Moving Day

I consider myself rather easy going when it comes to space. I've lived in great placed but also some dumps. When I first met my wife, I slept on a loaner mattress with a tapestry on it. I had a rabbit for many years  and let him hop around and, when younger, he would sometimes hop in bed with me. As he got older, his litter training got worse. I relegated him to a single room in the house but for a time did live with that. I sleep on a couch and shared offices with a copier and groundhogs. Not at the same job. 

At my corporate job they recently made me and some others move cubicles. This was part of a plan that would surely solve problems and foster collaboration. To get through each day I rely on a combination of weaponized anxiety and professional positive detection. The anxiety is self explanatory. I do not trust anyone without it. All the wrong people have imposter syndrome. 

Professional positive dejection is the sanitized version of the "Right on top of that, Rose" from Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter is Dead. It is a bit safer than "Bless your heart" because it is supplication. I find myself saying "it is what it is" more often and it's the slick way to say that. I packed my things and moved beacuse it'd what the company told me to do. I work in an office with spreadsheets and emails. This is not me agreeing to flip the order the bomb drop or rat out the migrants. The stated benefits of the move are equal to how dull it is.

When I worked at the school, space was a weapon. Custodians with union contracts and admins set on their own tiny space conflicted with teachers needing to do a bit of everything. I never decided who had to move rooms but was the guy who had to make it so. I'm lost in a teacher's doe jade eyes as she pleads how unfair this is. I'm just here to move boxes. This was a job where I was way too emotionally attached to things. In the aforementioned moment I'm "You know you are right. I'll hold your earring while you fight the actual person who decided this." Or, I feel it's justified. Get over it. I share an office with the copier and a radiator that spits steam both up and down. Each room is the same in size with only difference being the number of steps.

One thing I am particular on space is clutter. It hurts my soul and I will fret moving idle dishes and things around. There can be stuff but it's there either because that is it homes or I'm to busy shuffling other things out of site. Older everyday, I find this bouncing around rewarding and harrowing. "You are become your mother," my wife says with an eye roll and a glance to more Instagram reels. She is right.

Early Release

 There is a plume of smoke. Wispy and nascent and twirling

Sign of an amateur fire; made of orange pipe and cloudy water

We are closing! Now and early!

The wood in room 106, Sam's office, has warped

It has quickly sloughed off years of laminate and grim and oils

It tells boring stories of meetings and confidential conversations you know nothing about

This used to be a shoe factory. The heat then soaked leather and twine

Now, it ruins meetings and appreciate it. 

Snow Day #9

 The whole situation reminded Zoey of that sinking dread unique to PTO days. You would take a day off to get some shit done and then you realize everything will take that much longer. This storm was equivalent to walking into the BMV, grabbing that number and seeing it is 20 digits above yours. She was number 100 and  the day was still idling at 3. She should have stayed home. She found herself saying that more often. Outside it was now the same ashen grey of the moon, the only light the mushroomed blooms of the struggling street lamps. She had more texts from her mother. First one imploring she should stay and then a chorus of smiling emojis when she affirmed she had stayed put. "Try to enjoy the night! This will pass soon!"

In the open space of the tower, they all sat in a circle and fumbled in the hushed interlude. "Sounds like you grew up in a real one horse town, Sandy," said John Johnson. No one had heard that phrase but they all picked up the context. 

"Something like that," Sandy clapped her hands and then looked around the room. "Ok, who wants to go next? Do not leave me hanging."

"I don't have any scary stories. Just generational trauma," quipped Alexis. She opened a backpack she had brought up and pulled out a bottle of brown liquid. Its skinny next and black label made it clear what it was "I do have some rum if anyone wants some. I know its just straight but if someone wants to walk down they can get a Diet Coke from my mine fridge."

This raised everyone's eyebrows. "Why do you have rum?" Carlos asked with sincere surprise. 

Alexis poured it into a coffee cup and threw her voice up an octave. "For emergencies." She motioned outside for further justification. "Only with no students in the building of course. You should see my boyfriend's office. Everyone these has scotch in the drawers and a cooler of Bud Lights. Its like a tech Mad Men there."

John coughed to interrupt. "Oh yes. I have seen that at some other schools I've worked at. Years ago and they were high schools."

Alexis passed a cup to Zoey and Sandy while Carlos and John passed. "Well, if you are not drinking then you are talking so Carlos lets go. What's your scary story?"

"Or just an interesting story," Sandy then pivoted into more enthusiasm "Or, something you can talk about on the fly with no prep for like ten minutes. Your off the cuff TED talk"

Carlos was embarrassed at what he could lecture on with no prep. A detailed walkthrough of the first few hours of Pokemon Gold/Silver. Why it did not make sense to rake your leaves. Best practices to keep your car clean. How Y-Wing fighters were under appreciated in Star Wars. Instead he went for the scary story

***

My story also involves a pool. Before I was born, my mother my aunt decided to buy houses on the same street in the same planned community. I was still in her womb when they laid the foundations and spent first year in a month to month apartment while they waited for the developers. My aunt and uncle, they had more money. That never seemed obvious growing up but I always noticed they had name brand cereals and my cousins had every video game console. We were not poor. My parents were paying for a house in a development, but our money seemed more invested. In the house and day to day and less in the nice to have things. This meant their house had a pool. 

