

"Like, did he think it was funny, or did he get mad that you asked him?"

"He didn't get mad, I don't think. But I don't know. He didn't laugh or anything. Why?" Daniel looked perplexed.

"No reason. Don't worry about it."

"Oh. Okay." He unzipped his backpack and unloaded his book and notes onto my half-cleared desk. "So," he said tentatively, "is there something wrong between you guys?"

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently.

"I don't know. It just seems like you're mad at each other or something. You always used to be talking and joking and everything, and now, I don't know. It's like I never hear you guys talking anymore, even when you're both at your lockers."

"I don't know. Charles is just being a jerk."

"Are you jealous that he can go to the other dimension?"

What I'd thought earlier about Daniel getting straight to the point? Still annoying. "Can we just study?" I said.

We sat together for a little over an hour reviewing Daniel's notes, which were vastly better than any I had ever taken, and eventually decided to call it a night. As he was packing up his bag, Daniel turned to me. "So, my dad's taking me to see the new X-Men movie on Saturday. But if you want to come, I can just ask him to drop us off. He doesn't really like superhero movies."

I watched Daniel zipping up his backpack; the same kid I'd stood next to in the hall every day of school this year and barely said a word to, and now we were making movie dates.

Somehow, I felt like I was betraying Charles now, turning all the anger and hurt of the last few days into a tangible decision. I had already told myself things with Charles and me would never be the same, but accepting this invitation suddenly struck me as the one step from which I couldn't go back.

"So...?" Daniel was staring at me.

"Oh, uh, sure. Yeah." I stammered. "I'll ask my mom."

"Okay, great. See you later," he said, getting up and walking cheerfully out of the room.

I sat on my bed for a long time, trying to understand everything that had just happened.

Chapter Twelve

"Hey, Charles. How was the party?" Day one of pretending my closest friend hadn't exited the natural world to avoid talking to me.

"Oh, uh, it was okay, I guess. Kinda boring." Lies. Had to be. I decided then that if our friendship couldn't be saved, I could at least try and use it to my advantage before I lost the chance. I tried to be subtle.

"Was Ashley there?" I asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Oh," I dismissed it with a quick shrug, "no reason." I waited a moment. "Did she say anything about me?" Subtle.

Charles half-shrugged and shook his head. "No. Why would she?"

I hadn't expected Ashley to have actually mentioned me, but for Charles to ask why she even would, that was too much. He knew how I felt about her; I assumed he knew. I'd mentioned her more than once when our conversations turned to girls. He had to have known.

"Adam?" Charles asked. I snapped back into the moment, shot him a glare, and walked away. There seemed to be a lot of that going on lately.



Charles was waiting at our lockers after the day's last class. I would have opted to turn around and just go home, but I had a test the next day and studying I had been putting off for weeks; I tried not to look at him as I approached. While I was putting in my combination, Charles offered up his explanation. I ignored him.

"Look," he told me, "I don't know if you're mad about what I said about Ashley - I mean, that's what it seems like; I can't think of anything else - but if that is what it is, I didn't mean it like that. She just didn't say anything about you. I was just answering your question."

Daniel Smith had come over to his own locker and settled between us. Careful to avoid Charles' eyes, I looked down at Daniel, grateful for the distraction. "Hi, Daniel."

He looked up quickly. His reflexes were both impressive and disheartening. I imagined they had likely been tuned by years as the target of a steadily growing number of small projectiles. "Oh, hi," he replied.

"So, you ready for that history test tomorrow?" I asked; Daniel had the same American history class I did. Fourth hour, just after lunch.

"I think so," he said. "I've been taking a lot of notes. I'm still going to study tonight."

Charles was staring at me, unamused. It wasn't hard to see I was making a point of ignoring him.

"Well," I said, "I still need to study too. If you want to come to my house later, we can study together."

Daniel glanced over at Charles, back to me, back to Charles. Charles had still been trying to explain himself when Daniel had come over. Daniel seemed to know he was being used as ammunition. He stared into his locker. "Um, yeah, okay," he mumbled.

"All right," I said, "just come over whenever." Still refraining from looking at Charles, I closed my locker, turned, and walked away. Definitely a lot of that going on lately.

In your face, clock!

That is how you work a deadline, people.

Also, clocks do have faces. Unintentional pun.

Chapter Eleven

It had been a long day already, and I thought it might be best to avoid mentioning what had happened; it only made Charles retreat back into silence. He seemed happy enough reminiscing about our younger days, though, insofar as the word "happy" was appropriate for the situation. It felt more like he was talking about a relative who had passed away, remembering how much they meant to him but remembering also that there was no way to see them again.

He didn't once bring up anything about going to the other dimension. I had mentioned it early in the conversation, and he had responded by shifting uncomfortably in his chair and refusing to look at me. Apparently, this was not an approved topic either, and it was a long few moments before he spoke again.

It was strange being able to look back on everything that had happened with the one person who had gone through it with me. Granted, the one thing it seemed we had done most was grow further and further apart, but we had shared the experience in some way. We went into it together, we tried to fix things together, and in the end, it seems like we even gave up together, both knowing we had just let go without exchanging a word about it.



After that day in his room when I accused Charles of stealing Ashley from me, I expected him to stop talking to me altogether. I wasn't going to be the one to apologize, even if was willing to admit to myself it had been a little childish; I expected he'd do the same. The argument seemed to have ended without either of us apologizing, though. The next day at our lockers, Charles resumed the same awkward reconciliation we had attempted the day before. Ignoring things away hadn't worked before, but we kept trying. Our short, uninspired conversations were carried on an undercurrent of unresolved conflict. I knew there were things I had said that I wished I hadn't, and I assume Charles must have felt the same. You didn't get this kind of mutually artificial conversation unless both parties were in it together.

To our credit, we avoided any more major arguments. It would later occur to me that we both knew there was no point in arguing, as we also both knew that there wasn't anything worth arguing for any longer, nothing left to save. I do remember, though, the one event that almost set me off again. It was maybe two weeks or so after the blowup at Charles' house, and I had casually asked what his plans were for that night. He told me there was a party he was going to. Maybe he was distracted and it slipped his mind that he wasn't going to tell me about it, but the combination of guilt and shock that flashed across his face filled in the rest of the story: I wasn't supposed to know.

I tried to act nonchalant. "Oh. Whose party?"

