#laughtracktask

His first instinct is to email back and ask to reschedule, tell them that he’s actually planning on being out of town for most of next week, that it’s actually the only vacation time he ever takes off every year, so really, is there no way they could make another date work?

But he’s worked at this company for almost three years now, and he knows that July is usually the latest they start projects to be released by next year - August is all-but pushing it. He also knows that if he asks for too many impossible demands as a no-name animator that they’ll simply push him aside in favor of someone else. At a creator-driven video game company, there’s no shortage of people who are certain that their idea is going to be the next breakout star, and certainly no shortage of clear schedules that can slide right into Raph’s spot.

So that leaves him back at the calendar. August 17th stares at him - judging, accusing.

He’s never been far from home on the anniversary of Jack’s death. His parents, being the let’s-not-talk-about-that power couple that they are, always act as though he’s back in California to celebrate his birthday, even though he usually leaves before the 22nd itself. There is a routine to it: he shows up, Mom and Dad always act bashful (“Raphael darling, it’s so nice to see you, but we don’t need to celebrate every birthday together”), he visits Jack’s grave, digs out any wilted flowers on it and plants new ones, then goes back to his parents’ home and waits. Waits for them to mention Jack, to express loss, to at least ask where Raph was for the last two hours and why there’s still fucking soil under his fingernails.

He waits, and for the last fourteen years, it’s been in vain. Instead, they talk about the weather or about what Raph wants for his birthday or about his latest lover, anything to relieve them of the burden of grieving for their dead son. Cowards.

And so if Raphael doesn’t go, that leaves no one to remember Jack, to stand over his grave and do that rambling thing Raph does so well even if he doesn’t really think anyone’s listening. He thinks of those wilted flowers on Jack’s grave, but in this year without Raph they’ve multiplied, turned into weeds until the entire grave is encompassed, swallowing all of it as the words ‘Jackson Brooks' all-but disappear —

He throws the calendar off of his desk, taking a loud, shuddering breath. It hits the African violet on the floor, not shattering the pot it’s in but tipping the plant over, pouring out some of the soil. “Oh no. I’m sorry, Diana,” he coos to the plant, picking it up and piling the dirt back in. He leaves the calendar where it is on the ground.

Instead, he heads over to his shared bedroom, bending down to the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet and rummaging to the very bottom of it, fishing out an ancient flip phone with far too many dents and scratches all over it. He powers it on, goes to the voice memos, and hits play on the recording of a voicemail for a number that’s no longer in service.

“Hello?” There’s a pause. “Ha, gotcha. You’ve reached Jack Brooks. If this is Raphael, find your own ride home. If this is anyone else, leave a message after the tone, and I’ll call back once I figure out how to work this blasted contraption.” Raph smiles, amused, despite knowing the message by heart. He nestles on the bed, pressing the button to have the audio play again, repeating it again and again and again, his eyes drooping slightly in the process.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep cradling the flip phone until he wakes up, the light outside much darker and the sound of a newly-home Eddie speaking on the phone with someone in the living room. He glances at the outdated phone in his hand, sighing deeply before putting it back in the bottom drawer.

He grabs his modern-day phone from his pocket and dials a familiar number, then holds it to his ear. “Hey Mom...  No, no, I’m fine, just calling about next week... Turns out I won’t be able to make it... Yeah, I agree, but I’ve got a pretty big meeting that I just can’t afford to change... No, not really, I’ll tell you how it goes afterwards... Love you too, thanks for understanding.” He hangs up and flops back on the bed, running an exhausted hand across his face.

She read and reread the email for what feels like the hundredth time but there it was, ‘you have been chosen for this year’s Subscribed Convention as a panelist’. In her 6 years of uploading videos on Youtube, she never thought she’d receive an email like this. It was a great opportunity, there’s no denying that. But was it bigger than her callback? What evil did she do that fate dealt her such a nasty hand? Sighing, she popped her head from her blanket only to put a pillow over her face and scream into it. Hopefully that didn’t disturb her roommates - not that she knew if they were home. She hasn’t come out of her room since she woke up. 

Leaning against the wall, she fished for a pack of honey butter chips and opened the bag, The salty potato chips only lifted her mood by a fraction. She didn’t want to tell anyone about this, afraid that they pick and choose a side - or worse, let her decide what she wanted. She thought back to the time she did her first commercial when she was nine years old. It was for a locally made yogurt drink and her mom drove an hour to Montpelier just to have her audition. Her mom was always driving her to auditions whether it was in Vermont, New Hampshire, or whatever neighboring state that had an opening. She missed their conversations about how one day she’d make it big. “Well mom,” she said to the air around her, “I’m definitely doing that.” 

She let out a sardonic chuckle and grabbed for her phone. Maybe her mom could point her in the right direction but that would be after she yelled at her daughter for not calling in well over a week. She dialed her mom’s number and hit call. Please don’t let it go to voicemail, please please don’t let it go to voi- “You have reached Dahlia Hoang-Thompson’s phone. I’m out for business but you can still leave a message. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Lucy was trying to choke back her tears as she pressed on her phone screen. “Mẹ, it’s Lucy, hey.” She couldn’t even form the words but she tried her best anyway. “I’m lost, mẹ, I have these two big opportunities and I don’t know what to do.” 

Sighing for the nth time, Lucy weighed in her options. If she attended the convention, that could boost her following and her channel to new heights. Plus, the topic was very relevant to her as it was one of the reasons why she so badly wanted to make it in the entertainment industry. On the other hand, she felt really good about the callback. She couldn’t explain it but it just felt right. This has been ‘the dream’ since her eighteen year old self set foot in New York City. It could be her big break and she didn’t know how many more years of hustling it would take to get another callback. She popped another handful of chips in her mouth and realized she was still on the phone. “Mẹ,” she groaned out, “I wish you and dad were here. I just need a hug and some of your fried rice.” She thought back on a proverb her mom would say - read as: yell - at her when she would procrastinate on doing her homework or rehearsing her lines. Việc hôm nay chớ để ngày mai Make hay while the sun shines. “Alright, mẹ. I gotta go, I need to send an important email. I miss you and dad, love you both. Hopefully I can go home next month.” 

She disconnected her phone and opened her phone and opened her laptop. The sun was definitely shining bright on Lucy after years of it being overcast. Sometimes it’s just better to take the leap. It’s definitely high time to take some risks. “I can do this. Everything is gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay.” Sucking in a deep breath, she steeled her resolve and began to type. 

Dear Subscribed Team,  Warm Greetings!  Thank you so much for this opportunity! I truly am honored. However, I regret to inform you that I will be unable to be a panelist in this year’s convention because  ...