Meeting

Marguerite Alterman stared at the bathroom door. She wanted to open it, but she felt like if she did, something bad would happen. She had washed her hands and face, she had wiped up any water that had collected on the outside of the sink. She was ready to leave. But she could not.

When she could afford a therapist, he'd put it simply: "O.C.D." Then he'd drugged her to high heaven. She'd been off the pills for three years. They didn't help and they made her floaty, as her mother would say. She adored her mother, the first to call her May and the last to let go from a hug.

Another twinge of fear made her wince. *This is ridiculous,* a familiar voice said, *nothing bad will happen if you open the door.* "How do you know?" The second voice asked. And the first voice had no answer.

It took another five minutes for May to open the door. On the other side there was no relief, just a dead feeling. She returned to her room, towel slung over her shoulders.

It was a messy space, clothes flung everywhere, books piled high on every surface. She sat down at her tiny desk and considered her options for the hundredth time. Her anxiety got her fired from three service jobs, so that was out. Tutoring didn't pay a quarter of the bills and she couldn't afford to take on more loans. She gazed blankly at her sheet of crossed and double crossed jobs and companies to which she had sent resumes. Her parents couldn't support her anymore, not without giving up their retirement.

May rubbed her eyes hard and considered stripping. Then, she thought about the amount of germs on those poles. She reconsidered. "Besides," she thought, "I'm sure even all the good strip clubs are filled up." She looked at the clock that read 8:00 pm, and decided to go to bed. If she was lucky, she'd sleep until noon the next day, leaving only ten hours in which she could conceivably keep looking for work.

Beside her desk was a two year old picture of her college graduation. She looked at herself. Back then, she'd been...what was the word...not happy…...stable? May had never felt less stable now.

Her bedroom window looked out onto another apartment's terrace. A couple lived there. They were always drinking and arguing, usually in that order. Sometimes she'd watch, just out of curiosity. Her ex-boyfriend never fought with her. When either of them were upset, they'd exist in silence until the feeling had passed. It was the quietest breakup in history.

She looked through the blinds now, to see what was up with the couple. They weren't there, but someone else was. She drew back suddenly in shock. He'd looked right at her, smiling. May blinked and looked again. He was there, a black-haired figure in expensive shoes, handsome in an eerie sort of way. They made eye contact again, and he waved. May closed the blinds.

She scrambled into bed thinking, "what am I supposed to do with that?" She knew what other girls would do. Her friend Nora, for example, if she saw a hot guy staring at her from less than a mile away, she'd be down the fire escape in eight seconds flat. May shuddered as she thought about mimicking her, and then resolutely shut her eyes.

"You go to sleep this early?" A deep voice asked.

May's eyes flew open.

"Don't scream," the voice said tiredly, "then I'd have to mute you and it's not the most pleasant sensation."

May sat up and found herself face to face with the guy from across the street. He was sitting lightly on the edge of her bed, one leg itched over the mattress. It was this that helped her find her voice.

"Could you take--take off your shoes?"

The man looked amused. "Sure." He took them off carefully, revealing beautiful silk socks.

May watched him silently.

"Are you sure you're not going to scream?" He asked.

"I think so," May said, thinking hard.

"What are you considering? Calling the police?" He was truly interested.

"No," May said definitely. "I definitely won't be able to get to my phone before you and--you look strong." She leaned forward and looked him clear in the eyes. "I'm going to look on the bright side and assume you just want to kill me. If that's the case. PLEASE. Just me. No one else in this apartment. PLEASE."

He was silent for a long moment. "You love your parents very much."

Yes," she breathed.

"You love two other people in this world." He said it as a statement of fact.

"Ye--yes," her hands were shaking.

"But you want to die." Another statement of fact.

"Not all the time." The words slipped out before May could stop them. One hand flew to her mouth in shock.

The man gave her a rather unkind smile. "You haven't asked how I got up here so fast."

May swallowed. "Time warps for me, sometimes."

He raised his eyebrows. "Humans cannot warp time."

"No, I mean I have episodes where time is--I mean--I suffer from--why am I telling you about my time warps?" May threw off the covers exasperatedly. "Are you, or are you not here to kill me?"

The man stood abruptly. "I am your caretaker."

"Caretaker?"

"Another word for my role could be companion." He towered over her, hands in his pockets as if he was waiting in line for the movies.

There was a long pause. May's face went through several micro-expressions until finally, she laughed out loud. "You know what? I'm not going to assume that this is a dream or that I'm crazy. Because I don't want that to be true. I've been stuck in this tiny room for almost an entire year. The world is on fire. I can't leave the house without a mask and I haven't hugged a friend in six months." May's voice shook. "I wanted to die this morning and last week too." The words grew steadier. So, I'm going to assume that you are some sort of supernatural being who can fly into people's houses and act as their caretaker ok?"

The man elicited no visible reaction. "Ok."

May nodded. "So what now? Can you grant wishes? Are you a fairy? Can you teleport? Why did you come to me? Am I special?

"I am the spirit whose purpose is to absorb the world's depression so it cannot be allowed to overtake happiness."

May registered this. "So...I get…literal depression as a caretaker." She almost knashed her teeth.

He gave a smirk. "You're grasping the concept much quicker than I expected. Well done you." Then, he looked around the room. "You're a rather messy person." He stepped back. "Are you dirty?"

"No!" May spluttered, "I'm not--I'm just--I'm not dirty."

He stepped forward and crouched down until their faces were level. May stopped breathing. Then, he turned his head towards her neck and very deliberately sniffed.

"You smell good," he said matter-of-factly.

Their faces were level again. May didn't respond.

"From this day forward, I am your caretaker. I will be with you every second of every day until you choose between life and death. If you choose death--" he grinned, "I will become very, very, powerful." He lowered his voice until it was just above a whisper. "Personally, I hope you'll choose death."

May really REALLY wanted to scream.