"It's, um, it's Lannie's." Charles and Lannie had started spending a lot of time together since becoming the first two people at school to cross into the other dimension. A few more kids had picked up the skill by then, but the experience Charles and Lannie shared, the explorations they undertook together, it all must have done something, because she hadn't moved on to anyone else. I wasn't sure if they were dating, and Charles and I had reached a point now where that seemed somehow too personal of a question to ask. In the same vein, he was now attending parties to which I was apparently not invited.

"Oh," I replied. For as hard as I tried to conceal it, there's no way my disappointment didn't slip through to reveal itself in that one syllable. I pushed myself through the rest of my response. "Well, that's cool. Have fun, I guess." And in truth, it would have been fine; I didn't care much for parties anyway. But Lannie Sanders never had a party that Ashley didn't show up for; there was my investment. If I could put myself in that situation even just once, who's to say it wouldn't be the break I needed to finally talk to her? Charles held the key - he knew it too - and he expected me not to notice. "Well," I concluded, "I have to get to class." I waited a fraction of a moment for propriety's sake, theoretically hiding the fact that I was sulking, and walked away without giving Charles a chance to respond.



After school let out that day, I rounded the corner and saw Charles talking to Lannie and Ashley. He was there just barely long enough for me to register the surprised look on his face before he disappeared to the other dimension. He was avoiding me now in places I couldn't follow; this is what we'd come to. I never mentioned that I'd seen him do it, and he never brought it up either, but I suspected he knew. And for the rest of the time until we parted ways at graduation, the event hung in the air between us like the drone of a fly neither of us had the courage to swat.

So. About last night...

Today's Lesson: Avoid writing chapters when half-asleep.

It could have turned out a lot worse, but re-reading chapter ten is almost like looking at someone else's work. All a little too on-the-nose for my tastes. Not bad, though, for having literally fallen asleep curled up in my computer chair while writing.

But with a semi-decent night of sleep behind me and the story ricocheting back to where I'd like, expect better things in future. At least for the next couple days.

Also, if anyone's interested in a fun, new way to get a sore neck, try curling up in a computer chair. I managed to fall asleep in a position previously only attainable by ventriloquist dummies.

Ten Days.

Let's hear it for numerically round milestones.

So that's a third of the story down. I feel like I'm where I want to be as far as the plot goes, but I'm really not a fan of the last two chapters. Could be from running off three hours of sleep every night since Saturday. But more so, I think it's that, as noted previously, the plot swerved off track a bit. I think I'm doing an okay job of pulling it back, but it's not going to be the story I was really starting to like from three days ago.

Actually, the whole thing's closer now to the idea I was originally going for, but I came up with an alternate direction at about three or four days in that I liked a lot better. If I could go back and wipe out the part on day one about high school having been eight years ago, I would, but for the thousands of fans I'm assuming are reading this, I won't break my rules. Such is the nature of the experiment. I'll do what I can with it.

Chapter Ten

It seemed to take hours, but Charles finally fell asleep again. He was still curled up against the couch with his head against his knees, and it was difficult to tell at first whether or not he was still awake. The only clue he offered was a gradual slowing of his breathing. What had earlier come in frantic, short bursts had now fallen into a slow, measured rhythm. I whispered his name just to be sure, and, receiving no answer, I stood up and made my way to the closet where I had banished my painting. As I went, I checked the clock on the microwave. 1:51. Only about twenty minutes had passed since I had arrived home, but I now felt like calling it a day and going to sleep myself.

I opened the closet door and looked in at the painting. It had been harmless enough: a scene of a busy city street told from above, presumably from a balcony. In actuality, I had imagined myself as a lordly pigeon atop a statue, casting my regal gaze upon all the denizens of my city, and the picture filled itself out from there. But I couldn't imagine a scenario in which I would ever admit that to anyone; a balcony worked too. A city bus could be seen making its way down the crowded street, and it was on this particular vehicle that Charles had focused his frenzy. The tear in the canvas, his focal point, ran through one of the windows toward the front of the bus and continued down its side. I stared at the painting for a moment longer, wondering what had possessed Charles to destroy it, and shut the door. With nothing else to do and having no desire to leave Charles alone in the apartment again, I turned on the television, muted it, and flipped through the channels, finally settling on sports recaps from the day before. Good enough; I wasn't going to be able to concentrate on the television anyway.

I thought back on everything that had happened in this one day. I had been surprised that morning when Charles called me - we'd been out of touch for so long, I figured we had probably already spoken for the last time - and I was caught completely off guard by his asking if he might be able to come stay with me for a few days; I hadn't even been sure he still lived in the same city. But his voice was tired, broken, the sound of a man who had just lost a long fight. So I let him come, and this is where it put me. Friend or not, this was a lot to deal with, and I wasn't sure I would have agreed to help him if I'd known.



Charles awoke about two hours later. I had gotten up to throw together some fettuccine for a quick dinner, and I was halfway through a bowl when he stood up. He looked around, appeared confused by his surroundings. He finally caught sight of me and seemed to gradually recall the situation. His eyes shifted to the floor, and he made his way over to the table, sitting across from me but still refusing eye contact; he looked sullen, contrite.

"Hey," I said. "Hungry?"

He nodded. I went into the kitchen and fetched a bowl. I was about to ask how much sauce he wanted but decided against it; he seemed to prefer silence. I finished putting it all together and set the bowl in front of him. He didn't take up his fork right away, and I worried that he might refuse to eat altogether, yet another problem on today's rapidly growing list, but after a few moments, he mumbled a thanks and took a bite. He chewed slowly, as if out of habit rather than hunger. I decided to take the opportunity to broach the events of that afternoon. As it stood, I still had no idea how he wound up in his position in the first place.

"Charles?" I ventured, trying to maintain a soft, calming tone; I felt like I was negotiating a hostage situation; it occurred to me that, in some ways, I was. He looked up. "Charles, about what happened..."

His face creased; he drew in a long breath, and I thought he was about to start crying again.

"No, no," I quickly countered. "I mean, back in high school. Freshman year." I had impressed myself with the quick cover-up. "I just wanted to apologize. That was ... everything was my fault."

Charles only responded by shaking his head. I could only assume this was meant to indicate disagreement with what I had said.

