Holding Her
By Alan Tyson

There are two kinds of people in this world. There are Lookers and there are Seers. Unlike so many there are two kinds of people phrases, it seems like one could be both at the same time. Brian knows differently.
A Seer would notice that the trees that sped by the large green bus where losing their leaves, preparing for winter in southern Montana. A Looker would notice that the trees looked dead. Brian is a Seer. He knows immediately why the trees have taken a grey tint to themselves, and why the branches are empty. What he doesn't understand is why all those trees look like they would like to reach out and grab him, for the sheer joy of seeing (all trees are Seers) his frightened face and hearing him scream in surprise (because not all trees are Grabbers). Thankfully, he is on a bus, going 70 miles an hour down the interstate, surrounded completely on his left by other people.
Ha-ha, try and grab me now, fucking pines he thinks, knowing that, of course, the trees can't hear him, and that the trees in question are probably not pine trees at all. Maple, perhaps. Jessie would know. She has always been into nature and stuff like that.
He feels the bus turn to the right, and by the way the bus is slowing down (maybe now they will get me, if they uproot and run fast enough) and the conversation around him has picked up a little, Brian guesses that they are turning off onto an exit. No more interstate, thank god. It sucks having someone you didn't know drive you anywhere, especially in an oversized vehicle going insanely fast surrounded by other birds going south for the winter. That's why he is taking the bus, though. He trusts himself even less.
The next place they will come to is another bus station, in some rinky- dink suburb in Montana, where they will pick up more passengers and let off some current ones. Hopefully two of them will be the guys in the back with a passion for the urban cowboy look and Texas accents so fake they sound Californian. Death-metal has a place in music, but death-country has, as Jessie would put it, serious issues. He turns his German up a little as a preemptive strike as they remark that there's a "good one" coming up on their portable boom-boxes.
Brian just wants to get out of here. Not the bus, not Montana, not really. Geographically, Iowa is far, far behind him, and he's already gotten out of there. But he doesn't think like that. He's not going to be out of there until he steps off this bus, and feels rain on his shoulders and actually has a reason to wear his trenchcoat.
It better rain today. Kind of a stupid thing, to pray for rain in Seattle (probably eliciting a celestial 'Duh!" from God if and when He received the prayer) but assurances had to be made for these things. If not, he wouldn't really be in Seattle. He'd just be in a city, and he'd just be going to an apartment to sleep, and maybe bring a girl back too. Probably not, though. This trip has been expensive, and hasn't put him in any mood to bring anyone home for anything, much less this mood, this person, and this thing. It better rain today.
A few more minutes of driving (and seeing), Brian feels the bus come to a stop. His view of trees (these ones a little happier looking) and grass and Montana people (Montanans? Montanians? Montananites?) is obstructed by an ugly gray-over-red brick wall that separates the bus station from the rest of the world. He hears people getting off (oh, halle- fucking-lujah, the kowboyz are leaving) and sighs in relief. For a little while, he'll have the bus mostly to himself. Most of the people have Greensburg, Montana on their bus tickets, although why so many people would want to come (home to) this little shit-stain on a AAA map is unfathomable to Brian. Still, he's not complaining.
He closes his eyes, hoping to get a little sleep in before his luck runs out and he gets a seat partner.
Seers, for whatever reason, dream more often. Still, that isn't really true. Everyone dreams, whenever and always when they sleep, but Seers remember their dreams better afterwards, having done more than just glanced at them. This is what Brian dreams about:

Jessie twirled her hair around her pinky finger, the way she always did

And always had.

when she thought. She was pretty, even at ten, and it was easy to see she would be beautiful just a quick walk down the road. Her eyes where squinted, and if someone looked at her, it would look like she was trying to focus on a spot on her too-big (but unbearably cute) glasses. Brian knew differently, though.
"I don't know," she said, and looked back up at him. "I think I want to be a writer, like Francesca Lia Block, or Andrea what's-her-name."
Brian didn't have a clue what Andrea's last name was, and he had never read Francesca Lia Block, but those last few words sent something like a butterfly flitting about his stomach. A writer! I mean, not a poet, or an editor, an honest-to-badness writer! Brian had recently discovered he had a thing for writers. This he had learned about a minute before he discovered he had a thing for Jessie Hopper.
"What do you want to be, since you asked me?" Brian's butterfly turned into a wasp.
"Well, um, I guess I want to be a writer too." Wow, that was lame. Maybe I should have lied and said I wanted to be a plumber's apprentice. At least I wouldn't be copy-catting!
Jessie didn't look so much like she thought it was lame, but she didn't look satisfied. "Hey, that's mine! Okay, we'll both be writers, but we have to write different things. What are you going to write about? Who do you want to write like?"
"Well, I don't wanna write like anyone. I want to write my own stuff."
"I know, but, like, okay, who's your favorite author?"

That has to have been the hardest question anyone has ever asked him, and it is still his favorite.

