Looking at his phone, he could see there were no messages. No blinking green light in the upper right corner to coax a smile. He checked the messages app anyways to read those from the past. ‘I love you’s, emoticons, and even a few lines of poetry went past his finger as he scrolled through them. Some of them from him, others from her. But mostly her. College payments were difficult enough without international texts. Once he tried to call her, and she didn’t even pick up—wiser than him—knowing it would cost a fortune just to hear her voice, which was all he wanted to do, anyways.

How long has it been? he reflected. Just three months? God it feels like three years. I never thought I’d be in this type of relationship. He scoffed incredulously, almost ashamed with how madly he had fallen for her. It made him feel like a teenager.

He was in a parked car, a black Camry with empty mugs stained by coffee rings in the cup holders. There were paper cups scattered in the backseats. James was written in scrawly handwriting on all of the old, white cups. He was musing of the day when Ashley would mark a few of those cups beside his.

Outside, a worker from Whole Foods was pushing a long row of carts towards the supermarket. His pants were tan with a sage shirt the same color of the maple and sage trees beside the road leading to the market. A light drizzle was coming from the clouded skies—complements of Portland. James smiled up at the clouds; a sad smile, wondering how long those skies would be his only company instead of hers. The sun was beginning to set—not that he could see it through the blanket of grey—though it was still light enough outside.

James sighed and got out of the car, taking in a breath of rain and fog. The January winds were heavy with frost. First combing back some of his disheveled, brown hair, he wrapped his jacket around him tighter. He’d lost the zipper months ago, and didn’t have money enough for another, so instead he crossed his arms around the faded black wool and hugged himself as he walked towards the sliding doors.

The rain was forgiving; light, in small flecks being tossed around like dust.

A gust of wind rustled his hair. It was straight and needed a trim, falling past his ears and his eyes awkwardly. He settled on the idea that if he made it disheveled he wouldn’t have to worry about it looking good. With two hands he shook his hair about wildly as if drying it with a towel after a shower. Afterwards he grinned stupidly with wild hair, content with his decision.

The sliding doors of the supermarket were closer now. He walked past stands of potted plants and crates of fruit. The term ‘organic’ branded on seemingly everything he saw.

The supermarket was big, so the fluorescent lights on the high ceilings weren’t bothersome. It smelled like fresh produce and oak. The floors were not of cheap tile as in most stores. Best of all: free heating. James stopped hugging himself.

James dug into one of the pockets of his waistcoat and found a folded list. handwriting stared up at him, saying this would only feed him for a week, maybe less, and funds were low enough as it was. Then he found his wallet, checked to find the two twenties and a ten intact.

It wasn’t too crowded at the moment, but people were still bustling about. The sounds of cashiers ringing up items beeped incessantly, and there was the ‘Have a good day,’ mantra being repeated like a broken record. It didn't bother him, so long as there were a few genuine laughs to add to the chorus of routine.

Someone walked past James. A girl his age with a single paper bag, offering a polite smile. He smiled back, then thought of Ashley, almost feeling guilty. Lately he was so desperate for company.

My apartment will be empty when I get back, he thought. No one waiting to cook dinner, no one to cuddle with after a night of studying. God, I wish Ashley—He stopped himself. He had to stop wishing. Just had to. He’d be miserable if he didn’t. A whole ocean separated them. The simple solution was to leave her, but his heart thundered with each time he thought of getting closer to her, and that simply drowned out everything else. Perhaps he was being irrational. Perhaps I’m the most sane I’ve ever been, following my heart instead of the head … I don’t know.

He found himself in the dairy section without even being conscious of his feet having walked him there. It was amazing how each time those thoughts seemed to wind him up like a toy and send him places. He got lost looking at nothing in particular.

“Need help, sir?” someone asked, noticing his blank stare.

James turned, back on the planet again. It was a worker, slightly older than him, probably scraping some money together for college like he should’ve been. She had blonde hair that was nearly pale. It curled at the ends, stopping at her shoulders and bordering a sharp nose, blue eyes, a comforting smile that made dimples. She was beautiful, but terrifying at the same time: she looked like Ashley.

James tried to not look at her obsessively, yet he was bewitched. It was so wonderful and heartening. “I’m looking for … um, butter—grassfed,” he stuttered, then made a face that said ‘i’m an idiot and I know it.’

She ignored the fact that he’d spent at least half a minute just staring at her. Who could blame him? The purple and green half-circles under his eyes made him look zombified.

James shook away the thoughts, visibly, while the employee searched the frozen shelves. It’s not her, he told himself, wishing desperately it was. But the tickets from Europe to the US were too expensive, and hoping was more painful than waiting. “Well, sir, you’ll find that right here,” she said plainly. She was shorter than he, just by a few inches. She reached up to a block of grassfed butter on the top shelf, and handed it to him.