"Well, I feel like it was," I said. A long pause passed between us; I hadn't prepared myself to carry the conversation alone. I went with the first thought that came to me. "Hey, remember when your guinea pig got loose in my house?"

Charles nodded, less of a reaction than I was hoping. Then, "Your mom hated me for that." His face flickered a fraction of a smile, and in that moment I felt a fragile twinge of hope that he might pull out of whatever he was in. I realized, though, it was the first time I'd seen him smile since he arrived. The first time in a lot longer than that, actually.

Chapter Nine

If I really had frozen there in the doorway, Charles was picking up the slack as far as movement. He was on the floor, crouched over a three-foot wide canvas of a painting I had just finished, feverishly scratching at it with the dry bristles of one of my brushes. His whole torso shuddered erratically with the effort. My mind, for a trace of a moment, noted it was lucky I had just bought replacement brushes and then finally snapped into gear; I rushed over, kneeling beside him to take hold of the arm holding the brush. "Charles," I said, trying to sound both assertive and calming. "Charles, what are you doing?"

Yanking his hand away, Charles heaved the brush at the canvas, let out a short shriek, almost a yelp, and quickly retreated on hands and feet back to the base of the couch. Everything about his movements and vocalizations suggested something primal taking over, something further back on our evolutionary timeline. Sitting on the floor and pressed as close to the couch as possible, Charles hugged his knees to his chest and tucked his chin down, staring still at the painting, his body rocking with each panicked breath.

I stood up, unsure of what to do next. I looked down at the painting and noticed that he had scratched an inch-long tear through the canvas; he had obviously been focused on one very specific spot. I looked back up at Charles, still balled up on the floor and almost in tears. "Charles, what happened?"

"No," he whimpered.

"Charles-"

"Take it away!" he screamed.

I thought for a moment I had frozen again, but instinct willed me past indecision. I picked up the painting and rushed it into the hall closet, shutting the door on it. "Okay. It's gone," I told him, coming back into the living room.

"They were coming back." The words were a rush, a high-pitched mumble. I was only able to decode the message because it was the only thing Charles was saying. He repeated the sentence over and over, his eyes still on the spot where he had attacked my artwork. He seemed to have forgotten I was even there.

"Charles?" Though my words were still registering at just above a whisper, Charles' eyes, huge with fright, shot up towards the sound. He stared into my face, silent, unblinking. "Who was coming back, Charles?"

At this, he broke down. His face tore itself into a grimace and he buried himself further into his knees. Sobs began shaking his entire body. Not knowing what else to do for him, I sat down on the floor by his side. My initial instinct was to put an arm around him, try to comfort him. But given everything that had just happened, I imagined the sudden touch might send him into another panic and put us both at risk.

With no other option, I waited. His sobs soon subsided into a weak whimpering and eventually into only his frenzied breathing. In our respective silences, I was fourteen again, back in Charles' old room, eradicating aliens together on his television screen, both of us knowing that what needed to be said had been waiting to pounce the entire time. Through silence we sought to dilute the situation's gravity, tried to ignore it into non-existence, all the while knowing it would soon pierce the space between us. I waited.

More Notes! There Are Never Enough Notes!

Last night was a bit strange. I didn't actually plan on the story taking the turn it did until I was nearly finished with the chapter. As noted, I was staring down about three hours or so of sleep before I had to get up for work; it could easily have been that it was just the cheap escape, cliffhanger ending I was looking for, but I also think that, in my already sleep-deprived state, I was even more amazed at what my brain had just presented me with. So even though it's not really the direction I wanted to take the story, I went with it. This is what I was talking about earlier when I noted that my make-it-up-as-I-go approach probably wasn't a great idea. Still, I'm looking forward to the challenge of trying to steer the ship back after a drowsy night at the helm. This should be interesting.

Chapter Eight

Charles had fallen asleep almost as soon as he'd touched the couch. I doubted any noise from the television would wake him but decided not to test it. I slipped the front door shut behind me and went to knock out a few errands. I had been working on a new painting for a few weeks, and I needed some replacement brushes; a little grocery shopping wouldn't hurt either.

As I drove, I tried to imagine what Charles had been doing for the almost four years since we'd graduated. As far as I knew, he hadn't gone to college. He must have had a job, but I never knew what it was. When he came to my apartment that day, he hadn't said much. I had microwaved him a bowl of vegetable soup, which he finished off along with a full sleeve of saltine crackers, and after thanking me for the seventh or eighth time, he headed straight for the couch and more or less crashed into it and started sleeping.

As for my own endeavors, I was still working towards a degree in accounting while holding out hope that my paintings would get noticed and make me famous before I had to solve even one more awful word problem. I'm allowed to dream.

I thought back again to the days when Charles and I fell apart. If nothing else, his reappearance in my life was good for nostalgia. The day I had accused him of stealing Ashley from me, he had been sure to mention as often as he could that it was my fault the way things were going. Seeing him now, I wondered if he still felt that way. That turned out to be a rather uncomfortable thought: that I might be responsible for his turning out this way, that as much of an inconvenience as it might be to turn my apartment into a hotel for him, it might all point back to something I did. I turned up the radio and tried not to think about Charles for the rest of my trip.

I wasn't in a hurry to get back home, so I busied myself amongst art supplies for an hour or so, fawning over paints I couldn't afford. I took my time buying groceries, too, and ended up with a few extra items that I was sure I probably didn't need. Still though, there's rarely an occasion that doesn't call for onion rings.

By the time I started my car to head back home, I was feeling a little better about the situation. I had realized that, even if he still thought I was the one who started all this, I was also still the one he had come to for help. If there was any redeeming that needed to be done, I was ready.

I opened the door as quietly as I could, expecting Charles to still be asleep on the couch. He wasn't. I stood in the doorway waiting for him to notice me there, to turn around. He didn't. The seconds crawled.

"Charles, what are you doing?"

Here's Some More Notes.

Had first screenwriting class tonight. Was supposed to finish today's chapter before I went. Didn't. Have to work at three tomorrow morning. Predicting short chapter.

Chapter Seven

For the three years or so before that day, I'd walked the same route to school, passing in front of Charles' house. When we started high school that year, I made sure my walk took me past his house even though it meant going out of my way. But that day, I took the most direct line to school I could find, disregarding Charles altogether; my anger bred practicality. I arrived at school early enough that I wouldn't have to worry about running into him at our lockers and sat alone in homeroom until classes started. Using the same tactics I had the day before, I managed to avoid him all day. My success was such that I had begun considering a career as a spy until, just as I had gathered my books and was turning to head home, I nearly collided with Charles as he approached his own locker.

