She was no longer a little girl. It was horrible.

“I hate you. I hate you so much.”

All those conversations I had with random people through the years about this magical age suddenly came back to me all at once. “You’ll wish you could turn back the clock”. “You’ll wish you could speed up the clock.” “Dark thoughts will cross your mind.” “You’ll loose faith in humankind.” I had brushed them off. After all, I hadn’t been so bad at that age. Had I?

“Are you evening listening to me? I hate you!”

She had always been a beautiful child. But god damn it was hard to find anything beautiful about her anymore. I breathed. My therapist told me to breathe. My therapist told me that if I let her get the best of me I would only regret it later. One breath. Two. Three.

“I want to go to the concert with Lucy! Why do you have to be such a bitch! It’s just a stupid concert! I don’t know anybody that has such a bitch of a mom, you know?!”

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. I dare you to let me get to twenty. I double dare you. I triple dare you to get the best of me.

“Mom… Mommy… Can I pretty please go to the concert?”

As if that wasn’t enough she waited a beat and then leaned in very close and looked as if she just lost her ipod.

“I love you.”

Twenty. Fuck my therapist.

“You’re adopted.”

It was the first time in months she’d kept her mouth shut for more than a minute. I could see a million thoughts crossing her head. And then… A realization. I could kill myself.

“Hey… Look… Here’s fifty bucks. Why don’t you go to the concert with Lucy?”

She stared at me. She stared at the fifty bucks. She stared at me again.

“I think I’ll need a hundred.”

And the little devil smiled.

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The fly had been standing on the freshly baked cherry pie for about a minute, not believing it’s incredible luck. It salivated as it rubbed it’s hairy feet. A whole cherry pie.

That entire minute, just feet away, the old lady had been staring at the fly, not believing her own incredible bad luck. She had left her beautiful pie alone for all of ten seconds, the time it took her to fetch the pie cover.

The fly finally got down to business and walked all over the crispy crust, looking for the perfect place to launch its attack on the creamy cherry filling.

The old lady had seen that fly before. It had waddled in her oatmeal at breakfast and sipped from her soup at lunch, both times narrowly escaping death by the old lady’s skilled swatting. And she had a feeling it was the same fly she’d seen on the steaming turd of her neighbor’s schnauzer this morning. It had looked up at her then, just as it was looking up at her now.

The fly stared at the old lady and calculated her distance by the speed at which she was known to travel and then decided that it had plenty of time. And then it stuffed it’s face with pie.

The old lady watched the big green dirty fly infect her beautiful creation but still she didn’t move. There was something strange about watching that fly enjoy her cherry pie. Something oddly… Satisfying.

The fly looked up just as the old lady slammed the pie cover over it. The fly’s calculations had been all off. At least it would have the satisfaction of gorging itself before the old lady finished it off. But time passed and the old lady didn’t come. So the fly pressed it’s thousands of eyes against the translucent pie cover and saw the old lady… Baking?

The old lady took the fresh apple pie out of the oven and laid it on the table. She stared at the fly, who looked at her through the pie cover, confused. She had baked the apple pie just for the fly. That fly was the only real company she’d had in years. And it liked her pies. She lifted the cover but the fly didn’t move. Somehow… it knew.

Old lady and fly stared at each other, comfortable. Then the fly dug it’s hairy legs out of the cherry pie and jumped on to the apple pie, and the old lady smiled.

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I got the call last Wednesday at 3:16AM. I had been waiting for it for almost a year, making sure I didn’t stray too far from reach, but thoroughly enjoying every moment without it. And then it was 3:16AM last Wednesday.

“Danny, it’s you’re father.”

It didn’t take long to drive there, but the short distance hadn’t done anything to help our relationship through the years. I saw him every so often during childhood. Even less through adolescence. Until we lost track completely during college. It wasn’t hard.

I parked my car outside his run down single-story and let myself in. I found him in the bathroom, sitting in the toilet, unable to get up, his cell phone tied to his neck, his body nearly wasted away.

“I’m sorry, Danny.”

I helped him up as I pulled his underwear on and did my best to avoid his shamed face. He had been crying. I gave him a bath. I could tell he hadn’t had one in months. Then I changed him into clean clothes and put him in bed. We didn’t exchange a single word for hours. We just stared out the window, waiting for morning to come.

It had been 15 years since I last saw him when I got his call almost a year ago. He had missed every single important moment in my life, he hadn’t even met his two grandsons, but for some reason we got to talking. We talked like I’ve never talked to anybody before or since.

