What Never Happened

by Rachel Howzell Hall

On that day Micah left, and after I found that first letter, my hands were shaking, everything quaking, my eyes wild in the mirror’s reflection. “No. What?” I kept saying that—No, what? No, what?—as I bounced across the apartment in search of my cell phone. Become the best? I was already the best.

She pinches my cheek. “Such a little people pleaser. It’s not all good. You ain’t breaking my heart by lying to me.” My brain searches for the best response. Auntie, I’m not a people pleaser cuz I like pleasing people. Just trying not to catch any smoke—from you or anyone else, Auntie. Keeping my head above water . . . trying not to make any waves when I can.

But at least you’re moving forward.” Moving forward. Like a snail with a broken shell.

“Call your therapist. Keep getting your head right.” Because my head isn’t right.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Coco.” Maddy pats my back. “We’re gonna rule the world, you and me.” I smile and follow Maddy to her office. Ha. This bitch really thinks I trust her.

Of course I don’t trust her. Hell, I don’t trust anyone (yet another reason I’ve been in therapy for twenty years). But I’ll never let Maddy know that I still think she and most of the citizens of Earth are folklore scorpions asking for a ride across the river. Sting me once, never again.

Heidi, a twinkle of a woman with sparkly blue eyes, shows me a picture of Paula, a woman with short silver hair and those same Caribbean blue eyes accented with shimmery turquoise eye shadow. The woman in this picture drinks lots of brown liquor and has a sandpaper laugh. She smells of crushed roses and Pall Malls.

“It’s in her nickname: Pep. I can tell she was a vibrant woman for nearly eighty years. The single day that death occurred shouldn’t define her.”

I raise my glass. “Here’s to living in a fantasy and escaping from reality.”

So many villains, so little time.

I tighten my grip around the neck of the wine bottle in my right hand, then tighten my grip around the corkscrew in the left. Go! Cabernet Sauvignon has a nice weight, and the bottle connects solidly against the side of Flynn’s head. He goes down to his knees. I hit him again, harder this time, and break the bottle against his skull. Then, I plunge the corkscrew into his neck. Blood spurts like champagne from a bottle and mixes with the 2018 Cab.