"Oh," he remarked. He looked like he hadn't seen me either, like our meeting had just snapped him out of some far-off thought. His face hid neither his surprise nor his discomfort. "Uh, hey."

I stood, staring at the floor. I didn't know how to respond. I wanted to still be mad, to walk away, but at the same time, I was ready to stop making things worse. Charles was my best friend - my only friend, it sometimes felt like - and I wasn't even sure he was the one I was mad at. Of course, that bit of information wasn't going to be volunteered. Instead, I mumbled back, "Hey."

Charles began opening his locker; I was grateful for the break in awkwardly averted eye contact. He might have felt the same way, since he seemed to be taking his time getting everything. "So," he said, still not looking at me, "I showed everyone."

I had busied myself with indifferently spinning a pencil between my fingers. "Yeah. I saw."

"Well, that's what you wanted."

I didn't respond.

"Well," Charles said, shutting his locker and beginning to turn, "I guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah," I replied. Then, quickly, "So did, uh, did you figure out how to do anything else?" Charles stopped and looked at me. I kept my eyes on the pencil in my hands. "Like, did you figure out any more tricks?"

He hesitated. Whether he was contemplating his answer or deciding if he should answer at all, I couldn't tell. "Not really," he finally said.

"Oh," I offered. "Yeah, I'll see you around." Charles stood there a moment longer then turned and walked off down the hall. I left in the opposite direction and, for the second day in a row, walked home alone.



I was laid out on my bed later that night, finishing up a particularly frustrating math assignment, when there was a knock on my door. "Yeah?" I called out.

The door opened, and my mom stepped into my room. "Phone's for you," she said, holding the handset out to me.

"Thanks." I made sure she shut the door as she left before I started my conversation. "Hello?" I said.

"Hey, it's me." Charles. His tone hadn't changed much since our conversation that afternoon.

"Hey," I responded.

"So, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe come over. We never did play that game."

I looked down at my homework and back up at my bedroom door. "Um, yeah. That'd be cool, I guess."

"Okay. So, I'll see you in a bit?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye." We both hung up. I pushed my math book aside and got up. I wasn't in any hurry to get over to his house, but I had already more or less accepted that that assignment wasn't getting done. I went downstairs and told my parents I was leaving, lied about having finished my homework, and made my way to Charles' house.



Up in Charles' room, the awkward situation between us hadn't changed any, but thankfully, having the video game meant we didn't have to try and talk. So we sat in silence for half an hour, waging war against relentless swarms of aliens, until Charles killed me.

"What the hell? You're on my team," I exclaimed.

"Sorry, it was an accident."

"Like it was an accident to steal Ashley from me?" That sentence must have been waylaid somewhere in my subconscious, because even I didn't know I was going to say it. As soon as it was out of my mouth, I realized how ridiculous it sounded.

"What are you talking about?" Charles said.

Since it was out now, I decided to run with it. "Yesterday. In the gym. She gave you her apple."

Charles was immediately angry again. "Seriously? That's what you're mad about? I didn't even talk to her after that. I don't even think I talked to her when she gave it to me."

I had no defense. On some level, I had known this all along.

"This is why I didn't want to show everyone," Charles concluded.

"Why?" I asked, more so just to have something to say.

"Why? Because I knew things would get weird. Why does it matter if everybody else knows what I can do?"

"It doesn't matter. I just-"

"No," he interrupted. "It mattered to you two days ago. It mattered enough that you wouldn't leave it alone. So whatever happens, it's your fault. Remember that."

I was motionless for a moment, staring straight ahead; I didn't know my next move. After a few seconds, I slid off the bed and headed for the door. I opened it, stopped, and turned around. "Look," I told him, "I said I was sorry for bothering you about it." I couldn't actually remember if I'd said I was sorry for that. "You don't have to be a jerk."

"You're the one who put me in this position," he shot back. "I don't like it either, but you're the one who did it."

He obviously wasn't going to let go of that point. I turned, shut his door behind me, and walked home.



Eight years ago. Once it's passed, time seems to have moved so quickly that it's hard to believe the numbers are real. But now, with Charles asleep on my couch - broken down, stubble darkening his weathered face - the first time I've seen him since we graduated, I finally realize just how long ago that was.

Chapter Six

Most days, Charles would wait until he saw me on the sidewalk outside his house before shutting off the television and coming out to walk to school. But the morning after our argument, I got there just in time to see him turning the corner. I ran to catch up, my pursuit made more difficult by an unusually heavy backpack and Charles' rapid, pounding footsteps.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. It wasn't easy, as I was also trying to catch my breath. "What's up?" Charles didn't answer; he didn't even look over at me. His face was set firm by the same angry dismissal I had received last night. I imagine this is what samurais looked like just before an honor-saving suicide. Fully aware now that he was still upset, I decided to play myself as innocently stupid. "You didn't wait for me."

"Couldn't," he replied. His voice as tempered as his countenance. "Got to get to school, so I'll have time to show everyone."

"Look," I said, "you don't have to do it just because I want you to."

"Too late. I'll see you later." He began walking even faster, leaving me behind. I could have kept up, but I figured it was better for both of us if I didn't try. Instead, I walked alone and wondered when things were going to go back to normal between us. It didn't seem like today was going to be it.



By the time I got to school, Charles was apparently already in class. He wasn't at his locker, and I didn't see him at the spot in the cafeteria where we normally sat. I was unloading all the books from last night's homework when Daniel Smith walked over and began spinning through the combination on his lock. I could see from the corner of my eye he was casting me a few short, wary glances. I thought maybe he was still a little nervous from our slight altercation the day before, so I tried to be nice. "Hey, Daniel."

"Oh, uh, hey," he said. His words were quick, fragile staccato notes that, again, sounded a lot like I imagined hamsters would talk. "So, uh, I thought Charles would be with you."

"He's not."

"Yeah, no. He's not. Um, but I guess you heard about him. I guess you already know."

My insides shifted. Charles had told everyone without me? I knew that was what Daniel was talking about, but still I had to ask. "What?"