I spent a lot of time in the pool with my sister and cousins. We could just walk down the street and there was a pool. It was shaped like a thick letter C and sloped down quickly into a deep nine feet. My uncle thought about installing a diving board so he made it deep. However, he must have been prescient to realize the combination of his children and nieces and nephews plus year round warm weather meant it would get beat. 

Instead, we dove by climbing up to the roof of the house, maybe a full story up and then jumping from it into the water. Their place had a flat roof so you could get a bounding run going and, if careful to jump high enough to avoid the raised edge of the roof, just nuclear bomb blast into the water. We only did this when there were no adults and we loved doing it in the rain.

***

Zoey took a deep drink of her rum and curled her whole body onto itself. She had a feeling where the story would go and she hated her weakness for squeamishness. She couldn't even handle when a kid came to her with a cut. Right to the nurse!

***

We were not total idiots. We didn't swim when it was thundering. We felt that was a safe compromise for running at full tilt off a roof in bare feet into a pool. In the rain, we could see what we called the Ghost. It was a shape that would form within the rain as if the water bounced off an invisible body. The rain would even bounce off the surface and then roll down in rivulets so it looked like a trace drawing of someone. It moved with us and looked like a quiet static. It would jump into the water with you and melt into the hundreds of pin pricks above you on the surface. 

My cousins swore it was because someone had died where they built the house. Maybe it was a worker or a homeless person. When I mentioned that the Ghost seemed about our size, a child's size, we furiously debated that maybe it was a kid or maybe it could make itself any size it wanted. We argued this drinking Capri Suns and eating pizza rolls after the sun came out. It never seemed dangerous and only on the roof. My sister said that it guided us as we jumped off the roof. "It holds our hand and makes sure we don't hit our heads on the concrete." And, when I said, "It only comes out in the rain." she argued it was because it was slippery and most needed.

We saw this all through our youth and even into high school albeit pool parties with your siblings and cousins lost their appeal. My aunt and uncle still have that house and the pool is unchanged. Kept up but very dated with its mermaid clamshell accent tiles and scalloped steps. My cousins have their own children and last time I was there, I asked them if their kids also jump off the roof. If they see the ghost. Remember that. They look at me like I'm crazy and I am not sure if its because of the danger or the situation. . 

Arclight 1.6

 The Monday after the whole debacle with Tony Georgia, Drew called off. He had given the school enough notice text May and Rose on Saturday that he had fallen down his apartment stairs and wouldn't be in any shape to come in Monday. 

Isabela only learned this at the same time as everyone else at the school. Even with advanced warning, it was a nightmare to find coverage. Subs did not exists post COVID. I just gave time to split his class into small pairs of students who were told to help in other classes when they would have Drew for ELA. She had a pair of girls assigned to her class. Isabela had not taught them when they were younger but they listened and read Hatchet with her students. Their schedule threw Isabela out of sorts and she forgot to release them to go math until she got the message from Megan Hera, the 8th grade math teacher. "Where are Michaela and Ashanti!?!" she typed furiously. 

Drew did not respond to Isabela's texts. People at school asked her if she knew anything and when she expressed a confused frustration ("Why would I know?") most people either shrugged but Rose, the Assistant Principal, threw a barb.

"Oh, I thought you were dating. You seem to spend a lot of time together. Sorry, so sorry"

Isabela felt herself turn red just thinking about that as she drove to his apartment. She got the address from the school emergency contact sheet but he had yet to respond. Her cringe embarrassment did begin to fold into dread. It was bold of her to just show up. It defied everything about her elder Millennial mind to just drop in unannounced but she also made choices to jump over traffic bollards and chase down guys with overpowered glow sticks. Her modesty folded to the situation. 

But, she worried, he was dead having bleed out internally Saturday into Sunday morning. She snuck in following something into the building. Drew lived on West 85th at the edge of a gentrifying area called Gordon Square. She knew he had lived here a while, likely when the rent was cheaper. No elevator so she shuffled up the heavily worn stairs balancing her backpack and a bag of Chinese take out. 

Isabela knocked on the door, first lightly but then with more a rhythmic emphasis. "Drew. Its me, Isa. Look, I know its out of nowhere but you weren't answering and I, we, like whole school was worried."

She heard a hurt groan from inside. At least he was alive. Then an raspy shuffle to the door. He cracked it open and then said to come in. "Sorry, it hurts to stand up for too long so im going to head back to couch. But, come in." She gave him a minute and then walked in. His apartment was  spartan but had furniture. She expected an air mattresses staged next to crates of books and a TV. Multiple gaming consoles as well.  He lay on his side on the couch under a blanket with his head draped onto the arm rest. He clutched a pillow between his arms. 

