Snapped

When I woke up, I was more than confused to find myself standing in the middle of my suddenly kempt and well-organized tiny apartment. I glanced down, confused as to why I was wearing the hand-knit Christmas sweater and skirt that you made for us for our one-year anniversary back in ‘85. 

The very essence of the room was untouched. 

The empty coffee cup you gulped down that morning was still sitting on the kitchen counter where you left it before hurrying off to work. The bubbling pot of beef stew I whipped up as soon as I got home. The soft-scented smell of an apple cider cinnamon candle that was gifted to us by my mother as a housewarming present. 

You came in then, holding ten different goodie bags of various colors and holiday prints. The only light in our apartment was the mini Christmas tree we got for a ridiculously cheap deal at Marty’s Vintage Goods up the street, but somehow your smile illuminated the entire goddamn place on its own, just like it always used to. 

“Hey darlin’,” you greeted me in that thick Southern country accent.

I gasped but quickly covered my mouth. I bit the palms of my hand to keep myself from screaming. 

That wasn’t possible. Us being here shouldn’t be possible. 

“Sorry I took so long gettin’ here. Traffic was a doozy and the holiday party the band and me were invited to were given’ out goodie bags! I got a few for ya.” You quickly slipped off your coat and tossed it on the arm of the couch. “You won’t guess who I saw there. Sydney from the office!” You set the bags down gently on the floor of the living room. “She looked absolutely stunnin’ considering that situation from her husband last year. Poor girl, glad she’s doin’ well.” 

“Salome?” I whispered. 

You were in the kitchen now, stirring the pot I left untouched for a moment too long. “Yeah, Elliot?”

 Elliot. I hated that name. I never let anyone call me that name. That is until you started saying it. You made it sound beautiful, even now. 

“How. . .” I paused, took a deep stuttering breath, and collected myself. Lips quivering, I asked the million-dollar question, “How are we here right now? And how. . . how are you here?”

“Well, I dunno if you’ve ever heard of em’, but there’s a fascinatin’ artifact called a car that takes ya from one destination to the next. Ain’t that crazy?” 

If I wasn’t so alert I wouldn’t have caught the slight glitch in your response before you answered. You sounded pained, even for just a moment, but I caught it. Recovering quickly, you spoke again with that same light-hearted playfulness. 

“What on earth’s name are you talkin’ about darlin’? I’ve always been here.” 

“No, you haven’t. You’ve been gone for a year.”

Silence.

A single tear slid down the side of my face and I kept my eyes glued on your slender back. Oh how I just wanted to forget all reason and embrace you, hold you so close to my chest, and never let go. But I knew better than that. My soul knew better than that. 

“You’ve been gone for a year,” I said again. “I know this because I saw them pull your dead body outta that lake myself.” 

You were quiet for a long while. The only sound was our heavy breathing and your congested sniffles.

“And what else do ya ‘member, Elliot?” you finally said to me. “What else do ya ‘member from that day?”

“There was an argument,” I started. “I was upset. . . we were both upset.”

Setting the spoon down beside the pot of bubbling stew, you finally turned to me. Your deep-set brown eyes bore into my face as you studied me.

“What were we upset about?”

My chest tightened. My lungs shrank. I couldn’t remember.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know-”

You shook your head. “Yes you do, darlin’. You know. So, how about we try this again.” You smiled painfully. 

You snapped your fingers, and I was alone in the apartment again, standing in the middle of it with my homemade Christmas sweater and skirt once more. Everything was exactly how it was left the first time. 

You walked through the front door again, carrying an arm full of goodie bags, “Hey darlin’,” you said to me in that thick Southern country accent again. 

We had already been through this. What the hell was going on?

“Sorry I took so long gettin’ here. Traffic was a doozy and the holiday party the band and me were invited to were given’ out goodie bags! I got a few for ya.” You quickly slipped off your coat, again, and tossed it over the arm of the couch again. “You won’t guess who I saw there, Sydney from the office! She looked absolutely stunnin’--”

“Is this a dream? Am I dreaming right now?” 

You let the items of your hands drop to the floor “We go through this every time. Even though this is ya game ya refusin’ to play along, so, let’s try this again.” 

With another snap of your fingers, I once again was back in the middle of the room, alone. 

I watched you walk through the front door again. 

“Hey darlin’” you greeted me for the third time. “Sorry I took so long gettin’ here. Traffic was a doozy and the holiday party the band and me were invited to were given’ out goodie bags! I got a few for ya.” You quickly slipped off your coat and tossed it over the arm of the couch.

“You won’t guess who I saw there. Sydney from the office!” You set the bags down gently on the floor of the living room. “She looked absolutely stunnin’ considering that situation from her husband last year. Poor girl, I’m glad she’s doin’ well.” 

