Before the Clock Struck Twelve
By Mara S.
Tink tink tink.
A light floated in the darkness.
“Psst. Vortex.” Jimmy rapped his knuckle on the window. “Open up. It’s me.”
His hovershoes emitted a faint humming. Down below him, water lapped against the corners of the pool. On the lawn, sprinklers whizzed and spurted; moths turned drunken corkscrews, and plump-bodied crickets recited a eulogy for August. The air was sticky-hot.
Jimmy tapped his toe on nothing while he checked his watch. After a pause, he heard footsteps. The latch unlocked, and the window popped open half an inch.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
He jammed his fingers under the gap and lifted. The tracks were prone to sticking, so halfway through, he wedged his shoulder underneath. His hovershoes droned louder as the internal gadgetry provided extra thrust. Quietly, the pane slid to its apex. He floated through the opening, weightless and otherworldly, like a visitant suspended in a tractor beam. His soles deactivated, and he landed softly on the floor.
His ethereal grace ended there. Cindy’s bedroom was pitch black, and filled with obstacles. As soon as he touched down, Jimmy lost his balance.
“Ack!” he blurted, pitching forward.
A plushie squeaked in protest as his foot rolled over it. He stumbled and thumped, nearly colliding with a bureau. Irritation resounded in his voice.
“Do you live in a cave?” he groused. “Turn on your lava lamp, before I break my neck.”
“Shh,” she chided. “I’m not the reason you're a klutz. Stop letting your shoebot tie your laces for you.”
The lava lamp flicked on. It cast its aura on the wall, transforming pastel pink into a deep magenta. Outside its halo, hazy shapes hinted at familiar details: posters autographed by pop-stars. A display case full of trophies. A karate uniform, draped over a chair. His mind catalogued them all.
Cindy was standing by the bed, clad in green shorts and an old debate club t-shirt. Her cheeks were pink; the lava lamp gave the false impression of a blush. She crossed her arms as he approached – not because he was unwelcome, but because he’d recently undergone a growth spurt, and she had not yet made her peace with it. When they were eye to eye, he flashed a grin at her. The fuchsia ambience intensified, and for a second, they were underwater, submerged amidst the rosy glow of hydrothermal vents.
“Hey,” he said.
“Shh,” she hissed. “Keep it down. Mom will kill us both if she catches you in here.”
He lowered his volume. “I know. That’s why we’re going out.”
“Out where?”
“There.” He nodded toward the window. “It’s the last night to watch the Perseids.”
She considered the proposition briefly. “Okay,” she muttered. “Let me grab a sweater.”
“A sweater? It’s a million degrees outside.”
“It's to sit on, genius. The roof tiles are scratchy.”
“Ah.”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets while she tip-toed over to the closet. Plastic clacked as she picked her way through the line of coat-hangers.
“Do your parents know you’re up?” she asked.
“Dad does. He’s watching the 24-hour ‘Duckumentary’ marathon on Creature Planet.”
“Ah. So this isn’t a casual visit – it’s an evacuation.”
She selected a peach cardigan, long since outgrown, and knotted it around her waist. He waited by the exit.
“C’mon,” he motioned.
“Just a sec.”
She tied her hair up in a scrunchie, and when she was ready, he bent and scooped her up. His hovershoes reactivated, and they floated sideways, moving with a choreographed precision borne of many mishaps. He eased free of the window frame, shored up his grip, and drifted skyward. Darkness merged their silhouettes, and from a distance, they gave the impression of a cloud in transit across the lunar sphere. Not even his glowing soles could spoil the illusion.
“There,” she pointed.
They alighted on a gently-sloping section of the roof. He set her down; she made the transition look so effortless. Jimmy kicked a twig aside while she made a nest out of her cardigan. With the surface thus prepared, they settled next to one another, knees touching. He yawned while she perused the atmosphere. The witching hour had trotted out its finest cape, but he remained unmoved – he’d been watching the Perseids all week. She was much more interesting.