Closing the door with her hip Isa set everything on the coffee table "I was terrified when you didn't text me back. I know you called off which was  a good sign but still."

"It hurts to move. My whole right side feels like it is on fire. Like getting the door was peak effort of the day." He did not look up from the couch. 

Isabela pouted and took of her coat throwing it over a chair when she couldn't find a hook. "I brought food. Szechuan Chicken from Top Imperial Village. The twins still work there after school and remembered you when I said it what it was for." She moved to the kitchen assuming it was ok "Are you hungry? Must be if have not moved. Ill get some plates"

Drew was and moved to slowly pull himself up. He swore he heard other things crack. The blanket slipped of his frame and Isabela, returning with plates caught site of the single massive blistering purple bruise running from his armpit to his hip. "Oh my God," she gasped and instinctively looked away He reached back for the blanket and shook his head "Sorry. It hurts to lift my arms up so putting on a shirt takes forever. I got something here. Give me a minute."

"Oh, I'm good. I get it. More I can't believe that bruise." She felt guilt flare up from soles of her feet to crack the top of her heart. 

He slowly fumbled into a t-shirt he had stuffed under his head. It was a slow process where he slung it over his head and got one arm in but other was a methodical build. Already exposed , he asked for help, letting any hesitation melt away. They ate, Isabela sharing well wishes from work and the students. They had a better plan for tomorrow so he should call off which he already planned to. He asked her what happened to the money. She nodded "I spent all day Sunday moving it around. I gave Jessica the most. She still lives with her parents, did you know that? Anyway, I found the place and just dropped it in the mailbox. Simple note saying she should quit and courtesy of Tony." Isabela reached into the front pack of her backpack. "She seemed a lot happier today at work, even with having to follow Calvin around all day. I asked her and said she got a blessing and Tony had shut down the restaurant for a few days for unannounced reasons"

She handed him a coiled roll of crumpled twenties. "Here you go."

"What is this?" He had just gotten a rhythm of moving his left arm to eat and this did surprise him. She motioned with her eyes the sign and roll of her shoulders. "Just take it. He was an asshole and this whole thing doesn't pay. I did same thing."

Drew palmed the roll. 'Its $500," she said. "Just don't put in your bank account, I guess."

His condition only intensified her guilt. After eating she fretted around cleaning up the plates and stowing leftovers. She came back from the kitchen and he was still on the couch breathing shallow and looking up to the ceiling. "Did you see a doctor? I could have taken you"

"I went to an urgent care Saturday. They said I had a broken rib and guy said to go see a specialist eventually to check my hip but beyond that nothing permanent."

"Broken rib? How do those heal?" Isabela genuinely did not know. Her sister was an ER doctor at Metro, which made for a good joke whenever a kid came to her with a random ailment- "Don't worry, I know someone who is a doctor, so I know what I'm doing" She imagined an internal cast before realizing how crazy that sounded

"Time. I have to keep it wrapped with this ace bandage and ice. They gave me Oxy, which is nice. Ill have to show May and Rose the script when I come back in." He excused himself and said he was going to lay back down.

She offered to help further. Anything around the apartment? Pets to feed? Errands to run? Sub plans to run over. She emphasized the latter. Drew said he was all set with no pet to care and the thought of her going through his place embarrassed him. He heard his mother in his hear lecturing how he had to keep his place tidy and stocked because "What if a woman comes over!?" and her it happened except he had his ass kicked and temporarily exiled to the couch. 

"No, Im good. Thank you."

She nodded and waved goodbye insisting he needed to answer his texts. They never talked about their work over text. It always happened in person or over the phone but she thought about some sort of code they could use. On her drive back, everything started to feel much more real. A tangible sensation that this wasn't over. Would Tony Georgia also say he fell down some stairs? She took a winding path back to her place. She thought of why she did this and why Drew would want to help. In his apartment she saw the comic and superhero collectibles and the vintage pro wrestling posters. Rose's earlier comment popped back into her head and Isabela debated how much of Drew's motivation was about his sense of fantasy. And how much it could be about her. 

Arclight 1.5

 Drew expected a lot of things when he began teaching. 

Angry parents? Yes

Lack of attention span with students? Yes.

Body odor? Yes

But, he was surprised by the sheer amount of cartoon porn 

"You know I can see your screen, Dayvon," he looked up from his desk and across the top of his monitor. "Cut it out, please."

Dayvon sheepishly nodded but then smirked and shook his head. Drew did close the screen from his control panel and made a mental note of the web address to ask if it could be blocked. 

It was Friday and he couldn't blame the students for wanting to ease into the weekend. He didn't have a movie on but told his students they could free choice but had to be reading, writing, or screen time. But, while he watched on his screens. Most chose screens and idly passed time down Wikipedia wormholes or news sites.

