My mom's high had officially come to an end. She had been shut up in her room, only coming out to go to work and eat dinner. I regularly checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and made sure the prescription bottle was progressively lessening. It was. For now. The days after her high were typically when she sank the lowest, but soon I knew she'd migrate from her bed to the sofa, and we'd be back in the sweet spot. It wasn't anything great, but it was the closest to level she ever got.
I had returned the clothes she bought. The woman at returns had completed the exchange with an eyebrow arching higher with each item of clothing, I was sure it would extend beyond her forehead before she was done. With the money refunded to the credit card, I then scoured the store and sifted through racks of clothing in the clearance section. Hanging just along the end of the rack was a black, floor length dress with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. I enclosed the tag between two fingers, saw the sixty percent off sticker, and pulled it off the rack. It would do the job just fine.
I was now slipping into the gown inside my cramped bedroom. The slinky, ebony fabric clung to my waist and flowed nicely from my hips to the floor. I tucked my arms inside the sleeves and gave myself the once over in the closet door mirror. My hair was long and unruly if left untreated. After running a curling iron through my strands, it now settled over my shoulders slightly less long and unruly. Just like the dress, my hair would do.
I gave it one final fluff and sighed. At least my dark eyes stood out somewhat with the swipe of eyeliner I had applied.
A knock sounded, startling me. My neck twisted and I slowly paced ahead, wrapping my hand around the doorknob. It couldn't be Nick. I would have heard him enter the apartment. Swinging the door open, I was met with my mom's tired expression. Her eyes traveled from my face down towards the ground and back up again.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"The Navy Ball," I said and squeezed beside her. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine." My mom followed behind me into the living room. "Are you going with Nick?"
"Yeah. He should be here any minute." I grabbed a hoodie from off the back of the couch. "Do you need anything before I go?"
"No, honey." A weak smile pulled at her mouth, and she gazed lazily into the living room. She sauntered towards the couch and perched herself into the cushions. "Have fun."
"Thanks, Mom. I'm staying at Nick's tonight, but I'll be home tomorrow morning, okay?"
"Okay, honey." Her voice was like a breath in the wind.
With one last look at the back of her tangled head of dark hair, I pursed my lips and headed for the apartment door. I would wait outside for Nick. Fresh air might quell the knotted mess forming in my stomach. Having lived with my mom's depression for years, my anxiety never truly left, but the pressure to maintain equilibrium often caused the knot to expand and churn. Removing myself from the situation was often how I managed it.
The breath I took when I threw my hands against the railing outside soothed my chest. I closed my eyes and the gentle breeze drifted over my skin, ruffling my wavy hair. My mom had prescription antidepressants, which worked by tempering her polarizing moods. Her emotions were balanced as well as they could be, but this came at a cost: my mom, as a whole, was dulled, her unique edges and corners sanded down.
I inhaled deeply once more. The sun was hanging low in the horizon, and though I couldn't see it, I knew the ocean would soon claim it as its own. When I was little, my mom would take me to Mission Beach on the weekends and we'd spend hours playing in the sand until the sun set. I suddenly had the urge to relive this. Maybe on one of her good days, she and I could visit the beach and watch as the ocean swallowed the sun. One of these days before it was too late.
"Well, look at you."
I snapped my head to the side. Eyes trained on my dress, Nick had just emerged from the stairs clad in his dress blues. He strode forward, planted a kiss on my mouth, and asked, "Ready?"
xxx
The Navy Ball was held at a massive hotel in downtown San Diego. A large hall was crammed with tables and chairs, a refreshment counter, and a stage with the backdrop of a projected image of sailors, ships, and the words GO NAVY across the top. People of varying ages and ranks were clumped together and chatted against the low drum of music.
Nick had chosen seats for us with the rest of his shop, and after checking in at a booth, we walked towards a table at the far end of the hall – with me very strategically dodging people – and found his crew.
"Hey, Delia." Grayer cocked his head. "You sure clean up better than Larsen."
Nick shoved Grayer's shoulder before sitting down. There were five other members of his shop present – all dressed in crisp dress blues – and none of them had dates in tow, which caught me off guard. I had expected Garrett to bring the girl he had asked.
"Did you get a look at the raffle prizes? They've got a PlayStation this year," Garrett said as his round face and even rounder eyes drifted between each of us, and they proceeded to grow even wider while lingering on the said Playtation placed on the raffle prize table by the stage. "I've got to win it. I bought twenty raffle tickets."
Aquino said, "Smart. That probably cost you your whole paycheck." He leaned his long arms on the table, deep, golden skin glowing in the overhead lowlights. Everyone around him chuckled. "Where's your date?"