Brian put his slightly dimpled ten-year-old chin on his hands, and "hmm"ed. "Well, I really like Stephen King, and I like to read comics." In all honesty, he had to add that last on, but he fully expected this girl sitting across from him on the park bench to turn her nose up at the mention of the word "comic". Brian was not jaded or cautious enough yet to instead call them "graphic novels" around girls so as to avoid that little social hiccup.
Indeed, Jessie sniffed a little at the word, but went on, saying "Okay, I can write all the happy stories about people who live together but aren't married, and you can write stories about clowns that kill people. That seems fair."
Brian smiled at that. Even though he had never read It, and was well aware that Stephen King wrote books that had a lot more to do with clowns killing people, he was plenty happy with this arrangement. "Okay. When are you going to start writing?"
"Around six o'clock, I think. I'll write about my dog, and how he doesn't do anything but sleep and go outside all the time to chase rabbits, but how I love him anyway."
Brian's eyes widened. He had expected to hear "in a few years," or "when I'm older," not a specific time, much less today.
"Hey, you like to read comic books, right?" She said.
Brian sighed inwardly. At least she knew what he'd meant, and didn't think he scoured the paper every day for the funnies. "Yeah, I like Batman and Superman best, though."
Jessie didn't seem to care if he considered X-Men on par with Van Gogh. "Can you draw?" She asked instantly after the "ough" was out of his mouth.
"Well, kind of. Why?"
"Maybe you could illustrate my book! I mean not like a comic with bubbles for sentences and stuff, but an actual illustration, right on the page!"
"How come you need an illustrator?" Brian regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but as long as they were, he would have liked an answer back.
"Well, my granny can't read little tiny letters, so I like to draw big pictures in my books so she can understand them. She's in the hospital, so I give her books to read while she gets better."
"Why is she in the hospital?"
"I don't know. I asked my mom, but whenever I do she just mentions that crab on the zodiac, and starts crying and hugs me. It's really weird."
He didn't have a clue what Jessie meant about her grandmother being in the hospital because of a celestial crab, so he just smiled and nodded

Something he has done a lot of in the past decade.

and said "Well, I hope she gets better soon."
"Yeah, so do I. But my drawings suck, so, maybe you could draw them! It's okay if you have to copy from your comic books."
Anyone else would have taken that as an insult, but Brian O'Hare, young and in love, took it as an opportunity to show off his artistic skills to the prettiest girl in the 6th grade.
It wasn't the first job he would do for her, and it wasn't the last time he would end up at her house for hours at a time.

A touch on his shoulder brings Brian from the memory (which is all it has been, it's just been so long ago he thinks it was a dream), and he finds himself looking into a pair of Washington rain cloud eyes. As the light adjusts, he becomes aware that there is an entire sky attached to those clouds. One framed with black hair and dusted with the darkest freckles Brian has ever seen on a girl. "Hi," the lipstick-free sunset says, and Brian nods in return, keeping his attraction in check.
The girl (even though she looks about his age, Brian has always liked the word girl better than woman) sits down next to him, the only thing in her hands a bottle of Evian and a black knitted purse. She turns back to him, apparently not caring that his eyes have returned to the window, and says, "I'm Tabby. What's your name?"
Brian raises an eyebrow, and resists the urge to turn around and face her. "Not important."
"Nice to meet you, Notting Portent."
Brian groans, but smiles to himself. Clever. Maybe this girl is worth talking to. We'll wait till later to decide.
He watches from the reflection as Tabby pulls a paperback book out of her purse, and starts reading. The only part he can see is the back page with a picture of the author (whom Brian doesn't recognize) and a backdrop of a forested area. It's not him, and it doesn't look like someone who would write the kind of book

The kind about clowns that kill people.

Brian either writes or reads. He is curious, but he has to continue the façade for just a few more minutes more at least. If she ever talks to him again, that will either increase or decrease that time depending on the subject she brings up.
Brian has a book of his own in the lap of his way-too-tight black dress pants, one of His Books, just put in paperback, but he's not re- reading it. He's not going to look at (see) it any time soon, he thinks.
"Is it ego, hubris, or genuine curiosity that makes a writer read his own book?" Tabby asks him, as he notices her looking down at the book.
"You recognize me?"
"I thought you'd be taller, but yes, I recognize you, Brian O'Hare."
"You didn't say anything when you sat down."
"You were expecting 'oh my god, you're the author of Silent Night! Can I have you're autograph!'"
The sandbag wall of 'I-don't-give-a-fuck' shatters, and Brian cracks a smile, thin though it is. "You do that pretty well."
"I get to hear it enough when they come to talk to my boyfriend." She holds up her own book, and taps the picture of the author with one jaggedly- bitten nail. "Aaron Shield. Ever heard of him?"
Brian shakes his head. "I'm sorry, no I haven't. What does he write

"Who do you want to write like?"

about?"
"Oh, mysteries novels and romance. Whodunits and whofuckhers I call them."
Brian laughs, and cocks his head. "I take it you don't like what he writes?"
"Not really. It's basically just veiled erotica, although he gives them a plot so they get published mainstream. Bunch of depressed housewives and pre-pubescent girls come to worship him almost daily. Son of a bitch takes it, too. He loves it."
"I take you're not too fond of your boyfriend either?"
Tabby rolls her eyes. "You know those stories you hear about princesses that are arranged for marriage with complete slobs to solve some ancient feud between two countries?"
Brian isn't an expert on them, but he nods anyway. "So what two nations are you treatying?"
"Is that even a word?"
"It is now." Brian stops, and looks away for a second. They always used to do that. He has held them back all day, and by God he's going to hold them back a little longer. Wouldn't want this new acquaintance to give up on him because he had emotional issues.
"Anyway, I'm not doing that, but I was set up, in both uses of the term. It was a blind date, the poor bastard latched on like a remora, and my girlfriend Amy somehow convinced me that he was sincere and, besides, he was an American Express card waiting to happen. So now I'm stuck with him until he gets tired of me."
"Why don't you tell him you don't like him?"
"Because Amy was right. He is sincere, and he does like me. I'm too soft to tell him the door don't swing both fucking ways. Hey, you okay?"
Brian is breathing hard, and rubbing an eye. "Yeah. You've got a mouth on you. Brings back memories."
"Ah. Similar experience?"
"Yeah, kind of." It's a lie, it had nothing to do with his romantic life, but she leaves it alone for now. "But I know how that goes. When it isn't mutual."
"Yeah, I can tell you would. From your writing."
"You read my stuff?"
"How else would I know about 'Silent Night'? Yeah, I've read them since 'October Moon' came out in paperback. Honestly, your stuff is much better than Aaron's."
Brian blushes. This girl is giving him a compliment. He is starting to feel good. Damn it. Why couldn't this wait? It ruins the mood.
"It's more real, and your sex scenes are much better than his. But I'm sure you get that all the time."
"Actually, you're the hundredth to comment on them, only the first to comment positively."
"Critics?"
"Critics"
Tabby leans back in her seat, and taps the back of her seat. "I think we're starting up. Everyone else is already on."
"Well, that's good. Where are you headed, by the way?"
"Seattle."
"Oh. Me too. You live there?"
"No. My brother Noah is letting me and Aaron rent out his apartment while he's away for the weekend. He's taking a break from his new one, and I want to get some work done on mine."
"You write?"
"Close. I do lettering for a TPB me and my team is working on."
"TPB? You mean Trade Paperback? You're in

Graphic Novels, so they don't laugh.