"He went to the other dimension. That's what everybody's saying. I think he's in the gym. That's what I heard. I'm going there after I get my stuff."

Staring down the hallway towards the gym, I didn't say another word to Daniel. I shut the door to my locker and started off to find Charles.



In the middle of the gym floor, a crowd of students had already gathered, twenty five or so. I watched from the doorway as Charles materialized in their midst. A few people laughed, most uttered monosyllabic exclamations, and the rest began begging him to teach them. Charles glanced around at everyone, seemingly unsure of what to do next; he looked a little claustrophobic.

"Here, try taking this," a girl in the crowd shouted and handed Charles an apple, presumably from her lunch. "Lannie could take stuff and bring it back. See if you can do it."

"I can. Watch," Charles replied. Apparently he had done more experimenting than he had told me about. Charles disappeared and reappeared, apple in hand. "Now watch," he proclaimed. He disappeared. Upon his return, he was no longer holding the apple. "Wait," he said, disappearing again. When he came back, it was with him again.

In response to the simplistic demonstration, my mind dredged up an image of Charles as one of the first ever explorers on the planet. Neanderthal Charles. "I have walked past that tree. I am the village's greatest pioneer." I smiled wryly to myself.

The warning bell rang, and the flock of students issued a disappointed groan.

"Sorry guys," Charles said, picking his way through the crowd, "I'll see you later." He handed the girl back her apple. With a sudden stab of betrayal, I saw that it had been Ashley Frank. Whether it was her or Charles who had wronged me, I wasn't sure. But with as much time as I'd spent dreaming of Ashley, in a just world, I would be the one she was trading fruit with. I pivoted back to the hallway and stalked off to class.



I didn't talk to Charles for the rest of the school day, even at the expense of leaving a book I needed in my locker, just so I wouldn't risk running into him there. I couldn't concentrate anyway, so the book wouldn't have done me much good. All I could think about was Charles and Ashley. Stupid Charles and stupid, beautiful Ashley. I hardly even noticed the last bell ringing until everyone around me was getting up to leave. I slid my supplies into my backpack and walked out the door, stopping first to peek around it and make sure Charles wasn't already at his locker. He wasn't, so I hurriedly opened mine and snatched up everything I needed before hastily retreating to the anonymity of the hallway traffic.

As I walked through the cafeteria to my escape from the building, I swung my backpack out in front of me on one shoulder and began packing up what I'd grabbed. When I looked up again, I was inches from crashing into yet another crowd. This was quickly becoming inconvenient. At the center of the group, I saw Charles for the first time since that morning. Lannie Sanders stood next to him.

"Okay," Lannie said, "here we go." She held up a large, sparkling, green pen for everyone to see. I wondered if that was what she used for her assignments and how many years she must have taken off her teachers' collective eyesight with what had to be unprofessionally bright ink. She and Charles disappeared almost simultaneously. When they reappeared about twenty seconds later, Charles was holding the pen.

"That is so cool," someone declared. "Could you see each other in there?"

"Yeah," Lannie confirmed. "We saw each other, we could talk, it was just like out here."

"What's it look like?" someone else asked.

"I don't know," Lannie answered again, "it's a lot darker than here. You can't really see too much." Charles was nodding along to her answers. With someone else to take the eyes of the crowd, he looked a bit more comfortable than he had that morning. But while Lannie seemed to be enjoying all the attention, Charles gave the impression he was only there to do a job, show everyone something new and go home. As if confirming that thought, he whispered something to Lannie who then declared, "Okay, everyone, we have to go."

The crowd voiced its disapproval but began to disperse. I watched as Lannie and Charles talked for a few more moments before seeming to come to an agreement on some matter and going their separate ways. Before I could react, Charles started in my direction. He apparently hadn't gone to his locker before their demonstration. Making his way through the dissipating crowd, he looked up and saw me. I stared back, still angry but curious as to his next move.

Charles' eyes drifted sideways then down to the floor, and he brushed past me without saying a word.

Short Chapter Today.

Sometimes you need short chapters to make the other chapters feel better about themselves.

Chapter Five

That afternoon, it was Charles who wanted to be alone. After we left school, I finally accepted that I wasn't going to convince him to show everyone his new ability that day, and I resigned myself to silence for most of the walk back. When his house came into view, I decided it was time for a begrudging apology.

"Look," I said, my eyes on the ground in front of us, "I don't know what's going on with you, but I guess I shouldn't have kept poking at you about it."

He wasn't prepared to let me off so easily. "This isn't really the most convenient time to be realizing that."

"I know," I said, annoyed in return, "I just ... maybe if you'd actually give me a reason other than 'I don't want to,' I'd be a little more understanding."

"I shouldn't need a reason. In fact, I don't have a reason. I just don't want to, okay? Now are you going to accept that like a friend would, or do you want to keep arguing with me like you have all day?"

"What is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," Charles said, his voice rising, "I don't have reasons, and I don't have problems." I was starting to think I'd broken some sort of dam.

"Fine. Whatever," I said, trying to avert a scene. Then, to opposite effect, under my breath, "I don't know why you're being a jerk."

"Just shut up, Adam!" I was so surprised, I almost flinched; I'd never heard Charles yell before. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You know what? Fine. If you want me to do it so badly, then fine. I'll do it tomorrow. Just shut up about it." He sped up his steps before I had a chance to respond, making it home and slamming his front door before I even knew what it was I would have said.

Chapter Four

I spent the rest of the afternoon in my own room. Charles had tried to convince me to stay, but I couldn't bring myself to it; I was too distracted and disheartened. So, abandoning the promise of an awesome new video game, I made my way home. My steps were slow and indeliberate; it felt more like I was wandering in some vague direction than following a familiar route. And in a way, I believed that was accurate. I was wandering through a world that now held places I couldn't reach. How could I really know where I was going when I didn't know where everywhere was? With every ninth or tenth step, I would make another attempt at stepping into the other dimension, but it didn't happen. I arrived home, went to the same room I'd lived in my whole life, and felt more lost than I ever had.



Walking to school the next day, Charles and I didn't say much. He tried to ask if I thought anyone else had been able to do it, but I just mumbled that I didn't know and kicked halfheartedly at any rocks in our path. He got the hint, and he was a nice enough guy to not point out that I was pouting. Realizing this, I tried to change the subject, asked how his new video game was playing out.

