Abigail Reid, Power's Out

And, I have been back in that position of depressive episodes since then, but I've learned through experience how to overcome them little by little. One thing I learned about myself is when I go through these times I will stay awake as late as possible, trying to keep myself busy because I knew if I went to sleep, I would have to experience the same emotions and force myself through them the next day. The cycle I went through junior year kind of scarred me, so I'd try my best to avoid it by not sleeping at all. That lack of sleep would eat me up in the morning and I would be too sluggish to do anything for the day, so I'd lie around and do nothing until it was late, then it was time for me to make myself busy again. So, I now know that when I stay up late trying to occupy myself with any task in sight, I know a depressive episode is coming or I'm already in one. Sometimes these times are harder, other times it's easier. But the good side of it is that each time I overcome it is another time I didn't let it get the best of me.

ABIGAIL REID

The silence made her think of camping. All of the small ambient noises that wafted into her room reminded her of the thin walls of a tent. She reminisced over the distant crunching of dirt and twigs, the occasional guffaw from the people in the next campsite over, and the amalgamation of wildlife chit-chat. She thought, during those nights, that her ears were so keen as to pick up the miniscule pitter-patter from the ants outside of the tent.

Despite power-outages being a monthly occurrence for Helen’s apartment complex, her roommate, Wendy, never seemed to adjust to this fact. The power had only been out for a minute before Wendy barreled through Helen’s door, clutching her phone while its flashlight lit up the entrance. “Did the power go out?” she said while shining the flashlight in Helen’s eyes.

“Did it? I couldn’t tell.” Helen glanced at the box fan propped up in her window, emitting neither air nor white noise and smirked to herself.

“You’re so funny.” Wendy proceeded to whirl herself around, creating a strobe light effect from her flashlight, and left the room without closing the door.

“Close my door!” Helen called from her pathetic pose in bed. No answer. Just darkness. Helen sighed and hoisted herself up to close the door. Moments like these reminded Helen of how much she took things for granted—things like electricity, notably. She certainly wasn’t as dramatic as Wendy, but she did feel a pang of aggravation whenever she flicked on a light switch only to be greeted (taunted, more so) with more darkness.

Helen had trained herself to fall asleep to silence because of these recurring power-outages, but she still preferred the drone of her box fan. After massaging her face gently, Helen slumped herself into a supine position and pulled the covers over her head. From her open window, a bird warbled inconsistently. It would sing one verse in a long, sustained trill and then alternate into furious chirrups, each one as staccato as the last.

Helen had never heard a bird sing at night; she knew it was common, but she had never experienced it before. She knew Wendy would throw a fit if she had to endure this bird’s concerto. Helen chuckled softly as she imagined this scenario. She knew the bird was going to distract from any hope of her getting a full night’s sleep, so she reached for her phone. A notification showed that she had

received a text from Ben. Helen’s heart jumped as she gazed at the screen. She quickly put her phone screen-down on her mattress and pressed her hands to her face.

It was late June and Helen was visiting her local grocery store for some more milk and Cinnamon Toast Crunch—by Wendy’s demands. If Helen wasn’t so accommodating, she would’ve told Wendy to go herself after she got home from work, but she knew that she would rest on the couch for about five hours as soon as she stepped into their apartment, and never actually make it to the store. It was easier for Helen to take initiative and get the groceries. The crisp air emitting from the freezer section chilled Helen’s skin. She lightly rubbed her arms to ease her goosebumps. Helen continued to peruse the aisle languidly, each brightly-colored box zipping past her eyes, forming one big coagulated rainbow.

She didn’t know how it happened—she thought she was the only one in the aisle, but before Helen could brace herself, a sudden brute force knocked the Cinnamon Toast Crunch from her underarm. Catching her breath and tearing her gaze from the refrigerators, she noticed a man crouched down picking up a carton of almond milk from the linoleum flooring by her feet. “Oh my god,” she muttered, “I’m so sorry-I didn’t even see you.”

The man stood up, inspecting his milk, chuckling nervously, “Oh, don’t even worry about it. That was all on me. I wasn’t looking either.” He hoisted the milk up under his arm and fidgeted with his glasses perched atop the bridge of his nose, which were slightly askew. He looked as if he was in his early twenties and had floppy brown hair that naturally quiffed to the right side of his head, some of it drooping down to his eyebrow. His neck seemed to jut out forward, making it appear longer than usual. Helen couldn’t tell if he was aloof or simply had an oblivious air about him.

Helen awkwardly scooped up her box of cereal, “Hey, that almond milk is pretty durable.”

The man shot a glance under his arm, “What? Oh, yes. Exactly the reason I buy it.”

“Do you regularly drop almond milk? Is that, like, a thing for you?”

He laughed, “You’d be surprised how many snafus this stuff has caused me.”

“Snafu! Now that’s a word I rarely hear in regular conversations.”

