Two smart raps to the door called me to rise from my chair. It must be Lavinia. I shuffled over to the door a little faster than usual. Lavinia was someone I could talk to, someone I could trust with my thoughts, which were the only possessions worth anything to me anymore. Maybe she could find a cure to help me from the disease that had infected my mind. I open the door, and in front of me, with a wide smile on her face, is Michelle the tax collector.  

She beams at me and waves her hand in front of my face. “Hey there, Atlas!”  Before I have time to reply, she hands me a white envelope with To: Atlas Vivienne Pless scrawled in neat black letters.

She walked past me into the room, and sits herself down on the sofa after moving away some paints, which clattered to the floor, making me frown.

“I’m getting married, Atlas!” She tells me breathlessly.

“Oh,” I said, a little shocked.

“I know what you’re thinking. I’m old.” She laughs to herself. “Well, I met him, you know when….” She continued on for a while, and I listened, nodding in all the right places.

“That’s great!” I say once she finished speaking. Her lined face almost radiates happiness. She nods so excitedly that the frizzy red bob on her head jumps like a small child.

“Well, go ahead and open it.” She says, pointing at the forgotten envelope in my hand.

“Oh, right,” I say, tearing the letter open. It’s an invitation to her wedding. It’s a picture of Michelle and her husband, Joey, both of whom were wearing robes, with the date written. “thanks.”

She nods gravely and looks at me with stars in her eyes. “Doesn’t he look absolutely sexy in his robe?” she sighs.

“Uh,” I don’t know what to say. “sure. He looks sexy. That robe suits him just perfectly.”

The doorbell rings, and Michelle stands up. “Well, ta-ta now!” she throws open the door, says her greetings to Lavinia, winks at me, and flies off shouting “Remember to send the tax money to me, you know my address!”

Lavinia stands at the door, a perplexed look on her face.

“Oh, come in.” I say, and she does.

“Who was that?” she asks, pointing at the door.

“Michelle, the tax collector.” I respond matter of factly.

“Oh.”

“So, where would you like to get started?” I say, clapping my hands together.

“Let’s start in the kitchen.” She says, heading over to the sink. “And I like your hair, Atlas.”

I smile broadly. “Thanks!” she smiles back and starts the water, and begins washing the hoards of dishes piled one on top of each other.

            I watch her back, hunched over my sink, scrubbing soapy water over drying food, and decide that it was best not to tell her after all. I wasn’t about to make her into another me. One Atlas is enough, and with two, it would just be chaos. I didn’t have the heart to see shadows begin to creep over her eyes, spreading out underneath them into half moons, her days wasted thinking about what ifs, and her health crumble around her, her mental strength following close behind.  No, I would keep her like a pressed flower, preserving her innocence eternally. That meant that I had to act the part, that is, of the ‘old’ me, so that I wouldn’t arouse any suspicions.

            This would be easy. I wasn’t always a sad, lonesome little author, though it seems hard to believe now. I used to have quite the number of friends. I wasn’t what you would deem to be a social butterfly, but I wasn’t a recluse either. My friends comprised of many similar people, bordering on antisocial, but not quite. We were all good friends, and we had a lot in common. After all, we were pursuing many of the same things by attending the Amelia Earhart University for the creative arts. We were the phoenix. At first, when I was still socially awkward, I had nothing to do but to put my time and energy into my studies, and people came to know me as that one genius kid. But, as I grew to have friends, I realized that people found people who were more stupid then them, or below them, better friend material. It was strange. I had assumed that people would like intelligence, and gather around people who they aspired to be. On the other hand, in reality, I found people to wanted to be the queen bee of their group, and though they befriended those more able then them, they always held jealousy in their heart and were prone to backstabbing.

