#massive MASSIVE props to Leah for doing so much in so little time

[isolophilian]

you can already see seeds Annabeth's fatal flaw in the second episode. the expressions of agreement like "yep" when Percy says "I know you're better at this than me." the way she leaves him on the cliff knowing Clarisse would be after him. the way she shoves him into the lake, knowing there's a chance she could be wrong about this guy. she knows how incredibly smart she is and is confident in it, however, she's also confident to a fault. it'll be a big source of problems for both herself and those around her. i know it's not a lot but it's there, and I'm here for it

[tbhwhocaresanymore]

Nancy Drew 1x18, Season Finale

One. These writers really are trying their damnedest to make me like Owen Marvin even after death and I’m sorry but it’s just not going to happen.

Two. Carson and Kate kept Nancy’s parentage a secret for 19 years, my girl can’t even keep it a secret for 24 hours. Just saying.

Three. I’m about to fangirl so hard over Hannah Gruen if you don’t understand why pick up literally any one of the Nancy Drew books and you’ll get there pretty quickly.

HANNAH GRUEN. Okay I am obsessed with this keeper storyline. What are they, what is she, how are they chosen, what happened to her hands? The previous keeper apparently had records of some kind so now I’m picturing either a massive wall of filing cabinets or something a la the Book of Shadows from Charmed. Whatever comes of it I need to see more of this character. Hopefully Carson decides to start volunteering at the historical society and she starts popping up more often. First Victoria and now Hannah, these writers really did bring back two out of my three favorite females right in time for this season to end didn’t they.

This show really does have a condensed storyline though like when Lisbeth said think back over the past few days like each episode really does take place over the course of like 24 hours don’t they. At least with this episode we once again got all of the main five working in unison. That seance at the beginning, holy fuck. First the writers continue to surprise me by taking seemingly meaningless things and making them important. Owen knocking over that ghost trap becoming the thing they used to try to contact him? MY GOD. And I would like to see those things actually work one of these days.

Ryan Hudson. Him showing up at the beginning, hesitant and calling Nancy his daughter, saying he was just trying to do right by her. Nancy saying all the women in his lief end up messed up or dead and shutting the door on him. God it gave me so many feelings. And then later George yelling at him about how he made her okay with being a dirty little secret was so cathartic and props to Leah Lewis because she delivered. I only wish it had maybe come earlier in the season before I was so attached to his character and before he became so tragic. Like at this point being awful to Ryan feels kind of like kicking a puppy. BUT before anyone comes for me, I do agree with every single thing George said and have wished for her to say it multiple times. I just wish she’d said it earlier. And speaking of George her storyline with Nick was just so sweet this episode. Her callback to being the girl you keep a secret, not the girl you take to dinner, and him saying he’ll make some reservations. Cavity levels of sweetness. Regardless of how sweet they are I continue to root for Nancy and Nick. Him telling Ace to keep an eye on her? AAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

BUT THEY KEEP BRINGING UP THAT BUCKET CURSE LATELY. I’m happy they’re not just dropping it but also it is giving me so much anxiety. Like I'm worried now the original season finale would have involved George dying/almost dying or something like that. Believe you me we have not seen the last of the bucket curse.

Moving on, you know what I’m doing right now? Kicking myself. I am kicking myself so hard because in my 1x17 review I wanted to say that maybe Joshua put the nails in Carson’s tires to try and trap him and kill him. Granted that probably didn’t happen but I would’ve called Joshua being back so I would’ve been partly right. And somehow I keep forgetting that Nancy is related to all of these people not just Lucy. Like when she was talking to Patrice it wasn’t until Nancy said she was Lucy’s daughter that I realized “oh shit this is her grandma.” I’d like to see them get a chance to bond a little, but of course as soon as it happens is when Patrice will die because all the writers do is torture their characters. (And it’s awesome.)

We’re going to skip back to the seance because I write these things in a very stream of consciousness fashion. Ugh, these writers have such a gift for making everything so beautifully creepy. I had to go back and pause like five different times to get a good look at the Aglaeca. She looks like a scabbed over mummified mermaid guys. It was horrifying. The whole house jolting. The gang holding onto each other’s hands even as they’re terrified. Ace announcing "Somebody’s here. Somebody big.” The slow rattling of the cups. I got chills. Although I am curious, since the Aglaeca had nothing to do with Owen’s death, why didn’t she want them talking to him? And I want to see a Dead Lucy vs Aglaeca showdown. Maybe the Aglaeca comes for Nancy and Lucy goes all Molly Weasley on her ass, “Not my daughter you bitch,” and ghostly tackles her. It won’t happen but a girl can dream.

