“Charlie in his room?” Tess chirped, dropping her bag. It hit the worn carpet with a muffled thud.
“Oughta be,” Evan confirmed, having opened the door for her. Without another word he disappeared into the apartment’s tiny kitchen. The charred smell emanating from it suggested she had interrupted his dinner preparation.
Tess half walked and half bounced across the living room, bursting into Charlie’s room without so much as a tap on the door. Charlie was seated within, the screen of his computer reflected in his glasses.
“Charlie!” Tess wrapped her arms about his neck in a partial strangle hold, planting an affectionate kiss on the top of his head.
Sounds of agony emitted from the computer as Charlie’s character died on screen. He himself offered a somewhat strangled sigh as he exited the program before calmly dislodging Tess’ arm from his windpipe.
“Are you ready to head to dinner?” It was traditional for them to eat at Chop Suey every other Friday evening.
“Easy there. Just let me grab a shower before we go out.”
“Alright, but hurry up!” The remark was accompanied by an impatient sigh from Tess. Charlie liked things, and himself, to be neat and tidy. It was in his nature to be calm and laidback. He acted as a steadfast anchor that kept hurricane Tess from blowing herself away. Having dated Tess for four years, he knew his part well.
As soon as Charlie left Tess collapsed on his neatly made bed. She stared lazily at his ceiling for a few moments, her fingers tapping agitatedly against the head of the bed. After a few minutes she rolled onto her stomach, sinking her face into the star-spattered comforter that spilled over Charlie’s bed like a window into space.
She was floating amongst the stars. In her partner’s helmet she could see the Earth’s reflection, and behind her sedately floated the craft that had brought them there. A thick tube ran from her suit to the space shuttle like an umbilical cord: her lifeline in the deep black.
A crackling in her right ear made her gaze focus again on her partner. “We don’t have much time. Hurry up.”
“I’m on it.” Tess affirmed, gripping the tube in both hands and using it to pull herself closer to the ship. The problem was apparent––crackling wires emerged from a broken panel in the craft’s otherwise sleek siding.
Upon arriving at the break Tess removed debris from around the wires and began tugging them out so she could inspect them further. Blue, purple, red, and yellow wires ran in a tangle out from under the ship’s shiny paneling.
Her helmet was like a hothouse. Humid. Stifling. Sweat ran down her forehead as she rearranged the wires, attempting to part them with fingers made clumsy by the standard-issue gloves she wore.
“Technician, they’ll be here soon.” Her partner’s voice spoke once more in her ear, each transmission accompanied by radio static.
From around the rounded sides of her ship came another craft. This one was large and bulky where hers was small and sleek. It did not have her craft’s familiar smooth lines or metallic skin. This one was a monstrosity of nature––complex coils of roots emerged from rounded, shining eye-like portals. The whole mass seemed to pulsate and Tess could have sworn she heard a great heartbeat thudding in her ears.
One of the large roots moved towards them and before she could register its movements Tess found herself hurling away into space, her lifeline severed by the force of the blow.
“ACGGGGHH!” Tess hit Charlie’s floor with a resounding thud that shook her from her daydream. She pulled herself free from the grip of the galactic comforter, which had over the course of her imaginings wrapped itself around most of her limbs. After a moment’s hesitation she threw it back in a heap on his bed. She briefly contemplated the mess she had made before electing to claim his abandoned computer chair as her next perch. It seemed like a less dangerous place to wait.
While she waited, Tess’s eyes busily roamed the length of his desk. It was slightly less neat than usual. A small pile of papers sat beside Charlie’s mouse and Tess did not hesitate to skim the top sheet. As she did, her anticipation and impatience began to slip away, replaced first by confusion, then by hurt. When Charlie got back, glasses still slightly fogged with steam, it was to a distraught girlfriend.
“What’s this for?”
Charlie did not have to ask what “this” was. He had been planning to bring it up that very night but as usual Tess, or rather her curiosity, had beaten him to it.