Gulping, I thought back on the conversation we had on this day.

This version of you was able to restart time somehow, and it didn’t seem like you were going to let me get through this without “playing along.”

I did my best verbatim to say what I said back then. 

“. . . Thank you sweetie, but did you seriously need to bring me back all this?”

You grinned. “Don’t be vain, darlin’, these ain’t all for ya. Some of these are for my friends in the other department. They went out of the way to make it to our show last month despite all that darn snow, so this is my way of sayin’ thanks.” 

I nodded slowly, “My girl is always going out of her way and thinking about others.” 

You walked over to me. Standing on your tippy toes, you gave me a quick peck on the nose. “And ya love me for it.” Sniffing the air, you peeked behind me on my shoulder and took notice of the bubbling stew.

“Jesus Elliot, how long have you been cooking that thing?”

I followed you into the kitchen where you began doing your best to salvage our dinner. A vague familiarity overcame me. You were an excellent cook, so much so that you teased me all the time for barely being able to cook eggs. You made that joke on this very day. 

“And what did I say?” You asked as you stirred. 

My eyebrows perked upwards. “How did you know-” 

“Think Elliot,” You repeated, cutting me off. “What did I say that day?”

“You. . . you told me it’s a miracle I was able to even boil a pot of water,” I chuckled as I remembered. “Said I reminded you of a useless baby dear.”

“Now that I think about it, it was a pretty mean thing to say,” turning to me, you held the spoon of stew for me to taste. 

I looked at it. “Yeah, and I also knew that even you couldn’t save this shitty stew. I burnt it to hell.” 

“Yes ya did. We went to a nearby diner for dinner. On Christmas of all days.”

I smiled, “It was your favorite stew.”

It was your turn to chuckle. But the light-hearted humor was gone the moment it came. You placed the spoon beside the pot and looked back at me. 

“How come ya can remember silly, useless things like that but not the things that really matter?”

My chest tightened, lungs again in pain. “What is it that I’m forgetting?” I pleaded desperately. “Every day I think about the last time I saw you. Every day I think about how you’re not with me. How could I forget anything leading up to that?” 

I cupped my hands around your face. Your cheeks felt cold and quite frankly, lifeless. My fingertips trembled. 

“You’re dead,” I said flatly. I couldn’t hold my flow of tears back any longer. “You died, today, on Christmas.”

“Are ya tryin’ to convince yourself or me? I know I’m dead, darlin’. But how did I die?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Taking a deep breath, you repeated, “I know I died. But how do ya think I died, Elliot? Mind ya, I said earlier that ya needed to ‘member what happened on this very day,” You enunciated each and every word perfectly. “How did I die?”

Our eyes mirrored each other’s as we both scoured for answers. I thought I already knew the end of our story, but your eyes told me there was a missing chapter. 

“I don’t know,” I admitted, defeated. “I’ve racked every corner of my brain trying to figure out how you died tonight, but I still don’t have any answers. I don’t know, Salome.” 

“Yes you do,” You insisted. Your eyes were soulless. “You know.” 

Before I could once again deny, you raised your hand. 

I reached for you, “No! Wait-”

But I was too late. You snapped your fingers and were somewhere else. 

At the diner of all places. 

This part I did remember. It was hard to imagine that merely an hour earlier we were both so in love, so hopeful for the future, only for our love to die the same day you did. 

My attention gravitated toward the corner of the diner, where a small group of teenagers sat near the jukebox belting their hearts out to Christmas songs. 

“Last Christmas I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

This year, to save me from tears

I'll give it to someone special.”

The waitresses from the diner cheered them on, shouting “Oncore! Oncore!” and tossing colorful bendy straws in as a replacement for confetti. My heart warmed witnessing this, and it brought me back to a time when life felt so simple. 

“We had such a grand time back then, didn’t we?” You sighed. “That is until I told you the news.”

A white envelope manifested in my hands. You stared back at me expectantly. 

My hands shook as I opened it. I already knew what it was going to say. 

Dear Salome Pruit, 

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. After witnessing your outstanding performances and reviewing your EP, we at United Nations Records are thrilled to offer you a deal within the company-"

I skipped to the end of the letter.

“. . . In addition to the record deal, we are excited to propose an unprecedented opportunity for you and your band to embark on a yearlong tour across the United States.” 

I clenched the paper tight, “Are you really gonna make me relive this?” 

“Not just you.”

“I can’t.” 

“You can.” You paused. “You already did.” 

“It hurts.” 

You pounded your fists hard on the wooden table. Sugar topped over and spilled over my lap. 

You glared back at me, cold and hard. “You’re hurting. You’re in pain. You, you, you. It’s a shame I had to die before you started thinkin' about me.” 

I gasped as I spoke, “That’s not true-”

“Let’s start again.” 