Seeing the tension in Lisbeth and Bess’s relationship this episode, I think Bess is going to get caught between the two. I don’t think she’ll spy on Lisbeth though, I think they’ll switch it up on us and Bess will be a mole in the Marvin family. Maybe finding out what happened to the Aglaeca (since clearly the Marvins did something to her) will be what triggers it. (But they’ll make us think Bess is spying on Lisbeth until they pull the rug out and reveal it was the other way around all along and Bess will text Lisbeth all happy like ‘be right over to celebrate’ or something only when she gets there Lisbeth will be DEAD. Ahem. Sorry, went down the rabbit hole for a second there. Moving on.) Get rid of the corrupt and take the rest of the family in a new direction. That being said the cousins Ivan and Cassidy cracked me up. Great comic relief. Though I don’t think we’ve seen the last of that Hall of Tragedies.

Last but not least, those portents at the end. Jesus Christ. If there’s something more ominous than watching doppelgängers of yourselves die in various awful fashions I don’t know what it is. Nick and George drowning, Bess burning alive, Ace hung by a meat hook, Nancy falling to her death on the bluffs like Lucy before her. Yow.

Real fast, I didn’t mention this either in my last review but since Bess got set on fire. Can we take a moment to appreciate the symbolism of Lucy dying in the water and Nancy and Ryan having their parent/child relationship being born in flames as they held hands over the fire? SYMBOLISM. My sophomore English teacher would’ve imploded.

God if this was planned to be episode 18 I can’t even imaging what they had in mind for the finale. I also can’t believe I have to wait until like at least September probably to see what happens next. Y'all had better stay in your fucking houses because I need this virus wrapped up ASAP.

[thekillerssluts]

It's Kanaval time: Arcade Fire's Win Butler presides over New Orleans/Haitian hybrid Friday

Unlike 2016’s massive David Bowie memorial march that shut down French Quarter streets, last year’s inaugural Krewe du Kanaval, another collaboration between Preservation Hall’s Ben Jaffe and Arcade Fire’s Win Butler and Regine Chassagne, went more or less according to plan.

“When we did the Bowie thing, we got a permit for 400 people and 10,000 came,” Butler recalled. “We owed the city one. Kanaval is a little bit more organized.”

Envisioned as a hybrid New Orleans/Haiti Carnival celebration to benefit cultural initiatives in both locales, the inaugural Kanaval included a colorful procession from Preservation Hall to a mini-festival of music, dancing and food in the Congo Square area of Armstrong Park, followed by ball at One Eyed Jacks.

The second Krewe du Kanaval is Friday. The free Congo Square festival opens to the public at 2 p.m. Krewe members are scheduled to arrive at 3 p.m. for a welcome ceremony and the crowning of this year’s Kanaval monarchs, iconic restauranteur Leah Chase and bounce music pioneer DJ Jubilee.

“If you’re talking about Creole culture in New Orleans, Leah Chase is the queen,” Butler said. “And DJ Jubilee needs to get his props.”

A custom-built, Jamaican-style rolling sound system will accompany a procession — described by Butler as “more of a second-line situation rather than a parade route” — through the park staring at 3:30 p.m.

Brief performances by renowned Haitian ensemble Boukman Eksperyans, Richard and Lunise Morse, of the Haitian band RAM, Haitian DJ Michael Brun, Papa Titos Sompa, the New Breed Brass Band, percussionist Seguenon Kone, Shaka Zulu and the Northside Skull and Bone Gang, follow the procession, ending at 6 p.m.

Later Friday night, the Kanaval ball at the Civic Theatre features Boukman Eksperyans, Diplo and Jillionaire of reggae-tinged electronic dance music ensemble Major Lazer, Michael Brun, DJ Jubilee, the Preservation Hall Jazz Band and Butler as his DJ alter ego, DJ Windows 98.

Doors at the Civic open at 8 p.m. Ball tickets are $50.

“Last year, the ball was sort of an afterthought,” Butler said. “We bit off a little bit more than we could chew — a parade and a pre-concert and a ball was a lot to do in one day. It’s more streamlined this year, and the ball is a much bigger deal.”

Booking Jillionaire and Diplo, two-thirds of Major Lazer, was a coup. “I don’t know how often I’ll be able to pull that rabbit out of a hat,” Butler said.

“It’s going to be just full-on bacchanalia, Caribbean overload. It’s hard to get people to pay for stuff during Carnival, but it’s going to be pretty special.”

Butler and Chassagne are all-in on New Orleans. The couple has lived in the city since Arcade Fire concluded a 2014 tour at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. They eventually bought a house Uptown, where most of Arcade Fire’s 2017 album “Everything Now” was recorded.

Butler plays basketball at the Dryades YMCA in Central City and the Jewish Community Center on St. Charles Avenue, and he is frequently courtside at Pelicans games. Like most Pelicans fans, he’s upset about superstar Anthony Davis’ awkwardly executed impending departure: “It’s pretty depressing.”