Comics?"
"That's right. You read." It isn't a question.
"I used to. Kinda fell out of the habit, though."
"How come?"
"I started working. And I had a friend who thought they were dumb."
"Ah. Friends, the anti-fun."
"Not true."
"Whatever."
Tabby sighs, and nibbles a cuticle. Brian watches this with an unnatural interest. People don't usually watch others perform maintenance on themselves, but Brian has become very interested in this girl. Not necessarily in a romantic way, and only about half in a sexual way, but she is .
"I wish there wasn't a no-smoking sign on this thing," Tabby says. "Three weeks since quitting, it gets more frustrating by the hour."
Brian just nods slightly. It seems like creative people (or maybe it's Seers) have more vices and addictions than normals. Tobacco is common, and alcohol is like dead grass in winter. It's not surprising, just a little disappointing, that Tabby has her problem.
Tabby sighs, looks back over at Brian. "Hey, I really like talking to you, you seem like a nice guy, but if its okay, I think I'm gonna take a nap before we get to Helena."
Brian isn't offended at all. "Fine. Just 't snore."
"Don't worry. Aaron's the one that does that." She closes her eyes, and it seems like only a minute before she's asleep, whistling softly, and slowly drifting towards his shoulder as the bus starts rumbling in its start-up. Setting his folded-up trenchcoat in the crook of his neck, he gently take's Tabby's neck in his hand, and sets her head down on his shoulder. The jacket-pillow looks pretty comfortable, and Brian knows it will be, having had to use it as such many times before.
He looks down at Tabby's body rising and falling slightly, and thinks of a time when another girl rested on his shoulders.

Jessie was flying back and forth on the elementary swing set, long ago become too small for her, and the leg on one corner rose suspenseful every time she completed a pendulum swing. Brian wouldn't get on that thing, it was dangerous enough with just her on it, and just sat on the rocks next to the swing set, watching her go back and forth, back and forth, like a hypnotist's watch (although they don't ever use watches, now do they?) transfixing him. She looked like she was having the time of her life, and she probably was. Somewhere inside the almost business-like and mature thirteen-year old girl, there was still a kid that, unlike other serious tweens, was not caged up, but free to come out and played whenever Jessie was in the mood.
"C'mon Brian, its fun!" She said, her voice getting thrown everywhere as she went on another cycle.
He just shook his head timidly. He didn't want to go so fast on that thing, he hated it when things went fast

Especially on the Interstate.

and he was on or in them. He couldn't see why she liked it so much, but in three years of knowing her, Brian had learned not to question (a gift from God) the strange ways of Jessie Birch.
She went right on laughing, and when it seemed she couldn't go any higher, the girl finally slowed down and came to a stop. It took her a second to re-orient herself, and she wobbled a little as she did, but she was able to get herself under control without falling too terribly. She limped over to where he sat, and plopped down next to him, raising a small cloud of dust. The summer they were both thirteen had been dry and hot, which was a switch from the usual Iowan wet and hot, a climate which always reminded him of how Robin Williams described Vietnamese weather in Good Morning Vietnam.
"Don't tell me you're scared to go up on those things?"
"The same way I'm scared of roller coasters, and cars, and bridges, and tall buildings, and clowns."
"What do clowns have to do with any of that?"
"Nothing. I'm just scared of all of them."
"I told you, you shouldn't have read It. Stephen King does nothing but traumatize you."
"So? Maybe I like being traumatized."
Jessie rolled her eyes, and blew a rogue lock of cornsilk out of her face. "You're scared about heights, and speed, and clowns, but you aren't worried about serious long-term mental problems. You have serious issues Brian, do you know that?"
"Yeah, I do. But it's okay if I do, right? I mean, you'll come visit me in the padded room once in a while, right?"
"Brian, I'm not joking. Reading that kind of thing when you are this young could do really weird things to your head. You'd end up ."
"So? Maybe weird is a good thing. I mean, writing books when you're not even in high school is weird, hanging out at an elementary playground on summer vacation is weird, and wearing socks that are different colors is weird."
"No, those are all cool."
"I know. But normal people all think that those would be weird. And I'm sure your mom thinks that about the socks issue."
"Hey, you're right. We never use weird for anything bad, or even really unusual."
"Yeah, we use strange. Weird is good, Strange is bad."
Jessie smiled, and showed the braces that crowned her teeth since last November. Brian knew why, and he smiled too. They had just made a new them- thing.
She leapt up, and danced back over to the swing set. "Hey Brian, push me!"
He slowly got up, popping his fingers and grunting slightly as he did. He always got up

Had gotten up

slower than she had. He though it was just because he was bigger, but Jessie said it was because he was lazier. Probably both.
He got behind her, and placed his hands gently on her sides. He pulled her back, trying not to squeeze (she squeaked a little anyway from the tickle) too hard, and then he PUSHED her forward, sending her up a short bit. He stepped back, and prepared to push her again, hopefully sending her farther this time.
In under a minute, he had her screaming in glee

