\n\u201cWhere do you want to go now?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nDrifting stars sparkle and dance and sway around her head, kissing her cheeks and bouncing off into oblivion. We\u2019re standing on the tip top point of a glacier. Sorry, false. She\u2019s standing. I\u2019m slumping.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI used to love this movie,\u201d she says, drawing pictures of cats drinking from coffee cups with her fingers in the hydrogen and helium gases passing by. \u201cThis is the movie that really got me into space exploration.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWe\u2019re not in the movie,\u201d I say, \u201cwe\u2019re in the videogame.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI know that, but it\u2019s based on the movie so that\u2019s why I\u2019m talking about the movie.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cFine. I\u2019m just saying.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHey, dingus. What\u2019s your deal?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t have a deal.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBullshit. You\u2019ve been moping around ever since we plugged in this morning. You\u2019ve been fine all week, now you\u2019re pulling your old Morrissey\/Smiths I\u2019m-alone-in-the-world-with-a-twinkle-in-my-eye sad-boy routine. Aren\u2019t you happy you found your super fucking bad-ass best friend after all these years and now we get to spend all this time together again?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI was hoping that I\u2019d find you, then I found you. And Heaven knows I\u2019m miserable now,\u201d I sing. I laugh and jump a few miles into the nearest black hole.\n<\/p>\n
\nI wait and listen for the pop of her following me. Years ago, before she relocated to a galaxy far, far away, I would never have been so bold as to be the first to run. It was always her running, me chasing. Always. I mean, literally, every time. The last time she ran\u2013to that galaxy far, far away\u2013was the first time I didn\u2019t run after her.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe pop comes as I\u2019m halfway through the wormhole and into another dimension. I fly out, heading straight toward a version of Earth where the oceans are swamps and the land is desert. I land onto a coastal region in the middle of an indigo and silver hurricane. The winds howl like coyotes, picking me up and putting me down like a parent moving their infant child who got in the way of something.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe flies in and does the superhero land right in front of me.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re slow,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe rolls her eyes.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIs there less gravity over there or is it something else that\u2019s made you move like sludge?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhy are you being mean?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m not being mean. I asked a question. You still haven\u2019t told me much about where you\u2019ve been or what it\u2019s like there. I just wanted to know is all.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re being mean, and you know it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI am.\n<\/p>\n
\nVoices rise from beneath the winds, meeting in a perfect harmony before singing the same line over and over again in a language I\u2019ve never heard before. Drum machines and synthesizers follow close behind.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t remember this from the movie,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLet\u2019s go somewhere else. It\u2019s too loud here,\u201d she says.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo, wait. I love this song.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe knows I\u2019m lying. Her eyebrows flicker between neon pink and a violent maroon. The bright blue of her eyes dims to a greyish hue. I smile uncomfortably at her. Her arm rises, forming a carriage and horses out of the white desert sand.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cFine. Go,\u201d I say. \u201cNothing ever changes, I guess.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAnd just what in red hell is that supposed to mean?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nBits of swampland flies over our heads. Some moss strikes the side of my face and spins out to God knows where.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMaybe I think you\u2019re impatient is all,\u201d I say, not wanting to ruin the fact that she\u2019s standing in front of me for the first time in years. \u201cJust wait until the song is over. I like it. You know I like songs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes, I know you like songs.<\/em> Everyone likes songs. That\u2019s a dumb thing to say.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow is that dumb?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNever mind. Please, continue telling me how much you like \u2018songs\u2019.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhatever, I like most songs. I\u2019m not a music snob anymore. I know I was, but I\u2019m not anymore. Because I\u2019ve changed.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA laugh comes out so loudly from her that it masks the thunderclap in the background.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat\u2019s so funny about that?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe blue in her eyes light up, her eyebrows stay pink. Her lips part that way they do when she\u2019s wanting to smile but fights it. \u201cI\u2019ve missed you,\u201d she says.\n<\/p>\n \nShit. I clutch the letter in my pocket that I\u2019ve been writing and rewriting for the better part of a decade.\n<\/p>\n \nI open the door of her sand carriage and motion for her to step inside. \u201cYou win. Let\u2019s get out of here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe places her hand on my shoulder before she gets in.\n<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \nI\u2019m sitting across from her while we race through space in our sand carriage. Neither of us say a word. I\u2019m watching the living planets converse with one another and wave at us as we fly by while pretending not to notice her staring at me.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhere do you want to go,\u201d she asks.\n<\/p>\n \nMy eyes are glued to anything but her in this moment. \u201cI don\u2019t care. Anywhere, I guess.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe kicks my shin. \u201cHey, doofus!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOw! What?\u201d Dammit. Those eyes.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhere do you want to go?