Chassagne was raised by Haitian immigrant parents in French-speaking Montreal. She founded a nonprofit, KANPE, to improve health, nutrition, entrepreneurship, agriculture, education and leadership in Haiti.

Proceeds from Kanaval benefit KANPE and the local music education efforts of the Preservation Hall Foundation. The two organizations split the $30,000 raised by last year’s Kanaval.

“That’s something I’d like to improve upon,” Butler said. “Hopefully, we can grow it a lot more than that. It’s not going to be perfect in year one. It takes time.”

He was pleased to see the Kanaval concept come to fruition, the notion of “getting a bunch of Haitian musicians in the same space with African musicians and people of Creole descent in New Orleans, and seeing how connected it all is.

“For me, that was the highlight. I’d experienced it in Haiti and I’d experienced it in New Orleans, but I’d never experienced it all in the same place.”

As part of his ongoing New Orleans education, Butler has spent time walking through Treme with musician and North Side Skull and Bones principal Bruce “Sunpie” Barnes.

“Those kinds of deeper community things are exactly what we want out of Kanaval, when the real connective tissue starts to form,” Butler said.

“My hope is that people will take it as their own, and the things they want it to be, they can help make it be. We’ve created the concept and done the work of making a frame.”

Kanaval has had ripple effects in Haiti, where sister events have sprung up.

“Some people picked up the torch. That’s a sign that we’re on the right path. That stuff doesn’t just happen.”

KANPE has delivered musical instruments to children in rural Haitian communities.

“The first time we went with Ben Jaffe, there was this little brass band that had just gotten the instruments,” Butler said. “You go back now and it’s a hundred kids in rural Haiti playing. It’s like getting in a time machine and going to pre-jazz New Orleans.

“That grew directly out of Kanaval. There are echoes and repercussions happening in New Orleans and Haiti that you can’t predict.”

Growing an event such as Kanaval during the busy Mardi Gras season is a challenge.

“For an Arcade Fire show, we have 100 people working on it. Kanaval is our friends working on their free time; we have one paid employee. Essentially our house is an Amazon depot. We’re trying to do the best we can with the literal number of hours in the day.”

And like every other Carnival organizer, he’s watching the weather.

“It rained a little bit last year, and it was fine. And we have a lot of spiritual energy on our side, so I’m not really sweating it.”

[gary36]

The Switchblade and the Cross

Why did I invert the title of a David Wilkerson book from the 60s? Because that book is a trash fire and I needed those words.

When I was eighteen I wanted to go somewhere nobody knew me. I probably should have joined the Army or started huffing gas in the nearest trailer park. Almost anything would've been more reasonable than what I did. I found Jesus.

I think maybe the world scared me. I think I wanted friends and went to the church because they wanted anyone at all. The thread that led me into the flock began online. I heard music and I liked it. It was local so I checked their page. I saw a showtime and I showed up on time. That's how I was first in line to The Gills' live show to commemorate the release of their first album. I got the very first CD and I walked alone into a dark auditorium alongside many strangers to see a band I knew nothing about. The Gills took the stage smiling. The crowd loved them. I sat quietly in fear of appearing to enjoy music too much in public, but on the inside I was dancing. They were catchy. I thought nothing cool came out of my home town but I was happy to be proven wrong. At the end of the show with the final notes still hanging in the air, the skinny redheaded keyboard player spoke for the first time. His voice was delicate and his manner nervous. He invited anyone who wished to come the next day to worship in the same building. I have a problem with saying "yes." Sometimes I wind up in strange places.

I returned the next morning and stood awkwardly beside the front door waiting for a literal miracle. I stood around a long time having believed church to be something that happened early. It was 7:00 AM and the building still looked secular. An incredibly muscular young man with a flattop parked his truck and walked directly at me grinning from ear to ear. From the moment I met Griffin I trusted him. He simply wanted to be good. He asked if I wanted to help setup and I of course said yes. Griffin asked me a lot of questions. He wanted to know how I found out about Flamingo Road Church. Who I was, what I did, where I was from, where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do, and how had I found God? I had plenty of time to give answers and ask him the same. Griffin and I traded life stories while we errected banners inside, scattered traffic cones outside, arranged about a hundred chairs inside, ran miles of cord to various places, positioned speakers for optimal performance, and anything else to make the show happen. Griffin was from Alabama. He was going to college but would have to leave soon to fulfill his duties to the Army. More than anything he loved Jesus, his country, and his girlfriend Niki. As we worked I constantly had to stop and shake hands with other people pitching in. New people were a hot commodity and I was just as tired from smiling and talking as I was setting up. When it was finally time for the main event the building was packed out. Every seat taken and still more standing. Everyone happy to be there. Griffin deposited me with a tall man bearing a small afro and a very relaxed manner. TC is the most positive person I have ever met. He listened extremely well and never hesitated to offer help or advice. TC just loved being among the living. He introduced me to a conga line of other very attractive people in college and as the lights went dark TC bowed out and headed for the stage. In the dark I found myself sitting front and center between two twenty-sonethings. A well dressed man named Nathan and beautiful short woman named Leah. When the service started I was surprised.

