Flash #2 - Steps

This flash tale is based on an idea from special helper Joseph. If you want to see the idea before reading the story, it's at the end :)

It’s been a hard year, right? Yeah, you know. I hope you’re doing okay; I hope you have what you need.

Grandma tells me, At least no one’s aiming bombs at us. We’ve had worse, gotten through worse. She gets her groceries online; she’s speaks to family using Facetime. She tells me not to worry about her. She tells me to worry about Emi instead.

“10,000 steps.”

“That sounds like a lot.”

“Five miles.”

“What? Every day?”

“I have to do something. This year…I’m losing my mind.”

Emi. I love that girl. But she’s serious about everything. About losing her job, about us losing the apartment. About us in general, and about the virus that wants to kills us.

And now she’s serious about steps. Emi runs. Every day, first thing. At first, I thought I’d try it too, try to keep up. But Emi runs like the wind, she runs like something’s chasing her. I’m left standing.

“You should slow down. You should take a break.”

“Why? What…why would I do that?”

“You’re going to break something.”

“Seriously? This is the only thing keeping me sane.”

Grandma told me I should worry about Emi; I should worry about my girlfriend, because steps weren’t the answer. Because there are some things you can’t run away from. And then she told me something crazy.

After making a call, I found out that it wasn’t crazy. It was something that could work. It was mercy.

A week ago, I gave Emi a gift. It’s a step-counter that plays music, means she doesn’t have to take her phone. And it’s more than that. Much more. It’s a message, delivered underneath the music. An insistent message. Stop running away. Stay where you are. Relax. Relax and be happy.

For six mornings, Emi ran, using the step-counter. For six evenings, I saw no difference in her mood, in her sense of urgency.

“Feeling better?”

“How do you mean?”

“All those steps. Is it…well, are you calmer?”

“Absolutely.”

She didn’t look calmer. She was stiff as a board. If I touched her, she would break into a million pieces.

Wait, Grandma tells me on Facetime. It’ll come. Be ready for it.

I didn’t think it would work.

Correction. I didn’t think it would work as well as it did.

This morning, Emi leaves the apartment at 5:30 AM. I follow her at a distance, driving to the beach. As soon as she’s on the sand, she starts running, and I won’t catch her.

Wait. She slows down. She stops. She crouches by the water, her hands in the wet sand. I walk over, and she smiles at me. It’s a smile I don’t recognize, until I think back to the photo in the hallway. The one where she’s in the back yard playing with her sister. The one where’s she’s a little girl.

“I can tell you’re feeling better.”

“Better?” Her tone matches her expression.

“You were kind of stressed this morning.” I crouch beside her, stroke her hair. It’s like a test, as if physical contact might break the spell.

She smiles at my touch.

“I’m playin’.”

I nod. She’s not going to work today. There’s no way. “Cool. Feels good to play in the sand, huh.”

She looks at me. “Wanna build a san-cassel.”

I blinks at the diction, and then I nod. “Oh. Sure! But I didn’t bring a shovel.” And that’s my fault, because I’m in charge, I’m in charge of Emi.

It’s okay. I’m forgiven with a hug and a kiss on my cheek. Today, we’ll just use our hands, today we’ll just play in the sand. If we want to run, we’ll run like the wind, but we’re not being chased by anything.

This year isn’t great. No bombs, but it’s still pretty harsh. Still, the beaches in Orange County are open. At least we have that. We can build sandcastles, Emi and me, we can have some fun. Tonight I’ll give her a bath, and before I put her to bed, she’ll get to Facetime with Grandma and tell her all about her fun day.

THE END

"An app that helps Emi count her steps is also making her take a few steps back" – Joseph