Dawn of a New Day

Dawn hesitates, her fingers resting on the keys as a diver stands poised at the edge of the board. She takes a deep breath and tells herself it’s only for dramatic effect, knowing that she doesn't know what comes next. Why else would she stare at this blinking cursor long enough her eyes have begun to burn? Nothing she types feels right to come next. Four years was more than long enough to lose your familiarity, but even after hours intently rereading every word, she’s still nothing more than just that: the reader. This wasn’t her story anymore.

Jack and Kai. Hero and heroine. Dawn once knew their every unwritten secret as if it were engraved into her bones. She’s the one who made them, after all. She gave Jack the slight tremor in his right hand after he used it to fire a gun. She gave Kai the scar on her brow from a childhood fall. She wrote the brother and sister into misadventure in an ending world, a world they were supposed to end up saving together.

But Dawn couldn’t finish a story that wasn’t hers. She can only manage a rhythm of half-hearted typing and deleting. Brows furrowed, she looks down at her hands, and they glare back up at her with equal disdain. By the time their staring contest has ended to a draw, her screen has idled to black, Dawn’s own sharp-edged reflection staring back at her, her lips twisted into a frown, coppery hair falling into her face. She looks different. She’s lost the stars in her eyes, and her forehead is lined with the beginnings of creases at the juvenile age of twenty-three. 

Where is the girl with rosy cheeks? The college freshman who carries more dreams on her back than she can carry? Where is the old Dawn, her arms covered in blue ink at the strike of untimely inspiration, wearing this heart of hers quite literally on her sleeve? 

She forces herself to push those thoughts away, but before she can rouse her computer again, her phone trills with an incoming call. Dawn picks up, leaning back in her chair with a small sigh. “Elliot, what do you want?”

She jerks her head away from the speaker at his blaring response. 

“Man, you can’t muster any more enthusiasm for me? You make it sound like talking to your only brother is a real chore!” He crows indignantly, always talking with his trademark bluster. 

“It is.”

“Hey—!” 

A small smirk tugs at the end of Dawn’s lips. Elliot, at least, she could always count on to be able to read like a book, no matter how much time passed. She could always push his buttons.“Calm down. You still haven’t answered my question,” She says breezily. “What’s wrong?”

“You always assume something terrible happened for me to call. Can’t I call my little sister to say hello?”

“You could, but you don’t. Get to the point, I’m busy,” Dawn eyes the bills beginning to pile up, resting an arm’s reach away. “Some of us can’t just outrun our responsibilities all the way to California, jumping on the first startup they find.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

Elliot’s sighs are loud as foghorns. “Fine. I’m calling because I’m coming home to visit.”

“So, you have a business trip nearby and don’t feel like getting a hotel room?”

“Oh c’mon, Dawny, you know just as well as I do the local hotels are—’”

“Less than desirable, to say the least,” Dawn finishes, a shiver running down her spine at the memory of crusted mauve carpets and shower water always running cold. “So you’re looking to stay with me.”

“If my sister would be so kind.”

Now it’s her turn to sigh. “Elliot…of course, you can stay at home. I haven’t gotten around to touching your old room, so enjoy sleeping under dinosaur-print blankets,” She manages another small smile at the thought of her brother curled up to fit in his old twin bed. “But you stay out of my stuff, and stay out of my way, got it?”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” He quips jovially as if Dawn had offered to leave mints on the pillows. “In that case, you think you can come by the airport to pick me up? I’ve just landed, and I really don’t feel like ordering a ride.”

“You’ve brought the words ‘short notice’ to a whole new level, huh?” Her scowl is practically audible. “I was working on something when you called, y’know. You only get so many favors with the brother card.”

“What, I’m just a ‘brother card’ now? What happened to being your ‘built-in best friend’?”

Dawn blanches at the sudden strike, but her shock quickly hardens into cold frustration. “Find your own ride,” She snaps, hanging up before she can hear his reply, tossing her phone onto the bed behind her without so much as a look to check its landing.

-

The apartment door swings open with the telltale pop of the stiff lock turning, but Dawn’s deaf to her brother’s entrance, her focus intent on her computer as she types and deletes, types and deletes. “‘Her eyes were wide with terror, tears beading in the corners of her eyes…’,” She mumbles to herself under her breath, followed by the rapid clicking of the backspace key. “That’s not right. ‘As she held onto Jack like a lifeline, her nails sank into his palm. And…’ God, and then what?”

“Jack?” It’s remarkable how much a full-grown man can act like a puppy, Elliot bounding up behind her with something between a smirk and a grin on his face, his breath smelling of coffee grounds and his hair tousled for once from the recent flight. “You don’t mean the Jack and Kai, do y—?”

She slams her laptop shut, his words shattering any concentration she could muster like a bull in an illy-stocked china shop. “Personal space, Elliot.”