"Your sex scenes are much better than his, too"

as she was, once again, hypnotizing movement, as her hair (already almost waist-length) flowed out after her, and then was swept backward on the return swing. It was like watching a kaleidoscope image, only it was back-and-forth, not in-and-out.
She seemed so happy, and so innocent. Brian felt almost sad. If what he heard from his older friends was true, eighth grade was going to be hard on her.
"I'll always be here for you, though," He said. It was quiet, and she didn't even notice his lips moving, but she'd been made a promise just the same.
Suddenly, the limping set's leg (it looked like a dinosaur leg, lifting up and down over and over) creaked nastily, and Brian looked over at it on pure instinct.
That's when she screamed.
The old, rusted chain exploded on the left, brown rot and even more dust billowing out of a hole in one of the links. Brian gasped, as he saw, in slow motion it seemed, Jessie tumble out of the swing, rolling twice and flailing her arms out. She screamed again, and before Brian could even start to move, she hit the dead grass on the outside of wooden log border that separated it from the rocks. He heard something snap, and thankfully his legs started moving again. "Jessie!" He screamed, not caring that his changing voice had squeaked a little in the sound.
Wanting to get in as many steps as he could before they locked up again, Brian dashed over to where Jessie was lying, moaning in what had to have been excruciating pain. Brian's mind scampered around in circles, trying to figure out what to do. Thirteen is just old enough to know when an arm has been broken, but too young to know how to help it.
"Jessie, Jessie, c'mon are you okay?" he asked frantically, thinking what a stupid question he had just asked, are you okay? Duh, of course she wasn't.
"My, my, my" She said over and over again through the tears that were flowing easily now, sobbing and hiccupping a little. "I, I think my arm, OW!!"
No shit, ow He thought. "Jessie, it's gonna be OK, it's gonna be alright, I promise, can you walk?"
"I duh-don't thin-thin-think I can get uh-uh-up!" Her eyes were wide now, and he heard another scream coming. She wasn't just hurt, she was scared to death.
"It's OK, stay here, I'm gonna go get help-"
"NO!! Brian, please, don't go away!"
"But I have to call 911! Or your mom, or somebody! Jessie, please, I have to!"
"Don't leave me here!" She was hyperventilating, her chest puffing like she was in a seizure.
Brian stopped thinking. He had to call for help, but he was not leaving her here. He would always be here for her. He wasn't going to leave her.
Careful not to touch her left arm, but eliciting a terrible bloodcurdling scream anyway simply by moving the snapped limb, he picked the smaller girl up, thanking whoever was listening that his arm muscles were growing faster than most boys' were.
You know you have good friends when they're willing to carry you in their arms he thought absent-mindedly.
He couldn't run, because he would trip, but he took long, agonizing steps that hurt his whole body with the added weight in his arms. But adrenaline is a wonderful thing. He didn't feel the tendons scraping in his legs, or the biceps straining to hold onto this girl.
"Jessie, don't cry, I'm gonna get you help, you're going to be okay, I promise."
Her breath was ragged, and she held her arm so delicately that it looked like she was scared of it falling right out of the socket. Brian didn't think that was going to happen, but why take chances?
"Brian?" She said, her voice strangely calm.
"Yeah, what is it Jess?"
"Thank you."

"Thank you."
Brian snaps back to reality (or at least this current time stream), and turns off his headphones. "For what?"
"For letting my use your coat. It was pretty comfy. What kind of interior do you have in there, felt or cloth?"
"Felt. Removable, too. Although that's a really bad idea when you live in Seattle."
"I'll keep that in mind." She stretches, and Brian burns a willpower looking away as her breasts push against her shirt, making it fairly obvious that Tabby has refused the offers of the Brasseries Empire.
"So what did you dream about?" He asks, wanting to get a little information about this strange girl from her subconscious.
Tabby sighs, and shakes her head. "Nothing much. It's hard to remember your dreams when you're in the car or on a bus, you know?"
He nods. "Yeah. I get that too."
"What did you dream about?"
"I wasn't sleeping."
She rolls her eyes, as if he just said something stupid. "You don't have to even close your eyes to be dreaming. I watched you right after I woke up. You were thinking about something."
Brian shakes his head, hoping to look convincing. "I was just listening."
"Most people don't cry when they listen to music. I mean, unless you're one of those guys who cries at Rocky movies or whatever."
For the first time, he realizes that there is a very distinct wet trail down the left side of his face. He quickly wipes it away, and is suddenly very aware that he is blushing. "Just thinking about an old friend."
"You mean old girlfriend, or old friend?"
"Both, depending on how old we were."
"Was that who you were visiting? Your friend?"
"Yeah. That's her."
"How did that go?"
"It wasn't very long. I did most of the talking, though. She doesn't talk much anymore."
"Oh my god, is she in the hospital? I mean, she's not in a coma or something else wrong with her, is she?"
Brian suddenly laughs, but it isn't a humorous laugh. "No. There's nothing wrong with her. We just kind of grew apart is all. Now we don't even live in the same world."
"This the same friend who didn't like comics?"
"Same one. She had a lot of problems before this, and I came down to visit her a lot the last month or two. Then, it seems like she'll be alright, that she gets through these things like she always does, and, wham, she falls apart on me. So, here I am, going back to thrice-damned Iowa to see her again."
"For someone who likes to write books set in Iowa, you don't seem to like it."
"You'll notice that horrible, traumatizing

