The last time Trent was driving down Main Street, past the 76 gas station, he was headed in the opposite direction.  He was high tailing it out of town for bigger and better things, or so he thought.  He never imagined he’d be back in White Ridge.  But here he was, back with his tail between his legs. How could he explain what had gone so terribly wrong to his loved ones? Maybe he wouldn’t have to since his parents were dead, and he’d left his only real friend in the world behind in this piece of shit town to figure things out for himself.

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Guy perused the tabloids at the checkout whenever he was in line.  He’d never told anyone that he bought every magazine that mentioned his mother.  He kept a collection in a box in the closet.  But he was surprised to see the latest headlines.  Kiki Waller to Wed Terry Fleming! Could this be true? Was his mother actually going to settle down and commit to another human being? Katrina Watkins might have been capable of love. But Kiki Waller had ceased being Katrina Watkins 15 years ago.  And Guy was convinced, Kiki Waller was incapable of love.

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Cell phones all over the world simultaneously shrilled that morning. After scanning the emergency alert, citizens scrambled to gather their families and prepare. Meanwhile, in the national forest, there was no cell phone access. The Stephens family had just put out their breakfast campfire and were preparing for their hike, seemingly unaware of what was happening in the world around them.

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When I received a notification that someone named Troi wanted to connect with me, I instinctively cringed. Sure, it didn’t have to be her.  It didn’t have to be that Troi.  But I knew better.  It makes sense that she would have found me.  She had to be out by now.  And I’m sure she thought a lot about me all these years.  Lord knows that despite my efforts, I thought about her often. 

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’m not really sure what made me take Tre up on his invitation to happy hour.  It probably had something to do with the fact that in the time I’d spent seated in my cubicle outside his office, three months to be exact, I’d developed an atomic level crush.

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Even with the heater on high, and completely decked out in winterwear, he was shaking from the cold. His shoulders tensed as he peered over the steering wheel, dodging black ice and snow banks. He knew he'd picked the wrong time of year for this trip.  When he’d pulled out of Grand Junction that morning, it’d been bitter cold and the road ominously dark. But it was too late to change his plans now.

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The Albany Bus Terminal: quite possibly the saddest place on earth.  And sadder still because it was Christmas Eve and apart from George, the surprisingly pleasant miscreant I met earlier, and the woman who worked behind the ticket window, I was the only person there. It was my own fault.  And I wasn’t sure whether to be proud of myself for speaking up or angry at myself for not knowing when to shut up.

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