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHonestly, it doesn\u2019t matter to me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSo, you\u2019re fine if we leave and I go home?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nIt\u2019s a trap. It\u2019s a trap. It\u2019s a trap. \u201cNo.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe moves to my side, wraps herself around my arm. \u201cI wish you\u2019d just be honest with me and tell me what\u2019s going on. You\u2019ve always been so open with your feelings.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n \n\u201cI feel like hunting.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHunting?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes, I want to go kill some innocent creatures for sport. You want me to tell you how I feel, that\u2019s how I feel.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSo, the whole meat is murder thing was just a phase?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo. We\u2019re in a video game. It\u2019s fine if it\u2019s not real. Not everything is real, you know?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHer eyes narrow just enough to tell me that hurt her. She sits up, does a little wave of her hand, and our sand carriage dips into another wormhole. \u201cLet\u2019s hunt.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n \nThis planet has about twelve moons and two dying suns. The game is something between a pink fairy armadillo and a timber wolf. She refuses to hold any weapon halfway resembling a firearm so we both opt for swords. Mine is pure flame. Hers, a laser. We kill thirty-seven beasts and leave the spoils with the local tribes. They build a monument in our image.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI look fat,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, you don\u2019t. Don\u2019t say that. Why would you say that?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBecause I look fat. I\u2019m not complaining, I\u2019m just stating fact.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re as handsome as you\u2019ve ever been. You\u2019ve actually filled out really well. You look healthier.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThanks.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m really glad you came in as yourself and didn\u2019t use an avatar.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re using one, though.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOnly for my hair. It\u2019s still brown in real life. And it\u2019s this length. The color is the only thing I changed.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDo you remember when we went up to Yosemite to protest that President Ass-hat from turning Half Dome into an actual full dome?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGod, that was the worst. I took those bad \u2018shrooms and had that crazy trip. I just remember watching myself implode. Like, I was being sucked into nothingness.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI had to hold you the whole time. Wrapped you in my arms like a baby.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cReally?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, dummy. I did,\u201d she says, putting her head back on my shoulder.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t remember that at all.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI do.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI scroll through my memories and come up with diddly squat. How could I have missed something like that? I needed that memory when she left. Fuck, before she left. Maybe things would have been different if I knew it happened.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou threw up all over me,\u201d she says.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, that actually sounds familiar.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe takes my hand in hers. \u201cCome on, I want to take you somewhere,\u201d she says.\n<\/p>\n \n \nThree transdimensional jumps later, we\u2019re standing in the middle of the sun. Our sun. Looking down at Earth. Watching it slowly turn\u2013minutes, weeks, decades disappearing before our eyes.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019ve never been here before,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThen, I\u2019m glad we came.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHer skin is glowing. The corners of her mouth curl upward. Our hands are locked, and she\u2019s rubbing my thumb with hers. She\u2019s perfect. Fuck. Alright. Here we go.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhy\u2019d you leave?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe turns to me. \u201cDo I need a reason?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, not really. But if you have one, I\u2019d like to know,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n \nShe folds her arms. \u201cI just went. I wanted to. Maybe I just liked the idea of being able to populate another Earth. Being the first ones there, you know? I didn\u2019t think about it that way then. I\u2019m just guessing.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI loved you,\u201d I say. \u201cI really, really loved you. And you never seemed to notice.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWrong. I absolutely noticed. I noticed because I loved you. I loved you so much. I just wasn\u2019t right in the head at the time. I didn\u2019t know how to deal with it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIs that why you left,\u201d I ask.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo. I told you, I just wanted to. It had nothing to do with you,\u201d she says.\n<\/p>\n \nAn asteroid whizzes by, burning to ash as it goes.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIf I had told you I loved you then, would it have made you want to stay?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI would have left sooner. I told you, I didn\u2019t know what to do with all of it\u2013my feelings or yours.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHave you loved anyone else,\u201d I ask.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOf course.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDo you still love me?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019ve always loved you. I love you more now than I did then.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe steps to me, puts her hands on my face. The sun burns wildly, like a possessed person.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m married,\u201d I say. \u201cI have three kids. Two boys, one girl. They\u2019re six, three, and four months.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI feel the tears falling down my face. Typical sad-boy. She pulls my face to hers, sets her forehead on mine.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMe, too,\u201d she says. \u201cTwo kids. Eight and three.