“They asked me if I wanted to see my grandpa, and I said yes.” Envy said, playing with the condensation on the rim of her glass. She had hardly touched her drink.
I, on the other hand, was on my… fifth? It was hard to say. There was hardly any booze in these things anymore. I was just about to down the last of it and motion for another from the bartender when Envy wrapped her hands around mine.
“He was there. He didn’t even say anything. He just smiled…”
“Amy.”
“Amy. Are you listening?”
I slid my hand from beneath hers and finished the drink. I waved at the bartender. He waved back, smiling. Everyone seemed to be smiling.
“How’d you know it was him?” I asked. Couldn’t quite keep the acid out of my voice.
She just stared at me. A frown fell over her face and then she let a perfect little gasp. She was so pretty. Such a perfect name. How could her parents have known though? Envy’s parents were nice enough, but she was one of those kids that couldn’t have come from her parents. Her hands were wrapped over mine again. The bartender wasn’t making a drink. What, did he think I was just waving at him?
People did that now. Waved at me. Like they know who the hell I was. Envy put a hand over her mouth, as if she could blunt the words.
“It still hasn’t happened for you. Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I thought I was the last one. Oh, Amy.” Envy said, then she got up and stood next to me.
I let her pull me into an awkward hug.
“What did it feel like?” I mumbled into her.
“We don’t have to talk about it.” She said, because was — actually — a good friend.
I felt like shit for not caring. It was the biggest moment in most people’s lives these days. Their notdream. You only got one, supposedly. Well, you were supposed to get one.
I didn’t say anything, but somehow she knew. I always asked the same question.
What does heaven feel like?
For my mom it was a perfect garden. All of her friends were there. Not just the dead ones. Her entire friend group all had the same notdream at the same time. She spent an entire day there. She’d said it felt like a party, just after it had gotten good. She’d said she wanted to stay, but she still loved Dad too much to do that to him.
Dad? He’d spent the entire time with a man made of rainbow light. They built a model train set and he asked questions until he’d run out of questions. For him it felt like reassurance. He’d actually asked to leave because he felt he was done. He’d never talked about it again and I got the feeling he didn’t much care. He knew now and that was enough for him.
I remembered what everyone I’d ever asked had said. Some of them were scared. Some of them were too overwhelmed, too unprepared to know what to do with their time and they regretted how they’d spent it. You could always tell though when someone got their notdream. It was in their eyes, in their step the next day. And every day after that. They weren’t the same. Because they knew now. They’d been there. Felt it. Heaven, or whatever it is.
Mostly, they said it was the most beautiful thing they’d ever felt. Total belonging. A marker of how good it could be. It felt like how they were supposed to feel. A missing piece put back.
But everyone felt something profound, because everyone got a notdream.
Ha.
Well, we were supposed to anyway. Guess even God made mistakes.
Envy whispered dreamily.
“It felt like going home. Like resting after a workout, but also like waking up after the best nap ever.”
I leaned into her and listened. Drinking it in.
“It made me feel like I was on an adventure, somehow. Here. I was excited to come back. How weird is that?” She asked.
A glass clacked against the table top. The bartender grinned. He was handsome. I smiled back.
“No thanks.”
It wasn’t what I wanted.
“Am I broken?” I asked her.
Envy sat back down and I regretted saying it immediately. What a shitty friend.
“They said it would happen over a year.”
“It’s been a year.”
“There’s still time.” She said, looking down.
“One day. There’s one day.” I said.
“…Are you sure you weren’t a walkout? I mean — can you remember anything?”
Envy bit her lip, as if regretting her own words.
“I think I would remember saying no.”
“Of course.” She rushed to assure me.
The bartender was back with another drink. He handed it to Envy. They smiled at each other. He said something to her I couldn’t make out and she laughed, then she looked over at me, remembering I was there.
I took my watered down drink and raised it to her in salute and got out of my seat.
“Happy for you.” I said, forcing a smile.
She smiled and waved. The bartender took my seat at the little table and they were lost in conversation with each other.
I walked out of the restaurant with the glass in my hand. There were technically still laws about public drinking. I looked down at the glass. And stealing.
But who the fuck cared anymore?
—
Outside, the sidewalks were clogged with prophets and doomspreaders on both sides of the street. People holding signs shouted at the pedestrians. Everyone had a pet theory. Everyone knew what was going on. What would happen next. It was rapture. It was hell. It was utopia. It was punishment. It was enlightenment.
Most passerbys just ignored the street preachers. There were more of them than ever before, but people seemed to care less about them too. I didn’t know if they’d just gotten used to it, or maybe the notdream really meant that much.
Ahead of me on the sidewalk was a man holding a sign reading ‘WALK AWAY FROM DEMONS’. He screamed at the woman in front of me.
“Sinners!”
She didn’t even seem to notice, lost in some personal bliss. I tried to emulate her as I approached. He just sneered at me though. I picked up the pace.
The sun was bright. The air was cool and clear. The streets were clean. And I was fucking miserable.
It took just fifteen minutes to walk back to my apartment. It was Friday, and though I had a job, I wasn’t exactly required to do it.
I closed the front door and hung up my coat. I flopped down on my low, green couch and looked out the open balcony door at my humble view of the city. My laptop sat on the coffee table in front of me.
I could do some work. I could not do it. I just didn’t get paid if I didn’t do it.
That sounded bad, but things were changing. Getting work was easy. Finding a place to live had been… well, pretty easy. The landlord, a man named Baxter, charged me $600 a month. There was no paperwork. He just asked a few questions, smiled, then took first month’s rent.
“Put the money under my door when you can.”
When I can.
I stared at the laptop on the coffee table. That phrase had stuck in my head.
When I can.
That’s what money felt like now. A thing I could have if I wanted to work for it. I could have more if I wanted more. A nicer place. Better stuff. Cooler vacations. How long would Baxter float me if “when I can” never quite transpired? The answer scared me, for some reason. It was deeply uncomfortable. This new world we were living in.
I could live without money for a long, long time.
Not well, maybe. But not poorly.
I decided not to work and just looked out the window. It was nice out there. I drifted off. I wondered whether I could have made a move for the bartender. If I had let myself be happy, maybe I would have.
Idle thoughts, and then no thoughts.
A smile came over me. I yawned.
It was not my smile.
A trickling suspicion crept over me. It was warm now. I opened my eyes.
No.
No…
It couldn’t be.
“Hello, Amy.”