In my experience up to that point, church and the act of worshipping Jesus were deliberately painful things. Church was boring and long because it was supposed to be. Church was quiet save for an old Southerner scolding the seated sinners because it was supposed to be. Songs sung for Jesus were about the wretchedness of the singers and the hope that they might maybe receive forgiveness they didn't deserve. As a child I hated church. I spent my first two years of education in a Christian school and hated that even more. Even at an early age I found the Bible boring, wordy, and contradictory. In Sunday school I refused to color anything because I knew there would be no consequences save perhaps lashes with a switch back at home that I would no doubt earn some other way. At home I would frustrate my family by asking why it was OK to lie to the tax collectors or what the specific requirements were to use the Lord's name. My efforts usually led me to a leather belt. Persistence paid off though. When I was 7 I got to go to public school and I never went to church with my family again. My parents and all my sisters have a sort of mutual love and disinterest in Jesus. They love to sit and sing along but the idea of actually reading the book is just silly. It's HUGE. It doesn't make any SENSE. The nice parts like Heaven and the Ark will always be there to help them sleep without any of the fire, stone, or spears. Their strategy was always to approach me with the assumption that I believed what they believed and disregard anything I said to the contrary. It's no surprise then that to me "Jesus" was not compatible with "fun."

Whenever TC played his guitar for the congregation at Flamingo Road Church you knew that whatever the truth might be TC felt blessed. He was happy. The other people on stage were happy. The skinny redheaded keyboard player was up there laughing with the rest. I remarked to Nathan and Leah that I recognized the keyboard player from The Gills. Nathan simply smirked and said "That's Allan. He's my little brother." When the music stopped a man in his thirties rushed out on stage. He had jeans and boots with a suit jacket and dress shirt. He greeted everyone and thanked them for coming. A quiet dignity came over the room. Pastor Chris spoke for maybe five minutes before introducing the man above him. Everyone please welcome Pastor Troy. Troy wasn't there. He was on a massive television. Troy was in Doral Texas at the OTHER Flamingo Road Church. One of many. Troy was perhaps 40 and had a very high voice to be so large. He also sported jeans, boots, and dress clothes on top. Troy is the focal point and also the weak point of the whole event. His standard sermon is about 40 minutes. Ten minutes intro. 5 minutes quoting fragments of scripture. 10 minutes extrapolating his point from the sacred sentence fragments. 5 minutes of prop comedy. Ten minutes asking for money. It's not life changing. It's not even good at what it's trying to do. It's not a guilt trip either though, not completely. The TV turns off. Chris comes back out. Donation plates. Music. Pavlov would've been proud. As the musicians revived the crowd for a final sing along with capital G, Nathan turned to me and invited me to a Bible study that Tuesday night geared towards people in college. I wasn't in college and in fact had dropped out of high school but Leah would be there and so would Griffin and TC and Allan would if he wasn't busy and of course I said yes. A quarter billion handshakes later it was time to leave and I offered to help put the stuff away that I had set up. Griffin and the others just laughed, they had two more identical services in the next few hours. Somebody from the final group would organize a team to put the stuff away. By 3 PM the building would be secular again. Flamingo Road Church would be locked up and its flock scattered to the winds.

