The Chance Effect

Chapter 9.

Atlas' POV

Dinner was finished as the sun dips below the horizon, the poolside beckons with a shimmering allure. Scott suggests we continue our conversation in the soothing embrace of the evening breeze. We stroll across the wide concrete slab, a glass of wine in our hand, the electric fireplace casting a warm glow against the backdrop of the illuminated Los Angeles skyline. This was a world I had created but had now been handed back to me like a blank canvas.

"So," I begin, taking a sip of the wine and glancing at the bottle within arm's reach, reading 'Caymus' on the label.

"What do you want to know?" Scott dips into one of the patio chairs, the cushion dipping as his sits.

"Let's talk about something that recently happened? Maybe in the last few years?" I tilt my head with curiosity. 

"Well, a significant recent event was when the whole world shutting down a couple of years ago due to a virus called COVID-19. You weren't particularly happy about it—nobody really was. But it significantly affected your work and the band," Scott explained, swiveling the wine glass in his hand.

"What do you mean by 'shut down'? Everything just stopped?" I asked, disbelief coloring my voice.

"Oh, absolutely. People were in a state of panic, and almost everything came to a standstill. You had to wear a surgical mask everywhere you went. It is still somewhat ongoing, but not as intense as it used to be," Scott adds, reflecting on those challenging times.

"And you said I was upset about it affecting my music?" I ask, pouring more wine into his glass.

"Yeah, dude. You couldn't go to the studio or go on tour for a couple of years. You were just stuck. You even got an attitude at one point. But eventually, you managed to put out a new album anyway," he informs me, finishing off his full glass, I guess he likes to drink.

The night continues with Scott catching me up on the rest of the world—the advancements in technology, the new movies, and even the loss of some beloved celebrities. He thought it was best for my parents and bandmates to share the more personal memories with me.

Eventually, Scott bids his farewell just past 11 o'clock, emphasizing his excitement to witness myself in action again. "Before I leave, here's a cell phone," he chimes, emphasizing our need for seamless communication. "All the crucial contacts are in there; enjoy the challenge of navigating through it." He hands over an iPhone box, and with gratitude, I open it to unveil a sophisticated black phone.

Alone by the pool, I take a deep breath, embracing the unknown. This was the beginning of a new chapter, a chance to rediscover the symphony of my life. I stare into the pool, watching the ripples distort the reflection of the moon, a metaphor for the distortions in my memory.

As I find myself back in the house, the buzz from the wine prompting me to sink into the couch, I run my hands along the smooth and soft fabric surface, grabbing a plush pillow and drifting off into a deep sleep.

The next morning, a subtle buzzing gently stirs me from my slumber. The sun greets me with its soft embrace as it streams through the window curtains, ushering in the promise of a fresh day. The buzzing persisted as I rub my eyes, feeling the remnants of last night's wine in the form of a slight headache. I locate the source of the vibration—a new phone. Hastily, I open the box to see my mom calling. 'Swipe to answer' dances across the screen.

"Hello?" I greet into the phone, my voice raspy from sleep.

"There he is!" my mother chimes on the other line. "He remembers how to use a cell phone," she laughs.