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OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: this is my first story as well as my first post on this forum. I'm one of those long-time lurkers. I was so taken with the idea of the Keeperverse that I felt compelled to make my own contribution. This is a slowish regression, and in that sense is a deviation from the universe as we know it. Feel free to consider this non-canonical. Like any first attempt at fiction, I'm sure the marks of an amateur are all over this one. But with any luck, someone here might enjoy it anyway. Chapter One The sudden ring emanating from my pocket ignited a flicker of hope in me. In the past week alone I’d filled out twelve different job applications. Not one of them had received a response. Maybe this message contained good news. I wanted to check right away, but there was an obstacle I had to contend with first. The use of cellphones behind the checkout counter was strictly forbidden, and the manager always seemed to be lurking around the corner. In spite of the threat of reprimand, I knew there was no way I could withstand the anxiety until my next break. This would require some finesse. I scanned the store as well as I could and strained my ears for signs activity. After a moment the manager came into view. All I had to do was wait for him to become distracted. A customer approached him to ask a question, but that was no good - he still had a direct line of sight to me and could turn around at any instant. Eventually he disappeared behind one of the shelves and struck up a conversation with a co-worker. This was my chance. After fumbling with my phone's lock screen, I saw that there was a new email. The subject read, “Thank you for your interest.” So much for good news. Working at the bookstore was fine most of the time. It had a certain dignity that other low-level jobs lacked. Some might call it arrogant, but things like that were important to me. But even though I felt better about myself working here than I would in a fast food restaurant, I lived in perpetual fear of the moment when an old acquaintance would walk in wearing something expensive, and I'd have no choice but to compare my life to theirs. At thirty years old, I’d gotten no further in life than most teenagers. It was a depressing thought. I was shelving books from a recent shipment when a voice surprised me from behind. “Excuse me, I – oh! I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wonder-“ She stopped speaking the moment our eyes met. I realized I was looking at the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. To say that I was attracted to her would be an understatement. I was fascinated by her. She seemed to radiate an aura of pure grace. In that moment, I would've had no trouble believing that she was the only person on the planet who truly mattered. It occurred to me that we had been staring at each other for several seconds. I decided it was up to me to break the silence somehow. I had every intention of saying “How can I help you?” but the experience of love at first sight was interfering with my diction. What came out of my mouth was a strange, nonverbal sound, somewhere between a cough and a hiccup. She giggled slightly at this, which I supposed was a reaction I could live with. Then she looked at me quizzically. “Have I met you somewhere before?” she asked. “I don't know… I don't think so.” “Strange, you look so familiar.” I scoured my memory for occasions when we might have seen each other, and came up with nothing. In spite of that fact, I had a peculiar notion that this person was, or world come to be, someone extremely important to me. “Never mind,” she said. “I'm sure I'm just imagining things. I was wondering where I could find travel guides?” “In the lifestyle section, right next to the cookbooks.” “Thanks,” she said and walked away. And then she was gone. I made a mental note to slap myself later. I could've asked where she was going, struck up a conversation about travel, and who knows where that might have gone? I could have even PRETENDED to be someone she knew. But I missed my chance. Another entry on the list of today's failures. I went back to work, completely unaware of the change that had just been set in motion. Chapter Two I slept poorly that night. My bedroom was uncomfortably hot, even after foregoing sheets and a comforter. And yet my thermostat continued to insist that the temperature was a cool 68 degrees. I wondered if I might be coming down with a fever, perhaps brought on by some seasonal virus. My suspicion was compounded by the way I felt after breakfast. I treated myself to a pair of brown sugar and cinnamon pop tarts, and within an hour my stomach was throwing a tantrum. I might have suspected food poisoning, but I was fairly sure that Pop-Tarts couldn’t go bad. I spent most of the workday feeling sorry for myself. My current physical condition combined with the events of yesterday left me in a decidedly dejected state. I found my thoughts turning to the woman who came to me looking for travel guides. The prospect of never seeing her again made me genuinely sad. Was it possible to miss someone after only one day? I tried to console myself with the thought that she couldn't possibly be as perfect as she seemed during that brief encounter. I'd been through enough ill-fated High School crushes to know that idolizing someone in such a way was bad for everyone involved. I thought of the song “She’s So High” from the nineties. Had I really become that pathetic? I decided that a little self-medication was in order. My companion that evening would be a certain Evan Williams. Fortunately, my tastes knew how to adjust to suit my budget. A few hours later, I was walking out the sliding glass doors of the grocery store, my recent purchase in hand. And then I saw her. Standing in the parking lot was the woman I had met the day before, the traveler. I felt excitement and anxiety welling up inside me. Both of these feelings intensified considerably when I realized she was walking towards me. “Hello again,” she said, smiling. “Hey.” “I wasn’t expecting to run into you so soon." “It must be fate.” “Must be.” There was a brief pause. “I'm Sandra,” she said, holding out her hand. “Dylan,” I replied, and took her hand in mine. The moment our hands touched, a warm feeling to spread throughout my body. Her expression suggested that she had felt something too. “Did you find what you were looking for yesterday?” I asked. It wasn't a great icebreaker, but it was all I had to work with. “Yup. I'm planning a trip to Italy. Have you ever been?” “Years ago with my family. Don't spend more than a day in Venice, it's not worth it.” “Good to know.” We were both silent for a moment . “Do you want