He heard the ding of his phone. It wasn't a Slack message but an actual text. He no longer furtively hide it from his students albeit they better not pull out their phones. It was thirty minutes until end of the day on a Friday, anyway. 

"Another favor? Sorry, please." Then two praying hand emojis. He responded to Isabela with a quick "Sure"

"Can you put up the chairs in my room. Again. I know, sorry!"

The custodians had recently begun to chirp about rooms being too messy after school. Like any work place, this didn't happen directly, but instead in passive aggressive statements at staff meetings and all school emails It was the same energy as the curled and faded "Your mother doesn't work here. Clean up after yourself" print out on the fridge in the lounge. Drew sometimes struggled with this with hid middle schoolers, who made a point to throw trash into the wastepaper basket. Sometimes, if there was practice for drama class, the cafeteria would be booked and students would eat in their rooms. That left streaks of food, jam and sauce, against the walls that custodians argued wasn't their job. The debate raged on. Drew usually made his students do it but he had older ones and sometimes, ones planning to go to private schools for high school, were hungry to spin it as volunteer hours on applications. 

"Sure, no problem. You ok, right"

Five minutes went before she responded, the trailing ellipses on the message bouncing.

"Yeah. Just want to get home and sleep. Thank you! I owe you."

Drew responded with a thumbs up. This was the second time this week, a second day in a row. He wondered whether he should press. He thought about the potential (always hypothetical) scenarios if he said no or pushed: "Maybe try to get your students to help out?" But, he left those in his head. He had met her three years ago, his first year teaching, and he craved any second of her attention, even if just a passing wave in the hallway or heart reaction on Slack. His daydreams often centered on saving the day, something he found a lot of other men his aged shared, and these favors felt close enough

***

Drew dropped into Isabela's room around 3:30pm. He liked the relative quiet of Fridays with no clubs or after school activities to get some emails answered and grades in. Then he felt his weekends could really be his albeit he usually didn't plan anything exciting.  Maybe a new game or a longer walk in the Metroparks. 

She had 5th graders but chairs were same size as his 8th graders. But her tables and desks were lower so it did feel like tearing down someone's jumbled together apartment. Still, I didn't take long and he grabbed some scraps of paper and cheese stick wrapper thrown by her desk. He saw the push sweeper hooked onto the wall and took a few minutes to run it over her map of the world carpet. He liked the satisfying sound it made as its rollers ran over the threads. He doubted it did much but he had nowhere to be. Maybe would put her and him, by extensions, on the placid side of the fight with the custodians. 

Over the rollers he heard the familiar click of his principal's heels. May always wore dresses and always wore heels, albeit she had sneakers in her office in case things "got real." Something she shared during the new teacher orientation each year. His students could hear it coming down the hall and it straightened them to attention. He also found himself doing that. 

 May had to be leaving for the day and she turned to peek in the room when she saw Drew and waved and paused. She opened the door and smiled scanning the room for anyone else "Hey, are you lost?"

Drew hooked the sweeper back onto the wall and chuckled "No, just helping out. She had to leave early." He realized he didn't know the full story and erratically recanted "I mean like right after dismissal. I said I would help wrap up. I have nothing but time."

May slowly nodded and came further into the room "You and Isa seem like you are pretty friendly, right?"

Drew didn't know if he could really answer that. The word had always been loaded to him but he acquiesced "Yeah, I guess so."

"Ok. This question may sound weird." She threw up her hand and briefly waved it as it blocking an attack "And its totally ok to not answer but...is everything ok with her?"

Drew felt isolated. He was also curious but had no answer. Caught between both of them he felt meek. "Oh, I don't know. We are not that close. I think she may have a second job or something"

May pursed her lips and pulled an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Ok. Well, was just curious since Ive noticed you in her helping a ton and just want to make sure its all fair and everyone ok." She looked at him and it cut through him. "Everyone is Ok, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but I will let you know if anything."

May said her goodbyes "Ok, appreciate it. Just looking out for our girl, right? Have a good weekend."

Drew an embarrassed warmth in his chest and then waved goodbye back. He waited for the clack of her heels to die off in the hallways before he grabbed his bag and left. 

Typical Post

The problem is that I want to write fiction.

Like my lungs give out after a few flights of steps so do my thoughts. Never made it pass the adolescent fan fiction stage a f I'm racing to the big moment where they kiss. I'm forever haunted by the Maguire-Dunst upside in the rain Spiderman kiss. This whole thing is a wrestling match with me running to hit the big spots.

I want to write poetry and, problem is, it won't rhyme or scaffold into anything seeming elegance.

 

The problem is my mid life crisis. The painful realization that I peaked and, look at our world. My children are still young and my best days are behind me.  It makes me navel gaze and seek solace in trinkets I didn't make but provide the smallest dip of dopamine.

I'm lonely and surrounded by a family. The problem is my job and how it shouldn't be a problem but the lack of fulfillment feeds the search for it in things and likes. Upvotes on reddit or likes on Teams fill my soul and I put myself out there  over sharing and leaving a digital trail of a spinning statistic.