"Maybe I like to be traumatized."
things happen in my books, and that there isn't a general sense of state pride in them."
"Yeah, I guess I had noticed that." Tabby rests her head on her hand, putting Brian's trenchcoat in her own lap. He makes a note to get it back before four, otherwise he'll forget completely. He knows himself, and that he will. "So what's this girl's name? Tell me about her."
"You're trying to get a free story out of me. You know I do this stuff for a living."
"Damn straight, and get over it. I'm curious."
Actually taking the interest as a good sign, Brian sighs in faked exasperation, and turns to look at her. "Her name is Jess. I used to call her Jessie, but we got older, and I dunno why, but names tend to get shorter the older you get. She's my best friend. I've known her since we were ten, and I think she was my first crush. That feeling never really went away, I guess, and maybe that's why we've stayed together so long. Because somewhere in me I thought that she would take a chance on me."
"But even though she was your best friend, you still wanted something more from her."
"You suck for being right."
Tabby clicks her teeth, and he can tell she's thinking of her boyfriend, the whofuckher writer. "That is so typical of men. You have something great, something worth having and stable, and you're willing to throw it all away on an off chance you might get more."
Brian would disagree with this, but he knows that arguing is the stupidest thing in a long line of stupid things he is capable of doing. "Probably right. But whatever it is, we've been friends ever since. We even survived college together, though not on the same campus. Not even the same school."
"Wow. Even kids that hit college together don't make it, how did you guys manage?"
"Dunno. We've always been weird that way."
"Maybe you're meant to be."
"You just said that-"
"I know what I just said, Brian. Maybe you were right though. Who am I to say you weren't?"
Brian sighs, and looks back out the window. "Trust me, we weren't meant to be. Not that way, at least." He looks back at her, a rather serious look on his face. "We are NOT soulmates."
Tabby jumps a little at Brian's raised voice. He suddenly feels guilty, thinking great, here we go again, you form a nice, workable friendship with someone, and you, oh surprise, trip on a big one and kill it. People like you aren't meant to have friends.
She comes right back, though. "You don't have to be in love with someone to be their soulmate."
"I guess not. I don't know Tabby. Hey, look, I'm sorry I yelled at you. It's been really hard the last day or two."
She nods, still worried and maybe a little angry, but she understands. "Thanks. Hey, I'm think we're pulling into a rest area up here. I'm gonna go use it, maybe get something to eat. You want anything?"
Brian shakes his head. "No, I'm good. See you in a few."
Again, she nods at him. "Okay. I'll be right back." And she stands up right as the bus pulls into a Rest Stop, along with the driver and a few other people.
Brian waits until she's gone, and puts his head in his hands. He lets the tears flow, and thinks that this is the longest time he's spent crying in years. It's going to give him one bitch of a headache, but it's better than fighting a losing battle to keep the floodwaters in.
So many things to cry about. And laugh. And scream. And remember.

"All I'm saying is that I get a bad feeling about the guy, Jess."
"Brian, you ALWAYS get a bad feeling about any guy I'm going out with."
Brian sighed, and tried to rub away the headache

This one, like all his headaches, is quite a bitch.

that had been building up ever since this conversation (argument) had started.
"You're not technically going out with him yet, which is why I am currently voicing concern."
"You're not voicing concern, Brian, you're bitching about my choice in guy."
The phone always seemed to be where they had all their fights. It was rare (though not never) that they fought face to face. The arguments would probably only get worse if they did. "Yes, yes I am. You know that I get these feelings Jessie, and you know that if I hold them in, they drive me insane."
"But that doesn't give you an excuse to tell me that Craig is a bad guy. You're so fucking judgmental, you don't even know the guy! If you just met him and talked to him, you wouldn't have your stupid feelings."
'Yeah, Jessie, I would. I can't get rid of them. Look, the only reason I'm telling you this is because I care about you, and I don't want to see you hurt."
"Look, Brian, you're not listening to me! Craig is a good guy, and he likes me, and, oh boy, I like him too. Either give me a good reason not to go out with him, or get over it. Look, I'm going to go. It's late, and I still have some Biology to finish up."
"Fine. I'll talk to you later."
She sighed in frustration. "Right, whatever. Bye."
"Yeah, later."
Click.
Brain threw himself back onto his bed, and let his back loosen up again. An entire hour arguing, and she still wouldn't see his point, he couldn't see her point, and the whole thing had done nothing but piss the both of them off.
Not that that was any change for the past few days ever since this Craig guy had come into the picture.
If I didn't have these feelings, we wouldn't even fight about half the things we do he thought. The feelings sucked to have,

You, after all, suck for being right.

and the fact that he couldn't just put them behind him and give the guy a chance was maybe what pissed him off the most.
Or maybe it was that the guy had a smile that you'd have to be crazy to trust.
There it was again.
The old feeling of wanting to flail around the room hitting things and hurting himself in punishment for his stupidity came back again. This was the third guy he had done this too, and though the feelings had come through for the second guy and he had turned out to be an asshole, the first bad feeling had been for a friend of his, a good friend that he didn't have anything against. And yet, he showed some tiny interest in Jessie and the feeling comes. It hadn't ended well for anyone. Jessie and Tom had finally broken up just because Brian had been so torn apart over it. The two couldn't stand feeling guilty about it.
He could still count on one hand the number of times he'd seriously fucked up Jessie's life, but it was getting close.
He looked back over to the phone. He knew he should call her back, homework or not, and apologize for yelling at her and being an idiot, but in the mood they were both in, it wouldn't do any good. And right now, her voice would just make the headache worse.
Tomorrow she'd feel better. Tomorrow they would apologize. But Craig would still be there.
He had told her a long time ago that he would always be there for her. If only he'd known what that would mean he would have to do. But the promise remained. I'm still here for you. Whether you want me here, or not.
Love, in whatever form it takes, hurts. Brian had learned this well.