\u201d She kisses my nose, lets me go.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow long have you been married,\u201d I ask.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe first time, about a year and a half. This one for around five. My first marriage happened because we were both alcoholics and neither of us gave the other any shit about it. It got really bad towards the end, though. I pulled a gun on him and shot him in the knee one night while we were arguing. The only reason I didn\u2019t go to prison is because he said it was a misfire, took it as a \u2018sign from God\u2019 that he needed to clean up his life. He filed for divorce the next week.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAnother asteroid passes us. This one had an astronaut riding on it like a cowboy on his horse.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWow. So, what got you clean?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI got pregnant and didn\u2019t know. Started bleeding really bad one night while I was passed out in a bar, someone called 911. I miscarried.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFuck.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah. Fuck, right? So, I went to rehab. Twice, actually. Relapsed the first time. Second time stuck, though. After that, I met my husband and we\u2019ve been good ever since.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat\u2019s good. That\u2019s really good.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou don\u2019t have any tragic stories of incredible failure or disease or anything, do you,\u201d she asks.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, not really,\u201d I say. \u201cI went to college, got my degrees, met my wife there, started a family. That\u2019s basically it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWell, good for you,\u201d she says, taking my hand again.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah. I guess so.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhere do you work?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI teach at a university in the city,\u201d I say. \u201cBeen there for about five or six years now.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cReally? What do you teach?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEnglish.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSo, no more sad-boy songwriting?\u201d The sun flares in her squinty eyes as a smile stretches across her face.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOnly when I\u2019m really, really depressed.\u201d I look out at the Earth, still spinning. Nothing much changing that I can see, though it\u2019s always changing in some way. I reach for my letter. \u201cI wrote you this,\u201d I say, \u201ca really long time ago. I didn\u2019t know for sure that I\u2019d ever see you ago, but I hung on to it for some reason, still. And I wanted to give it to you today.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow\u2019d you manage to get a letter in the game with you? I though you couldn\u2019t bring stuff from the outside?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI know a guy from work that\u2019s a coder for the game. He was able to write it in just for me. You won\u2019t be able to take it with you after you read it, but you\u2019ll still be able to read it. You don\u2019t have to read it in front of me, either. I\u2019d actually prefer it if you didn\u2019t.\u201d I go to hand her the letter, she pushes it away.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t want it,\u201d she says.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat? Why not?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t know. Gives me a reason to come back.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI nod.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI should go,\u201d she says, grabbing my cheeks again, kisses me.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI love you,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n \nShe closes her eyes, breathes in deep. Her image begins to fade. The bright neon of her now faint as she unplugs. \u201cMeet me here tomorrow,\u201d she says.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nGone.\n<\/p>\n \n \nI stand up from my chair, clutching the letter in my hand. Unplug the cables from my head and arms.\n<\/p>\n \nThe library empty. It\u2019s late. I walk to the front door and give the security guard the twenty bucks I promised him for letting me use the equipment after hours.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAll right, professor.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThanks, Reg.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou know what time it is, right,\u201d he asks.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI know. All I need is a couple hours of sleep.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat about your wife? You telling her you worked late?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m not married, Reg.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh. Okay. Well, you coming back tomorrow night?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo,\u201d I say. \u201cGoodnight, Reg.\u201d\n<\/p>\n D.T. Robbins is a writer living in Rancho Cucamonga, California. His stories appear or are forthcoming in Spelk, Hobart, Headway Quarterly, Chiron Review, and others. He holds an MFA from National University. Sometimes he tweets (@dt_robbins) and it could be worse.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cWhere do you want to go now?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d Drifting stars sparkle and dance and sway around her head, kissing her cheeks and bouncing off into oblivion. We\u2019re standing on the tip top point of a glacier. Sorry, false. She\u2019s standing. I\u2019m slumping. \u201cI used to love this movie,\u201d she says, drawing pictures of …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107085,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20006],"tags":[20007],"class_list":["post-137897","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-35-spring-2020","tag-the-colored-lens-35-spring-2020","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137897","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107085"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=137897"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137897\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":137898,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137897\/revisions\/137898"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=137897"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=137897"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=137897"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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