On Tuesday we met at Leah's house because it was very neat and clean with a big living room. She took hosting seriously and usually had snacks available and candles everywhere. I had trouble finding the place and when I got there I was faced with about twenty beautiful people sitting cross-legged on Leah's carpet. Everyone was very happy to be there and greeted me warmly. Most of them I met briefly before but for the very first time I got to shake Allan's hand and tell him I loved his music. Allan was shy brushed off the praise. Over the course of the next year I would spend at least three days a week with these people and the routine became second nature. On Sunday I tried to arrive early to help get the building ready. We jammed out with the band. Thought a little about Jesus. Talked about money. Jammed out again. Every week it seemed we stuck around longer and longer just to talk. On Tuesday we met up for Bible study. Nathan was the College Minister as it turns out, so it was his job to pick talking points for us that went with the church's theme that week. He also presided over all discussion, having had the most Christian Theology classes. Usually Nathan would ask a question and ask everyone to turn to some page or other. Then we would have an open discussion about the ideas. Everyone shined in their own way. Griffin was earnest and to the point. Leah was thoughtful and patient. TC was wise beyond his years. Sarah (a social worker) had so much real life experience to lend to her ideas. Russell had a knack for explaining complex ideas with clever metaphors. Ashley made everyone laugh and always told the truth even when it hurt. Ryan was open and strong. Allan was humble under all circumstances. Niki was hard working and well traveled. Sarah (bank teller) was quiet but sharp. I did what I do, poke holes in things, happy to be the black sheep which placed me at odds with Nathan who had the job of being smartest guy in the room. Nathan might have us watch a video and then reiterate the video's point saying something like "Prayer is not a conversation with God, but living your life in tune with God." I said that reminded me a lot of a lesson from Zen bhuddism in which meditation is not a state of mind but a state of being. Nathan did not like this. Nor did he like it when I compared and contrasted creation myths from Norse and Egyptian mythology with the Garden of Eden. He bit his tongue when I quoted the Book of Enoch but riled at me for knowing a few sentences from the Quran. Nathan made it clear that my ideas were born out of a lack of understanding scripture. In all categories the Bible was superior and unique, and Nathan was its one true interpretor. Usually after our talks the guys and gals would split up. The women would go to Leah's room and shut the door, what went on in there I cannot imagine. Mostly the men talked about masturbating and how ashamed they were. One by one the men would be asked to say anything they'd been struggling with. Griffin was struggling with waiting until marriage to be intimate with Niki, which resulted in his struggle not to masturbate. Russell broke out into tears and admitted that he had struggled with pornography and had gone to great lengths to keep himself from it. The other men had similar stories. When it was my turn to speak I told the truth. I felt like I masturbated a perfectly respectable amount and couldn't see how Jesus could blame me so I didn't feel the least bit guilty. What I struggled with was faith itself. Not the existence of a Sky King but the bizarre nature and maddening decisions of that creature if it did exist. I struggled with God's insanity and how I was expected to react to it. As it turns out, masturbation is the right answer, and my struggle was met with awkward silence. Nathan basically told me that God worked in mysterious ways and to let Jesus into my heart. Russell said that God's plan was like a grand painting, but I was trying to view it through a microscope, so of course some parts seemed bad. I kept going but my struggle went with me.

Then one day Rachel was there. Rachel was new in town. She took on the responsibility of watching everybody's kids during the worship services. She was great with children and was studying to be a teacher. Rachel was outspoken and boiling over with cheer. She was always coming up with activities for the kids. Rachel worked constantly and usually did so while singing and dancing. She talked just much with her hands as her words. We started doing everything together. Kids stress me out but every Sunday I found myself watching her watch the kids and occasionally moving something heavy or making sure nobody died while she left the room. I left all the discipline to Rachel because kids just obeyed her without question. She spoke their language. She watched their TV shows. She tried to convince me to watch Avatar: The Last Airbender. I tried to convince her to read Crime and Punishment. We made a good team because Rachel was like a human bubble bath and I was a tar pit. Rachel used to run up behind me and almost throw me to the ground with her arms wrapped around me. We watched the Winter Olympics with some other people from the Bible study group. Shaun White demolished the competition. Rachel fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

I still felt like an outsider. Like the black sheep, but Rachel made me feel like that would go away with time. On the day before her birthday Rachel invited me to her place for dinner. I helped her set up for the party and I showed her how to start a fire. She made dinner. While we were eating Rachel casually mentioned her boyfriend in South Florida would be taking a break from his motorcycle repair classes to visit her. Something inside me went out like a candle. I pretended not to be surprised and finished dinner with my pride intact. She hugs me goodbye and she always hugged firm.

The next thing I know I'm driving down the highway and it's dark and rainy and it's so damn cold. Griffin was off to the Middle East. Russell moved away for work. Ryan moved away for school. Leah was on a missionary trip. Allan quit The Gills because Nathan told him he could use his music to serve God. Sarah was graduating and wouldn't have time for the college Bible study after. TC had to move away with his younger sister because they had no parents left. Nathan was promoted to assistant Pastor and passed his old position on to an even bigger know it all. Rachel had a boyfriend in South Florida going to school to fix motorcycles. How did I not know that? Just as suddenly as they'd come I had no one. I wondered how I got there in the first place. Wasn't I running away from know it all guys like Nathan and motorcycle boyfriends from a long time ago? It wasn't so much the motorcycle but the school that bugged me. Something about the structural approach being imposed on something inherently rebellious. Something about the prepackaged clean campus somewhere devoid of one Hell's Angel or Outlaw. It was on hollow thoughts like this that my mind dwelled when something ran out into the road. It was so dark and so wet I didn't stop in time. One almighty shudder and the squealing of my brakes. I rushed out into the downpoor. My head lights clearly illuminated a whimpering bloody coyote. It couldn't walk. It could hardly breathe. I was hours from a wildlife sanctuary. It was 2 AM. I was almost out of gas. I had a pocket knife because back then I always did. I knew I had a choice. Pull the coyote off the road and move on or help it cross over. Nathan said animals didn't have souls. I said they did and some men didn't. In the end I couldn't make the choice. I just knelt there blocking the desolate road in the middle of a frigid flash flood, running my hand across the beast's fur until he breathed no more. The car ran out of gas long before. I got them both out of the road. I walked a couple miles to the nearest gas station shivering the whole way. I never went back to church. No one ever called. I know what I did to deserve it. God damn it I know. But what the hell did the coyote do to deserve me?