“Oh, I try to slip it into as many conversations as possible—regular or not.” Helen sharply exhaled out of her nose, amused, and looked down at her feet while tucking some loose strands of hair behind her right ear.

She glanced back upwards after gaining some confidence, “Do you know if almond milk tastes good with Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

The man smirked slightly, “You know, I never got around to trying it, but I think the two would complement each other well.”

“Yeah...” Helen paused, fishing for words, “Almond milk is kinda sweet, right?”

“Most of the time. It depends on what kind you drink.”

“Ah, I see,” Helen found herself at a loss for words again, but she didn’t want this moment to end; she had come so far and never connected with a guy this attractive this long before. Without restraint, Helen asked the question, “Do you think I could get your number?” She held her breath. The man hesitated, his eyes darting to the side quickly and back onto Helen’s face.

After shaking his head as if trying to emerge from a trance, he finally said, “Uh, sure. Sorry—it’s been a while since I’ve done something like this.” He robotically reached for his phone in his back pocket with his free hand.

Helen’s heart was racing as she grabbed her phone as well, “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Ben,” he replied as they discreetly exchanged numbers.

Once numbers were given and stored, both gave each other one last glance before heading their separate ways. Helen returned to her car, her hands clammy and a bit shaky. She had done nothing so ambitious before, and she felt surges of adrenaline pumping through her body. She reflected back to every line of dialogue she spoke, dissecting everything down to her inflection. She recalled the last look they gave each other and his somewhat expressionless face, despite the weak smile and wave he gave right before he turned the opposite direction. Helen decided to not linger on this aspect as much, seeing that they had just met, and what first interaction isn’t awkward? Especially if it begins with slamming into each other at a grocery store? Helen couldn’t wait to return home and recount her experience to Wendy. She started her car and left the parking lot. Midway through her journey home, she realized she forgot to buy milk.

“Wendy?” Helen called as she shoved her way through the front door. She

slipped off her tennis shoes by tugging the heel with her toes, and swiped them to the left of the entrance, neatly resting against Wendy’s ratty Birkenstocks.

“Wendy?” Helen called again while straining for the light switch. It had grown quite dark when she returned home, and no lights were on. Helen heard movement from the couch and a soft mumble.

“Wendy,” Helen walked towards the couch and peered over it where she found a dark mass sprawled out on the cushions. “Wendy.” She said flatly. Helen reached her arm over the back of the couch to nudge her.

Wendy started with a loud snort and frantically flicked her head side to side, “Wha-who’s that? W-what’s going on?”

“I got Cinnamon Toast Crunch, as per your demands.” Helen tossed the box of cereal on Wendy’s lap, “I’m guessing the power went out again.”

Wendy sat up, rubbed her eyes and yawned, “Yup. I would’ve been mad, but I kinda became narcoleptic.”

“Long day at work?” Helen retrieved some candles from the kitchen cupboards and started lighting them.

“As always. Hey, thanks for the Crunch, by the way.”

“No problem. You’re gonna have to eat them dry for at least a day or two. I forgot the milk and I can’t make it back to the store until Wednesday.”

Wendy plopped three squares into her mouth “Oh, that’s okay. I can eat these things like chips.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Helen brought a lit candle over to where Wendy was sitting, her hand cupping the flame.

“How was your day?” Wendy said in-between crunches.

“You know, it was business as usual until...” Helen paused and stared at Wendy in excitement.

“... Until... what?”

“I met a guy,” Helen flexed her shoulders upwards, as if she was cringing.

“What? Helen? Are you serious? Oh my god!” Wendy shot up from her relaxed pose, still grasping the cereal box, her fingertips glistening with cinnamon and sugar.

“Yeah, we kinda ran into each other and hit it off in the frozen aisle, then we exchanged numbers—all that.”

“This is so exciting! And you just... carried the conversation?”

Helen nodded, “We’re going out. Tomorrow. He texted me right before I got home.”

“What’re you gonna do? Get food?”

“He suggested this coffee shop on Grizzly Street? It’s called, uh-” Helen looked at her phone, “Coaster.”

“I thought you hated coffee?” Wendy hoisted herself up from the couch and rested against the kitchen island where her phone was sitting.

“I mean, it’s not my favorite. But I bet they’ll have tea or something.”

“Hmm,” Wendy shoved five more cinnamon toast squares in her mouth before folding the cardboard flaps closed and placing the box inside the pantry, “Coffee or not, I’m still incredibly proud of you for getting out there.”

Helen smiled, “Hey, I’m not that much of a homebody.”

Wendy wiped her hands together, sending a cloud of sugar into the air, “You did go to the store today.”

“Exactly!” Helen let out a resounding laugh.

Wendy yawned again, “I know it’s only 8 P.M., but I think I’m gonna turn in. You better keep me updated on everything from this day forward.”

“Can’t keep any promises.” Helen winked at Wendy as she started blowing out candles, using one as her guide to lead her into her room. Once there, Helen followed her usual bedtime routine and slumped herself on her bed. She checked her phone. No new notifications. Sighing, Helen plugged her phone in and settled in for a long night of restless sleep.