By some miracle Tabby has decided that he's not a complete asshole, and sits back down next to him, one of those depressingly gray and teal- colored cups of machine coffee in her left hand. She flips her hair back, and waits for Brian to fully pull out of the memory trance.
He jerks as he realizes (was it the smell of the coffee? The feeling he gets whenever a beautiful girl sits next to him? Is it the sound of her butt squeaking against the seat? Maybe it's her hair touching his?) that Tabby has sat back down, but he doesn't even bother to wipe away the glistening crystals on his face. Living indoors in Seattle for two years has caused his body to go paler than even he thought it could be, and the tears look like reflective beads set on a rain-soaked stone.
"I'm sorry," Tabby says. "I'm not sure what I'm sorry for, but whatever it is."
"No, its fine." He has stopped sobbing, and the headache that he usually reserves for these memories (or fights with his parents) hasn't surfaced fully yet. He looks almost peaceful. "I wonder if they're right."
"About what?"
"That you really can trust a stranger with secrets and deep, dark feelings."
"Do you have something you want to talk about?"
"Do I really have to say anything with these tears on my face?"
Tabby sighs, and shakes her head. She reaches into her coat pocket, and pulls out a black linen handkerchief. She wipes away the teardrops, which have now started to drip off in tiny, free falling prisms. "No. Just keep remembering. I think you need to. And whatever happened between you two, I think this will help. Thinking about her, how much you care about her."
"Maybe." Brian sighs. He can't think of anything to think about. He tells her so.
"Yeah. You wouldn't think that makes sense, but it does."
"It makes perfect sense to us." A smile creeps onto his face. "Sometimes if there isn't anything for her to think about, she'll just let random words come out. They'll be in perfect sentences, but they won't mean anything. At least I don't think they do. Maybe she's been trying to tell me something this whole time, and I could never understand it."
"It could be. What's she like, I mean what does she do?"
Brian shifts a bit in his seat, and focuses on Tabby's eyes. "She is a little bit of everything. Heh, I kinda think of her as a Jack of all Trades, although in this case I guess she's a Jess of all Trades. Yeah, I know, not funny." He thinks for a moment. "She's wants to be a journalist. I mean, she has the writer thing going for her, and she loves to prove things, especially herself, so I guess that would be perfect for her. But she also wants to be a movie Director, or an Actress, or probably a hundred other things she never told me about."
"Well, you seem really close. Wouldn't she tell you?"
"Probably. But there were things when we were younger that I wanted to be that I never told her because she'd think it was stupid or that I couldn't do them."
"Like what?"
"Stupid stuff. A gunsmith. A fight choreographer.

A plumber's apprentice.

A rock musician. I did end up telling her about how I wanted to be a policeman or a soldier. She flipped out about that, although I'm not entirely sure why. She didn't explain a whole lot."
"Maybe she just didn't want you to die." She leans her head a little, almost as if in genuine concern for him herself. But no: a big rule of Brian's life is to always assume that no one cares about you. It saves disappointment later on.
He shrugs. "Yeah, probably." He thinks there's something more to it, but he doesn't know. There's still a lot he doesn't know about Jessie. A lot that he will never know about her. A lot of secrets that they both have kept.

"I hate that you kept this secret from me, is all."
The dorm room smelled the way it has since Brian got his new roommate. Disinfectant and burned VHS tape. It helped with the oppressive atmosphere.
"What was I supposed to tell you? That I broke my oath, that I let a girl talk me into it while I barely knew her while I was, you'll love this part, completely sober? How would that have sounded?"
"Better than, 'yeah, the rumors are true'!" She paced back and forth, stomping and flicking her hands out like she was trying to shake water off them. "I wouldn't be so angry if you had told me!"
"I'm ashamed, Jessie! I couldn't tell you! I still can't believe that I am. That is the weakest thing I've ever done, and I am not, in any way, proud of it."
"Well, quite feeling weak and guilty, and just tell me how it happened. Maybe we can, I don't know, make you feel better about it. I know I won't feel any better."
"Not much to tell. She was hot. I'm pretty sure she was drunk. She was flirting with me. I flirt back, like I always do. Next thing I know I'm in the girl's bed. It all went kind of fast."
"No, Brian, a train goes really fast. Getting dragged, or in your case I guess, lead to some girl's dorm were she proceeds to take away a part of you that I really liked and admired, and maybe knocking herself up because of it, goes slow enough to STOP if you want it to. Why didn't you tell her 'no'? Just, look, I'm not mad"-she looked pretty damn mad to Brian-"just tell me what happened."
"Like I said. She acted like she liked me. She took me back to her dorm, I thought just to hang out and talk, and she just , Jess, I really don't want to talk about this."
She throws her head back and growls in displeasure at hearing that. Yes, she is definitely still mad. "Fine, whatever." She violently plops down on the mattress next to him, and sneers at the clothes that line the floor of the dorm room. "It's too bad you didn't take her here. She'd take one look at this room and decide it wasn't worth it to fuck you in such a hellhole."
"Great, it's not enough that you won't let me forget what a weakling I am, now you go on to my hygiene."
"Let's just say I'm soooo glad I didn't get stuck in a co-ed room with some slob guy."
"Yeah. Hey, Jess, I really need some time to think. Could you..." He sighed. He really didn't want her to leave.
"Go away? No. Because you know what, I think I figured it out."
"Figured what out?"
"How I'm going to help you."
"You can't help me, Jessie. I'm not a virgin anymore. You can't fix that."
"No. I can't."
"So what are you here for, then?"
"Look, do you want this tea coupon or not?"
He looked up in confusion, and saw that Jessie was holding two coupons for Grande's, the on-campus coffee house and bakery. "What?"
"I'm taking you out for tea. I'm going to do for you what you've done for me ever since Craig broke up with me. I am taking you out to a cafe, where you and me are going to have a long talk in better smelling settings, and you are going to have something to drink besides Bawls, because you look like you're about to crash."
Brian looked at himself in the mirror on the wall. Indeed, his reflection was a Picasso of bags under his eyes, discolored skin, and droopy features. The image terrified him on a fundamental level; he looked like his father after he came home from a bar. He shivered.
"You cold now?"
"No, I'm okay. Here, let me get a shirt on."
"Make sure it's a clean one. I did not come to visit you on Spring Break to take you to tea with you looking like a laundry-less redneck."
Brian threw on a black and gray button-up shirt (reminding himself to burn the green and white one that Denise had nearly ripped taking off him) and put a belt around his jeans.
Jessie waited semi-patiently (he could hear and feel the vibration of her foot tapping) for him, even helping to make his earlobe-length hair somewhat good-looking. When he was all done, the two of them walked out the door, neither of them looking happy, but definitely looking better than when they had gone in.