[theessaflett]

Meredith: An Queer Faerie Story

Fairy tales.

What are they? What are they about? Who’s story do they tell?

There’s a comforting reliability to these old childhood stories, a knowledge that we already understand how these sorts of things usually go.

Once, in a far off land, there was a girl. Once, in a far off land, there was a boy. They loved each other very much, and were betrothed to marry in the spring. The boy was a farmer, the girl spun at the spinning wheel in her family’s cottage. Everything was good. Until the day that a witch arrived in the village. Until-

Wait. That’s not how this story goes. Let me try again.

Once, in a small village not so different from one such as this, there was a young woman, trapped in a tower by an evil stepmother. She had skin the colour of creamy milk, hair the colour of sun-kissed straw on a hot summer’s day. Her name was Leah, and she spent her days staring out of her only tiny window waiting for someone, anyone, to rescue her from her prison. One day a prince was riding by when his stallion, black as the darkest night, unexpectedly stopped and-

No, that doesn’t sound right either.

…You see, we are no longer in the world of farm boys, spinning wheels and wicked witches. Our twenty-first century lives are filled with computer screens and fast food chains, our lungs filled with the smell of exhaust fumes rather than manure. And yet, if you know where to look, the inexplicable still lingers. That flicker in the corner of your eye. A shadow where no shadow should be. This new kind of magic is just as likely to be found in a spark of electricity or the rumble of a pneumatic drill as it is in the sigh of a wave or the prick of a needle. And so, I think it might be time to tell you a new story. Are you sitting comfortably?

08:15

Once upon a time it was a very ordinary Monday morning.

We are in London. It is Spring. A wet, grey day, the type that British people are grimly proud about and yet still secretly hate. A young woman called Sara stood at the bus stop, looking up at the rain clouds and hoping it wouldn’t pour before her bus arrived. The only other person waiting beside her was a huddled figure, buried underneath an old-fashioned rain mac. “I’d stop wishing, if I were you,” the figure said suddenly, the crisp English accent revealing that she was a woman. “They’re funny like that. The rain will only come faster.” Sara frowned in confusion, surreptitiously trying to edge away from her odd, unexpected companion. “I’m sorry…They’re…?” “Oh. Of course, this is yesterday, isn’t it. Sorry about that. I’ll come back tomorrow.” “What do you mean, this is yesterday? Yesterday is yesterday.” “Of course it is,” said the figure kindly. “So sorry, I must have got it confused with last Tuesday. You should really buy an umbrella, Sara. You’re going to be soaked by the end of the day. And you really should stop absent-minded wishing. It’s a bad habit. After all, you never know who might be listening.” Sarah stared at the strange woman, face still obscured underneath the hood. “Sorry, how do you know my na-“ There was no-one there. She was alone at the bus stop. As if on cue, the rain started.   By the time her bus arrived, a very damp Sara had convinced herself that the whole thing was an over-tired hallucination. She hadn’t been getting much sleep recently, after all, and everyone knew that sleep was very important when it came to brains working properly. She squeezed on, head stuffed into a stranger’s armpit, and, for once, hoped that the rest of the day would be much more uninteresting.

13:20

Sara sat at in her cramped swivel chair, in front of her cramped desk, in her small, cramped office, her bizarre start to the morning mostly forgotten. Slightly higher up the food chain from the interns but barely more than an assistant, this was hardly what she’d imagined when she’d moved to London three years ago to ‘make it’ in the world of journalism. The whole ‘being a journalist’ thing hadn’t quite worked out and she’d found herself settling for trying to be an editor,  which in turn had turned into settling for being a proof reader for the Baking Recipes & Slimming Tips pages for an agonisingly dull magazine called Women’s Digest. It was a 2-page double spread. Sara wasn’t sure if anyone else saw the irony. She leant back for a moment, tired of trying to breathe some life into a very limp article about the three most interesting uses for raisins, and looked around. Photocopier hum, keyboard tapping, phone ringing, the smell of bad coffee and stale sweat.   How had this become her normal? The little girl that had once stared at stars and wrote fairy tales by torchlight, turned into an office drone? This was adulthood, Sara reminded herself with a sigh. This was most people’s normal. This was how rent was paid and milk was bought. She allowed herself one small 360 degree swivel on her chair before she got back to work, a tiny act of rebellion, rubbed her eyes and readied herself for more tedium. Except, rather than 572 words about raisins, there was something else entirely written on her computer screen.

IS IT TOMORROW YET?