He backs up a couple steps, hands raised, but his sweltering summer’s day smile never leaves his face. Why would it? Elliot was their—her—first and truest fan, albeit the emphasis on “was.” Distance may have grown between them since, both literally and figuratively, but at this moment he had the same childish excitement in his eyes, the boyish look he had years ago when the two would sneak out onto the fire escape at night, when…. 

When like Elliot said, he wasn’t just her brother. He was her beta reader, but more than that, too. He was her confidante, her partner in crime, her…damnit, her “built-in best friend,” the title fitting albeit corny as hell. Dawn gets a better look at him too, neither the goofy smile nor the tawny mop of hair on his head denying how much he’d changed, too, even if for the briefest of moments it’d seemed like they were both still teenagers tied to the hip, and that Elliot never went away, and that everything was good. Everything the way it should be. 

“I didn’t know you were still writing.”

“I’m not. Not really, anyway. Writer’s block.”

“Ah. Okay.”

And that’s that. He looks around the rest of the space, both avoiding looking at his sister, and trying to reacquaint himself with the now equally unfamiliar surroundings. The apartment looks nothing like it used to, the furniture new and the fridge devoid of novelty magnets and crayon drawings and who knew what else. Dawn follows his stare. “I didn’t throw anything away,” She says. “If you’re really attached to your old junk, it's in a box under your bed.”

“What, you’re using my old room for storage now?” He stuffs his hands into his pockets, trying for a joke. 

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Oh.”

“Uh, sorry."

“No, no. It’s okay. It’s not like I was home, or you needed the room for anything else. I’m just glad there’s a bed left in it at all, right?’

“Yeah. Right.” She almost wishes he’d just get mad at her for once, the way she wrote Jack and Kai to. Hero and heroine, yes, but more importantly, brother and sister. The kind who could enter a screaming match, throwing insults and making cheap shots, until both of them ran out of things to shout, they’d remember their world was falling apart, and whatever was between them, whether it be a petty fight or weighty grievance, would dissolve because at the bottom line they were everything to each other, nothing less. 

But Dawn and Elliot’s world wasn’t ending. And they haven’t been, well, everything to each other in years. There was a reason Jack and Kai were the subjects of fantasy, after all. Elliot rakes a hand through his hair, brushing it back as neat as he can manage, a single lock of ashen brown still fallen in his face. “I’ll just…go settle in then,” He says after clearing his throat, gesturing to his almost comically large suitcase behind him. “Good luck. With writing and everything.”

She only nods. Watches him go. Turns away as his door clicks shut behind him. Dawn sags back into her desk chair, and when she sits, she feels shorter than usual. As her screen lights back up, the cursor already beginning its mocking flicker, she can’t help but already feel defeated as she sets to work. Typing and deleting, typing and deleting. 

-

The sun’s set before she realizes it, and though she knows it wouldn’t make any difference, Dawn can’t help but wish its light might linger a little longer as it dips beneath the distant horizon. She wishes she might drink up one last minute of its amber glow in the name of seeking inspiration—even if she’s only spending the last drops of daylight on her third cup of coffee and her seventh pacing of the apartment. Dawn’s home isn’t very large to begin with, but circling the rooms like a caged lion in a zoo makes it feel all the smaller. The only room she doesn’t pad across every inch of is Elliot’s, whose door has remained shut fast. 

Sleeping, probably, She thinks, tearing away her gaze from the plain white wood of the door. Time zones and all that. What time would it be in California?

But California was hours behind, not forward, and even if Dawn couldn’t write for a damn she wasn’t that much of an idiot. She kept a clock on her phone of the West Coast times, after all. It had become a habit to check it when she was bored—riding the bus, waiting in line, that sort of thing—and wondering if Elliot was as bored as she was at his time of day. She checks it again as if he’s still off across the country instead of just a wall or two away. “8:15 PM,” Dawn says out loud. 

Elliot hasn’t left his room. Which means—unless that ridiculously large suitcase has a mini-fridge inside it—that he hasn’t eaten dinner. Maybe not even lunch. She wasn’t sure about the last one—they hadn’t exactly kept tabs on each other’s daily routines—but either way, some things just never change about Elliot. He’d be hungry. 

Her own stomach growls just by thinking the word. Dawn was rarely hungry herself—years of dinner alone, usually of her own poor skills or lukewarm takeout, wasn’t exactly something you looked forward to—but she couldn’t exactly survive on coffee alone, and she was already getting dinner for one…. 

Might as well make it two. 

She rifles through the fridge, finding various leftovers, condiments, and not much else. The pantry’s shot, too, aside from a mostly empty Cheerios box and an unopened pasta jar missing its other half to make a meal. As she crouches to her emergency cabinet with a sigh, Dawn can’t help but think the state of her kitchen is barren enough to belong in Jack-and-Kai levels of dismal, pulling out a couple cup ramens. 

“As far as last resort meals go, that’s not so bad.”