"Oh. It's cool," he said distractedly. "I, um, I actually didn't play it very much last night."

I had a feeling this meant he had spent most of last night traveling between dimensions, but I didn't ask.

When we got to school, we soon learned I wasn't the only one who hadn't yet picked up the skill. As it turned out, Charles was the only other person who had learned how to do it. "See?" he proclaimed, "I told you it wouldn't just be you." It did make me feel a little better.

"Okay," I said to him, "so go show them." I took a step towards a large crowd which had gathered around Lannie Sanders, but Charles grabbed my arm.

"No. Not yet."

I looked back at him, dismayed. "Why not?"

Staring past me at the crowd of our classmates, he responded with half a shrug. "I just don't want to do it yet. Let's just go to class." He started walking down the hall in the opposite direction. I looked back at the crowd and at Lannie, who had just disappeared again, then started jogging towards Charles.

We reached our lockers which, this year, were both on the top row of the same wall. Just two locker spaces separated ours, and we were constantly amazed that we'd gotten spots so close together and simultaneously annoyed that no one had wanted to trade so that we could be right next to each other. When we started asking, the girl to my left, whose name I could never remember, had already unpacked all her belongings and claimed that she had gotten the space organized just the way she liked it before turning back and rearranging everything for another five minutes. Meghan Flanner cast me a nervous look and told me she didn't think we were allowed to trade, which effectively convinced most of the surrounding residents to say the same. And Dirk Jimson was pretty much an ass and refused to trade just to keep everyone at a suitable level of misery.

That morning, only Daniel Smith was there, retrieving his books from one of the bottom-row lockers between us. He was a chubby, little lump of a kid with fluffy brown hair and big eyes. Crouching there, he looked almost like someone had managed to grow a hamster to human-size and gave it a backpack.

Reaching into my locker for that day's books, I looked over at Charles. "What's wrong with you, man? This is our chance."

"I told you. I just don't feel like it right now."

"You think you won't be able to do it?"

"No," he shot back, more sharply than I'd anticipated, "that's not a problem. I know I can do it. You saw me do it."

"I just thought that maybe with more people watching, you'd get ... I don't know, nervous."

"I just don't want to do it, okay? Can we just drop it?"

"Fine," I said, disappointed. I looked down to see Daniel staring up at me, his mouth open. "What?" I demanded.

"Nothing," he mumbled, zipping up his backpack and scurrying off.

Charles sighed. "Come on, don't be a jerk," he said. He shut his locker and started walking to his classroom. Snatching up the only pencil I saw, eraser-less and broken in half, I slammed my locker door and chased after him.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Daniel didn't do anything to you," Charles said wearily.

"Fine. You're right. I'll apologize later," I agreed, pausing only slightly before continuing, "I just don't see why you wouldn't want to show everyone."

"I thought we agreed we were dropping this." He walked through the door of his homeroom class, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.

But I didn't drop it; couldn't. Every bell that rang signaled the start of another round of one-man peer pressure, demanding, questioning, pleading. By the end of the day, I had even started to annoy myself.



There are times in your life you can look back on and realize you'd been pointing a gun at your foot the whole time and trying your hardest to pull the trigger. I wonder a lot about how things might have gone if I hadn't pushed so hard to make Charles perform his trick, wonder what I thought was in it for me. But I tried and tried to pull that trigger, and finally, Charles let me.

A Note on Chapter Four

Chapter four's going to be pushing today's deadline, since I have to work until 10 tonight. I was planning on having it finished before I left, but improvising everything as I go along is still taking longer than I thought it would. I will beat the midnight deadline. No one is reading this.

Chapter Three

"Charles?"

I started walking back the twenty feet or so to where I'd last seen him. "Charles?" I began rapidly scanning my surroundings, my head whipping quickly back and forth in the erratic pattern of rising panic. I spun around to find Charles standing just inches away. I let out a short, startled cry.

"Whoa. That was weird." Charles' eyes were wide behind his glasses, and he looked out of breath.

"What happened?" I demanded.

"I did it."

"Did what?" In part of my mind, I knew this question was just for show, a token display of disbelief. A related part recognized the futility in denying that I had just witnessed the event again.

"I went there. The other dimension. It was ..." Every sentence was a breathless burst. He couldn't seem to organize his thoughts. "It was ... really cool." We stared at each other for a few moments, allowing the situation's gravity to settle between us, and then, without exchanging a word, we sprinted the two blocks to Charles' house.



In his room, Charles and I couldn't stand still. The same floor on which we had lain for hours holding video game controllers on countless afternoons suddenly became a pathway for frantic pacing. I felt like jumping, stomping my feet, pounding the bed. Excitement and vague fear coursed through every nerve in my body and bridged the air between Charles and me, filling the room with the palpable sense of new discoveries.

"How?" I asked.

"Just like Lannie said. Move inwards."

"That still doesn't make sense!"

"You just have to do it, just know you can do it and do it."

"That doesn't-" My sentence cut itself off to make room for my newest thought. "That's like Peter Pan."

Charles stopped pacing. "What?"

"It's like in Peter Pan. When you really believe something and suddenly it's real."

Charles was staring at me, confused. "The one with Robin Williams?"

"Yeah." I still hadn't been able to control my emotions enough to stop pacing.

Charles grabbed my arms and held me in place. "Adam."

He almost never used my name, and hearing him say it did more than anything else to bring me back to my senses. "Yeah?"

"This is amazing," he said. It was a simple statement, but it seemed to be the best way either of us could sum up the situation.

I stared down at the floor, the short space between us. As I worked to slow my breathing, I tried as best I could to imagine another spot within that spot, tried to imagine walking into it. I looked up into the face of my best friend. I had seen him so many times, almost every day for the last three years, but now he looked somehow different - changed. "Charles," I said, almost whispering, "I'm going to try."

He let go of my arms, stepped back. "Okay."

My stomach dropped slightly. I had been expecting him to offer some gesture of caution, a warning; at the very least, I expected him to ask if I was sure. He was only watching me. I gathered myself, my thoughts, my fears, and focused them all on the space within a space. The other dimension. I began to take my first step, quickly stopped. "How do I get back?"

Charles seemed to snap out of some far-off thought. He had been staring down at my feet, but his eyes now again found mine. "What?"

