Starts with a Match

When the Time Comes

Toby is a filthy texter.

I just saw them this morning and they're sending me horribly, wonderfully descriptive texts about how much they're going to miss me. And what parts they're going to miss in particular.

They let me keep my hand on their thigh the entire drive to post. They let me make out with them hardcore in the drivers' seat before I forced myself to get out of the truck. Formation passed in a blur cause all I felt was their lips on mine.

Got through TSA okay, waiting to board took forever of course, and now I'm in my window seat, ready for an impossibly long flight overseas to fucking Russia. And I've said goodbye to Toby four times just for one of us to keep the conversation going anyway.

They announce over the intercom that we'll be setting off soon, please get ready to put your tech into airplane mode, lift up your seats, all that.

I'm a little bummed that my last 'bye baby, talk to you soon' text to Toby hasn't gotten a word back like the other half dozen did. Guess they took it seriously this time.

Before I can tap my phone into airplane mode, the screen is lighting up with Claire's face. I smile even wider and answer it. "Hi, Claire. You got incredible timing, my flight's about to take off."

"Shit. Fuck—you're leaving—leaving today, that's right."

I straighten from my slouch, frowning. "Claire, you okay?"

Her voice cracks and my jaw tightens. "I'm...no. No, Mickey, I-I'm not okay. Um. Alex—"

"Claire, what happened, what—"

"He got s-s-sick, Mickey and...and I took him to the doctor. Got a f...a flu or something. Um. He um. He got checked—he's a valuable, Kevin."

My heart sinks.

"Alex is a VB. I had no idea. We had no idea."

The seatbelt light pings on.

"My s—my son," she sobs. She's outright sobbing in my ear. "He never got checked before. Didn't need to. I'm not VB, neither are you. And...and..."

I'm staring at the sun coming up in the horizon, hoping it'll burn away the tears that are racing down my face. My baby, says Claire, my baby, my baby, they'll want my baby.

"Claire—"

"Sir, we'll be taking off soon," says a flight attendant. "If you don't mind finishing up your call—" I look at her. She doesn't know what to do with the expression of agony on my face, so she clears her throat and walks away.

"Claire, listen, listen—Sissy, listen to me." She shudders out an 'I'm here'. I turn in my seat and put my forehead to the window, hand cupping my phone while I hyperventilate in my mask in the stuffy plane. "Please. Listen to me and don't ask questions. I need to hear you, Claire, are you listening."

"I'm listening," she gasps. "Listening, Kevin."

"Pull him from school."

"Done."

"Get to my house. Pack light, don't make it obvious that you've run."

"Got it."

"You have the camping gear still in the attic?"

"Some of it."

"Bring anything you got. You are no longer safe. It's not just VB volunteering. There's a potential mandate that may get put into place, and they may change the age to thirteen and above."

Claire makes a noise like she's been stabbed. I'm swallowing down vomit. "Bring Alex's machete," I add.

She exhales heavy, and breathes deep, and I can see her perfectly in my mind; nodding, frowning, weepy eyes closed, strawberry blonde curls by her temples frizzy. Face of a teenager who's just been told her parents were now both dead, and she had to figure out how to raise her little brother. Face of determination. "I'll do you one better. I'll bring Dad's saw off."

"Do it. Leave, today. Okay?"

"Today," she echoes. "How long are we staying? What's going to happen, Mickey?"

The plane jolts as we start moving. Passenger in the seat next to me shifts uncomfortably when the flight attendant stands right at our row, staring at me.

"Claire I—I gotta go, I gotta go," I whisper, tenting my face with my hand to hide my tears and red face and growing panic. "Sissy, I gotta go I'm so sorry."

"No, no I know, I know." Claire sniffles and gives a hard sigh. "You...please be safe. For us."

"Get to Toby, Claire."

"We will. I love you."

"Love you, love you—" I hang up.

Love you, love you Claire, love you Alex, love you Toby, Toby, Toby. God. I sit with my fingers gripping the armrest, other hand coiled tight on my knee. We're in the air for a thousand years before I see land again.