to get coffee somewhere?” she asked. “There’s a Starbucks just down the street and – Oh, you probably have food you need to put in the fridge.” She glanced at my shopping bag. “No, it's just-“ I stopped, thinking that I might not want to reveal that I was buying cheap whiskey on a Wednesday evening. “It's nothing perishable. I can meet you there and-“ “I can drive us both there. No sense wasting gas, right? I'll take you back here when we’re ready to go.” I followed her to her car. Once we were both inside, she did something I never would have expected. Without a moment's hesitation, she reached across to my side and fastened my seatbelt. Her face turned red. “I'm not sure why I did that. Can we pretend that never happened?” “No problem. I guess you're concerned about my safety,” I said jokingly. “I guess so.” And then we were off. We approached the counter and ordered our drinks, hers about Earl grey and mine a decaf latte. Before I could ask the barista to split the bill, she handed over her credit card. I mumbled a couple words of gratitude, but in truth I felt a little uncomfortable. I was beginning to wonder how she saw me. Part of me wanted to protest that I could buy my own drinks as well as I could buckle my own seatbelt, but saying something like that meant that something like that needed to be said. In other words, the very need to make such a protest undermined my status as an independent, fully functioning adult. “I don't normally do this,” she said as we sat down at the table. “Asking someone out so abruptly, I mean. I was debating whether or not to tell you this, but when I saw you yesterday - I had this strange feeling that I was supposed to meet you. Does that sound totally crazy?” I took a sip of my latte. It was stronger than I would have liked. “No,” I said, “I think I felt it too.” “Is that so? Well, seeing as fate or karma or whatever has brought us together, we might as well get to know each other. What do you like doing outside of work?” “I play a lot of video games. I also like to draw, but I’m not very good.” “Aww, I bet you’re not as bad as you think. I’d love to see one of your drawings.” “I’m actually pretty shy about showing them too people.” I took another sip. The bitterness of the drink was really overwhelming. “That's no fun. What's the point of making art if you can't show it off to anyone?” “I guess it’s sort of an escape. If I had to worry about people judging what I made, it wouldn't be an escape anymore. It’d be another source of stress." There was a sudden, uncomfortable stirring in my stomach. Had this morning’s illness returned for an encore? “I never thought about that way. I still want to see one though.” “What about you? What do you do?” “I'm a marketing coordinator for a publishing company. We’re sort of in the same field, come to think of it.” “That's a very generous way of putting it.” The churning in my stomach intensified. Was there something wrong with the drink? Would it be rude to send back a drink she had paid for? “Are you feeling alright? You look kind of uncomfortable.” I tried to reassure her that I was fine. But the sensation was getting stronger. “If you're not feeling well, we can do this another time. It's really not a big deal.” I was hit by a wave of gastric turbulence. I could tell that this wasn’t going to end peacefully. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” I said, and made a beeline for the bathroom. I won't bother trying to put this delicately - once I made it to the toilet, I proceeded to puke my guts out. And it hurt. I coughed and gasped for breath as the contents of my stomach were forced out of me. There was a knock at the door. “Everything ok in there?” It was Sandra's voice. She had heard me! My shame reached a critical level. “I'm fine,” I shouted back, “I'll be out in a minute.” No response. After the worst was over, I took a moment to reflect on how horribly things were turning out. I was sure she would lose all interest in me now. Maybe I should just apologize and disappear with what little dignity I had left. Whatever happened, I knew I couldn't avoid facing her, as much as I would have liked to. I summoned up my remaining courage and walked back to our table. “Sandra,” I said, “I am SO sorry. Let's just go back to my car and I won't bother you anymore.” “It's fine! Really, these things happen. I’m a little concerned, but you don't have to feel embarrassed.” “Thanks,” I murmured. “That said, if you're feeling sick, I probably should take you home.” “You mean to my car.” “Yes, right. To your car.” Neither one of us said much on the ride back. After we pulled up next to my car, she took out a small notepad. “I’m going to leave you my number,” she said, “And I want you to text me so I have yours. I also want you let me know how you’re feeling later. I'll worry if you don't. Can you do that for me?” “Sure,” I replied meekly. “And one other thing. I saw what was in your bag, and I don't think you should have anything to drink tonight. Promise me?” “I promise.” “Then I'll see you soon.” On the drive home, I had an intense internal debate about where all this was going. The thought of disappointing Sandra was devastating to me. And yet she hadn't seen that all shocked or disgusted – just concerned. And that made my feelings for her grow even stronger. My body betrayed me one more time before I made it home. When I was just five minutes away from my apartment, I suddenly noticed that my bladder felt extremely full. It was like I had been holding in for hours. But I was sure hadn't felt the slightest urge a moment ago. How could it just kick into emergency mode with no warning? Holding it in took effort. Driving while holding it in took even more. I tried to clamp down and realized I wasn’t sure which muscles to clamp. I grew tense all over, desperate to fight the growing pain just for just a couple more minutes. Once I had parked my car, I practically sprinted to my front door. I couldn't recall whether I remembered to turn off the headlights, but there was no time to worry about trivialities. I made it to the bathroom with mere seconds to go. As I basked in the feeling of relief, I wondered what the hell had just happened. Could this be related to the episode at the café? Was there some kind of disease that caused nausea AND an overactive bladder? Whatever it was, my life was going to get a lot more difficult if it didn't stop soon. I retrieved the bottle of whiskey from my car and took it inside. I stared at it longingly and contemplated whether I ought to go through with my original plans for the evening. I was really looking forward to drinking my blues away. But opening that bottle meant breaking my promise. Breaking my promise meant displeasing Sandra. And that was a price I could not pay.