[COMPLETED]
[WATTYS 2022 WINNER]
James Quinn can't die. Actually... that's not true. He's died many times - somewhere in the neighborhood of 250 - only to be reborn as himself to live his life over again.
For millennia, he's had to endure this c...
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August 19, 1995 [2]
"Just here on da corner?" the taxi driver asked as he pulled to a stop. "You sure?"
"Yes. The corner's fine, thank you." Martha replied.
"Yer da boss." He shifted into park. "That'll be 104 and 53 cents."
She counted six twenty dollar bills then handed them to the driver before grabbing her backpack and stepping out of the taxi. As she began down the residential block, she heard the driver ask, "You want change?" But she ignored him, continuing on.
He was behind her – just like the disaster in Pasadena and the solitary, painfully slow years in New Mexico. Though slow as they'd been, she'd at least felt some degree of control there.
For the remainder of middle school and the first three years of high school, she'd abandoned appearances, made no friends, scored a perfect GPA – sorry usual valedictorian, you'll take it back in the next life – and a perfect SAT all so she could have her pick of universities. But of course, she couldn't make such a life altering decision without visiting a campus or two before her senior year. First on her list was Northwestern University which happened to be situated just north of Chicago.
She'd easily convinced her father that she could travel alone. Considering that she'd not only taken care of herself these last years, but also her grandparents with their failing health and her father with his failing sanity, there wasn't much of an argument for Steven to make.
Losing her University assigned chaperone – a well-meaning incoming sophomore who was probably losing her mind trying to find Martha at the moment – was also easy. Again... sorry.
Martha had made sure to pack enough cash for a taxi ride out to the suburbs and back, and while she still couldn't remember his address, she did recall the names of the streets of a nearby intersection.
And this was his block – the gloriously unimaginative, cookie cutter row of beige, dark beige, and... there it is!
The gray ranch style home with his mother's red Pontiac in the driveway was exactly as she remembered. His Honda was absent, but that was okay. She'd prepared for this – obsessively reminding herself that he would most likely not be home when she came to his door. Chances were, he had already left for his freshman year of college, whether in Berkeley or somewhere closer to home. Or perhaps he'd decided against college this life and was at work or feeding the homeless or exploring the jungles of deepest, darkest Peru.
Or maybe he'll answer the door! No, Martha. We're not doing that.
She had to restrain the pure joy the thought inspired. Even if he wasn't there, this was a monumental step towards finding him. But the attempt to control her thoughts was proving pointless. The anticipation of his face, smile, and embrace pulsed through every part of her.
