Everything Is Fine

The thick aroma of spices coated the neighborhood, tickling the noses of everyone nearby. Plates of hot, sticky plantains warmed the tongues of guests at the weekly cookout. The murmurs and conversations of the attendees melded together into the warm and friendly voice of the community. Nyla sat with one hand on the table and the other holding a toothpick with a slice of fatty, greasy suya at the end. Her friend, Cori, hosted these lively events. Once a week, they gathered in the spacious area of her backyard to feast while enjoying each other's company.

    "Cori," Nyla said, gulping as she swallowed a sliver of meat, "I've been looking forward to this food since the last cookout!"

  "Yes, I can tell," Cori laughed, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. "You nearly finished the platter of suya!"

 "Come on, you know they don’t feed me at home," Nyla giggled.

     “Lucky for you," Cori said, wobbling a bit as she brought a plate of fish, fresh out of the oven, to the countertop. "After a few hours, the fish is finally ready."

 Nyla smiled. "I can bring out the plates," she offered.

Gathered around several round tables in the backyard, guests sat, candlelight illuminating their faces, ready to dine. Nyla set down the final plate and joined her husband, Simon, and her daughter, Kylie, at the table. Nyla’s tight curls were braided into cornrows, and her blue glasses perched atop her head. She had dark chocolate skin and a small piercing above her eyebrows. Her daughter, Kylie, possessed the same warm hazel eyes as her mother, along with a crown of loose curly hair from her father—a strongly built man with a rough voice and gentle dark brown eyes. Nyla stared at her daughter as she tore the skin off the fish.

“Mommy," Kylie began, wiping bits of fish from her mouth, "why don’t you eat something?"

“She’s right. Weren’t you on the verge of eating the fish raw?” Cori chuckled, flashing her friend a wide, cheesy grin.

“I just wanted to make sure Kylie ate first, that’s all,” Nyla sighed, fiddling with her cup.

“Mommy, you don't have to do that anymore,” Kylie said, exasperated. “I'm a big girl now!”

“All right, honey,” Nyla laughed as she took her fork, dipped the fish in the pepper sauce, and brought it to her lips. 

For some reason that day, the fish was repulsive. The amount of salt was overwhelming, and Nyla promptly dragged her napkin across her tongue. “That’s disgusting!” she exclaimed, still wiping her tongue. As she raised her eyes, ready to ask where the real fish was, she noticed the neighborhood had gone silent. The friendly and warm faces of her neighbors had been replaced by cold, impassive expressions. Their once lively eyes were now soulless; their mouths hung open like fatigued dogs as they stared through her. For a barely discernible moment, colorful squares, like those that appeared on the screen when Simon banged the TV antenna, flickered on parts of her neighbors' faces, on the chairs, and in their eye sockets. Nyla dropped her head between her elbows, thinking she must be hallucinating, and closed her eyes. She opened them only when Simon tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her world back to normal. He said he was ready to go.

Later that night, after tucking Kylie into bed—despite her protests that she was seven years old and didn’t need to be tucked in—Nyla seated herself in the maroon armchair adjacent to the fireplace. I’m crazy, she thought anxiously. You just need some sleep. She ran her hands over her hair and down her neck, a familiar gesture whenever she felt on edge.

    "Honey," Simon began, snatching her back to reality “Are you alright?"

    "What? " Nyla snapped before catching herself "I mean yes, I’m all right." She plastered a smile onto her face.

    "You looked a little bit sick at dinner tonight. Simon pointed out, nonchalantly ruffling his newspaper.

    "Believe me,” her smile barely reached her eyes. “I'm doing perfectly.”

      Nyla hugged herself under her blue silky sheets, but she could not find rest. Shadows melted into unrecognizable shapes, and the chill of the wind crept into her room, wrapping its icy hand around her and leaving her in need of a sweater. She tiptoed down the stairs into the kitchen, careful not to wake Kylie or Simon. The light flickered, illuminating a container of Cori's leftovers.

