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Callie slips out of bed, scuffing her feet on the floor as she makes her way to the bathroom. Twisting the broken knob of the shower that works in the opposite direction that it is supposed to, she drops the towel to the floor and steps in, sliding the door shut behind her. She allows the water to just run over her, in no hurry to start the day. Besides the only thing that she has to look forward to is school, and heck, if that’s all she is looking forward to, then she knows she’s doomed.
Callie grabs the body soap after doing a shitty job with the rinse, lather, and repeat of her hair. What she cares about is getting that dreadful count down off her arm.
It’s in the same place on her wrist as it has always been. The same red digits ticking down. The same one her parents once had, except with their numbers at zero. But Callie’s has numbers. A small amount of numbers, she tells herself daily, compared to when there used to be ‘year’ numbers.
She has ten hours. Ten hours till the timer hits zero and she hits him. Or he hits her. She doesn’t know which way it will work. All she knows is that it’s today and finally she will be with her true love. Finally to everyone but her. But no matter how hard she scrubs, no matter the number of bracelets she tries to wear over it, it won’t go away.
After a half an hour of scrubbing on her wrist (and she only knows because she could see the numbers flashing back at her, mocking her weak work with the soap), Callie steps out of the shower. She doesn’t get dressed up any fancier than normal. Today is really just another day for her. Hell, she thinks, if he can’t take me like this, he doesn’t deserve me. But as soon as she says that, she corrects herself.
It could be another ‘she’ who runs into her. Really, Callie wouldn’t mind. Sure, she went through the time were she was 100% positive it would be a girl, and also the time where she would have 100% hated if it was a girl. But the only thing Callie is really 100% sure of is that she wants this day to be over.
Done with.
She wants the numbers to go away. She understands the ideal of them. Every time she even thinks to forget, the posters of the Greatest Depression remind her. The book, Romeo and Juliet, which they had to read every year makes it hard to forget. Callie’s not even sure why girls want to be loved or to love. Really, she doesn’t even love herself.
But Callie doesn’t want to think about that, so she pushes that to the back of her mind as she pushes her frizzy bangs back. A last look in the mirror only confirms how she already assumed she looked. Plain. Simple. Frumpy.
With a twist of the knob and her stomach, she goes down stairs. She knows what is waiting down there. Her parents. She knows that they have been waiting for this day, a separate timer basically set so that it would go off in perfect sync with Callie’s. If they are so excited, why don’t they just go? The kitchen is over filled with food, stuff that Callie would never eat ever, let alone on a ‘special’ day. Her mother is overly chipper and her father overly proud. The ride to school is overly silent as Callie puts her head phones in. She can still see her parent’s faces in the rearview mirror, them chatting with excitement. Everything feels too bright for her.
They pull up to school and with a quick hug from her family, she’s out.
A quick look at the wrist shows a quick realization. Eight hours. Well, eight hours and thirty-six minutes. At least I won’t be at this hell hole, she thinks, starting to walk into the building before she’s late to class.
At lunch, Callie sits at the same table she always sits at. It’s the one by the dumpster. She’s okay with it though, because no one bothers her and she can stay to herself. Four hours. Four hours exact.
The bell rings, letting the English class out to enjoy their “happy free time”. Callie hurries to scribble down in the feeling journal in front of her. “I guess I’m happy because I know there is really nothing else I am allowed to feel.” She snaps it shut and is about to put it away as another thought urges to be written. With dark markings, the jots “They want me to feel love after being so happy for so long. I need some down time.”
She knows what is going to be outside of school. It will be just like the morning.
Her parents. The car will be over filled with clothes and make-up that Callie would never use, let alone on a ‘special’ day. Her mother will be overly chipper and her father overly proud. The ride to the mall will be overly silent as Callie will put her head phones in. She will still be able to see her parent’s faces in the rearview mirror, them chatting with excitement. Everything will feel too bright for her.
So instead, she goes out the side door. With a push of the handle, she catches a glimpse of it. It says 30, but this time she isn’t sure of the exact number and she most defiantly doesn’t want to look at it again. So she takes off. She just starts walking. Nowhere in mind. Nowhere in thought. It’s just her feet pushing on the pavement, propelling her forward. And really, that’s the only thing she thinks is moving forward.
Before she knows it, she’s at the park. Maybe she wanted to end up here all along. What other stupid kid would be here with a timer that was about to run out? None. At least that is what she is hoping.
No doubt her parents are using the timer’s locations sensor to find where she is, if they hadn’t already. After all, this is the moment all parents have waited for. Generation after generation. Waiting on a countdown. She really doesn’t want her parents to be here when it happens so looking down at here wrist is a must. Seven minutes and two seconds. One second. Six minutes.
She scoops out her options. There is the couple who is walking the trail, clearly already matched. Then there is the mom pushing her baby on the swing, the child’s arm clearly imprinted with red numbers. But there is a soccer team kicking a ball around. Lovely, I’m gonna have some guys who is fit and good looking and he is gonna regret getting a shitty timer that matched my shitty timer and the whole fucking thing is gonna be shitty.
Four minutes.
Three minutes.
Two minutes.
Callie no longer had her eyes open. They were closed, her fist balled up next to her.
That’s when something bumped her foot. She opened one eye and looked down. A soccer ball lay at her feet. And more important was the cute blonde guy who was running over to get it. He wasn’t bad, it is just that he is not what Callie had been picturing.
Ten seconds.
As suddenly as the ball had hit her, she appeared from nowhere.
A small brunette swept up the ball and started to make her way to the male running, but as she got closer, she tripped. He raced to get closer, catching her inches from the ground. The red on their arm’s got softer as both timers hit zero.
Callie’s jaw dropped and she swung both arms up. There on her arm was the red number.
One second.
One second.
Callie rubbed the number but it didn’t dim. It didn’t flicker. It was stuck on one.
Maybe she should have been more disappointed than she was but this was the first time she felt… happy. She didn’t have to worry about pleasing someone else. Actually, she could worry about pleasing someone, the most important person.
Herself.