You snapped your fingers, and everything was exactly how it was when we first got here, teenagers singing in the corner, a crowd of onlookers cheering them on, and you and I sitting across from one another, discussing an open letter that doomed us both.

Accepting defeat, I played along, “You’re leaving me again? You just got back.” 

“I know this is a lot to take in-”

“You think?”

“But, ya know I can’t pass up this opportunity darlin’.” 

“You’re gonna be gone for an entire year. How do you expect me to be okay with this?”

“I know this is hard to hear, but this is my dream.” 

I put my hand over my mouth as I cried into it. This was too much. 

“Keep going,” you demanded. 

Collecting myself, I did.

“Your dream? Damn it, what about our dreams, together? We agreed that after I got accepted into medical school, you’d take up that promotion in Jonesboro-”

“Did we make those dreams together, Elliot?”

“Of course we did.” 

“No darlin’, you settled on those things all by ya self. I never agreed to that.” 

“And why wouldn’t you?”

Silence. 

“Say something, Salome! Why wouldn’t you?”

You nibbled on your bottom lip. As I was reciting these words to you, both of us knew I was the only nervous one here. 

“These dreams I have. . . they’re bigger than the both of us. But I was never put on this earth to accept a life so small. I don’t think I can handle bein’ with someone who not only can’t be happy for me but can’t think of anything bigger than themselves.”

“You know this is a pipe dream, right? You’re gonna go on that tour and get all caught up with the wrong genre of people, like you always do. You’re gonna ruin yourself, Salome. Every weekend you leave, and when you return, it’s like a piece of you don’t come back. I can’t imagine the person you’d be if you left for a year.”

“You don’t believe in me?”

“I believe in the Salome who has a good job and worked her ass off for the promotion, who likes to sing sometimes. This new Salome isn’t someone I can support.” 

The expression of devastation on your face allowed me to see that you died before you fell into that lake. You died right here at this very moment.

The music and the sounds of our peers stopped. 

Your act dropped. You took a subtle sip of your coffee. 

“Tell me, Elliot. What happened after I left this diner? How did you cope?” 

My voice was empty as I spoke, “After you were gone, I went home and drowned my sorrows in five cups of wine. I slept alone that night. The next morning I got a call, said they found your body in the lake. You had hit your head and drowned.”

I gasped into the air, clenching my chest. I sobbed pathetically into my hands. My body was on fire.

“Is that the delusion you’ve been telling yourself, Elliot?”

“What?” I heaved out.

“That’s not what really happened, darlin’.”

“Yes it did! After we left the diner, you stayed out and I went home and-”

I paused. 

Your eyes narrowed. 

“Only. . . I didn’t go home after leaving the diner. I stayed back and had a few drinks.”

“You stayed back and had a few drinks.”

“. . . And I got upset.” 

“You got so upset.” You echoed. “And what did you do after that, Elliot?”

My hands trembled as I finally remembered. 

Breath labored with every exhale, I lifted my fingers and snapped. 

I was in front of you now.

The gasps from your throat sputtered like an empty tank.

And my hands were around your throat.

Your eyes spoke for you, they pleaded for me to stop. 

“But. . . you didn’t. . . stop,” you gasped between breaths.

“I kept going,” I sobbed. “I kept going until you passed out.”

“You threw me into that lake.”

“I threw you into the lake. . . “ I released my hands from her throat, stumbling backward in shock. 

“You died on Christmas.”

“I died on Christmas.” You said. 

“And I killed you.” 

“And you killed me.” 

Releasing you, I collapsed onto the pavement. “I went home and blacked it all out,” I said. “They called me, I watched them pull your body out of the lake. And then. . .” the tightness in my lungs brought everything to the surface. 

“I came back here, jumped over the cliff, and drowned.”

“You drowned.” You said, finally. “And like always, you snap your fingers, and forget.” 

I understood everything now. The grief in my heart was all too foreign, all too painful. The day you died. . . the day I killed you, it was too much for me to bear. I couldn’t face myself. 

So, I erased the memory. On purpose. But I could never forget you, sweetheart. Never. 

“You’re going to forget and put us through this all over again. Aren’t you tired?”

“No. It’s the only way to keep you with me.”

Your eyes were cruel, but I knew there was still love in there somewhere. Because if not, you wouldn’t be playing along with this dreadful game. 

“I’m so sorry, Salome,” I uttered. 

“If you were sorry, you’d let me go.” 

I kissed you tenderly, “You know I can’t do that.”

With one final gaze, I snapped my fingers.

When I woke up, I was more than confused to find myself standing in the middle of my suddenly kempt and well-organized tiny apartment. I glanced down, confused as to why I was wearing the hand-knit Christmas sweater and skirt that you made for us for our one-year anniversary back in ‘85. 

The very essence of the room was untouched.