“Why’s that?” I ask, appalled.

“They’re turning that land into a cemetery.”

“Well, how are you going to be guaranteed a spot?”

She didn’t respond right away, but then swallowed and said, half joking, half serious, “Guess I’ll have to die at the right time.”

“Even if you’re not,” I pause to find the right word, “ready?”

“Oh, stop, being so melodramatic, there’s time, there’s space. It might not be for some time.”

“But, gram, you still got decades to live. You shouldn’t purposely end them!” I couldn’t believe she was even considering killing herself just to get to be buried in a certain spot.

“Gosh, kiddo. I don’t know about that. Decades? I just hope to get past another five years.”

I glanced at her and looked at her timeless beauty. She was geriatric, but still glowing with delight at the thought of her future. I wished I could hold on to her forever. I wished she was like a jawbreaker, lasting flavors and sweetness. Then, she closed her eyes and when she  opened them she looked right at me. What was she thinking? Did I have something in my hair?

“Oh, you’re going to achieve great things, I tell you,” she says and ruffled my hair. With that she kissed my forehead. “You,know, you take after your father. Ambitious, full of life, and, yes, stubborn.”

Slowly, the silence fell between us. But it wasn’t an empty silence. It was hopeful like sunshine after a long week of thunderstorms and rain. We stood there looking at the treasured piece of land.

At that, we walked home, taking our time with each step.

   Allison Gorgon had never strayed far from her home in Rich. In fact, no one goes beyond the Fog Line which divides the Rich and the Less Fortunate. Except one frosty winter day when Allison saw something more than the fog and the boundary, a Less Fortunate. 

  Toad had walked this line many times. So many, it killed him not to pass it, not to spit on it and laugh. Even though his brother warns him not to get too close, how was his brother to know? And how dangerous can the Fog Line be?   

“Who are you?” the assistant director asks me, ready to get this conversation over with. Well, he clearly doesn’t know who I am or else he would slave to my every cry.

“My name is Thomas Alva Edison, I’m sure your boss have heard of me,” I slur my name to be sure he gets the memo.

He looks up from his list of tasks for the weekend. That surely got his attention.

“Oh, yes. Very sorry, Mr. Edison. I ‘ll direct you to Allen immediately,” he apologizes as Allen walks in. He examines, “Oh, Thomas, boy. How are you?”

“Doing dandy,” I say with truth, because I was doing dandy. I just invented a new way to make plumbing an industry. My fame for doing such a thing has gotten me much respect from colleges and even here today, Allen, himself.

“Good, Edison. You got yourself a real nice position here if you want it. Not only that, but you will be working with your good friend, myself,” he says with hope of me taking the job.

“Golly, Allen. I don’t want to be comfortable too soon!” I object. I may have invented the Edison system of Plumamatics, a feat many people at the age of 87 might not even be able to achieve, but I still had some time in front of me. I sure wanted to invent other mechanics as well, such as a object used to tighten the parts and pieces of my system. I wonder what I would call such a thing.

“Well, Edison, boy. What are you doing here if you are not ready to settle down?” Allen asks.

“I need your help,” I say and then whisper, “can we talk about this a bit more privately?”

“Of course,” Allen whispers back and brings me into his office where I see a couple of peculiar things.

“What do you need help with, Edison?” he asks me quietly.

“Ah, Allen,” I say, “I am waiting for a few spontaneous and inventive minds to join me in inventing a device that tightens and can also loosen a plumbing pipe,” I pause, “yes, I know that might sound impossible, but I think it can be done.”

“I see what you mean,” Allen responds with interest, “I think I got a couple boys here that would love to do work like that, including myself. In fact, I have thought of an idea myself on how to do such a thing. Look around the room,” Allen directs me, “I have tried making such a device myself, but it hardly seems so. The closest to doing those functions of loosing and tightening a pipe is number 32 right there.”

Allen points to a metal object on the corner of his desk.

I pick it up with my hands and feel its smooth and also sometimes scratchy texture. I see that it has a handle for the user to hold with his hand. It wasn’t a bad idea, I thought.

“Dandy,” I say, “But, I think it definitely needs improvement.”

“Yep, I think so, too, except I don’t know what else to add,” Allen tells me.

“Well, I sure do,” I say, thinking of a gripping mouth to the top of the handle that can slide up and down for adjusting to the different sizes of pipe. I had the whole idea in my mind now. Allen definitely noticed from the expression on my  face because he said, “Well, boy, tell me the idea!”

As I describe my additions to the handle, our faith in such a device grows more and more. Along the way, he helps me consider a few obstacles I have not thought of such as the material such a device.

“Golly gee, I think we got ourselves a plan,” I say.

“Me, too. If we only could think of a way to stop the night from hovering over us, I am sure we can have the invention by tomorrow,” Allen says. I suddenly notice the darkness of night looming over us. The other workers at the building already went home, all except Allen.

“Why don’t we just use a candle to see?” I ask.

“Come on, we’re inventors! We have to think of something more dynamic! Maybe something that uses electricity instead of mere wax and wick,” Allen persuades.