Helen watched the sun slowly rise from her window. Her box fan softly hummed

from the windowsill. The power had turned itself back on at around 3:30 that morning and it startled her at first, but then comforted her. She did manage to catch at least an hour of sleep before the sun shined its eager rays onto her closed eyelids. The date with Ben that day raided her mind. She hadn’t been on a date since her second year of college, which was three years ago. Once the clock hit 3:50 P.M. (which felt like it took a week), Helen began leaving her apartment. Wendy, like a hyperactive child, clung to her side, incessantly shrouding her with words of affirmation. Helen managed to brush her off and entered her car and drove away.

Helen’s drive was smooth and greeted her with no traffic. Her music wasn’t helping her nerves, but she couldn’t withstand the potent car-silence. After pulling into the parking lot, Helen sent Ben a quick text saying that she was at Coaster and rested her head against her steering wheel. She checked the time on her dashboard. 4:15 P.M. She was five minutes early, which didn’t help the mounting pressure in her chest. She felt her palms perspiring and found herself wiping her hands on her shirt for the fourth time in a row. She checked the clock again. Still 4:15. She could’ve sworn that thirty minutes had passed. Helen sucked in a big gulp of air, held it in, and exhaled shakily.

Once the clock hit 4:20, Helen had already formed three new hangnails on her left thumb, index, and middle finger. She started biting her thumb feverishly until she tasted something metallic. She took her thumb out of her mouth and noticed blood seeping out from her hangnail into the linings of her cuticle. “Dang-it,” she muttered. She fumbled with the glove compartment until it dropped open and grabbed the last napkin that was shoved in the very back.

Helen began applying pressure to her thumb with the napkin and started biting her lip. The time was 4:25. The napkin was now in a crude tourniquet over the open wound as Helen used her right hand to check her phone. No new messages. He’s just five minutes late, she thought to herself. It’s not a big deal. Helen’s car was still running with the music on. She knew she ought to turn her car off to save on gas and battery life, but something about rolling her windows down and listening to the birds singing and the distant chatter of people vexed her. Helen found herself scrolling relentlessly on her phone. If someone asked her what she was looking at, she wouldn’t know the answer. She was powering through Instagram as if her life depended on it. Pictures of friends on her home page started mutating themselves into pictures of horrendous blobs, posing smartly. She found herself pausing at times and allowing her vision to blur so everything became a big blob. Helen wouldn’t even know this was happening until she was trying to escape her clouded vision. This phenomenon came naturally to her. She would discover herself completely separated from reality and attempt to

She thought she was merely “staring off into space,” but she always returned hollow. She started subconsciously categorizing these moments as episodes, of sorts, and would brush them off after they would occur. Helen peered at the dashboard. 4:30. Time seemed to quicken. She wasn’t sure why that was—it felt quite slow ten minutes ago. Helen checked her phone again, and still, nothing.

She knew that she should probably text Ben and ask him where he was, but she didn’t want to seem too inquisitive. He probably got gas—that’s why he’s a bit late. Helen decided that she needed to turn her car off if Ben were to take any longer. Once her windows were rolled down, she turned her key and took it out of the ignition. The hum and soft vibrations from the engine ceased, and Helen was left with the cool afternoon breeze from outside. Biting her lip, she checked her phone again. Still nothing.

Helen rested her elbow on the middle console separating the driver and passenger seat, and rhythmically drummed her fingers on the worn leather. It was 4:35. She thought at 4:40 she would text Ben and ask him where he was. She noticed a dull ache setting in the front of her skull and started kneading it with her left hand.

Her makeshift tourniquet had fallen off sometime during her wait, unbeknownst to her, and blood started to pool along the crevices of her thumb again. She felt a warm liquid resting below her left eye once she removed her hand from the bridge of her nose. She wiped it with that same hand and immediately noticed the liquid’s red hue. “Jeez-wha-?” she groaned as she scanned the floor of her car for the old napkin, but found no luck. She opened the glove compartment again, but to her dismay realized that her lost tourniquet was the last napkin.

Realizing that Ben could be there any second while she still had blood on her face, Helen frantically checked the carpet, cupholders, any open space the napkin could have fallen into. She slid her seat all the way back so she could have ample room to search. She lifted up the carpet on her side and ran her fingers through the fuzzy fabric underneath. All she felt was loose crumbs. She adjusted her seat back to normal and opened the console next to her. A plastic straw and a few pens. Helen groaned louder and inspected the inside of her sunglasses holder. Just her sunglasses. She slid her seat back again. Lifted the carpet. Still loose crumbs. She thought she should check her glove compartment again. Reaching from her slid-back position, she strained to open the compartment. Just the owner’s manual and her registration. She tapped the sunglasses holder. Sunglasses, still. She lifted the carpet from the passenger’s side. A small spider