Suburbia Dreams

In a small trinket store in an unnamed town, a globe the size of an apple sits upon a dusty table, obscured in part by an embroidered shawl and rusting jewels. Within its polished sphere tumbles flakes of crystal, although the globe has not been turned for months. Iridescent silt lines the base, and clouds of tumbleweed form, as if moved by a brisk wind. Reflected in the glass is the face of a young woman; green eyes wide, and pink lips parted. The shopkeeper dangles a candle snuffer over an open flame - but does not extinguish it - as they notice the girl.

“You going to buy that, Lovely?” they ask, rounding the counter. The girl raises her head.

“Very popular item that one, had a gentleman make an offer today” lies the shopkeeper, acknowledging the snow globe for what may be the first time. The girl gapes and fumbles for her purse. She hands over a generous sum, and the shopkeeper takes the trinket and wraps it in tissue paper. With bony hands, they lower it into a gift-bag, and slip in a deckled business card, as well. The girl accepts the bag with a smile, and as the last light of day hits the wooden doorframe, she leaves the store with glazed eyes. As she steps onto the icy pavement, she surveys the street before her, and wonders where she is.

~

Andrew sits by his computer and absently pecks at the keys. The room is bathed in blue light; a strip of morning sun visible between the slits in the blinds. He is watching the driveway with the same kind of caution one may have gazing into a stranger's house.

He spins in his chair.

He gazes.

He spins.

He checks his phone.

He sighs. Andrew stands up, and as he does his phone begins to ring. He snatches it - butterflies waking in his stomach - and it almost slips through his clammy fingers. He takes a moment to muster his composure, then answers the phone with a casual, "hey Alice - what's up?"

"Hey Andy," replies a sweet voice. "I'm on my way."

Andrew leans back in his chair, "cool cool cool..." he nods. "So, I'll see you when?"

"In ten."

"Awesome, see you then." Andrew waits for Alice to hang up, then leans back in his chair, stretching his fingers. As he looks around the room he notices a pile of dirty dishes gathering dust on the nightstand. A roll of toilet paper sits between them, standing stark and... dirty.

He grabs the roll and stuffs it into a drawer and carries the dishes to the kitchen. He notices the stench that follows him from his room, so he jogs back to close the door. He considers this for a moment and wonders about the chances of Alice staying for more than a casual visit. He leaves the door open, a sign of hope - and cracks open the window by his bed. It doesn't erase the smell, merely mingles fresh air with the old.

He lights a candle to mask it.

Looking out of his window, he sees an old Chevy pulling into the driveway. A young woman steps out - white legs pale beneath a tan coat - and Andrew rushes to the door to greet her.

"Alice!" He calls.

She smiles at him from across the yard. In delicate hands, she carries a pearlescent shopping bag, purple tissue paper spilling from the top. She could be a hand model, Andrew thinks.

Alice leans in for a hug, her chin skimming the top of his shoulder, and he catches a waft of her sweet perfume. Jasmine, maybe. She holds him at arm's length and searches his face, "how are you?" She asks.

He feels his cheeks warm as he struggles to hold her gaze. "Yeah good," he says. He steps back into the hallway to hide his blush.

Alice smiles, and lets herself inside. She eyes the place, bright with curiosity. "It's looking good," she says. The lilt in her voice suggests that she's surprised, and Andrew bulks involuntarily at the implication.

"Well yeah," he intones, as if he hadn't just spent all morning scrubbing the place from corner to corner, clearing away weeks' worth of grime solely for her benefit.

She blushes too.

"I mean," Andrew notices her shift in energy, and the familiar feeling of guilt creeps up his throat, threatening to clasp it shut. "I knew you were coming, so..." He lets the words tumble out before the guilt can shackle him.

Alice sighs a chuckle, and the pink begins to fade from her cheeks. "It's okay Andy," she says "I'm not your wife, you don't have to clean for me." And there come the butterflies - only dormant in short moments of reprieve whenever Alice is around. He fights the urge to place a hand on his stomach, and shoots back with a quirk of his brow.

"Okay," he says, running a hand through his amber hair. He eases down onto the lumpy sofa, and lays an arm across the back. Alice sits at the edge of the couch, pretending not to notice his arm hovering behind her.

"I got you something," she says, fiddling with the shopping bag resting by her feet, "it's nothing special." She pulls the purple tissue paper from the bag, then slides her hand inside. From it, she reveals a spherical object, delicately wrapped.