Sara let out a yip of shock, frozen in surprise as she stared at the words. The words, looking suspiciously innocuous, stared back. She looked up, wildly searching for anyone laughing, giggling, anything to suggest that this might be a weird prank. Nobody caught her eye. After all, she didn’t exactly have many close friends in this job. Certainly no-one that would go to the trouble of teasing her with a bizarre joke. Slowly, Sara shifted her gaze back to the question typed out by an unknown hand.

IS IT TOMORROW YET?

At a loss for anything else to do, Sara slowly reached down, tapped two letters and hit send.

NO

A pause, then a reply flashed up.

I’LL COME BACK LATER. REMEMBER TO EAT LUNCH

And just like that, the recipe for raisin bran was back.

19:18

Sara turned the key in the lock, pushed open her front door and sighed in relief that her drab little flat seemed to be exactly as she’d left it. After the weird sort of day she’d had she wouldn’t have counted out coming face to face with a massive tiger or some sort of weird portal into an alternate universe or…something. Still a little cautious, she went into the kitchen, pulled out a mug from the cupboard and switched on the kettle, pulling off her wet coat as the water started to boil. Sara turned to hang the coat on a chair and then, suddenly, there was a sensation like falling backwards and forwards at the same time, a dizzy blurring that caught her breath and stung her eyes. She reached out for something, anything, to steady her, thought that she was going to faint - and then, as suddenly as it had started, the feeling stopped. Sara stood there in the middle of the kitchen, heart racing, breath coming short, unsure of what she had just experienced. She was still holding the coat. But, she slowly realised with a sinking feeling in her stomach, it was now completely dry. The kettle was no longer boiling. She slowly turned to the window, somehow already knowing what she was about to see, and stared blankly at the morning sunlight streaming through the windowpane where early evening twilight should have been instead. It was still raining. “What the…” she whispered to herself, still frozen in place. “What the actual-“ Woodenly she pulled her phone from out of her pocket, then gazed uncomprehendingly at the date. “Tomorrow,” Sara breathed. “It’s tomorrow. But- how-” Suddenly, she knew what to do. Pulling her coat back on, grabbing her keys, she yanked open the front door and ran back down the street she had only walked up minutes earlier. Sara sprinted to the bus stop, lungs burning, feet slamming onto the wet pavement. “IT’S TOMORROW! IT’S TOMORROW NOW!” she shouted. “I DON’T KNOW HOW THE HELL YOU DID IT BUT IT’S TOMORROW NOW!” “There’s no need to yell.” The mysterious figure was huddled in her rain mac, now also holding an umbrella. “it was yesterday! I swear it was yesterday! Am I going mad? How can it be yesterday and then today? I mean today and then tomorrow? What? What is going on??” “Oh, of course. You still have no idea who I am. That’s annoying. Well, I bought you an umbrella. Cost a shilling but we’ll call it a gift.” She offered a bizarrely old-fashioned looking yellow umbrella, which Sara stared at for a second, beyond confused now, then switched back to the main matter at hand. “No, listen, it was - I was standing in my kitchen and it was the evening and now it’s tomorrow morning. How does that happen?” “I grew tired of waiting,” replied the woman. “I’m also getting tired of holding this umbrella. It’s customary to accept gifts when they’re offered, Sara.” At a loss for anything else to do, Sara took the umbrella, then opened it under the mysterious figure’s impatient gaze. “There. Now you’re less likely to catch a cold. Unless, of course, you fancy just getting the rain to stop.” “Gettin- What? I can’t stop the rain! What?! Who are you?”
“Oh, this really is getting annoying.” A face squinted out at her, seemingly appraising her, then sighed. “Okay. Since I’ve gone to the bother of speeding this all up a little bit I might as well get started in earnest. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Sarah found herself following the woman to a grimy cafe with laminated menus and booths that had seen better days. She hadn’t noticed it before despite standing daily at the bus stop that was apparently opposite…but decided not to follow that thought any further in an effort to avoid any more mental instability. A middle-aged man wearing a red and white checked apron wandered over, wiping a dirty looking mug with an even dirtier looking rag. “All right, love? Same as usual?” Sarah looked up from propping the wet umbrella on the seat next to her and waited blankly for the other woman to speak before realising in shock that the man was addressing her. “Er, I haven’t actually-“ she started, trailing off as the man gave a grunt and nodded to her mysterious booth partner. ` “First time today then? Figured it would be one of these days.” “Yes, Sara and I are here to have a bit of a chat. We may need quite a lot of tea.” “I’ll put the kettle on. Would be good to have this rain stop for a bit, eh?” He winked at Sara as he headed back to the counter, a reassuring aside that did nothing to put her at ease. “Sorry, but what is going on? I’m really, really confused and just…well…” She trailed off, unsure as to what else she was. The woman