Craving a midnight snack, Nyla ambled over to it. As she carefully lifted the lid, she gagged in disgust as slimy roaches scurried out. She shouted in horror before rushing to the bathroom. Hunched over the sink, she splashed water on her face, and the suspicions she had buried deep within began to surface. Thoughts swirled in her mind, like how the weather always seemed the same: balmy and pleasant during the day, cool and breezy at night. Lots of places are like that, she thought, biting her fingernails. It was fine, just like everything else in the neighborhood.

Eventually, the overpowering exhaustion overcame her, making her knees buckle, and she climbed back into bed.

     “Mommy,” Kylie shook her mother, “Mommy, can you wake up now?”

     “Ugh,” Nyla groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, “Hon, you know that Sunday is my day to sleep.”

     “Not today,” she pulled Nyla’s arm. “It’s my ballet recital today, remember?”

Finally, she opened her eyes to see Kylie standing in front of her, hair in a bun and dressed in a soft pink leotard with tights and a ruffled tutu.

    “Of course, I remember, baby,” Nyla flashed her daughter a smile. “But isn't that at six tonight?”

    “Yeah, but I have to be there at one thirty so that we can have one more rehearsal before the show,” a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice.

     “Right, and I have to get some snacks for the afterparty and help set up,” she winked at Kylie “I got it.”

Following a sorry attempt at chocolate pancakes made by Simon, Nyla, and Kylie drove to the school where the recital would take place. Upon arrival, Kylie swiftly kissed her mother on the cheek before hurrying off to her group of friends who were huddled together in the parking lot. Nyla smoothed out the wrinkles on her opal-colored dress and adjusted the golden bee broach placed Simon had given her for her thirty-sixth birthday that year. 

The events of the night before had exited her mind after she concluded that all she needed was a little sleep. She put her hands on the steering wheel and looked up as parents ushered their ballerinas into the school and a certain Mrs. Wright caught her eye. Mrs Wright had short blonde hair and emerald green eyes. She wore a cherry turtle-necked dress and held her daughter's hand as she crossed the road. Nyla waved her hand and flashed her a polite smile. When Mrs. Wright looked back at her slowly, Nyla saw a look of sadness across her face, her mouth pursed into a thin line. As quickly as the look came, it was extinguished as Mrs. Wright vehemently waved, an uncanny smile going from ear to ear. Nyla parked her car and strolled over to her and her daughter.

       “Hi, Tina,” Nyla greeted her warmly “How’re you doing?”

       “I-I-I-I’m do-doing fine,” Mrs. Wright responded, her voice sounding robotic.

       Nyla swung her arms awkwardly, “Well that’s always great to hear, how’s your daughter?”

       “F-F-Farrah is great,” she said, looking through Nyla.

       “That’s nice,” Nyla paused. “Kylie is going to be the fairy princess in the ballet.”

       “F-F-Farrah is great,” she said repetitively.

       “Tina,” she stepped forward, “are you alright?”

        “F-F-Farrah is great,” she said firmly.

  After the eerie encounter with Mrs. Wright, Nyla walked into the brick school feeling on edge. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the sense that something was wrong. As she took out the basket of streamers and balloons she was instructed to set up, she pushed down her unease. Simon was her husband, and if he said everything was fine, it had to be fine.

As the sun started to set over the Creekdon Lake neighborhood, parents began to fill the tall gymnasium. Simon had brought blood-red roses to give to Kylie after her performance. The audience buzzed with excitement as they settled in, parents leaning over to chat with strangers about which ballerina was theirs. An older man with a salt-and-pepper beard skipped onto the stage, causing the audience to chuckle.