She passes it to him.

Andrew holds the gift in both hands. It fits snugly, and he can feel a cool surface beneath the wrap. He plucks at the paper, gently, and strips it away in a show of great care.

"It's nothing really," Alice says, warming her palms against her knees. "I just thought... it was like that school trip we went on... in the snow?" Andrew holds the globe to the kitchen light and admires the crystal surface, "it's okay if you don't like it-"

The snow globe displayed a quaint suburban town, deckled with tiny strings of Christmas lights. The only similarity between this town and the one from their school trip was the snow - and even that wasn't special now that he lived in it - but Andrew caught the smirk like a buzzing mosquito before it had time to spread across his lips. “Sure,” he replied, smiling down at the globe. “It’s quaint." He places it on the coffee table, unsure of why Alice thought to bring such a gift, but he knows it means she's been thinking of him.

“Oh," Alice huffs, "you hate it."

“I don’t,” Andrew laughs, "you’re just a sentimental idiot."

She laughs as well, "shut up," and crosses her legs. "You're a sentimental idiot."

“I am” Andrew replies, turning toward her. “That’s why I'm able to appreciate this gift."

“It’s not a gift” she interjects. “It’s just casual, like I baked you a pie or something – or like, I’m letting you eat my leftover casserole.”

"Or like that time you let me have a drag of your joint?" He teases, and Alice blanches. She bursts into laughter, and holds her hands to her lips.

"Yeah, remember what happened there?" He coaxes, latching on to her playful mood. He pokes her in the ribs, "remember?". She nods silently, fighting a fit of giggles.

"I remember," she gasps.

"So what's this going to do to me then," he continues, gesturing to the globe.

"Nothing!" She insists, "no hallucinogens this time, I promise."

~

When Andrew prepares for bed he places the globe on his nightstand where the toilet roll used to be. His eyelids flutter closed under the gentle wash from his reading lamp, and as his vision fades, he swears he can see the snowflakes tumbling within the snow globe, even though he hasn't touched it.

"No hallucinogens" he reminds himself, his voice thick with sleep.

He dreams of many things - this he knows - but when morning comes he can't conjure the images for more than a moment, nor can he place the strong sense of deja-vu that stirs when he gazes into the globe.

He inspects it up close, nose pressing against the cool surface, and he notices the fine detailing of every sculpted building inside. The longer he looks into the globe, the more details seem to emerge. Everything is made from glass, but the carvings are ornate. A house in the centre appears to be lit from inside, but it could just be the way the sun ricochets from the tiny structures. Before Andrew knows it, he's spent an hour gazing into its surface, and his neck is beginning to grow stiff.

His phone buzzes.

Jolted out of his stupor, he reaches for it.

"Alice!" He says, unable to hide his surprise. His enthusiasm is uncharacteristic.

"Andrew?"

"Sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I just uh - I had a rough night." He frowns at himself.

There's a brief pause on the other end. "Can I come over?" Alice finally asks, although her tone wavers with a hint of uncertainty.

Andrew's eyes widen. "Of course" he sputters, "how long will you be?"

"About an hour" she answers, "is that okay?"

"Yeah." Andrew hangs up, and rushes to the shower. He washes away the remnants of his stupor; thoughts of shimmering ponds freezing over meld into images of Alice's hands to her lips. Her fingers travelling over pink lipstick, parting her mouth in a soft pout... He turns the shower cold.

Andrew uses his fresh motivation to make a run down to the local bakery and pick up some pastries and coffee. He doesn't have a car - it's being serviced... permanently - so he bundles himself in a bomber jacket.

"Two of those," he says, pointing to the cinnamon scrolls.

As he makes his way home - treading footprints through snow - he notices Alice's car in his driveway. She's early, by at least thirty minutes. He picks up his pace, confusion pricking behind his eyes. When he reaches the driveway he sees Alice from behind, her pretty brown hair draped over a white coat. She's standing by his bedroom window.

He squints, noticing a rock by her feet, and shattered glass splayed across the windowsill. "What-" Andrew jogs toward her.

The girl peers through the window and watches the crystal flakes gain traction, bouncing against the dome's surface. Her cheeks flush pink, and her lips are turning blue. She begins to draw circles in the snow at the sill, mimicking the swirl of twisting tumbleweed. Absently, she drags a finger across the broken glass of the window pane, and crimson blood trickles, colouring the frost like dusted rubies.