 

The problem is letting myself be gutted and heart broken by things that shouldn't. They don't have the right or it's not that a big a deal, right? But, it happens. I did run into a former co worker and said "I miss you. So much" and I broke filled with regret and rage that our hug had no mirth just bristling detection. I do too. I'm sorry. It'll be ok. You are much stronger than me. That wasn't the problem

These posts get two views and I dream it's a lonely single loyal fan. Then, the problem is, I imagine it's my enemies, snickering in the back or my boss with HR. 

My children will be ok. My wife is a treasure. They share all.her strengths and learn her nuances and hobbies. Mine all are being good enough to know why you lost at the game or why the bread didn't rise or this story sucks. 

The problem is there isn't one but I still fell beset on all sides. 

Arclight 1.4

 Growing up, Isabela had a friend who was home schooled, Erin, who, along with her three brothers lived two houses down. At the time, this was enchantingly novel and Isabela would quiz her on things she was learning and how it compared to what was happening in normal school. Place value, state capitols, and spelling tests. It all seemed the same. They even ran into each other once on a fiddle trip to the Great Lake Science Center. Isabela with her entire class and Erin there with her family. They waved and caught each others eye and Isabela's classmates wondered "Where do those kids go to school?"

Sometimes she and Erin would role play teacher with Isabela talking about things not discussed in her cross examination. "We read this book The Giver in class. Did your mom make you read that? Or The Pearl," asked Isabela. When Erin would shake her head, Isabela would pantomime her own teacher and try to sound erudite (a word she had just learned in class) and informed. 

Locked in to be a teacher from an early age, Isabela thought that was all that she needed. Be really smart and read a ton of books. She had no clue about curriculum and coaches and state minimum standards. Even when it dawned on her, as an undergrad and then apprenticing, that this was not as romantic as it seemed she swore she would set the world on fire.

Instead, she ran fire drills. Stuck in the awkward in between of idealistic neophyte and grizzled veteran she tried to sail a post pandemic teaching world. "The kids are different" was the common refrain and while she could feel it she hesitated to blame any one thing. When she got her abilities (She hated calling them powers but Drew had begin calling them that and it was easier. "Just call them powers. Its like calling your boyfriend/girlfriend your partner. It seems off," he had chided) she thought it just a novelty. A year into it and she found herself reading less and putting less emphasis on anchor charts and planning. Her sub plans (already strained this year) were spread out across varying cloud drives and a haggard binder fraying at the corners. Her time pivoted to working out and running through stance drills from fencing and diving into busy body apps like Nextdoor and police scanners for info. And, sleep. Which seemed always so furtive.

"Rose and I discussed it," said her principal, May Holden, "And we are going to add an extra observation or two to your class this year."

This brought Isabela into sharp focus with a bruised ego. She played the professional and pliable part while inside she started to bristle "Oh. Wow, I'm sorry. I hate making more work for you. Is something wrong? Did someone complain? Am I ok?"

May leaned back in the student chair by Isabela's desk. Fifteen years in this and still it was a whole new world when trying to sit in a kid chair. "Well, can we real talk?"

Real talk was a custom secret school term for "lets cut to the chase" or "just be honest." At an elevated form it was "Candid is clear and clear is kind" which was the take away from a surpassingly engaging in service training a year ago. 

Isabela nodded and didn't realize it but also inhaled sharply like belaying a sniffle. She was happy this was happening in her classroom and afterschool. She prepared herself to be gutted and could not have carried that into class if this happened during a planning period. 

"You are almost out of PTO and its only mid October. You show up with just minutes to spare most days if not right as kids are walking in. I have parents, and not just the crazy ones, saying you don't respond to emails. I see how good you are with the kids but I also know you are watching a lot more movies in class or handing out work sheets." May put her hands on the table and reached forward as if she wanted Isabela to take them. When she did not and Isabela kept her arms folded across her stomach, May grimaced and pulled them back "Like, is everything ok? At home? You don't need to tell me but maybe Rose can help or I can get HR from the model involved. We just want to get ahead of anything."

"Ahead of what?" Isabela felt herself get very small inside.

May took a deep breath. "Before this becomes a thing, Isa. Before I have to write you up for being late or showing up everyday in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Before I need you to write down in a little spreadsheet what you did every minute of the day. I feel like I'm losing one of my best teachers and I don't know why."

The sincerity defused the building ire in Isabela. She could take it from students whose cruelty was candid (Remember, candid is clear and clear is kind) but she realize she was quick to be defensive with everyone else. Not yet beyond it but recognized it. May's empathy did melt all that and she felt her eyes billow with tears. She wiped them away before anything major but felt the heat in her face and how it must look. "I appreciate that. I really do. Home is fine. I've just been distracted." Isabela offered no excuse why "I have just taken this all for granted I guess, but, go it. Its fine. You, assistant principal, HR, anyone is welcome to observe. I appreciate it. Life long learning, right" The weight of every choice in last two years centered itself on Isabela's stomach. When school and "work" had intertwined before it had been on her terms with Carlos on the roof. Now, it felt naked and sudden and pointless. What was she doing anyway?