“I knew you applied to places but…I didn’t…” Her face, usually easy to read, was veiled. He not sure what she was thinking, but he could guess.
“I heard back from a couple of places this week. I got accepted into Virginia Tech––It’s an amazing offer, Tess. Nearly a full ride.”
Although he was careful to mask his excitement, she knew it was there. She struggled visibly for a moment to compose a smile on her face. A weak smile for Tess, but a smile.
“That’s amazing, Charlie. Really amazing.” The implications had already been pieced together––Virginia Tech was several hours south of their hometown; it was not and would never be a light commute.
A long, uneasy silence passed between the pair before Charlie said, “Long distance isn’t so bad, Tess. Lots of people do it––so can we.”
Tess thought for a moment before she blurted out, “I can go with you.” As soon as the words left her mouth she wished she could take them back.
“You can’t just live your life all…all on impulse, Tess. You have to stop and think about things. Think about what you want.” Charlie spoke in that earnest way of his; in the tone he used to drag her back to reality when her imagination got out of hand. “I know there must be something out there that you want to do. After all, you can’t be a cashier for the rest of your life, can you?”
Tess knew he meant the last part as a joke. He, of all people, knew that she had no intention of remaining at Al’s forever. The comment stung nevertheless. Her throat closed up and all she could do was stare at him––disappointment mingling with hurt.
“I’ve gotta go.” She barely managed to get the words out as she rose and made her way back to the front door.
“No. Wait. Tess, come on! We should talk about this!”
Tears blurred her vision. After fumbling to pick up her bag, she left, deaf to Charlie’s apologies and entreaties.
--
The Orange sailed majestically across the serene waters of the Caribbean. Its sails were unfurled, catching the rippling winds that danced above the foam-crested waves. The beauty of the scene belied, entirely, the violence taking place on deck. The clang of steel on steel reverberated across the ship as Pirate Captain Buckley fought for his life against the interlopers threatening to overrun his vessel.
It was a shame, reflected Tess, that none could take their eyes off of the dueling men. If they had, perhaps they would have seen the great tentacled beast rising from beneath the waves, its hundreds of floppy, woolen tentacles dripping icy sea water onto their heads before it plunged down upon the hapless ship.
“Raawwrrrgggggg!” The monster’s deep growl (courtesy of Tess) was barely audible above the cheerful music playing over the loudspeaker, but it would be the last sound Buckley and his mutinous crew ever heard. The mop furiously pounced upon the orange that bobbed innocently in the murky depths of Tess’s cleaning bucket. Each sharp stab of the mop warranted another monstrous cry. Unfortunately, oranges never made the most realistic of vessels and this one simply bobbed under and back up again with each assault.
“Contessa, come to register eight when you’re done mopping up the spill, please.” The monotonous voice of Al’s night manager interrupted the saccharine music, although it barely roused Tess’s attention from the grand and fruitless battle taking place in her cleaning bucket. She reluctantly finished mopping up the sticky grape juice in aisle two and then returned mop and bucket to the janitor’s closet. The orange was left in the murky water to resume its peaceful bucket voyage.
Al’s was nearly empty, a fact which, while not surprising during normal hours, was even less surprising at two in the morning. But empty was how Tess liked her workplace. It meant the time was spent less with work and more with simply waiting.
Mr. Grenwald stood patiently at register eight, the dome of his prematurely balding head shining like a beacon beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting. If Buckley were caught in a storm, Tess thought, he and his crew could have used that shiny head like a lighthouse beam.
Mr. Grenwald was a regular at this hour, as were most of the customers that came in during her shift. Every weeknight and on Saturdays from 10pm to 6am, Tess could be found faithfully manning register eight. On particularly exciting nights, there would be a spill to clean up or one of the two part-timers working with her would be absent, giving her an excuse to roam the deserted aisles.
“H…h-hi, T…T-Tess.”
“Good evening, Mr. Grenwald.” Tess could never stop herself from staring, enthralled, at Mr. Grenwald’s mouth when he spoke. She felt as if she could see each painfully formed syllable drop from his mouth to clatter awkwardly onto the conveyor belt between them.