            I liked to people watch, and see how certain people reacted to different things. Most people found friends who are less than them, but not completely stupid, the easier to like, the easiest to spill things to. And building on that, I decided to try a little trick, to see how it would go. I was just playing on a hunch, and a good one at that, but just an idea all the same. I began to cut myself. Not literally, no, but I would cut down my abilities, and my knowledge. I was careful to be discreet about it. I would slowly lower my grades. Not turning in homework turned out a great way to do that. I would not speak up in class, and get a couple questions more wrong each time I took a quiz or test, judging by what I assumed the average would be. I would always get a little above average, but the people that were my friends would get even more, usually. And so did the potential friends.

            I was cautious on how I played it all out. I wouldn’t smile and say “Yes!” when I got back a B, obviously. I would appear sad, and disheartened, and say harsh words about myself. They’d just think that I’d let myself go, or that they had become better than me. I had hit the jugular for relationships. I would choose out some people, and strike. I only made certain friends, though. I surrounded myself with the brilliant, and their friends. My time became full of plans with friends, activities, and I became addicted. It was so much fun, and felt so nice to be accepted. I was the one that everyone told their secrets to. And they were right to trust me about not telling people their secrets, but I was never myself. But that was at first. After a while, I didn’t want to stop the scheme, I lived in my lie, and that lie overtook me. I had become what had been a lie. I became lazy, and uninterested in pursuits that I had before, like studying science, especially the planets, and writing.

            However, I did not completely give up on writing. Though it had created a giant rift between what I had formerly thought was my closest friend and I, I did not cease to put my hand to the keyboard, or my pen to the paper. It didn’t matter if I had caused one of my friends to see me as their greatest rivals, and become jealous just because I won some little contest. I just had to be careful about when and where I wrote, and to whom I showed it to. I needed someone to show my writing to, because a piece of writing is not, in my opinion, complete with another person’s. However I couldn’t let the aforementioned friend know of my writing. That is when Lavinia came along. She didn’t go to my school, and so I could show her my writing, and not worry about it. That doesn’t mean that I completely took off my façade around her. Remember, that mask had been melded onto me. But I could show her my writing, and that gave me some sense of being myself, or what I used to be.

            It was all too easy to lie for me, and maybe while I was making her believe I was all right, that I had just grown lazy, then it would become a truthful lie again. She was obviously accustomed to work now. The speed and preciseness of the way she executed all the household tasks made me think of a busy mother. It was probably because of her daily life as Mrs. Lavinia Moffet. But something seemed different about her. I couldn’t quite place it, but I had a guess.

“Hey, Lavinia.” I said. She glanced up at me, half of her face hidden behind a cardboard box.

“Yeah?”

“So, you got any midget Moffets?” It wasn’t something I would say to someone I didn’t know for a conversation, but I knew Lavinia wouldn’t mind.

“Midget Moffets?” she paused with a concentrating frown on her face, holding a thick book in her hands. “Oh, Kids. Yes, actually. I have two. You can tell?”

“Yeah, somehow. What are their names? Ages? Genders? Tell me about them.” I asked, myself organizing a shelf of papers, folders, and books.  A soft look fell on her face. The wrinkles on her brow, which were furrowed in focus, softened, and her mouth twitched upwards, like a silent laugh.

“I have two, both males, and their names are Gabriel and Isaac. Gabriel is just two years old, and Isaac is four. They both have Elliot’s blue eyes, but their hair is the same color as mine, and curly. They do keep me busy, and I hardly get any more sleep now, but, you know, it’s really worth it.”

“Yeah? I’ll have to meet them someday. How’s our buddy Elliot doing?”

“Oh, he’s doing as he usually is. He’s been really busy with work.”

“Is he still working as a journalist?”

“Yeah.” Little by little my floor was uncovered, papers were stacked, and everything was dusted and squeaky clean. Conversation with Lavinia proved to be light and relaxing. I learned a lot about her new life, with the kids, and her husband’s job and such. I didn’t really talk about my life that much. She asked me about Michelle, and I was surprised to find that I myself didn’t even know much about Michelle. After all, she just came over for some tea and small talk when coming to collect taxes, or to tell me to send it to her by whatever date she wanted. She did find all of my pills, and the topic of my depression medication came up. When asked the reason for my depression, I told her that she would be depressed too, living in a pig sty like this. She just rolled her eyes at me. I didn’t need to worry about her finding the old books. I had, on the last day of work, returned every single one of them, livingly placing them back into their homes in the shelves, among friends.