Dawn stifles a yelp as she bolts upright, catching her temple on the edge of the counter. “God, Elliot, you keep springing things on me,” She grumbles.

His face falls as she turns to him. “Sorry, Dawny. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, right?”

“That’s an imperfect use of the saying, don’t you think?” Dawn pokes back, peeling back plastic lids halfway. “But it’s fine, I’m just not used to anyone else being at home anymore.”

That doesn’t seem to make him feel much better. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, too. Thanks for thinking of me, though,” He gestures vaguely towards the instant ramen Dawn’s filling with hot water, stopping slightly shy of the line, as if she’s afraid to go further even though she can. “I didn’t exactly want to go scrounging around your pantry.”

He was afraid of that line, too.

She pulls out two pairs of cheap chopsticks—the kind you need to sand for splinters—from past takeout orders that sent her an extra set of utensils. Dawn tosses one to him, and as he catches it, she smiles a little. Maybe, just maybe it was worth toeing that line. “You want to, uh, eat on the fire escape? Like old times?”

Dawn almost laughs. It really is remarkable the way he acts so much like a puppy. Like his usually gelled back hair and mature half-smile is a hopeless front. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

There’s a brief shuffle as they figure out who’s going to start walking first, only for Dawn to realize she’s forgotten napkins, and when Elliot teases that yeah, she’d need those, she forgets to sling an insult back, only chuckling slightly in response. The window opens with a struggle, a small plume of dust rising up from the sill, the glass panel finally giving at Elliot’s insistent tug with a loud creak. The cool dusk air brushes past their faces, envelops them in a pleasant chill, like a welcoming embrace, and Dawn’s already halfway outside. 

It’s too easy, all muscle memory rushing through her like a thrill, as she climbs easily over the window sill to sit in her usual spot at the edge of the stairs. The metal is cold from beneath her, but Elliot is sitting in his old spot less than an arm’s distance away from her before she can feel the chill. “Remember when you used to be able to dangle your legs through the bars?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Dawn replies, black metal already warming against her. “I was a skin-and-bones kind of kid, wasn’t I? I remember Mom hated it. Like she thought I could slip through or something.”

This conversation is all thin ice in stilettos, and even mentioning the word “Mom” feels dangerously close to a slip. They didn’t talk about their family anymore. Not since Dawn was that starry-eyed freshman, and Elliot was still at home, still sleeping in those damned dinosaur print blankets, because money was tight and those blankets smelled like home, anyways. They’re different now. Home meant different things. She braces herself for the fall.

But, “I would’ve caught you,” is all he says in return. 

She smiles in response, and they both take advantage of the lull to begin eating, noodles softened and loose in their cheap containers. 

“I’ve missed you,” Elliot says at last between bites, daring another step. “I mean, I don’t miss having to share a bathroom with a clean freak—” “Hey!” “—but, sometimes, it gets messy or, frankly, disgusting, and I remember you’re not there telling me to clean it and…I guess I miss you.”

“Gross.”

“What is? Saying I miss you or talking about my dirty bathroom?”

“Both,” Dawn says with a small laugh. “But I miss you, too. I left your room alone for a reason. I only come in to dust it, and it still…uh, it still smells like you, I guess. Which means it smells wretched, but still. Like you.”

He laughs, bright and loud against the otherwise quiet night. A real laugh, not the kind he uses when they bicker. The laugh Dawn didn’t realize she’s missed until now. 

She says so, and he teases her, and she swats him on the arm, and they continue like this forever. They’re still talking by the time the last of their noodles have gone soggy and it feels unbelievably warm in the dead of night. They talk about anything and everything, and, despite sitting out on the fire escape for the world to see, it feels safe. It still feels that way, safe and warm like a fire in winter, even when they call each other every foul name they can think of, laughing harder till. Even when Dawn reams him for leaving her for some Sacramento startup, tears brimming her eyes, he doesn’t bluster or make excuses or fire back. Elliot only hugs her close, and Dawn feels years of cold stiffness melt away like hot water on instant noodles, like hot tears spilling down cheeks turned rosy with laughter, with cold, and with everything in between. 

They stay out there for hours talking, where the cold can’t reach them. There, shoulder to shoulder, Elliot’s mop of hair tangled from childish play fights, they let themselves forget the years apart. It’s four years ago again. Elliot’s her built-in best friend, her confidante, and everything else he once was. Everything a brother is. 

Then something strikes her like lightning, and Dawn’s pulling out a pen to begin a frantic scrawl on her brother’s arm, his protests quick to fade once he realizes she’s writing with that familiar fervor they both missed. “You figured out your story, there?” 

She smiles as blue ink covers pale skin, and Elliot can’t help but notice the starlight reflecting in her eyes. Dawn looks up at him with a wild grin. “It’s…it’s our story again, Elliot.”

Jack and Kai—no, Elliot and Dawn—hero and heroine, brother and sister.