He inspected an errant lock of Cindy’s hair. He tilted it, and the moonlight added silver, transmuting golden strands into a pale electrum.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he marveled.
“Am I more beautiful than meteors?” she asked. She blinked her eyelids daintily.
“Meteors. And comets. And asteroids.”
She grinned at him. “You’re just saying that so I’ll put out.”
“I mean...is it working?”
“On me?” she mugged. “Your nemesis? Not in a million years.”
With a smug expression, Cindy reclined against the shingles and pulled him down on top of her. His pulse started racing. She wrapped her arms around him, and he drank in her scent: jasmine, with just a hint of dry eraser. Her lips were soft and warm, as was her hair. He kissed her deeply, running his hands up and down her sides. He loved how sleek and muscular she was.
“You’re like an otter,” he told her. “Except without the fur.”
“What in the heck is that supposed to mean?” she snorted.
“I don’t know. You’re so sexy, you’ve got me thinking of taxonomy.”
He started nibbling on her neck, and she tensed and smacked his shoulder.
“Stop that,” she scolded. “You’ll leave a mark.”
“That’s rich, coming from the girl who turned into a vampire.”
“That was your fault!”
“Ehhh. It was more Carl’s fault than mine.”
“You are such a shit,” she said.
He smiled at her, then kissed her again. He wanted more – he always wanted more – but he sensed she wasn’t in the mood, so his overtures stopped there. He was content to lop on her instead. He rested his head against her chest, listening to the rhythm of her breathing.
“Mmm,” she mumbled drowsily, “this is nice. Your weight. It keeps me from falling upward.”
“Falling upward?”
“Yeah. Whenever I look up at the stars, I start to feel this…pull. Like I’m going to float off into space, and be lost to nothingness.”
“Alien abduction style?”
“No. More like…drowning in an ocean. An abyss.” Cindy was quiet for a beat. “I wonder what it’s like to not exist,” she murmured.
Frowning, Jimmy raised his head. She was gazing off into the distance, with a slack expression on her face. A dull foreboding churned within him. Lately, he felt like he was losing her. Like she intended to abscond; to slip out of his arms, and leave him holding air, and memories.
“Cindy?” he prompted, uncertain.
Somewhere close, a raccoon chittered, and a breath of wind stirred through the foliage. The moment slipped away. Her eyes flicked toward him, sharp as cut obsidian. She smirked.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” she asked.
Relief surged through him, and adrenaline followed on its heels. Jimmy started getting feisty. He scooted upward so he could bump noses with her.
“Bench press me,” he said.
“What? No! I’m not gonna bench press you!”
“Come ooooon,” he begged. “It’s so funny when you do.”
“Neutron, I’m too tired. It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll bite your neck if you don’t do it,” he threatened.
Cindy pursed her lips, trying not to smile, and they squared off. A second later, he went in for the kill. The interaction devolved into a scuffle.
“Get off of me, you freak!” she laughed, as he tried to bite her shoulder.
Legs kicked, and arms flailed. Eventually, the fight ended in a draw. He sprawled onto his back, and she sat up.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
Jimmy pulled out his Hypercube. The device was a far cry from its earliest iterations; these days, it was small enough to fit inside his pocket. Sitting up, he waved his hand over the access port, and two bags of Treato Lay’s popped into existence. It was their standard fare: barbecue for him, salt and vinegar for her. He tossed her the bag, and she caught it one-handed.
“Grassy-ass,” she drawled, channeling their high school principal.
Jimmy grinned. Three years in, and the imitations still hadn’t lost their charm. Mr. Carlisle was a crusty old Republican who wore alligator cowboy boots around the office; mocking his linguistic foibles was practically a rite of passage. In Sheen’s own words, “every time you quote ‘the ’lisle’, a little luchadora gets her wings.” He was the reigning champ, of course, but even Carl did it on occasion.
Cindy tore open the plastic and shoved a handful of greasy chips into her mouth. “Where’s Goddard?” she crunched.
