Today Deirdre is alone, knees wobbling, and crying because, as much as she wants to believe in better days, her job prevents her from doing so. Deirdre works at Make-A-Moment, where she’s charging Deckers for thrills and fake experiences, fake memories. She doesn’t understand why these Deckers aren’t home with loved ones, particularly those two teen boys today, who, as they were leaving, talked about how underwhelming the virtual reality experience was. It’s wasted time.
The boys from earlier reminded her of a short story she’d finished working on this morning, something for her eyes only that has kept her distracted in the quiet times at work. Her story is set in an alternate world where Death-Cast has another branch called Life-Cast, and this extension informs Deckers of when they will be reincarnated so their families and friends will know how to find them in their next life. It’s centered around fifteen-year-old twin sisters, Angel and Skylar, who are devastated to learn one twin is about to die and immediately seek out Life-Cast’s services to find out when Skylar will be reincarnated. Angel is upset because she won’t be reunited with her sister for another seven years, when Skylar will be reincarnated as the son of some family in Australia. Skylar dies saving her sister’s life, and it ends with a devastated Angel depositing a hundred-dollar bill into an old piggy bank to start funding her way to Australia in seven years to welcome her sister back into the world—albeit as an infant boy.
Deirdre thought she would continue that story, but scratch that now. Life-Cast doesn’t exist, and she’s not waiting around for Death-Cast to let her know when her time is up. This is a world of violence and fear and children dying without having lived and she wants no part of it.
It will be so easy to jump. . . .
She stands on one foot, her entire body shaking, surely about to tumble forward any moment now. She once scaled a rooftop at work, in their virtual parkour station, but that was an illusion.
Death is prophesied in Deirdre’s name, that of a heroine in Irish mythology who took her own life.
Deirdre looks down, ready to fly, when two boys on a bike turn the corner—they resemble the boys from earlier.
Deirdre reaches deep within herself, far past the place where lies and hopelessness come easily, and even beneath the very honest truth where she’s okay with the impacting relief that comes with flying off this roof. She sees two boys living and this makes her feel less dead inside.
Intent may not be enough to cause her to actually die, she knows this from the countless other mornings when she’s woken up to ugliness, but when faced with the chance to prove Death-Cast wrong, Deirdre makes the right decision and lives.
MATEO
1:52 p.m.
This bike isn’t the worst thing.
I squeeze Rufus’s shoulder when he makes a sharp left, dodging some delivery guys who are staring up into the sky instead of moving a couch into a building, and we continue sailing down the street.
I felt really wobbly when he first got going, but as he picks up a good enough speed to throw a breeze our way, I appreciate the control I’m entrusting to him.
It’s freeing.
I’m not expecting to go any faster than we are, but it’s more exciting than the Make-A-Moment skydiving. Yeah, riding a bike is more thrilling than quote-unquote jumping out of a plane.
If I weren’t such a coward, or a Decker, I would lean against Rufus, shifting my weight against him. I’d put my arms out and close my eyes, but it’s too risky, so I keep holding him, which works for me, too. But when we reach our destination I’m going to do something small and brave.
RUFUS
2:12 p.m.
I slow down as we turn in to Althea Park. Mateo’s hands slip off my shoulders and my bike is immediately lighter. I brake. I turn to see if he’s broken his face or busted his head open despite the helmet, but he’s jogging toward me and a smile cracks on his face; he’s all good. “Did you jump off?”
“I did!” Mateo takes off the helmet.
“You didn’t want me riding the bike, and now you’re going ahead and throwing yourself off one?”
“I was in the moment.”
I wanna take full credit, but he’s had this in him all along, always wanting to do something exciting, just being too scared to go out and do it.
“You feeling better?” Mateo asks.
“A little,” I admit. I get off the bike. I limp toward the deserted playground as some college-age-looking dudes play handball in a nearby court, splashing in the puddles as they chase after the ball whenever someone misses. My basketball shorts are damp and dirty from the cemetery, same for Mateo’s jeans, so the wet bench doesn’t bother us when we sit. “I hate that we were there for that.”