The sky outside is growing dark. The sun is slowly falling behind the rolling hills of Idaho farms, and on Brian's headphones, a flute plays a sad and haunting Irish tune. It is not for dancing, not even for thinking, but for remembering, which is not the same thing.
Tabby sits beside him, sketching on a notepad, and occasionally stealing glances at him. He is quite sure it is him she is sketching, but does not bother to look, or to even ask if she is. Again, the first rule: always assume they don't care.
"Something confuses me, though," she says, not looking up from her drawing. "She doesn't seem like the kind of person who would want to stay in Iowa, she seems like you. She'd want to live somewhere else.
"She did," he replies. "She's lived in three different places after Iowa. She went to college in Washington and California, ended up living there for a while, and sometimes she would come up to Seattle to visit me. Nowadays, she spends her time in Arizona. She works for the newspaper there, got her name on quite a few bylines for the Phoenix Telegram, even though it's a smaller paper."
"So what was she doing there? Iowa, I mean."
Brian sighed. "Returning home, I guess. Even though I argued against it."
"Why did she want to go?"
"She didn't. Her parents, well, her mom and her step-dad, decided that's where she should go."
"Why?"
"I don't know. It's probably the worst thing they've ever done to her. Now she'll be there forever."
"What do you mean, she'll-" and then she put a hand to her mouth. "Oh my god. -"
"Last Monday. Four days after her birthday. Actually, about a month after the doctors said she'd go till."
"That's why you're wearing all black. I thought it was just some stupid writer complex to make you look cool. I'm so sorry Brian, I didn't know."
"I know. I didn't want you to. I don't want the pity, and neither does she. I imagine that, wherever she went, she's probably figuring out some way to come back and haunt her parents for burying her in Iowa. I know she'd have wanted Arizona, or maybe somewhere in Washington. Actually, just about anywhere but Iowa. Or Nebraska. Probably not New York." He isn't even crying now. The emotions have completely drained from his face, his jaw set, and his eyes cold. He has already cried too much today, and he knew that Jessie wouldn't want him to be doing this all day. "On the other hand, maybe she's glad. She doesn't have to worry about anything anymore. No more stress-filled weeks, no more worries about her boyfriend, and best yet, no more family trying to control every aspect of her life."
Tabby is now crying, although it isn't audible. "What was it?"
"Breast Cancer. The same thing that killed her grandmother. Her family apparently has a history of it, but its kind of an." He grits his teeth, and hisses quietly " she contracted it so young. She found out about it about four months ago, it hadn't even shown any signs or symptoms until then. The doctors must have had a fucking party over this new development." Brian is now practically seething. "Why didn't they help her? There had to have been something they could have done!"
Tabby edges away from him, and her eyes are wide. "Brian, please, don't be mad. There probably wasn't anything they could do, I mean this kind of cancer is pretty rare to get so young, isn't it? She wouldn't want you to be mad!"
"I don't care. My best friend is gone, Tabby. There will .be another girl like her. Why did .never again." his head slumps forward and stops at the back of the seat in front of him. His eyes are squeezed shut so tightly that by tomorrow morning they will have bruises around the corners. He is breathing through his teeth, making a machine-like sound that wholly unnerves Tabby. No one else seems to notice, which, if Brian was still caring, he'd be very disappointed about. "I miss her so much.I love her so did she go and not me? She'd have done fine without me.I don't know if I can even be okay without being able to call her. Never talk about the difference between weird and strange. Never argue about her boyfriend. Never plan our trip to Japan. All of again." Still, he does not cry.
Tabby does not know what to do. If this were one of her boyfriend's stories, she would drape her arms around him and tell him that it would be alright. And it would. That's the way whofuckhers work. But not the way the real world works. A hug and a kiss do not make things better. Right now, they would only make them worse. There is something, though, that she can do.
"Brian?"
"What."
"Tell me one more story about you two. It might not help, but I think you should. I want to know."
He opens his mouth, and slowly lets the pain and carbon dioxide out of his system. His face hurts just to look at, so contorted it is, and for a minute Tabby doesn't think he will say anything the rest of the ride.
" winter break our junior year of college, we