May sensed the conversation had run its course. "Ok, we will book it. And you will know ahead of time for sure." It was another bit of kindness Isabela now felt unworthy of getting. "And I was honest when I think you are one of the best. Real talk."

Arclight 1.3

 Drew hit the pavement on the full length of his shoulders. He felt the grooves of the asphalt and the myriad street grit brand his skin through the thin cotton of his t shirt. In trying to get away he had let them grab his jacket and shuck it off his arm, something that gave him a few seconds to put space in between them, but left him shivering, hurt, and covered in dirt. He then felt a foot slam into his side and send all the air out of his chest. His side went concave and he rolled away clutching his side. Rolling onto his back he saw the shimmer of lights against the river on one side and the sleepy lots of abandoned junk shops in the Flats. He didn't know the name of the guy trying to kill him. Form the bulge at his hip, Drew knew he was armed and wondered why he hadn't just finished it. 

"The fuck were you thinking, huh? You should have just kept walking." The guy wore a bright red sweater with the OSU logo on it and bright blue jeans that looked painted on. He had the look of a campus bully in in a 50's teen beach movie and the physique to match. He ran up to Drew and kicked him again sending him rolling into the embankment of withering plants and still biting thistle. He hurt all over and felt the boots of his assailant nudge under arm. "Stealing from me! Do you know where you are? Who I am?"

A car drove by and the guy crouched down trying to hide Drew's frame with his own. The attacked pressed his hand against Drew's chest and pushed down slowly, pushing him into the thicket until the boughs had no more give. When the headlights faded, the guy sucker punched him the side of the head and it made Drew's head pop into angry sounds and black circle. 'Isabela," he gurgled, "can you...do...this, please."

His attacker cupped his hands around his ear. "What did you say?" Then the air crackled as a shard of light shot past his eyes and the arched back to stab him in between the shoulder blades. "Oh, FUCK. What was that?" He reached for the shard and it burned his hand when he touched it. Isabela came out of a half crouch from under a streetlight. She was exhausted having held there for three minutes refracting the world around her so she was invisible. Drew called it "active camo" and he had showed her clips form all sorts of movies and shows where it was a thing. She thought is  neat trick and appreciated she could pull it off with her clothes on. But, it left her an achy hurt like a bad cold. She just wanted to end this and save Drew.

Isabela had been practicing her voice, something of a modified teacher voice that could paralyze 5th graders in the next room over, and maybe could work on the non elementary age. It sounded OK, at least in her head 

"Tony Georgia! Get the fuck away from him!" She said and then flung another shard at him the nicked his thigh. Isabela was horrible at throwing things, something apparent the one time she had to cover for gym class and whipped a ball somehow perpendicular to her entire body. 

He ran at her and she also bolted back into the radius of the streetlight where she flared the half circle of lumens behind her and made him trip onto the pavement. His nose cracked under the weight and he dove into a prone fetal position. "My fucking face! What the fuck!?"

Isabela dug into every resolve she had to pull up from achy legs and make a short sword she pressed to Tony's neck "You are going to pick yourself up and walk back to the restaurant. The money my friend over there has is ours and we are going to give it away."

"You are thieves. Fucking thieves," he said in a wet guttural snarl

"I know people who work at your place. Who have other jobs and thanks to people like you cannot make ends meet. And you shaft them on tips and fire them when they call off sick and stare at their asses and you can just take the fucking L for this one time, ok" Isabela felt venom rise in her voice and any twinge of self doubt evaporated. She pricked him with the tip of the sword in the side of the stomach. "Do you understand?"

He bellowed and shook his head. "Ill call the cops. I saw his face!" She once again poked him with the sword and reached it up so a pinprick of blood arched up in the streetlight. 

Isabela had not put much thought into this and felt her chest tighten. Drew had liberated the cash from the safe. Just where Jessica said Tony skimmed all the cash tips into. Must have been a year's worth. And then he just ran. 

Ok, Drew had robbed them, but it was for a good cause. And then Tony chased Drew into the Flats far from  the array of restaurants by the river and into the sleepy store fronts that sold safety equipment and marine supplies. 

"If you talk, I swear we will come back and kill you."

Tony had one hand to his side and the other to his face. Both were slick with sweat and blood in an oily red. "Fuck, ok. Just leave me alone. I'll kill you that is what I will do." He then began to mutter. 'You are that vigilante bitch. I can't believe you are real, what the fuck. You know this is Cleveland. Not fucking Gotham"

Drew hobbled over to her side. Her voice did soften "Oh, you are ok?" She saw Drew did not have his jacket or hood on him but did still have the gaiter around his mouth. That should do, she thought

He wheezed. "Mostly." he said motioning to Tony "Lets take his phone and wallet. Take the SIM card out and then toss the rest"

"Fucking thieves!" Tony turned up into a sitting position and tried to get up. Drew kicked him down with a single hit to the chest. "Shut up! Can't you see we won!?"

