light was flashing, indicating a voicemail, so I picked it up and tapped the buttons to listen. The female recording said I had two voicemails, an unusually high volume for me. I hit the button to play them and absent-mindedly open the fridge. I noticed that a six-pack of soda and three cans of beer were all that resided in the Adam Fluke refrigerator. I grabbed a soda and thought, damn, I need to pick up some food so that it looks like someone actually lives here.
The first message played: “Hey, Mister Fluke! It’s Sara…Hello, Hello, Hello?” she paused for a minute. “Sorry I missed you, but I wanted to tell you not to make plans tonight. You’re mine, and I want you and I to go to the carnival. It’ll be just like the old days. You can buy me a candy apple, win me a kewpie doll, and we’ll hold hands on the Ferris wheel, ha ha . I’ll come by your place at 8pm, maybe? Anyway, call me. Bye!”
“Huh. Dumb fucking luck,” I said to my empty apartment, leaning on the counter. Two invitations from two separate women to go to the carnival tonight. Too weird. I felt like I was learning what my grandfather meant when he used to say, “Boy, when it rains, it pours.” I popped the top on my soda and took a swig, carbonation making my eyes tear up.
The second message was also from Sara and came about fifteen minutes after the first one.
“Hey, it’s me again! Sorry to keep leaving messages, but I was listening to some music and this song made me think of you, and I had to call and let you know. I’ll talk to you soon, Adam. But for now, listen closely,” she said, sounding like happy Sara. I heard rustling and a click, and the sounds of “Just Like Heaven” by the Cure came through, muffled but clear enough to make my heart skip. It played for about ten seconds, and she hung up.
She held the phone to the speaker to let me know that “Just Like Heaven” made her think of me.
Man oh man, what did I do to deserve this?
I hung the phone up and just stood there for a moment, but I couldn’t help myself; I was overcome. I threw my hands in the air like a prizefighter and yelled, “All right!” at the top of my lungs. I was on top of the world. Just like heaven, indeed.
I dialed Sara’s number to call and tell her that it all sounded great. I was hers for the evening. Hell, I was hers for as long as she’d let me be.
****
I woke up on the couch that evening, confused and sore. It was pitch black in my apartment, and I had no idea what time it was, or if it was a.m. or p.m. I lurched my body to a sitting position and felt stiffness in my neck that I hadn’t known before.
“ Oww ...damn,” I cried aloud as my hand went to my neck and rubbed the sore area.
Shit, did I sleep through the night? Had Sara shown up?
I blinked my eyes a few times, trying to squeeze the blurriness out of them, and attempted to read the time on the cable box. After a few seconds of squinting, I was able to make out the time: 7:03 p.m. Whew.
I reached for the lamp on the end table by the couch and turned it on. The sudden blast of light caused me to squint again. I reached for the pack of cigarettes next to the lamp and calculated how long I had been asleep.
I had finished cleaning up at about 3:30 and took another shower at 4. After the shower, I had some chips that I found in the cabinet, drank a beer, and the next thing I remember was that the phone rang and woke me up. I scanned my memory for what the conversation consisted of.
“Hey, it’s Heather,” I was greeted with. I heard background noises, pans clanking together, other phones ringing. She was at work still, so it must have been before six.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, groggy and half asleep.
“Want to go to the carnival, or are you still busy?” she asked me. Even in my sleep-induced haze, I recalled the way I felt when I lied to her
The first message played: “Hey, Mister Fluke! It’s Sara…Hello, Hello, Hello?” she paused for a minute. “Sorry I missed you, but I wanted to tell you not to make plans tonight. You’re mine, and I want you and I to go to the carnival. It’ll be just like the old days. You can buy me a candy apple, win me a kewpie doll, and we’ll hold hands on the Ferris wheel, ha ha . I’ll come by your place at 8pm, maybe? Anyway, call me. Bye!”
“Huh. Dumb fucking luck,” I said to my empty apartment, leaning on the counter. Two invitations from two separate women to go to the carnival tonight. Too weird. I felt like I was learning what my grandfather meant when he used to say, “Boy, when it rains, it pours.” I popped the top on my soda and took a swig, carbonation making my eyes tear up.
The second message was also from Sara and came about fifteen minutes after the first one.
“Hey, it’s me again! Sorry to keep leaving messages, but I was listening to some music and this song made me think of you, and I had to call and let you know. I’ll talk to you soon, Adam. But for now, listen closely,” she said, sounding like happy Sara. I heard rustling and a click, and the sounds of “Just Like Heaven” by the Cure came through, muffled but clear enough to make my heart skip. It played for about ten seconds, and she hung up.
She held the phone to the speaker to let me know that “Just Like Heaven” made her think of me.
Man oh man, what did I do to deserve this?
I hung the phone up and just stood there for a moment, but I couldn’t help myself; I was overcome. I threw my hands in the air like a prizefighter and yelled, “All right!” at the top of my lungs. I was on top of the world. Just like heaven, indeed.
I dialed Sara’s number to call and tell her that it all sounded great. I was hers for the evening. Hell, I was hers for as long as she’d let me be.
****
I woke up on the couch that evening, confused and sore. It was pitch black in my apartment, and I had no idea what time it was, or if it was a.m. or p.m. I lurched my body to a sitting position and felt stiffness in my neck that I hadn’t known before.
“ Oww ...damn,” I cried aloud as my hand went to my neck and rubbed the sore area.
Shit, did I sleep through the night? Had Sara shown up?
I blinked my eyes a few times, trying to squeeze the blurriness out of them, and attempted to read the time on the cable box. After a few seconds of squinting, I was able to make out the time: 7:03 p.m. Whew.
I reached for the lamp on the end table by the couch and turned it on. The sudden blast of light caused me to squint again. I reached for the pack of cigarettes next to the lamp and calculated how long I had been asleep.
I had finished cleaning up at about 3:30 and took another shower at 4. After the shower, I had some chips that I found in the cabinet, drank a beer, and the next thing I remember was that the phone rang and woke me up. I scanned my memory for what the conversation consisted of.
“Hey, it’s Heather,” I was greeted with. I heard background noises, pans clanking together, other phones ringing. She was at work still, so it must have been before six.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, groggy and half asleep.
“Want to go to the carnival, or are you still busy?” she asked me. Even in my sleep-induced haze, I recalled the way I felt when I lied to her
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