Callum & Harper (Sleepless 1)

“I remember my mother was sweet and kind and that we'd always bake cookies on Sunday after church. It's my only distinct memory of her. I would sit at a kitchen island on a stool and we'd mix all the ingredients, then she'd ask me questions about whatever difficulty my four year old life could conjure up while they baked and when the bell tolled, no pun intended, we'd grab hot cookies, dip them in our milk and life would be peachy.

“I don't remember the day they died. I suppose I may have blocked it out but I was in the car with them and the car seat they paid a freakin' fortune for may have saved my life but left me utterly alone.”

Her breathing got deeper.

“My mom was an only child,” I continued. “My dad had a half-brother who was only ten at the time of my parents passing. He was raised by his maternal grandparents. So, basically, there was no one to take care of me."

“Damn, Callum. That’s tragic,” she said, the teasing losing its potency.

Suddenly, our attempts at trying to make light of our misfortune lost their charm. I hung my head against my chest and breathed deeply, exhaling acceptance with each blow. I was no longer interested in acknowledging my lot in life. I was in line, begging to stay on a revolting cot, that’d had probably slept a thousand others before me. The worst part was I had no idea if I’d get to have even that.

Sensing my discomfort, Harper took initiative and wrapped her hand within mine, squeezing reassurance into my heart. I looked over at her and smiled as lightheartedly as possible. She squeezed harder. It’s funny how this total stranger could relate to me better than anyone else I’d ever met. It was as if I’d known her my entire life.

“It’s like I’ve known you my entire life,” I stupidly admit.

But she doesn’t rebuff me as I anticipate. No, instead, she says, “I think, in some ways, we have. Only you could know what I’ve been through; the humiliation, the judgments, the unwanted pity and none of it at your doing. We may not have known each other our whole lives but we’ve definitely lived them in parallel.”

We waited in line for three hours, marking the time with idle chit chat that held no meaning whatsoever, but felt strangely vital to have at the time.

“Your favorite color?” I asked.

“Green,” she said. “Yours?”

“Same.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

She eyed me disbelievingly, “Mmm-kay.”

“I’m not! Seriously, it’s always been green.”

“Alright, I believe you, I guess.”

“Favorite food?” I continued, changing the subject.

“You first,” she says.

“Afraid of an unoriginal answer?” I teased. She raised both eyebrows. “Okay, my favorite food is Tex-Mex. Good, authentic Tex-Mex though and as you may not know, that does not exist in this city.”

“Have you ever even been to Texas?” She mocked.

“Yes, I have, miss. When I was sixteen, I went there for a Latin competition for school. So there.”

“A Latin competition!?” She scoffs.

“Don’t make fun!”

She attempts to straighten her face, “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Yeah, that burst of laughter your hiding is really convincing.”

She sobered up, after some effort I’m unhappy to report. “I didn’t even know they taught Latin anymore,” she said. “I thought it was considered a dead language.”

“It is not a dead language! Your language is based in it, Harper.”

“I’m sorry. I can see that this subject is a sensitive one for you.”