started to get into the car, when she turned to look at him. "Are you sure we got everything?"
"Yes, I checked, and double checked, we've got it all. C'mon, if we leave now, we might make it to Denver by midnight."
"Might being the operative word there, Brian. You sure you want me to drive?"
"Quite sure. You know I hate highway driving."
"So do I, you know that."
"Yeah, but if you drive, we can be sure that you'll take all the back roads instead of the over-populated highway. Besides, isn't that why Volkswagen made the Bus in the first place? To go on the back roads and evade other cars?"
"Yeah, that's true. How did you know I'd take the back roads?"
Brian smiled, one of his rare true smiles, filled with giddiness, gentleness, and humor at the same time. "Because I know you hate highway driving."
She sighed in false exasperation. "Bum."
"Hippy."
"As of right now, so are you."
"Riding in a VW Bus and wearing yellow sunglasses does not qualify you as a hippy, Jess."
"Maybe not. But for the next week, you're a hippy. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Okay?"
"Okay. Alright, let's hit the road, shall we?"
"Are you sure we got everything?"
Brian groaned. "YES Jess, we got everything."
"I'm gonna go check anyway."
"JESS!! We need to go now, or by the time we get out of California it'll be lunchtime."
But she was already outside, and he could barely hear the words "I don't trust you not to forget something."
He leaned back in his seat and sighed again. Yeah, they'd be having lunch in Nevada.
She came rushing out the door a few minutes later, holding something. He couldn't see what, because it was tucked under her longcoat. He frantically searched his mental image of the dorm, trying to figure out what he had forgotten to get.
She got in the car, and he was just about to deliver his fabricated excuse, when she placed a single finger on his lips. "Don't worry. Here, close your eyes."
He rolled his eyes before he closed them, and thought oh great, she's gonna make it dramatic and gloat over it.
"Okay, open 'em. See what you forgot."
He bared his teeth in annoyance, and opened his eyes. "Okay, what.?"
In Jessie's hands was a rectangular box, in festive wrapping and a big red bow on the top. "You forgot your present, Brian. You must really be losing it."
He stared down at the wrapped box, and looked back at Jess. "When did you-?"
"I'll tell you later! Open it, don't just stare at it!"
He smiled, remembering how every Christmas she couldn't stand it when she got him a present and he took too long to open it. He took the box from her hand, and methodically tore the paper off it. It took him only a few seconds, but when he was done, it took him about that long to regain speech.
" did you get this?"
In his hand was a gold-bordered book, with a picture of a menacing clown standing over the silhouette of a teenage boy. The title read It, special 30th anniversary edition, by Stephen King. In the top left corner, it said, in gold print, 478 of 500.
"I thought this sold out months ago!"
"It did."
"Well, then .?" He stared in disbelief, but there was the biggest smile Jessie had ever seen growing on his face. "Thank you so much!"
She smiled back at him, and leaned over to give him a hug. "Happy 21st, you lazy bum."
He hugged her back, and kissed her on the top of her head. "You always did get the perfect present every time."
"Well, I know how you like stories about clowns that kill people."
He nodded. "Yeah. The original clown murderer." He looked over at her. "Hey Jess?"
"Don't thank me too much, Brian!" She had that sort of annoyed smile on her face that she got quite frequently.
"I love you."
She nodded. "Yeah, I know. Thanks Brian."
In the entire world, there is no feeling like two best friends smiling at each other. Nothing can ruin, alter, or convert this feeling to anything other than pure joy. Brian had learned to cherish this feeling, and to remember it.
Jessie broke away, and sat down behind the steering wheel. "C'mon. If we don't hurry, we'll be eating lunch in Nevada, right?"
He smiled at her once more. "Right. Let's hit it Jess."

The green road sign at the side of the road reads "Seattle, next exit." Brian knows his time is almost up, and that soon Tabby will pass out of his life forever. Not that he's been making any long-term plans, but still.
Her lower lip trembles a little bit, and she's blinking a lot. Those Washington skies are getting rain clouds fast. "So did you get to Denver on time?"
"Yeah. Only because she was the one driving though. It was the best time of my life. We listened to the Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, the Angry String Orchestra, the the whole thing special. And it really wasn't that long ago."
"Brian?"
"Yeah, what is it?"
"What did she think of your books?"
He sighs. "I think she liked them. Not really the kind of things she likes to read, though. Dark Fantasy never really her thing. But I think she was proud of me.I guess that's kind of the same thing." He shrugs his shoulders, and shares a look with Tabby. They both know they aren't the same thing.
The trees outside are starting to become easier to see, and a few are opening their mouths, preparing to chase him down and eat him. They won't get the chance, after all they're pretty close to the city, and trees don't eat people in plain sight.
It's raining. Good.
The rest of the trip is silent. Tabby is looking at him the entire time, and he's almost certain now that she is drawing him. He never looks, though. Curiosity drives him mad, but he never looks. Nothing about tonight should involve him. It's a night of mourning. Sorry, bad joke.
At long last, the big grey dog pulls into its kennel, and lets all the fleas off. Brian helps Tabby with her luggage, and even pays for her taxi fare. Apparently Aaron is already at the place where they are staying; he took a plane. Probably a good thing. He seems to Brian

he couldn't just put the feelings behind him and give the guy a chance

like the kind of guy who'd be jealous about his girl talking to another guy about intimate stuff. Go figure.
As she drives off in the gray Seattle taxi cab (everything in Seattle seems to be that's why he likes the city so much) he considers waving. would mean that he will see her again. A wave is body language for 'see you later'. He knows he won't.
Probably not anyway.

In the years to come, Brian will visit Iowa many times. Seeing his old high school, even going to a few reunions, giving a seminar at the University of Iowa, visiting his folks. He will go to see Jessie's grave at least twice every time he goes. He'll get to know the groundskeeper by name, and the girl at the flower shop will always have an order of white roses ready for him when he calls ahead.
Sometimes he will even bring Tabby along. On her insistence, part of their honeymoon (four years after meeting on the bus from Iowa to Washington) will pass through Des Moines, and a short trip out east will allow her to meet Jessie for the first time. They won't talk much, but Brian will be sure Jess would approve.
Brian will go on to publish over twenty books in his lifetime, two of them, Starling Lake and Belle Noire even join Silent Night on the New York Times Bestseller's list. He will culminate with his wife's graphic novel team to make an illustrated book called "Cornsilk", which wins an Eisner Award for best Romantic Work. This won't make Brian happy. He and Jessie never had anything romantic. Not really.

depends on how old they were.

Though he will live long, as writers have an annoying habit of doing, he eventually dies, of a stroke caused by an arterial blockage. Unlike his best friend, it will be expected, and maybe even welcomed. Tabby will die only a year later, in her sleep. Both of them are buried in Iowa. No one will bring any of them white roses, but that's alright. Aaron has long forgotten about Tabby, and they'll never have any children. That's alright, too.
And finally, Brian gets to see his best friend again. They will have a lot to talk about.