“Hello there, friends,” he began in a sonorous voice. “This funny little tale is about to begin, so I kindly request that you silence all of your cellular devices— that means you, Mr. Waldorf.” The stage light skimmed over the crowd and landed on a flushed Mr. Waldorf, whose phone was dinging. The audience fell silent as the recital commenced. Ballerinas skipped onto the stage, accompanied by whimsical music. Kylie leaped gracefully from one spot to another, while the smaller ballerinas, dressed as elves, stumbled over each other trying to keep up. Nyla chuckled with delight as she watched her little girl twirl in the fairy princess costume she had sewn. The elves wore forest green leotards and tutus, with mushroom sashes at their waists and flower hair clips adorning their heads. 

However, Nyla’s enjoyment of the recital was abruptly disrupted by a loud, grating noise that pierced through the music. She tried to ignore it, but it only grew louder. 

“Can you hear that?” Nyla turned to Simon. 

“Hear what?” he asked, barely paying attention. 

“That noise! That grating, irritating noise!” she responded impatiently. 

“Shh,” a voice from the crowd hissed. 

Nyla crossed her arms, annoyed that Simon wasn’t listening to her. She attempted to ignore the noise until it escalated into a thundering rumble. 

“Did you hear that?” she asked urgently, turning to Simon again. 

“No,” he replied sharply. 

“It was practically deafening!” she exclaimed.

“Please,” he begged, his voice distorting, “just enjoy our daughter's show. I’m not going to feed into your wild delusions.” 

    Nyla recoiled at his harsh words; it didn’t sound like the Simon she knew. It didn’t even sound human. The rumbling continued to grow louder until it sounded like someone banging drums right above her head. The building began to shake, but the ballerinas remained oblivious, dancing and leaping as if nothing was wrong. Parents laughed lightly at the silly scenes, but Nyla's eyes widened in terror. Her legs turned to jelly as she placed a hand on the chair for support. Suddenly, the building seemed to tear itself open, exposing the night sky to the audience. Nyla tried to scream, but no sound came out; bits of the ceiling rained down into the gym.

The ballerinas' beautiful tutus became dirt-smeared rags, yet their faces still bore unsettling smiles, reminiscent of Mrs. Wright. Nyla's gaze shifted to the crowd, and an icy feeling gripped her stomach. Their mouths hung open, their eyes soulless, resembling a TV tuned to a dead channel. At that moment, Nyla let out a strained cry. She watched as bricks began to fall from the school, as the stage lights dropped onto the audience. Nyla screamed as she watched a light fall onto Cori while the recital continued.

Looking up, she noticed the night sky changing, like a glitch, warping into scattered neon colors that spread across the vast blue expanse. Nyla sprinted to the stage to grab her daughter. Kylie twirled in place, her eyes empty, fragments of the ceiling swirling around her. “Honey, we need to go now!” Nyla shouted, grabbing Kylie’s shoulders frantically. “Now!” But Kylie remained unresponsive, becoming like a rock on the stage. Nyla tried to drag her daughter off the stage, but it was no use. She scanned the crowd, searching for Simon, but a blizzard of dust fell upon the audience, making it impossible to find him. With nothing left to do, Nyla slunk down to her knees, covering her ears and ducking between her elbows. The cacophony of the whimsical music was accompanied by the sound of parents laughing, the sound growing louder and louder--until everything faded to black.

When Nyla opened her eyes, she realized she was no longer in the gymnasium. The ceiling was intact, and Simion and Kylie were nowhere to be found. Instead, she was sitting at a desk in a patched armchair, its off-white fluff sticking out in places. Her hands were trembling, but when she looked down, she saw that the hands didn’t belong to her. They were cracked, wrinkled, and marked with lines and sunspots.

To her left, there was an old, dirty mattress with dust settled on its headboard. Finally, she looked straight ahead at the computer screen in front of her. It displayed a blue screen with bold writing that read, “Thanks for playing ‘Everything’s Fine!’ We’re experiencing some minor bugs, but we will be fixing those shortly!” Beneath that, in smaller but still bold writing, it said, “Playing time: 40 years, 6 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days.”