Garrett scrunched his nose. "Oh, um, we decided it'd be best if we didn't go together. She's supposed to be here with her shop, but I, uh, I haven't seen her yet." A quick hand swept through his short, spiky hair. "But, uh, if I win that PlayStation, you'll all be out of luck, because the only one I'm letting play it is Delia. She's nice to me, unlike you assholes." His eyes bounded to mine.
I offered Garret a small smile as a little piece of my heart broke. The day we had met over a year ago, I had developed a soft spot for him, because I knew something he did not: his death date. Like I was caught in a whirlwind, the memory of our first encounter played before me, and the voice resonated in my ears:
March twelfth, two thousand and eighteen.
Garrett had immediately welcomed me to the work crew when Nick had introduced us. In his eyes, it was like I was a long-lost family member and always had a spot in the group. Having ties to the Navy often had outcomes like this – feeling like you were a member of a diverse family– but Garrett went above and beyond. His kind and considerate nature made me feel welcomed in a way I hadn't before.
And he would be dead in less than a year.
My stomach plunged to the floor.
A few months ago, Nick had thrown a party, and Garrett and I were anchored in front of the television. A scene on TV had prompted Garrett to say something about how he hoped to have a big family one day. His face was flushed from alcohol, but his sweet, sheepish smile made me feel as if I'd swallowed a large rock.
In the dozen or so years I had dealt with death dates, I had never been so close to disclosing one as I had been in that moment. My heart pounded in my ears. I wanted to tell him – what purpose it would serve was less certain-- and the date rested on my tongue. Maybe knowing would make him act more cautious, and he could avoid it, or maybe, I thought, he would come to terms with it.
Looking back, I was thankful a commercial had come on and that I allowed myself to be distracted by Garrett's amusement over the weird invention being advertised. I remember thinking, What good could come from knowing the day you would die?
Slipping back to reality, I gulped to dislodge the rock I again felt in my throat, but this only served to heighten my awareness of the anxiety I was feeling. I knew the day I was going to die, and what good was it doing me?
I needed to leave.
Shooting upright, I snagged the attention of each guy at the table, and even Nick rounded on me.
"You good?" he asked.
I nodded. "Fine. Just going to find the restroom." My face was tight and burned violently; I knew it was impossible that I looked like someone who was fine.
Nick didn't seem to notice. "Alright. Oh wait – will you grab me one of those cookies on your way back?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Thanks, babe," Nick said and returned his attention to the group, unfazed. I could always count on Nick to disregard any fluctuation in my emotions – it was, if I was being honest, what initially drew me to him.
I tore from the table in a rush of black skirts. My eyes blurred; the people in the hall meshed and molded together as though everything was one solid clump of color. I stormed by, avoiding everyone in my path. It seemed easier when everybody's features were fuzzy.
The restroom sign was visible near the back corner of the hall, although I didn't head there. Instead, I treaded out of the large room and swung around the corner to the lobby. I had seen a sign for a restroom downstairs when Nick and I entered, and, with hopes it would be less populated, I found the staircase and nearly jogged to the restroom.
Once I had flown down the steps, I followed the signs around the corner and into a narrow hallway. I then dove into the vacant restroom. Slamming a stall door shut, I collapsed onto the toilet and encased my burning face inside my freezing hands. The contrast sent a shudder down my spine, and I folded into myself even further. I wished I could collapse into myself and disappear.
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks and their presence felt foreign. I hadn't cried, really cried, in months, and the wells were full; I would be forced to cry until there was nothing left. But once they were out, I could settle back to neutral again. The burden of my daily life built up until it swelled, and it only took a small prick to release the massive blockage. In this case, the reminder of Garrett's short life.
More tears released at the thought. Garrett would be dead in six months. I didn't know how, and maybe if I did, I could find some way of warning him. But the why was what was clinging to my skin now like a tick about to attach. Why was he going to be taken from an Earth in desperate need of kind people like him?
Once more, I felt the inkling to tell him, as if this would solve a problem. As if this would relieve me of the burden.
I wiped the stream of tears away and hiccupped, placing my elbows on my thighs. I would be dead before he was. And even though the notion squeezed my heart, it shone a different light on the situation. If I was going to be gone anyway, maybe Garrett – and others – should know their death dates.
I leaned back and covered my eyes with my hands, which now were streaked black. My perfectly applied eyeliner and mascara was sure to be smeared all over. My breathing regulated and cheeks cooled as my system recalibrated.