"Once I'm there. How do I get back? What do I do? What if I get stuck?"

"I don't know, just the same way you went in. It was easy to get back out. Like I knew where I was trying to go; it was a lot easier than getting in."

"You do it again. Show me." I was trying to pass off fear as caution, but I knew he wasn't buying it. The faintest glimmer of annoyance slid through his eyes.

"Just-" He was gone. Disappeared. And then back only seconds later. "Just like that. It's easy. It's like once you do it, it's just another place you can go. It's as easy as stepping to your left or your right."

If I hadn't imagined it and Charles really had been somewhat annoyed at my hesitance, I was even more annoyed at his impromptu demonstration. It seemed like showing off, in a way. His words carried veiled threats of some new superiority. I quickly steeled myself, imagined the inwards space. I took a step.

I was one space closer to Charles, nothing more. I stepped back again, resumed my spot. Imagined, stepped. Still nothing.

"Into your own stomach, remember? Inside the space you're in."

"Yeah, Charles, I got it." I wasn't trying to hide the annoyance anymore, and I knew I'd have to apologize for that later. But all I could focus on was that moment, that one step. I tried again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

Seeing my growing frustration, Charles finally stepped in. He made a move to take hold of my arms again, but I threw my hands between us. "It's fine," I shot.

"Hey, come on," Charles said in a soft voice. "You don't have to do it right now. You'll get it." My irritation was already giving way to disappointment; if Charles hadn't been there, I might have cried. My mind flashed back to Little League and my teammates openly complaining about my presence whenever I went up to bat. To Charles' credit, he stopped trying to talk me down, probably realizing he was bordering on condescension. Instead, standing there together in his room with what felt like a canyon of difference now between us, he patted me reassuringly on the back. It did little to dissuade my feelings.

Looking back on it, I can see now that hand on my back, that one, seemingly insignificant gesture was the first sign Charles and I had begun moving in our separate directions.

Some Notes

Two days in a row. It's both a personal accomplishment and the largest percentage increase in chapters I'll ever post.

I guess I lied yesterday, though. I already know how the story plays out through maybe halfway through the second act. I can't stop myself; my imagination is on its own set of reflexes that I have no way of controlling. Coincidentally, this is the same reason I can only take three normal steps before having to Olympic-sprint up the stairs whenever I turn the basement lights off. I don't feel I have to explain that any further, because you do the exact same thing.

Chapter Two

In a way, I remember the walk home that day better than I remember watching Lannie step into the other dimension. When the actual event was happening, I couldn't keep up. My mind, obstinately refusing to process that particular input, formed something of a construction-zone traffic jam with all the other thoughts that were suddenly rushing in. By the time school was out, I hadn't come any closer to understanding the implications of what had happened, but I was beginning to adjust to the fact that I might not actually know anything about the world. Luckily, Charles and I took an almost identical walk home. And since he hadn't witnessed the event, his perspective on it ended up a good deal sharper than my own.

One of the things that had drawn Charles and me together in the first place was our apparently unique outlooks on most subjects with which we were presented. At a time in our lives when everyone else seemed to be trying their hardest to adhere to the most popular opinions and trends, Charles and I never seemed to have problems forming our own judgments. Well - it was that and a shared enthusiasm for the Ninja Turtles, but he was the only other kid in fifth grade with whom I could debate the moral implications of the Turtles' brand of vigilante justice against that of Casey Jones'. Admittedly, I've run that thought through a filter of interpretation far beyond what we could have understood at the time. Back then, it was more along the lines of, "Casey Jones is a human, so he can be a police officer, but the turtles can't. He should do that instead of hitting people with hockey sticks."

Our social circle didn't extend very far, but after maybe a week of knowing each other, that didn't seem to matter.

"So you're sure she disappeared. Like, really disappeared. It wasn't a trick?" This was the third time we'd come back to this question.

"No," I said again, "she was just gone. Like she was a hologram and somebody turned the projector off. Just gone."

"Well, I mean, this is what everyone's been talking about this year. Maybe we were just wrong and everyone else was right."

I didn't like admitting it, but he had a point. I was there; I saw it happen. Charles eyed me carefully. "Do you think we could do it?" he asked.

The question caught me off guard. I had been so busy trying to think of ways it could have been a magic trick, imagining how David Blaine would have done it, that I hadn't even considered making our own attempts.

"I heard some people talking about it in my last class. Ms. Kelker was writing all these different equations on the board, so she had her back to the class, and Theresa and Ashley were talking the whole time about how they'd both seen it happen."

Ashley Frank. She'd been a constant fantasy of mine since third grade. That first, indestructible crush. I imagined how her beautiful, dark hair might feel between my fingers or if her eyes were even more enchanting from up close. On the other hand, the fantasy also usually involved her and me taking our respective places in the plot of The Legend of Zelda, and her affections remained firmly outside of my reach.

"She was saying that it's tricky." Charles was still talking; I rejoined the story. "Like you have to imagine moving inwards."

"Wait, what?"

"She said you have to imagine kinda like sucking yourself into your own stomach." He didn't seem to have noticed my lapse in concentration. "Like in the spot you're standing, there's another spot inside that, not one you can see, though. And that's where you have to go. That's how you get to the other dimension."

I stopped and looked at Charles. He stopped as well; a breeze was blowing the strands of his black hair backwards off his forehead, and his dark, beady eyes questioned me from behind his glasses. I couldn't help thinking he looked a little bit like a rabbit. In glasses. "Charles, that doesn't make any sense."

"It makes just as much sense as the story everyone's been telling. The one you told me you saw."

Again, he had a point. I was starting to wonder if somewhere along the line I'd gotten a lot dumber than my best friend. "Look," I started walking again, "if that's true, then where do you go? I mean, yeah, you go to the other dimension, but where is it? It's inside of where we're standing? It's inside of where everybody's standing?"

I looked back for an answer. Charles was gone.

Chapter One

I was fourteen when I first heard about the other dimension. I was at Charles' house, and one of his older brother's friends was over. I guess he thought he was going to be some kind of idol or hero to us, but what ended up happening was just that neither of us believed him.

"You guys ever hear about the other dimension?" He had just made sure Charles' mom wasn't around the corner.

Charles and I glanced warily at each other, not sure how to answer, both hoping the other would take the lead. "No," I finally ventured.

