For those come-again-readers, I recommend reading previous chapters if you haven’t looked at this for a while. It’s always nice to refresh the story in your head.

The bathroom is empty as the heavy door falls shut behind me. With a quick glance at myself I the mirror, I go into the nearest stall and set out to do the business even an author doesn’t describe. My fingers idly drum my thigh as I hear the bathroom door open and slam. Whoever entered is in a hurry. Her shoes scuff the floor as she rushes into the handicapped stall beside me and what I hear next is a furry of zippers.

I listen as closely as I can. Whoever’s in there is sure in a rush to get something on or off. …Or maybe, both.

There’s a superhero in the bathroom stall next to mine.

I almost snort at the thought. Obviously, if she’s really a superhero, she’d definitely cut down on the change time by wearing simpler outfits. Or maybe she’s just been bitten by the radioactive Chihuahua and is getting used to the whole superhero deal. Or maybe, the Chihuahua really had rabies and this person is only hallucinating that she is a superhero. I listen for the thud means she’s succumbed to the rabies. Does rabies cause hallucinations? I’ll have to look that up.

The tell-tale sounds of bathroom business snap me from my thoughts and as I pull my pants up, all I can do is laugh at the idea that I was just pondering superheroes, Chihuahuas, rabies, and hallucinations on the toilet, a public toilet no less. It’d be a cute start to a story though… girl in a bathroom runs into a superwoman stumbling to get to her dire situation. But that’d be an uninteresting story if it were a woman finding a superwoman… unless it was a lesbian story. A superman would leave room for awkward plot points a sexual tension that could keep a story interesting. But why would a man be in a girl’s room? Huh… another interesting point to spark character interest. Now that would be a meet-cute.

I shuffle back into the stall to open the door of the stall, grumbling about whoever designed this damn thing. I gotta straddle the stupid toilet to leave room for the door to open. The harmonized sliding of the stall locks tells me the superwoman is done in her stall as well. With every plan to keep my eyes to the floor and ignore awkward eye contact or even more awkward bathroom greetings, I step out. All thoughts of eyes to the floor are gone when I notice that the other person isn’t a woman at all.

Tall with black hair and yellow eyes stands a man… a very smartly dressed man. Now here’s the meet-cute I imagined, except for one thing.

“Luke?” He rubs the back of his neck and smiles silly.

“Hey Lilly… funny meeting you here.”

“Actually, it’s funny meeting you here. What the hell?”

“I had to go! The men’s room is all filled and I figured there wasn’t anything in here I was interested in, so why not?”

“Isn’t this illegal or something?” I’ll have to look into that.

“Whatever, I’m leaving okay?” Luke passes me to get to the sink, his eyes never leaving his reflection as he washes his hands.

“What was with the zippers?” That snaps Luke’s eyes up.

“Excuse me?” Our gazes meet in the mirror.

“I heard about 10 zippers in there.” I smirk and step towards him.

“Can’t a guy get privacy in his own damn stall?”

“Not in the girls room you can’t.”

“I’m on my way to meet Tommy.”

“What happened to Danny?” The infatuated look Luke took on at the thought of Tommy sours quickly.

“That was over months ago, ‘kay?” Danny probably dumped him if he’s still sore over a month old break up. I guess I don’t see Luke enough anymore. I didn’t even notice the split. I change the subject.

“So does this Tommy have a zipper fetish or something?” I push his hands out of the way and steal the faucet to wash my hands.

“He likes the suspense of having to undo them all.” I turn to tear a paper towel off the roll sitting atop the empty towel dispenser. Luke moves a lock of dark hair to the center of his forehead and twirks it with a twist of his fingers. His yellow eyes, gleaming with the help of colored contacts stare at his reflection. He twists the lock again and moves it to the right. He pulls on it and moves it to the left. I turn to leave.

“Use condoms, my friend.” I wave at his reflection before the door closes behind me. The buzz of conversation surrounds me as I step into the main room of the restaurant. I glance around for a free table but decide against it seeing as there’s a line out the door. Instead, I settle into an empty chair at the bar. Charlie smiles in my direction as he puts a Dr. Pepper onto the counter in front of me.

“Thanks, guy.” I mutter as he moves onto another customer. After a moment of silence with myself as the chatter of the families and couples and friends eating and carrying on, I reach into the pocket of my jacket and pull out the list that has been sitting there for a week. The creases are deep and corners fraying from all the times I’ve opened and closed it. I crush the list by reflex when a hand falls on my shoulder. A woman with an apron and a tightly fitting collared shirt slips into the chair next to mine. She smiles tiredly only for a moment before taking her high ponytail out and raking her loose bangs into the new ponytail. She pauses and looks around her quickly before realizing the hair tie is still on her wrist then tugs it over her hair and twists her ponytail back into place.

“It’s busy, Mom. You don’t have to stop to chat.”

“Oh now don’t you say that. I’m this place’s most efficient waitress, I deserve a break. Don’t go thinking I’m here all for you.” It’s a typical thing for her to say. She’s the mother who feels like she can’t show interest in her child’s life because it’s uncool and will only drive said child away. She’s spent so much time pretending not to be interested, she’s never actually taken a real look at me. She looks over my shoulder, “What’s that?”

I crush the list tighter in my hand. “Nothing.”

“Okay.” She was obviously staring at my fist. Charlie drops a tray onto the counter before my mother filled with drinks. She tears her eyes away from me and smiles at him before taking the tray and treading off. “Meet you at closing babe. Don’t get in Charlie’s way!”

This scene is perfect for the beginning of a prime coming of age, family flick. The creative, underappreciated daughter with the young, spunky working mother who’s doing the best she can. All I need is an absent father and an adorable younger sibling that has random moments of wisdom.

Suddenly, I notice the list in my fist and rush to flatten it on the counter. I slowly re-read the list of 5 books. They come highly recommended because at the bottom an e-mail is scrawled next to a name reading Daniel Wright that tells me so. His deep green eyes framed by his dark glasses and hazelnut curls come to mind and I smile silly. Soon after the start of our conversation at the bookstore he had to leave but not before scrawling the list of his favorite books for me. He didn’t have to put his e-mail and I certainly would have remembered his name… He’s fucking Mr. Wright… But he did.

I don’t want to tentatively email him unless I’d already finished a book on the list. I’ve had my eye on Brave New World by Aldous Huxley but can’t bring myself to look at the late Hs on the shelf in the bookstore.

The longer the list sits in my pocket, the longer I can imagine what Daniel Wright will be like, the longer I can imagine what the outcome of our crossed plotlines will be. We’ll probably never meet again; he’ll never be at the bookstore again but every time I go in there I will wonder if I’ll see him.

I’ll have missed the chance but I’ve done this all before but in the end I’ll never know what could have been. There’s one thing I do know, the second I send an e-mail, make contact, is the second I’m opening myself to Fate. My mind is a collage plane of script and narrative that I write, I control. Putting my life into Her hands, well, scares the shit out of me.