He felt so idiotic. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t really need help finding that. It’s just my mind is in other places,” he said, trying to save his dignity as he took the cold, silver-colored butter from her. Kerrygold written on the front above a grazing cow.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Jennifer.” She stuck out a hand with able fingers and a soft palm.

Maybe if I just take the hand and imagine it’s hers … “I’m James,” he said warmly. A brief sensation of reassurance—like an embrace—went through him when her hand met his, cold as it was.

“Well, James, if you need help, I’ll be around.” She smiled at him like the girl leaving the store smiled at him. Nothing flirtatious, he told himself. He gave a tired smile back. Then she was off, walking that hurried pace that all the workers had.

James let his head sag for a moment as he sighed, looking down at the butter, then realizing he had seven other things to get before he left. It was getting dark outside, and he wanted to be home, to talk with Ashley while he studied, while he cooked, while he did everything. To be honest, he probably talked with her more than most boyfriends spoke with their girlfriends. Had to compensate for the distance.



Fifteen minutes later, he had crossed off everything but one item on the list: tea. James had picked up a basket by then and put a few items in it.

He walked around—almost aimlessly—looking for where they sold tea, reflecting on how his lack of sleep made him seem like a broken compass.

He passed by a mother cradling a baby while she read a nutrition label, thought of Ashley; walked past a child running through the store wildly with glee, playing with an invisible friend, and imagined her smiling with him; saw a husband and wife kiss for a moment as they shopped, and thought of doing that with her. All the scenarios he had imagined before reanimated like a zombie; just an empty shell of what it could be. It seemed everyone was just another reminder.

Rubbing away at his tired, hazel eyes, he tried to forget but couldn’t. Tried as he had hundreds of times before, and failed.

Time went by without him as he leaned against a support beam in the store and rested his eyes. Someone passing by thought he was an overworked student. Another thought he had a headache. Either way, he had been sighing to himself and shaking his head for a few minutes before he felt his eyes start to sting, the self-pity not calming him. Oh god, not in public. That’s just pitiful. Embarrassing. Only a few feet away was the deli stand with a butcher glancing up every few moments curiously at the young man. James had always been quick to express emotions, something he both prided himself in and was equally ashamed of.

A male worker coming from behind James passed him, then stopped. The child that had been running around rushed up to the employee. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, hands knotted together.

The worker grinned, took off his white hat and ran a hand through thinning orange hair. He was a man in his thirties with freshly gloved hands underneath smelling of meat and blood. Another butcher with a smile. “Why, it’s right back there,” he said, pointing back where he came from.

James looked back curiously, feeling his vision getting a little blurry. Suddenly, he started walking towards the bathroom himself. I’ll just get it out. Just let myself go for a minute and then I’ll be fine, he promised himself as he strode towards the hall with the restrooms.

He bent to set his basket down while the child stamped behind him. Then his phone fell out of his coat pocket, splattering against the ground so that the back casing fell out and and the battery lay beside it like robotic entrails. He cursed lowly and bent to pick up the pieces. Simple as it was, seeing the phone break apart prodded at the feelings boiling in his chest.

The child rushed passed him, ignoring him, going on his tiptoes just to grope for the chrome handle.

“No, wait,” James said, wiping away at his eyes. He had been sleepless for days, and hadn’t eaten since early that morning. Any restraint from those types of emotions had left entirely.

“What?” the child ask, his auburn hair down at his shoulders, overgrown and wild. He had a juvenile grin on and was still on his tiptoes, keeping balance with the handle of the door.

James realized how stupid he was. Couldn't tell a child not to use the bathroom. “ … Nothing. You go on ahead.” He smiled weirdly, the tears starting to show in his eyes.

The child looked puzzled, noticing the sadness but seeing the grin. “Thank you, mister,” he said. Then he went inside, laughing, mumbling to his imaginary friend.

James couldn’t hold it in. Back here where the bathrooms were, it was darker. There were no lights installed in the small hall. Just two doors for the bathroom, and another unmarked door at the back.

A voice sounded over the loudspeaker—wearied and old, a female manager’s. Jen, there’s been an accident in the frozen section.

James couldn’t hear the loudspeaker. Couldn’t hear anything but his thoughts. He walked as far back in that little hallway as he could and started weeping right there in the corner, hands over his eyes to wipe the tears away as soon as they came. It’s never hurt this much, he thought. Just want to see her. Just once. Not in a dream, not on Skype, not through pixels. I’d go deaf just to touch her and see her right now …

He cried as he told himself he would eventually, one day. Though it didn't last for just a minute as he promised it would. It was more than that, and by the time he’d controlled most of it the kid had left the bathroom and he hadn’t realized it. Sniffling and wiping the moisture from his cheeks, he turned around.

Someone was coming. Their footsteps quick. A worker. It was Jen. Oh no …

She was fumbling for a keychain at her waist as she went towards the last door at the back. James walked towards his basket, hoping she would just ignore him. But she bumped into him instead, not seeing him in the dark, narrow hallway; too busy looking for the right key to the supply closet.