With a final deep breath, I opened the stall door and stood in front of the large mirror. My eyes were still red and puffy, and a bit of mascara was smeared underneath, but I didn't look nearly as awful as I imagined. Grasping a paper towel and wetting it, I gently wiped it over my face and removed any leftover tears, smeared makeup, and residual emotions. I then fluffed my hair, donned a smile, and nodded at myself in the mirror.
I could do this.
After stepping out into the hallway, all life that had been previously restored drained from my face. I wasn't alone.
With his back to me, a man in uniform was pressed up against the far wall of the hallway. And there was someone stuffed between him. Fragments of long, dark hair spiraled out from around his shoulders, and a royal blue chiffon dress swayed around his hunched form. My first instinct was to evade and give the two some privacy, but then I saw her hands were fisted and attempting to push him away.
The man growled and I heard the woman gasp. I took a step closer.
"Stop," the woman said in a muffled tone, her body squirming in a quest for freedom. His arms were like a steel blockade. "Lewis, stop."
I took another step. My mind was telling me to run, but something else was urging me closer. My ears rang and throat constricted. Moving closer felt dangerous, but my feet seemed to have a death wish.
"Hey." My voice sounded miles away. "She said stop."
The man whipped around, arms still barricading the woman. I was close enough now so that when his eyes met mine, the air whirred and charged, and the voice cut through.
November second, two thousand and thirty-four.
Just as I started to shake off the leftover electricity, the woman and I locked gazes, and the air hummed once again.
July thirtieth, two thousand and seventy-three.
"Get out of here. This doesn't concern you," the man spat. The woman struggled against him. "We're just having a little bit of fun, that's all." His voice was metered with a slight slur.
"She doesn't look like she's having much fun," I said as my legs began to quiver. I was thankful they were sheathed by my gown.
"We're dating," he said simply, as though giving his actions validation.
"Lewis, please. Let me go," the woman pleaded, as the man snapped his attention back on her. It was evident he mouthed something – or gave her a distinctive look – because she subdued immediately.
"Just let her go," I said. "Or I'll – I'll tell someone. I'll go get someone."
The man's steel eyes cut through mine. His mouth writhed, but before the words got the chance to slither from his mouth, suddenly the hallway I had thought would be abandoned now held a fourth person.
Footsteps padded down the linoleum stretch of floor, but I was far too focused on the man and woman in front of me to find their source. My intent stare at the man was my single weapon.
When the fourth figure stopped beside me, so did my breath. And when he spoke, throaty and even, the man against the wall seemed to also lose his breath. When he swung his head around, his eyes brimmed with a fear my frail voice hadn't been capable of evoking.
"Let her go. Now." The voice repeated, deeper and sharper. His solid, towering frame right beside me made me feel suddenly invincible.
The man's mouth twisted as he continued holding the woman against the wall, who was stonelike in his clutches apart from her soft whimpering. If released, I wondered if she would fall to the floor and shatter.
"I said let her go."
This time I jumped at the sound of the voice beside me because, as it pierced through the tension, I recognized it as Warner's. I took a sidelong peek at him: he was wearing his dress blues, and his determined expression and cutting gaze, normally on reserve for me, bored into the man in front of us. That man, Lewis I recalled from the woman's cries, now looked appropriately rattled, except for the slimy smile still playing on his mouth. "What are you going to do about it?" he barked.
A harsh silence followed, one that allowed for my heartrate to resound in my ears.
"Let her go. I won't ask again," Warner said cleanly.
Lewis took it as a challenge. "And what are you going to do about it?"
No time wasted, Warner took two large steps towards Lewis and grasped his shoulders. Warner had about four or so inches on him, and though he was significantly younger, it was apparent in the following series of events that he was much stronger.
Lewis tried to fend Warner off but to little avail. They tussled for a moment – bodies rigidly moving back and forth – until Warner had pried Lewis's hands from the wall, which had encased the woman. Once free, she stumbled away but did not fall to the floor and break into pieces as I had imagined. Breathlessly, she caught herself and rushed to my side.
Warner now had Lewis pinned against the wall, his hands bracing the man's shoulders. The man winced as Warner dug his palms in further.
"How's it feel?" Warner growled. The man looked away. "Leave her alone. Understand?" The man was silent. "Understand?"
"Yes," he muttered, eyes still downcast.
Warner pushed him once more and then dropped his hands. For a moment, something dark flashed across the man's eyes, but it quickly subsided. The woman drew heavy, uneven breaths as she shot me a wide-eyed look. Words weren't necessary to decipher it. Though terrified, she was also relieved, and before Warner turned around, she fled down the hallway and vanished up the stairs. The only trace left of her was the sound of clicking heels growing fainter.