Isabela made the whole world around Tonys head a bright white where he couldn't see. He screamed from his single helmet prison while they grabbed the money and wallet and phone and ran. 

Arclight 1.2

Drew liked to think of himself as somewhat elevated, a bit more mature than other guys in their early thirties. His apartment had furniture, which was assembled from varying thrift stores and cast offs, but it was there. His plates and bowls, a neat half dozen of each, matched in the same emerald green hue.  He even had a bed frame and sheets. He had plants. A large philodendron that lived off cold coffee poured into it every night and then a Christmas cactus that he always hoped would bloom. His bathroom had extra towels and extra shampoo and conditioner. These sat idle but compared to his single friends he lived like the world's most interesting man. The only items that would have seemed typical were the varying collectibles used as decorations. Funko Pops still in box and premium hard cover editions of graphic novels and a pair of Pokemon plushies (Espeon and Umbreon) bookending them on a built in shelf. 

There was another teacher who made a point of sharing every book she read in the year (Going for 100!) she did in her Instagram stories and he made a point to note them and read more women authors. He did this because it felt fair and expanded his horizons over his usual fare of spy thrillers but also a lingering reflection of being raised by a single mother with two older sisters. He had come to peace with his middling success with women and instead wanted to be a model for his middle school boys a few Joe Rogan podcasts away from becoming jabronis. 

But, all that sensibility went dark in this moment when looking at Isabela. As she stood on the roof of the school and crackled with power he was transported to a base adolescent mode of infatuation. As a teen he loved wrestling and still sometimes used the terms in everyday speech. He was a total "mark" for her (this was her, right) and believed in everything and anything she had to offer. It had to be a dream. This checked a lot of boxes. Isabela had palmed her hand over her feet and brought pulled it up in front of her. It trailed spiraling flickers of light that changed what she wore into a a legitimate super hero outfit. Black tights coming up from matching boots with her knees, ankles, and thighs set with glowing armor pieces plated against her body securely in a hover. Then a black top like a surfer's rash guard set under a glowing white and blue cuirass over her chest. Then a hood which she had over her hair that she was quickly and messily braiding into a pony.

Fuck, its...you're. It's really you?" he mumbled. 

She tucked the braid behind her neck "Sorry, I have not figure out how it can do hair." She then gave an awkward smile having now just realized the gravity of the decision. Would he freak out? He has to be freaking out, right? Would he tell anyone. This was looking more and more like a horrible idea. Isabela hadn't told anyone and she choose to tell a co worker. Not a family member or someone in power but someone she knew only during business hours. "And, yeah, its me."

"Wow. This explains a lot." Drew didn't hear anything. The roof could explode or collapse under him and he would still be just enthralled. "You like glow and hum with potential. I mean...you're a fucking superhero!" He finally took steps to her and she did instinctively take some steps back and make a small shield of light against her left wrist.

They both saw that and grimaced. "Sorry," she said. "I look better at the part then playing it."

He shook his head and waved his hands "No worries, no worries." In the moment she could have slahed the tires on his car and he would not care. "I shouldn't have just run. You look...amazing." Drew realized he dolloped extra emphasis on the last part and quickly pivoted to anything else 'What, what can you do. Like manipulate light, right? Make flares? Blind people?" 

Isabela had never been in this position. Needing to explain her abilities. Made her realize she didn't even know what she could do. How long it would last and any lasting harm. Or, the important why it happened. She felt a sinking twinge of fear that she buried and then sheepishly answered "I can make it into shapes and change the colors of things I'm wearing or touch. Yeah, I can move it, for lack of a better word. Turn on the light on your phone. Let me show you."

Drew fumbled for it and then got it on after three tries with the school's required passcode. He should have never said he was fine checking work emails on his phone. He shone it at the gravel top of the school roof and caught the base of duct. Isabela flicked her wrist and then he saw the beam curve up and over the duct and back onto his chest. He gasped and she smirked while then making the light change from white to whole spectrum of the rainbow. He beamed "Its like hardlight in Halo. You can make bridges and shield and swords. Please tell me you can make a sword. Didn't you fence in college!?"

Isabela did feel herself turning a confused red in the face. She felt she was learning more about Drew in this moment then in their three years of working together. She had fenced, just as part of a club team in college, and he would only know that if he dug through her old Facebook pictures. She closed her eyes and centered herself and then let pinprick of light come from her wrist. She let the top of the beam extend about two feet and then widen into a simple machete shape. Making the hilt take shape in her arm she turned it around and offered it to him "What's your favorite color?"

"Purple," he said.

Then she turned it an electric violet and offered him to take it.

Arclight 1.1

 It is 7:45AM and Isabela wants the day to end. She runs through the options that would cancel school

1) A freak snow storm in September. Tricky, but possible. Climate change is real!

