I’m almost there… I can feel my heart pounding so hard it’s like I’m in an earthquake. I reach for the handle. Now’s the moment of truth. I pull. ‘Chink-thunk.’ What? Again I pull. ‘Chink-thunk.’ It’s… locked? But the “Y” is always open this time. I look at the glass door and see a notice:
The “Y” is closed temporarily due to basement flooding and leech infestation. All activities until February 28, 2007 will be cancelled. We apologize for the inconvenience.
White… That’s all I can see right now. Just white paper and a swarm of mosquitoes forming a message I don’t want to understand. Little, black, pesky mosquitoes. I want to squash them so that I can’t see the message anymore. ‘Thunk.’ They’re laughing at me from behind the glass door. I slide down the entrance and sit there for 15 minutes with a blank mind. I can’t do much just sitting here. Those mosquitoes will think they’ve won. I get up, my body feeling heavy as if I’m the living dead. Yes, that sounds about right. “Kiley the zombie.” Well this zombie could use a pick-me-up. I walk a little further down the road to a juice shop that I frequent—Mountain Lily—and take my usual seat.
“Carrot-mango smoothie,” I moan to the waitress. She’s new.
As I sip on my smoothie, a man I don’t bother to look at takes the seat next to me.
“Kind of a gloomy day today, right?” I hear a dream-like accent. He must be foreign.
“Yeah,” I respond, taking another sip and still avoiding eye-contact. I’m not much of a talker.
“You look like all your dreams have been ripped out from under you. Something happen?”
“Yeah they have… It seems no matter how hard I try, the dream is always out of reach. It’s Bad Luck.”
“Maybe… but I don’t think so. Maybe you were just being challenged.”
“Hm…”
The man shuffles to look at the door.
“Do you know what a mountain lily is?” he seems to be intent on my answer.
“No… enlighten me,” I’m almost tempted to face the mystery man now.
“It is a resilient flower… never snapping even in the fiercest of winds. I think you might be like that. How about you?”
I scoff. “Why would you want to hear what I have to say, anyway?”
“Because,” he leans in next to my ear, “I’m always willing to hear from a fan.”