Mr. Grenwald, despite his stutter, was an English teacher at the local high school (the same one she had graduated from only two years prior) and was often found directing late rehearsals at the local theatre; hence his patronage at Al’s at such an unusual hour. He was constantly urging Tess to swing by the theatre under some misguided belief she’d have talent on the stage. Tess liked him despite this.
“You have a good night now, Mr. Grenwald.” Tess spoke as she finished packaging Mr. Grenwald’s groceries for him, tucking a final loaf of sliced bread at the top of a bulging paper bag.
“Y…y…” Mr. Grenwald’s face screwed up briefly with the effort of being understood, “You t-too, Tess. Also…have you c-considered?”
“Considered?”
“A-auditioning. Remember?”
“Oh, right!” A week prior, Mr. Grenwald had handed her a flyer for his theatre’s next production, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Every time he held auditions, she received a flyer from him as he passed through register eight. Last week had been different only in that the flyer art had caught her eye, rescuing it from a meeting with the register’s grimy trashcan. The crumpled flyer now sat somewhere amongst the clutter on her bedroom floor.
“There are s-s-still time slots l…left!” He spoke in response to her exclamation and smiled at her as he hefted the paper bag and left the store, accompanied by the light swoosh of the automatic doors and the incoming rush of humid, late-spring air.
Thoughts of auditioning, however, were soon swept to the back of Tess’ mind by the appearance of Mrs. Stevens. The elderly woman began to unload can after can of cat food and tuna onto the conveyor belt. She was another regular at this hour, accompanied by the scent of cat urine and mothballs. Tess was under the impression she had adapted to the hours of her many cats.
“Good evening, Ms. Contessa.” The elderly woman’s features were entirely engulfed by the deep canyons of wrinkles that formed when she smiled. It was an infectious expression, nonetheless, that had Tess grinning back at her. No matter how often Tess told Mrs. Stevens to call her “Tess” the old woman stubbornly continued using the name on her employee nametag, “Contessa.” After all, she had said once in the most reasonable of tones; if Contessa was not Tess’s name than why wear her nametag?
“How are the cats, Mrs. Stevens? Is Billy doing better, now?”
“Oh, my. How did you know my Billy was sick?” As always, Mrs. Stevens seemed pleasantly surprised.
“You told me about Billy last week, Mrs. Stevens.”
“Oh, did I? Well, I must have forgotten. He’s doing much better. The vet said…” she trailed off, a look of confusion dawning on her features. “Well, he’s doing much better. What about your young man, Tommy?”
“Charlie, Mrs. Stevens. His name is Charlie.” She smothered a smile. Last week Charlie had been Eddy, the week before Bobby, and the week before that John. If Mrs. Stevens ever remembered Charlie’s name, Tess knew it would be a matter of luck rather than memory.
“He’s doing alright, ” she concluded vaguely. An unconscious frown found its way onto her face as she remembered the manner in which she left Charlie’s apartment only a few hours earlier. She would call him when she woke up tomorrow afternoon. She would call him and they would talk and work things out. Everything would be fine.
“Oh, well that’s good, dear.” Mrs. Stevens smiled again before she began carefully counting out bills and coins to pay for her groceries. It was a slow process, but tonight Tess did not drift back into her daydreams. Instead she watched as each coin and each bill found its way to the counter.
You can’t be a cashier for the rest of your life, can you?
--
When she got home at 6:30am, Tess was tired. Not physically tired––her body was used to her strange hours––but mentally. The question of her future, previously a problem that she simply shrugged off without a second thought, had gnawed at her for the rest of her shift. A glance at her cell phone revealed no missed calls or unread text messages. Charlie, dear thoughtful Charlie, was giving her room to think.
She dropped the cell phone and her bag on the cluttered surface of her desk. A few pennies, some lint, a gum wrapper, and a crumpled receipt––the contents of Tess’ pockets––soon joined them.