“You’re going to do it, right?”

“Yes, Dad.”

He nodded as he looked away. His body seemed like a child’s in the bed. There was a long moment where I wished I hadn’t gotten the call today. That it would have waited one more day. Then he looked at me again and I took the gun from my pocket and aimed. The sun was rising. It was beautiful.

“Thank you, Danny.”

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The old man stared at his shiny new laptop and waited as the fat tech guy gathered his belongings. The laptop’s box and packing materials littered the room and filled the air with a fresh plastic smell that was completely intoxicating to the old man. It was his first computer and he was dying to use it.

“Well, that’s it. Are you sure you’ll be fine, sir?”

“I think I got the hang of it. I appreciate your patience though. You’ve been very kind.”

All the old man could think about was being alone with the machine. His wife had died several months before and it had taken him that long to sort out everything and run up the courage to buy it. She had always scoffed at the expense. But he had dreamt of this day since the moment his neighbor told him the secret that would keep him up some nights. Wondering. His wife just didn’t understand.

“You’re sure? You’re really sure you don’t need more help?”

“Yes. Very much so. But I do appreciate it.”

“You know, sir, I do this for a living. And I’ve run across more than one widower like yourself. I could get you up and video-chatting with your sons and granddaughters in no time. I could even point you to dating sites that specialize in retirees. What, with a good snapshot and my profile writing skills you’ll have the ladies clogging up your phone line!”

“Oh… Oh, no… I’ll be fine. Really. But thank you.”

The old man pushed the tech guy out and slammed the door shut. He had never been so openly rude before in his life, but he didn’t care. The old man used his index fingers to type as he fumbled his way through the instructions he had burned in his memory for years. He logged in. He opened the web browser. It was all working!

His excitement turned to nervousness as he slowly typed the name of his search. The website loaded. It was full of flashing signs and so many filthy pictures and strange advertisements that he had to shade his eyes so he could move the mouse to the little box inside the site where he had to click. Why did it have to be so complicated! He felt like looking everywhere! But he knew he shouldn’t. He clicked.

And then he waited as two giant animated breasts rubbed into each other as they circled on his screen while the video loaded. Finally it stopped, and the video played.

“It’s not so bad… I’ve seen much worse in my days… Oh… Wait a minute… Is that?… Oh my God… Is she?… No! Don’t do it!… Oh my holy lord Christ! You sick bastards! Oh…”

The old man looked away. But then slowly, looked back. He could look away no more. And after a long silence, he smiled. It was even worse than his neighbor had said.

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The young CEO was driving his brand new European sports car home from a conference he had headlined one city away when he was faced with a choice: take the highway and be home in no time or take the side-roads and give his car a real spin. He had driven this way before but had never thought about the choice, always opting for the highway. Today was different, though. The conference had been a resounding success and his new car seemed to beg to be tested on those curvy bendy hilly side roads. The man chose the scenic route.

As the man and his precision vehicle snaked and thrust their way through an impossibly beautiful landscape, and the sun began to set in the distance, the man felt like he was in one of those silly car commercials he despised, and loved every minute of it. He thought of the beautiful wife he was going home to, the young daughter, the designer home… He couldn’t stop smiling. The man had made it. Then he did something he hadn’t done in 15 years. The man turned on the radio to a hits station. He had hoped that he would find the perfect soundtrack to his car commercial moment: an upbeat late 80’s hard rock sing-along or even one of those tearjerkers that became such good prom themes. Instead he got that song from 1992.

He immediately went for the dial but it was stuck. He went for the power button but it didn’t work. The volume knob was irresponsive. He was in a nightmare. This stupid song that he knew every single lyric to was the reason he avoided FM radio, and even TV since a couple of years ago it became “retro cool” again. His brand new sports car was laughing in his face. He hit the dashboard hard, the steering wheel harder, he screamed, but the volume only seemed to grow louder.

“Di di ba di,
dip di di ba di di dip di dip ba deedlee di ba du ba du ba du ba du ba du ba.”

And as the song continued and the colors of the impossibly beautiful landscape seemed about to burst from the sky, the man was flooded with thoughts of 1992. Of love. Of heartache. Of heartache. Of god damn heartache. And that song. The man cried like a little girl. He couldn’t help himself and began to sing along. He hated every second of it but his singing grew louder and louder. He had been a dork, he was still a dork, and he would always be a god damn dork. He could deceive everyone, but he could not lie to a $100,000 European sports car.

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