“There.” Lavinia lets out a huge sigh and stretches her back. “Done.” With our back to the door, we look at the work we got done. The dark wood floor was shiny and shone through everywhere, the carpets were freshly vacuumed, the shelves were organized, all the dishes cleared, the laundry done, and overall looking like a normal, albeit worn out, apartment building.

“Wow,” I said, looking around, amazed. “Thanks Lavinia.”

“It’s no problem.” She looks out the window, from which I had taken the board off of. The light of the sun is no longer piercing through the glass panes, and she glances at her silver wristwatch, giving out a faint cry, eyebrows rising and mouth opening in wordless surprise. “I really have to go now. Elliot is going to be home any minute.” She lets herself out the door while still pulling on her boots, and says, “I’ll see you soon, Atlas.” I stand just inside the door and watch as her scarf billows out behind her as she flies down the stairs, and the last of the clicking of her shoes on the concrete surface fades. I smile, and place a hand over my mouth to stiffen the laugher. I’ll see you soon, Atlas.

            I plopped down on the sofa, which I hadn’t been able to do in a while without fearing sitting on or crushing something beneath me. I lay there for a while, one hand limply falling off the side so it trailed along the floor, the other acting as a pillow for my head. I stared at the ceiling, at the white paint that covered the concrete, and at the giant brown splotch that was there because of a recent hurricane. Living on the top floor, I didn’t have to worry about obnoxious neighbors stomping around early in the morning, but I had all the leaks and the worst swaying during earthquakes. Turning onto my side, I command for the television to turn on. The lights on the screen flicker for a moment, as if hesitant after not being used for a while, and then shows a lady. She is holding an umbrella, out in the streets, reporting about the rain with a smile as the wind buffets her hair and face, causing her to squint a little.

            The screen’s setting changes to a newsroom, and headlines ARE WE ALONE? MAYBE NOT scrolling around the base along with some advertisements. Three people sit at a desk, wearing black suits and matching cropped hair, combed neatly to the side.

“Recent studies by the department of cosmetology has yielded evidence of discovering a planet-like earth in a galaxy 127 light years away. Scientist Vonne Silver brings us more about the exciting discovery.” I closed my eyes, not really interested, mouth hanging open. I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes, I thought. Then I’ll wake up and do some work. I yawned into my arm and snuggled in deeper into the crook of my elbow.

“It’s unclear if the planet has complex life forms present, but we are positive that it has liquid water, and that the conditions are perfect for life on the planet….” Somewhere along the line I fell asleep.

            I was in my room, sitting at the desk, pen in hand, watching as the train clattered across the window. When the last cart disappears, the setting has changed. I am no longer looking out into a railroad track, but a gathering of trees. Its dark, but a light, unlike the sun, illuminates the ground, and I can make out the shapes of large looming trees, and little critters as they scurry across the ground. The sky is speckled with white, and large orbs hang in the sky. I hear a song, different from anything I’ve ever heard. It sounds like the mechanical birds, but the feeling it instills is not the same. This song was haunting and rang in my ear, and filled my heart with a feeling I’ve never felt before. It made me feel nostalgic, like a bittersweet memory I’d long forgotten. It’s a forest, I thought. I looked up at the sky. Stars. Moons. I listened and the melody trilled again. Birds. But there was something else there, something I hadn’t ever read about. I couldn’t make out its body, but its crimson eyes glittered in the distance. I was afraid of it, but felt as if I could trust it, at the same time. I yearned to walk to it, but instinct told me to stay back. The creature blinked its eyes at me, but remained where it was, eyes unmoving.