As she turned and began the process of navigating to her bed, a note of color hidden beneath a pair of dirty jeans caught her eye. She gingerly nudged the pants away with a toe, revealing the flyer Mr. Grenwald had given her. She scooped up the crumpled, worn flyer and collapsed on her unmade bed, considering it.
“Auditions for the local production of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. July 10th to July 15th.” That was what the flyer read.
--
After a week of unease, Tess and Charlie returned to the relationship that had existed comfortably before Charlie’s big news. Tess, however, could not help but feel that something was different.
On Friday, when they went to their traditional Chop Suey dinner, she found herself staring at Charlie; watching him as if some gesture or expression would give away what the insidious change was. By the time they had cracked open their fortune cookies she had come to the conclusion that the change must be on her part. Every time Virginia Tech was mentioned, and it was mentioned quite freely now because Tess did not have the heart to make him conceal his happiness on her behalf, she could hear him asking, “You can’t be a cashier for the rest of your life, can you?”
She watched as the days passed by, acutely aware that the day of Charlie’s departure grew steadily closer. At the end of June she had reached a decision, an answer to the question––Charlie’s question––that had remained with her ever since that night.
After their traditional meal of less-than traditional Chinese food, Charlie dropped Tess off at her door with a hug and kiss. This time, however, Tess stopped him as he turned to go. She placed an uncharacteristically timid hand on his shoulder and said, “Charlie?”
He turned back to her, expression inquisitive.
“I think…” It was the first time she had formed the words aloud and she found they did not flow easily. What if he laughed at her? What if he told her not to be silly? What if he said this was just another one of her impulses? The reasonable voice in her head said that this was Charlie, and that he would support her if he knew that this was what she really wanted to do. But the reasonable voice was easily drowned out by the chorus of worried ones.
Every morning that week the flyer Mr. Grenwald had given her stared at her from her wall. She had pinned it there with a shiny metal tack the evening she rediscovered it, and every morning since then she had fallen asleep beneath the unblinking gazes of the colorful characters
It had sparked within her the timid thought that, on reflection, had lurked in the back of her mind for quite a while. The thought that perhaps joining the real world of jobs and being an adult did not necessarily mean leaving her imaginary worlds behind.
“I think I want to act,” she said finally, crafting each word with deliberation.
When silence met her announcement she reluctantly raised her gaze from her shoes and was greeted by Charlie’s thoughtful and somehow knowing smile. “Acting, hmm?”
“You don’t seem surprised!” Tess accused him, indignant.
He tugged on one of her curls, watching it bounce wildly when he released it, and shrugged. “It just…seems very you,” he said, and then he kissed her.
--
Tess’s fingers smoothed the worn cover of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Her lips silently spoke the monologue she would be performing onstage in only fifteen minutes.
Mr. Grenwald, like Charlie, had shown no surprise when she requested a chance to audition. It rankled her a bit and she had asked him, tone slightly annoyed, if everyone in town had predicted her decision. He had simply smiled in reply and told her that there was one time slot left a week from Tuesday. He would be sure to reserve it for her.
Tess was not sure what auditioning would do for her. Would it forever change her life? Probably not: acting in a small town theatre was hardly a life altering experience. But if she remained here, forever a cashier, the adventures she dreamed of would forever remain dreams, and she would forever remain dreaming. Acting might not be for her, but it was a step towards finding something she could call her own. Something beyond the confines of register eight.
“T…Tess?” Mr. Grenwald called her from the auditorium, his voice piercing through her musings and worries.
Tess glanced once more at the book in her hands, took a deep breath, and walked out on stage. As she walked the sound of her footsteps echoing through the auditorium drifted into the crunching of leaves underfoot. The heavy velvet curtains became the gracefully trailing limbs of willow trees. The shining wood floor melted into tree roots and dirt. And the spotlight overhead became the ethereal glow of the moon.
As she looked around she did not see the empty auditorium with its endless rows of seats, nor did she see the tiny audience at the front that critically regarded her every move. She saw only the forest, resplendent in the mystery and magic of a midsummer night.