2) The water main would blow. She had seen it once when the custodian showed them the basement. It was a faded green gear in the corner behind an idle work bench and abandoned carpets. 

3) Violence. Letting the intrusive thoughts win for a brief second she knew it would do it but was also a looming potential since the 90s. 

She crossed this off her mental list

4) Plague. Massive absences. The rumor was that if less than 50% of the students showed up then they could cancel the day. 

She leaned her head against the cold cinder block of her door way and realized that none of these would happen. Good for number three. Both the burden of her position (Teacher but also lunch counter but also ersatz therapist and proxy parent and recess monitor and test proctor and Chromebook helpdesk, etc. etc.) and her extracurricular would mean she would need to intervene. And, not sure how successfully considering she was already "teacher tired" with 10 minutes before opening bell. Her right hip and thigh hurt from where a galaxy purple bruise was developing. She was thrilled that she convinced Drew to make her copies for her and he came in early to put down her chairs and write the welcome message. Not in her voice or hand writing but still got the job done.

"Hey everyone! It is Friday (Yay!) September 17th, 2021. So happy you (and everyone) is back here at school. Does the sign look different? Ms. Orel asked me, Mr. Drew, to write it and always happy to help. Specials today are Art and Music!"

She cracked a brief smile which then withered when she thought about when he would sober up and stop all these favors. He had his own class and life and likely questions as to why she bolted right after school and ghosted on messages in the evening.

The sound of chatter and cloying "HEY!" messages down the hall told her the day and had begun. Showtime. She popped the hood of her sweater out so it nested against her shoulders and tucked her lanyard against the top of her stomach. Pen behind her ear and ok lets go. The disaster needs to wait. 

***

Isabela had been up since 3am, save for a tiny nap on her couch between 5:30am and quarter to seven. When she awoke she realized she had fallen asleep in all her gear. Her inner child lashed out feeling embarrassed. "If Sailor Moon feel asleep in her outfit wouldn't it just go back to normal overnight? Do the Power Rangers need to change?" She had gotten good enough with the hard light to make solid shapes and crystallize it into an outfit but it was patches over workout gear from the thrift store. And a black hoodie, which she shook out and thought of wearing to work but smelled the cigarettes and sweat from it and changed her mind. 

She had spent the time between 10pm and 1am primed along East 22nd and the Tubbs Jones transit center. There was a wrestling show that night and letting out she was able to spook someone trying to force themselves into someone's parked car "Give me a ride, baby! Why the fuck not" he yelled while he pounded at the glass. She made the light flickering off it coalesce around his fist and cut into him as if he was punching through it. "FUCK!" he screamed while they car sped off. The only physical thing she did was drop onto a cop car as it primed itself to approach a group of three women walking past the Salvation Army. Isabela assumed the cop was up to nothing good and they had done nothing. She did not land on her feet but instead her hip on the back where the trunk meets the glass. She heard the officer scream "What the fuck!?" even through all of the vehicle and he scrambled out of the front letting the women walk off laughing at him. She rolled into the landscape around the Wolstein center and popped the disco lights on the squad car to further cover her limp away. The last hour was spent slinking back to her car, a black Nissan Rogue she had illegally parked in a closed surface lot. Cleveland surface parking was big business and she wasn't sure if anyone checked the old cash drop boxes, but she did shove a ten dollar bill into it from the emergency kit in the glove box

***

Drew was trembling and nervous, sweating this question in his head, but, after much internal debate thought to ask it. It would test all limits of their friendship. 

"I am sorry. I don't want it to come off anything weird but you look tired. You ok?" he asked as he caught Isabela in the mailroom. He instantly froze hoping his voice carried the sincerity.

Instead of daggers she looked past him and emptied her teacher mailbox of all the fliers and announcements shoved into it. There was a post it note reminding her to hand these out next week, which did not really feel helpful and instead petty. "I'm fucking exhausted. I can't wait to go home." She then turned to him and did put her hand against his shoulder "And, no, I get it. Thanks for asking. And thanks for helping." The shoulder touch defused his tension, which Isabela did not realize, but she hoped it would cut any antipathy he had. "Please don't be mad at me!" was not a great motto for someone called a vigilante on r/Cleveland reddit. A term Isabela hated but yeah did not project confidence. 

"Ok, do you want me to pull the fire alarm?" Drew pointed over to the lever and then threw up his hand in a shrug.

She shook her head appreciating the joke "No, its just one more hour. The kids are going to watch Netflix. Fuck it"

Early Q2

 In six month's time, you'll be allowed

The opportunity, not promised, please mind that

To shuffle a different spreadsheet and vent

A new face may hear your ups and downs

In six month's time, the opportunity

Should be here, but it may not, so

Do not suggest waiting or changing or anything too

Crazy. Congratulations, by the way for what will happen

in six month's time. Maybe. For now, feel silly that

a promise, an opportunity, made you feel so within yourself