Warner's feet retreated backwards until he was in line with me, and the man's eyes grew darker with each inch of distance. Lewis then tilted forward, mouth writhing once more, and hissed, "I'll get you for this." He gazed across Warner's chest, noting his decorations. "Petty Officer Third Class," he said smugly. "I'll find out who you are. Mark my words. And you'll wish you'd have left when you had the chance."
Warner was silent.
The man stripped himself from the wall, tugged the hem of his uniform, and puffed his chest. He swept past Warner and me, making sure to dig his shoulder into Warner's en route. Warner stood tall. Once the man was out of sight, Warner said lowly, "Let's go."
"Go where?" my rattled voice perfectly expressed the haywire charge in my body.
"To the ballroom. I'm sure Nick's wondering where you are."
"To the ball – What? No, we need to report that guy."
Warner began walking, and I attempted to match his pace with my short legs working in overdrive.
"He can't get away with that!" I whisper-yelled. "He assaulted her!"
Warner took the stairs two at a time as though trying to escape me. And by the time he reached the landing, he had. Gasping for breath, I called after him, "Warner! Stop!"
Much to my surprise, my command worked. Warner's long strides stopped and he was still for a moment. He then pivoted on his heel and marched back to me and I stepped back out of instinct. We were inches apart.
"We can't report him, okay?" Warner snapped.
The gentle hum of music and people clamoring in the ballroom swept through the lobby.
"Why not?" I implored.
Warner blinked and swiped a hand across his forehead. "That guy was an officer – a high ranking officer. I can't report him."
"What are you talking about? It doesn't matter. He assaulted her!"
"Yeah, and then she ran away!" Warner bit back with such force that I felt as if he'd punched me in the gut. He clenched his jaw when he saw my reaction. Despite the verbal blow, I resolutely pushed back against Warner and was pleased when he swayed on the spot. "You asshole."
Warner rubbed a hand over his forehead again. "I get it, okay? And if it were any other circumstance, I'd report it. But that guy," Warner nodded to the ballroom, "he's the living, breathing example of what everyone in there is celebrating. The Navy – the military – operates at a different level. That guy, he's untouchable. For now."
"For now?" I repeated. "What do you mean 'for now?'"
Groaning, Warner weaved fingers through his cropped hair. "Just let me deal with it, alright?" A moment of silence fell between us an unexpected warmth rush through me. "Let's go find Nick and his crew of motley sailors." Warner turned around.
"Wait!" I said. "What were you doing down there anyway? There's a restroom in the ballroom."
The faintest of smirks tugged at his mouth. "One could ask you the same question." Turning on his heel, Warner fled the lobby and rushed towards the ballroom, leaving me confused and irritable in his wake. Nevertheless, I scurried after him.
Feeble chatter consumed the hall. Waiters garbed in all black scampered around the room to find their station at tables to take orders. Dinner would soon be served. Warner wove in and out of tables on a path towards Nick's, and I trailed closely behind. It was like having a personal snowplow; everyone walking around quickly ducked out of his way. I didn't even have to think about avoiding people, which was convenient considering my mind was rather preoccupied at the moment.
When we returned to the table, Nick and the rest were engaged in conversation and looked up at Warner and me in unison when we arrived.
"Where have you been?" Nick asked as I sat down.
I stole a glance at Warner who sat directly across from me. His eyes did not catch mine.
"Restroom, like I told you," I said.
Nick's eyes bounded to Warner and then back to me. "Were you both using the restroom at the same time or something?"
Drawing a hand to scratch my warming neck, I opened my mouth to retort, but Warner was first to the punch.
"I ran into her coming out of the hallway from the restroom, and we walked to the table together. You know, catching up for old time's sake." Warner's voice was sticky.
Nick's gaze narrowed, but the answer did the trick: he relinquished and relaxed into his chair, bringing an arm to wrap around behind me. He then immersed himself into the conversation he had been having before Warner and I showed up. I took the moment to return my attention to Warner; he was now staring right at me. I blinked instinctively and twisted to break free from the sudden discomfort.
I now shared a secret with Warner, which was a strange concept on many levels. To start, in our years of acquaintanceship – no matter how severed – we had never shared a secret before. Furthermore, I had good reason to believe, if the multitude of snide comments over the years proved true, that I was number one on his hit list for a reason I blamed myself for more than he realized. He had also just intervened in an assault, and so his decision to avoid discussing this was agitating. If anyone else at the table had just done what Warner had, they'd be sure to relay the story. And--cherry on top of the melting, shit sundae--Warner was the only person I had met to come without a death date.
A waiter appeared at our table and took our orders. My appetite, which had been weak before, was now nonexistent. My eyes, however, seemed incapable of being satiated, as they returned to Warner countless times throughout the rest of the evening.