“Low Earth orbit. He’s helping NASA with their light pollution survey.”
She licked her fingers. “You’re letting your dog do freelancing?”
“Well, technically, I’m helping NASA with their light pollution survey. I just…neglected to mention that Goddard is equipped with full operational autonomy.”
“You ditched,” she said.
“I ditched. I’d rather be with you.”
Cindy looked down at her lap. She could never look at him when he was being sweet.
“Dad finished moving out today,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The silence stretched. She hugged her knees, and he scratched a bug bite on his arm.
“It isn’t fair,” she complained. “He should’ve been the one to get the house. Then I could’ve stayed with him instead of Mom.”
“You could still live with him, you know. In the city.”
She exhaled her frustration. “I can’t move out. My whole life is here. School, friends.” She nodded towards him. “My catering service.”
He popped a chip into his mouth.
“I don’t know,” she continued. “Sometimes I wonder if any relationship can last. It feels like marriages are doomed before they even start.”
Jimmy found her cynicism grating. “Of course they can last,” he argued. “Can you picture my parents getting a divorce?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Your parents don’t count. Your dad’s barely a person. He’s more like…I don’t know, a sapient fever dream.”
“Well that’s just rude,” he said.
She gave him a look. “He spoke to me in duck language last week.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “That one’s actually on me.” Embarrassed, Jimmy hunched a little. “Do you remember the Gill-Gab 9000?”
“The thing that lets you talk to fish? I thought you incinerated that after Carl started writing romantic poetry for Swimmy.”
“Oh, no, I blow-torched that. But I never scrapped the underlying programming. This year, for Father’s Day, I dusted off the code, and I built him an earpiece that lets him talk to birds.”
“Oh no,” she said.
“Yeah. It went about as well as you’d imagine. He ignored my instructions and wore it in the shower, and now, it malfunctions constantly. He’s always quacking and hooting and honking…it’s a nightmare. His boss threatened to demote him.”
“Maybe it’s time he looked elsewhere for employment. Like the Retroville zoo, for instance – he could be a keeper, or he could be a part of the exhibit.”
“Don’t start,” he admonished.
She leaned her head against him. “You’d look pretty good in an exhibit,” she said.
“Only if you’re there, and only if it’s a petting zoo.”
She snuggled closer, and Jimmy kissed her temple. He put his arm around her. A peaceful calm descended, and they turned their attention to the empyrean. Now and then, meteors streaked by, like stray raindrops after a summer storm. Down on earth, a street lamp flickered. Rows of sleepy, modest houses tossed and turned beneath a heated blanket. Stories lingered in their shadows; joy, and absurdity. Wrath, and sorrow.
Cindy searched those shadows with an impassive air. Jimmy gazed at the horizon – at the place where the cosmos tapered off. A world of incandescent cities had spawned a sickly, brownish ombré that robbed mankind of its ancestral connection to the stars. Someday, he was going to fix it. He was going to fix a lot of things.
“This all goes away, you know. When we graduate.” She gestured at the neighborhood.
“Vortex, I have a teleporter. We’ll see each other all the time. Besides, senior year hasn’t even started yet.”
“You know as well as I do that things aren’t going to stay the same.”
He took her hand. “Cindy. We’ll worry about it when it happens.”
She stared down at their fingers. After a pause, she tilted his wrist, and checked the readout on his watch.
“It’s late,” she sighed.
“Do you have to go?”
“I can stay a couple minutes more. Let’s wait until the clock strikes twelve.”
He squeezed her hand. “Okay. Just don’t turn into a frog.”
“You’ve got your fairy tales mixed up,” she groused, with a hint of endearing petulance.
“Isn’t that the point of fairy tales? There’s always room for new renditions.”
The heavens twinkled. Above them, a falling star drew a ribbon in the sky. Here, then gone. It would be many years before they watched the Perseids again. Life, like the seasons, had to circle round.