"It's this place, and it's kinda all around us, but it's - it's in a different place. It's like if you jumped right now into the air, but you didn't go up, you went - I don't know, I can't really explain it. It's a different direction than you can go right now." Such a sound explanation did little to sway our initial reaction that we were being set up for something. He was two years older than us; that was just survival instinct. He must have noticed our skepticism. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see," his equally apt conclusion. He left the room shouting for Charles' brother to hurry up. I'm pretty sure he also managed to work in something about Charles and I being stupid and probably gay.

We watched him leave; Charles was the first to broach the subject. "That's dumb."

"Yeah."



That was eight years ago. Eventually, we realized that he wasn't lying, but most of the pieces we had to put together ourselves. We'd hear kids whispering about it in the halls at school, and it all sounded like one of those stupid urban legend games like Bloody Mary. There were more alleged methods for getting to the other dimension than I could keep track of. Clyde Davis swore you had to be naked to do it, that clothes couldn't go with you; that assertion combined with his deeply serious eyes more or less effectively ended the conversation. I tried to ignore it all. Talking about that kind of stuff always made me feel like a little kid, even if everyone else my age was talking about it. And ignoring it actually worked pretty well up until the day Lannie Sanders disappeared.

Most people when they talk about teenagers disappearing, it's in place of a word they don't want to say: kidnapped, usually. But this was a lot more literal than that. As in she was standing in the gym and took a step, and then she wasn't standing in the gym anymore. Just to be clear, she wasn't near a door.

Nobody moved for a long time after it happened: twenty, maybe thirty of the longest seconds of my life. And even though I'd just seen something impossible, my mind still took it upon itself to harness this strange thought that the rest of us were now frozen in place, that if I reached out and touched anyone else there, they'd just tip over like an unbalanced statue. But I also thought that trying to move might tip me over, so I stayed still.

Someone else moved. Rich Halstead, I think. He took one tentative step towards where Lannie had been standing. Another. He craned his neck closer like looking at the spot from a new angle might suddenly render her visible again, like he had some massive blind spot right in front of his face. Nobody had made a sound. Before anyone could, Lannie came back, stepped right out in front of us again, blinking into existence from nowhere. The entire group, ten or eleven of us, took one startled, synchronized step backwards, in perfect unison like we were a marching band or a school of fish. And still we managed only stunned silence. It was what everyone had been talking about for months, and now that we'd witnessed it, no one had anything to say. Finally, Lannie, looking just as surprised as the rest of us, spoke up. "How long was I gone?"

An Introduction

I hadn't noticed it until a month ago, but there is a giant difference between the numbers six and seven. On September 9, 2010 - exactly one month from now - I begin my twenty-seventh year of being a person. I don't think I can say "mid-twenties" anymore. Cue quarter-life crisis.

I'll admit, twenty-seven is pretty much nothing. Given the exponential progression of technology, I'm looking at a good six, seven hundred years on this planet. But to have been given twenty-seven years and to accomplish nothing at all that I'm proud of, that's not okay. I can't forgive myself if I don't change that.

When I was growing up, I had three dream careers. I wanted to be an astronaut until I found out they did more than float and take pictures. I also wanted to be a veterinarian. If all had gone as planned, I could be doing checkups on those dogs they send into space. My timeline's a little off on that one, but I'm assuming you know it was a joke. If you didn't, go back and read it again. Notice how it changes with this new knowledge.

There was, though, one dream which persisted. I wanted to be a writer. In fourth grade, I wrote a story about a rabbit who, over the course of one night, developed very large muscles and general anthropomorphic capabilities, broke out of its cage, and shot its owner. Admittedly, there were some plot holes, but I consider it a success.

That was my first real work of literature, and I've come up with giant piles of ideas since then but not much in the way of words actually being on paper. I have a plan to change that and, with a little luck and self-sold justification, to successfully validate my own existence. Four steps. All to be completed before my twenty-seventh birthday. This is the moment for which years of procrastination have been preparing me.

One. Hand out résumés, hand out writing samples, talk to employers. I don't care how awesome it makes me look, I do not want to wear an apron to work anymore.

Two. Write a screenplay. I've actually already taken a screenwriting course in which my work garnered a fair bit of praise, and I'm enrolled in another which starts a week from today. I've got the outline of my script pretty well figured out, and I will have a finished first draft for the class to workshop. I will also ignore ninety percent of their suggestions. My apologies.

Three. Perform stand-up comedy in front of a live audience. I'm going to need an open-mic night or a comically desperate club owner.

Four. Write a novel. I'm sure at least half of you have noticed the title of this blog. I'm also assuming at least two people have read this. My plan here has less to do with creating worthwhile literature and more to do with just forcing myself to write. As far as that process, I find myself too often hung up on making everything as perfect as I can on my first pass. As such, I feel I need to take myself in completely the opposite direction.

I will write one chapter every day for thirty days. If I skip a day, I will not finish before my birthday deadline, and I will be very, very sad. As of now, I do not know how this story ends or unfolds. To keep it interesting for both of us, I will try as best I can not to think too far ahead. I realize this is a terrible idea. It'll be like those Choose Your Own Adventure books, except I'll be the only one choosing, and you'll just have to pretend. Every chapter will be in its first draft state and will be left as is, even if I think of something later that I really should have put in. I'll try to tie up all the loose ends, but I'm pretty sure we're both going to be disappointed when this is over. The point still remains, though: I'll have finished a novel. Kind of. I predict a majority of the chapters will be one page long. I'll also do my best to post updates on how everything else is going.

Please, enjoy my awful book.



Edit ... from the future!: Now that everyone in the screenwriting workshop has a link to the blog, I feel I should clarify that the "I will also ignore ninety percent of their suggestions" line has everything to do with me and indicates nothing about what I think of you.

Hell, Dave's got more writing experience than anyone I've ever met, he's got co-writing credits on a film pulling in festival awards, he's got a real-life imdb page with trailers and everything. And still, in the first class I took, not only did I ignore his suggestion to change the opening credit sequence in my screenplay outline, I left it in exactly the same form for the updated outline I turned in a few weeks later - just to rub it in his face. I'm just stubborn like that, but I still very much appreciate any feedback anyone has ever given me, and I especially appreciate any feedback I may get in the future that doesn't start with the line, "I know you're not going to listen to me because you're an ass, but..."