“Oh, James, right? How are y—” she saw his eyes, red from crying, then trailed off with a small gasp. His cheeks were still wet from the tears, and he could hardly breathe he was so ashamed. All the professionalism left her voice and an almost motherly tone replaced it. “Oh, sweetie,” she cooed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

He could only shake his head, hold in a sob that trembled in him. She even sounds like her. Another word from him would only provoke more tears. At least now most of them had stopped coming.

Then he looked up at her, offering her that at least as a sign of appreciation. In the poor lighting, all he had to do was think of Ashley and her features melded with hers completely. The realization made him sob. Jennifer was close enough that he could lean into her shoulder, but he buried his face into his hands instead. A ghost come to haunt me, to remind me how far she is from me, and yet so close with everything I see. Just another ghost …

Jennifer wasn’t stupid. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?” she asked softly. James nodded.

Jen, we need that mess taken care of, the loudspeaker warned.

She ignored it, not a flicker of recognition on her face. Only compassion. “Break-up?”

James shook his head again. It was like a game of twenty-questions. Yet it only took her two.

Jennifer sighed, rubbed his shoulder encouragingly. “Long distance relationships are difficult. I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said, thinking how nice it must’ve felt to feel a hand instead of a keyboard, a voice instead of an indie singer-songwriter piece to comfort him. “What made you lose it? It can’t be that bad … can it?”

James sniffled back tears, wiped away a few fresh ones at his eyes and stared at her bravely.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t of—“

“You look exactly like her,” he whispered so faintly as to not choke on the words. The noises of the rest of the supermarket seemed to fade away, now; lost to a different world. Now the hall seemed darker, more secluded.

There was a long, strangely comfortable pause as Jennifer searched the darkness. Then she started nudging him toward the back. “Come here, James.” When he stood still, head resting on the cold wall, she tugged at the sleeve of his coat and lead him backwards. “Come on. This will help, I promise.”

“What are you doing?” James felt the pressure in his chest expand.

She didn’t say anything, instead pulling him, her touch and voice so coaxing that he couldn’t resist and he stumbled toward her. She opened up the closet and stepped in. When he stood in the doorway, confused as a child, her arms came out and pulled him forcefully by the collar, then shot to the handle and pulled it shut. Inside it smelled of disinfectant. Here it was completely dark, save for some light coming from the bottom of the doorway. Here he could just barely see her blue eyes, just barely see her cheekbones, nose, and lips. Here … he could just barely see Ashley.

“Close your eyes, James,” she whispered.

He could feel her breathe brush over his lips when he did. It was so tight in the closet that they were pressed against each other, noses touching and eyes gazing. His breath quickened as he felt her chest rise and fall, pushing and pulling him in. He imagined Ashley, felt her right there with him, and suddenly he could do nothing but allow his hands to explore Jennifer; going over her the ridge of her hips and the small of her back. This is so wrong, his mind repeated, but his hands felt his love on the other side of the world right in their grasp, and they wanted nothing else than for him to believe it.

Jennifer went on her toes. Just another centimeter, and her lips were on his. He could feel how soft they were with the light pressure. His fingers caressed her back carefully. Jennifer let him pull her closer, took a breath, and kissed him again, deeply this time.

James’ heart beat against her chest. For a moment the closet had its own pulse.

“Ashley,” he breathed. He said her name again after a third kiss—long and forgiving—then rested his forehead against hers, a tear falling down his cheek. He whispered her name once more. The air in the tight space throbbed.

A wave of regret started to flow. “Ashley,” he said, this time alarmed. “No, no, no,” he mumbled to himself. “I shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have …” Why did I let myself?

“James, I …” she was lost for words, saw the love in his eyes override with pain again, though much stronger this time. A new suffering in them: guilt.

He took his arms off her and fumbled for the handle. The dream was over. The nightmare had begun.

James stumbled out of the closet the moment the latch gave. “I’m so sorry, I can’t. I just can’t. Thank you, but this made it worse. So much worse.” He tripped over his foot, was caught by the wall. A loud thud alerted a few shoppers that way. His basket was still sitting by the bathroom. He walked past it, leaving Jennifer in the doorway and his food behind.

He rushed through the store, full of disappointment in himself. None of the people that had been there when he entered were there any longer. They had checked out by then. What was left were more strangers, uncomfortable with the outburst, looking concerned but more just disturbed.

James didn’t care. He was nearly running now. Past the check out lines and into the night air. It was cold. The wind had a good bite to it now and his breath came out in tiny, quick specters. He walked briskly past a family going towards the store.

“Sir, are you all right?” the husband asked, seeing his face.

“I’m fine,” he lied incoherently.

James went for the keys in his pocket and shoved one into the lock. He heard the thud of the lock releasing and went inside, slamming the door. Embraced by the cold, silent interior, he rested his head against the steering wheel and breathed deep, shuddered breaths.

How will I tell her?