181 days before the light...

HELP WANTED

The sign was taped to the counter of a big-shot gas station, which was one of the few reminders in this town that the modern world existed. A stack of papers-applications-sat in front of the cash register, which sat in front of a teenaged girl with heavy eye-makeup and a feather extension. Her chipped, glittery-pink nails drummed on the counter impatiently, as if she had something better to do than wait on me to find my gas money.

Who knows? Maybe she did. Maybe I've been appreciating the quietness of this town so much I haven't let myself notice the noise. If there was any. But I suppose for there to be young people living here it's got to be kind of loud, sometimes.

I sound like an old man. I pulled out the money and slapped it on the counter.

"Have you got a pen?" I asked, glancing up. She didn't seem to hear me. I noticed then the white chords coming out of her hair. Earphones. Right. The modern world.

I tapped on the counter. She glanced up, annoyed, and then her eyes widened a little. She pulled out an earphone.

"Pen?" I repeated.

She nodded quickly and pulled out a cheap ballpoint pen. I smiled in thanks and started filling out an application.

She put the earphone back in, I noticed, and kept staring at me. I filled it out as fast as I could, a little uncomfortable. After around a minute-record time-I pushed it back towards her, along with the pen, and started to leave.

"Wait!" she called after me. I whirled around and she was already scribbling something on a scrap of paper from one of the applications.

She handed it to me, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. I nodded politely at her and walked out.

I glanced down at the paper as I filled up at the gas pump.

Her name was Maggie. And her number was 687-2304.

I didn't suspect that she liked me until I was halfway home.

"You need this?" my father, Bill, asked, holding up a box of action figures.

"Yeah," I replied, taking the box from him. I was still oddly attached to my action figures, after all. I supposed it would give me a good excuse to go to the attic, anyway.

Bill gave me an almost disgusted-or disappointed, I'm never sure which-look and reached back into the truck. "And your mother insisted you had more clothes." He pulled out a huge, huge bin.

"Seriously?" I asked, taking in its size. "I barely think that will fit in my house."

"Just take them," he said, annoyed. So I stacked the action figures and the ginormous box and did so.

My father and I did not have a very good relationship, admittedly. He wanted nothing to do with me. I wanted nothing to do with him. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to leave as soon as possible, and I had no intention of lengthening his stay.

I brought the boxes inside and set them down, among the countless others. He came in with some more, and then hefted in a coffee table, and then went back outside.

After a moment I followed him to see if there was anything else. He was already gone.

After a long afternoon of unpacking, I fell back on the couch and found the TV already on. Had it been on the whole day? I wasn't sure.

Another ghost-hunting documentary. Unconsciously, I wrinkled my nose.

"Disgusting."

My voice mingled with someone else's. The channel changed and I could almost hear a smirk.

"Glad you agree."