I’ve been walking on this cracked sidewalk for about ten minutes. Click, click, click. That’s the sound my feet make, or the stone I’m kicking makes. My back-pack is heavy, full of good, hard books. In my hands are the straps. This was the first time I was walking home alone in years. It feels strange, kinda grown-up and strong-feeling, but also scared to bits. Scared of things like large dogs or people or bird poop or cars or balls or talk or rain or cracks, I’m stupidly scared.

But, I know if I keep on walking, I’ll be closer to home, I’ll be closer to my room. I have to walk, not run, because I don’t want to be heard. I don’t want to heave. So, I kick the stone with my left foot to the right and my right foot to the left. Then, I repeat. This pattern, this habit, it’s not hard to break. This stone can easily move one hop to the grass and this pattern wouldn’t be a pattern. But, the stone does what I tell it to do. It lands perfectly each time.

I’m almost home. Five kicks away. Four kicks away. Three. Two. One. I’m there. I reach into my pockets to find my key. Inside, I feel safe. I feel well. Throw my back-pack onto the ground. Nothing in there is of any real value, just books. Open the fridge, I grab a carton of milk and chug. No one is here to stop me. Lick my lips, yum. I grab the remote and start watching TV.

I awaken when the doorknob turns. The television is still on. I must have dozed off. In comes my uncle with a lady. Both drunk. I quickly turn the TV off, afraid he will hear it. I close my eyes, pretend to be asleep. He doesn’t notice me and walks upstairs. Lucky call. There’s no point in going upstairs now, so I fall asleep again. That night I dreamt about my parents. I was dreaming of them hugging me, so tight that I burst like a piñata. Then, the scene changed into a cage. Inside, there were three people, my dad, my mom, and me. We looked happy as can be and unaware of the cage that surrounds us, partially because of the vast size of the cage. It was also because of that good feeling of being loved. It was a good life. Note the past tense.

When I woke up, I realized I haven’t had dinner and felt awfully hungry. There wasn’t anything but some frozen peas in the fridge. I grabbed those because it was better than nothing. I shuffle some into a pot with water and cooked them on the stove. I felt smart to know how to work a stove even though I was never allowed to when I was younger. But, I do now, and that’s sure a good thing to know. When it boils, I wait two minutes. Done, I drain the peas and start eating with a spoon, yum.

My uncle is already gone, fishing that is. He told me he always goes fishing on Saturdays and won’t wait for me if I don’t wake up at 5am sharp. I told me I didn’t want to go. He told me maybe next Saturday. I don’t know why I would get up at 5pm to go fishing for cods with an uncle that had been drunk the day before. I don’t know why anyone would.

So, I decided to do some homework with the books with crooked spines and crumpled paper. I came across a contest flyer, for photography that is. I looked at it for a second. Was it a joke? The prize was a new camera, a Canon, valued at three hundred dollars. Who’d spend three hundred buckaroos on a camera? I should have thrown the flyer in the trashcan right then and there, but I didn’t, because the trashcan was full. So, I tossed it back into my back-pack and continued on my homework.

At noon, I finished my homework. The TV only had reruns of dumb shows and I wasn’t gonna spend a good Saturday afternoon watching dumb reruns, so I went outside. As I step out the house, I realize how strange it was, how strange I felt.

I’ve lived in this house for nine years, when I moved from Connecticut at the age of three. So, I guess if you had to map out where my childhood was spent, it would be here, Savannah, Georgia. Now, this house is like a stranger, because my room and I are the only things that are visually kept the same. I’m the remains of what was once joyful, but my heart is hard now, like stone so there is no joy. I don’t know if I will ever love again, seeing what the lack of it can do to me. Underneath all that, I know my philosophy is wrong, however that is something I am afraid to admit.

I am a coward.

  My breaths become hard to manage. I feel like I’m going have an asthma attack but I don’t have asthma. And my eyes are pouring out drops of salty ocean. I can’t stand this feeling. I won’t be a captive of this feeling. I won’t. I won’t. So, I run. My legs are moving fast, faster, so quick they seem to come off the ground. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I know I’m going somewhere. I don’t care where, I just want to run. I want to hide.

  Run. Hide. Run. Hide. Those are the only thoughts in my mind. My vision is blurry and I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know me anymore. I don’t understand.

  Suddenly, a car makes a turn and almost hits me. It honks its horn, but I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I also can’t die, not this way. Not the same way they died. Then, I jump up on the car’s hood and bounce onto the grass. My feet are still moving. I’m still alive.

  “Unbelievable!” I shout, the word echoing through this unfamiliar neighborhood. In a second, I’m aware of my sudden voice and feel like a total maniac. I’m too tired to move now and drop like I’m dead. My eyes close quickly like they always do when they’re scared. What have I done?

Why did I run? Was it away? Did I run away? No. Was I going somewhere? Maybe, I thought. The truth is I don’t know. I have no idea. Confusion strikes me hard. I sit up on the grass, with my arms over my knees. I pinch myself to see if this was a dream. The pain tells me it’s not. I have to find a way back to home, only because I don’t know what else to do.