opposite her finally pushed her hood down and untied the massive rain coat, surprising Sara as she did so. Quite the opposite from the mad-looking old woman she realised she’d been half expecting to see, this was a woman maybe in her early thirties, braided hair pulled back into a intricate tail, rich brown eyes staring at hers with a hint of humour. She was dressed, Sarah could see now, in a immaculate navy-blue suit and tie, just a little damp from the rain. “I know the creepy-old-man raincoat gives the wrong idea,” she said apologetically, “But when you’ve paid this much for a suit you don’t want to ruin it by getting it endlessly wet.” “Endlessly? It’s only been raining for, like, two days,” Sarah said, aware that she hadn’t really picked the most unusual part in all of this but deciding that it was best to start somewhere. “For you, maybe,” said the smartly dressed woman, sighing as she straightened her paisley-print tie. “Some of us don’t quite experience the world in such a…linear fashion. I’m Meredith. Have we really not even done that yet?” “..Sara,” Sara managed weakly. “Yes, yes, I know. First of all, let me apologise for dragging you forward a little bit. It wasn’t the most polite move but everyone is very clear on this being the day that we have this conversation and I had really just had had enough of waiting around.” “Everyone? Hang on, waiting around? You’ve been, like, stalking me?” “Stalking is a…harsh word. Believe it or not we do actually know each other very well indeed, although clearly not right at this moment.” “What, we’re, like, friends? I’ve never met you!” Meredith looked at her a moment with an uncomfortably penetrating gaze. “Hm. This is going to be a little trickier than I thought.” The man with the apron came back with two mugs, two milk jugs and a large pot of tea on a tray, next to a little plate of biscuits. Sara was deeply unnerved to realise that they were her favourite kind. “Thanks, Alan,” said Meredith. Alan set the tray down, gave them a smile and a nod and vanished off again. “Hiring Alan was a very good idea of yours,” she said absent-mindedly as she poured the milk. “And before you say anything, it’s almond milk.” “…You know I’m lactose intolerant…?” said Sarah, now so far beyond the point of comprehending anything that she’d reached an odd place of calm. “That’s…nice.” Meredith finished pouring the tea and sat back, idly tapping a finger on the side of her mug. “Drink your tea, Sara. Though possibly I should have gone for whisky. You might need it by the end of this.” Sarah numbly took a sip of what was, she had to admit, a perfect cup of tea, and glanced out the window at the deserted street, rain slithering and sliding down the glass. “Are we still on Edward’s Street?” She asked. “Or somewhere that just looks like Edward’s Street?” “We’re… adjacent to Edward’s Street,” Meredith replied. “We are looking at it. It’s just a little bit…paused, that’s all.” “Is this some Harry Potter thing?” Sarah blurted out. “Like, are you about to start waving around a wand or something?” Meredith rolled her eyes as she drank some more tea. “Now, you were much more close to the truth of the matter with the idea that the Edward’s Street we’re looking at might not necessarily be the Edward’s Street that we just left. Huh. Harry Potter. If I had a wand that would make life a lot easier, believe me.” “So…Look, you’re going to have to give me something to go on. I’m lost over here,” Sara said with sudden exasperation. “You’re a time traveller? You’re an alien with a spaceship? You’re a ghost? What’s the deal here?” “I don’t think I’m a time traveller in the way that you’re thinking,” Meredith replied, “But that’s the most accurate one from the list. Less Doctor Who, more…The best way to describe it is that I’m someone who slips in and out of places. Geographic places and…otherwise.” “Well that’s vague,” Sara replied sourly. “And I suppose during whilst you’re doing this “skipping backwards and forwards in time” thing we’ve met before? In my future? And now you, what, need my help with something? Look, I’m really not the person you think I am. Not that I know who you think I am. I’m…like… I’m not exciting. I’m from Cumbria, not an alien planet or… oh, I don’t know! I don’t know what’s going on or who you think I am but I’m not whoever that is,” Sara stopped, aware she was making very little sense. “Basically, you’ve got the wrong person. Can I…like…go? We might be, I don’t know, future work buddies or friends or whatever according to you but right now I really don’t know you.” Meredith scowled at her, and Sara was worried for a second that something awful was going to happen. What was she doing, annoying someone who messed around with time without breaking a sweat? “I’m not a plot device in one of your beloved Marvel films, Sara.” She seemed to make up her mind about something, leant forward. Sara half-noticed that Meredith smelt like freshly cut grass and rose blossom. It wasn’t unpleasant, and maybe even a little…familiar? Like an echo of a memory whispering to her from the past…or the future…? She shook her head slightly to dispel the odd thought. “Sara,” said Meredith in a tone that demanded full attention. She looked, bizarrely, a little embarrassed. “There’s something…ah…oh, there’s no easy way to say this.” “What?” “We’re not, as you so fondly put it, work acquaintances. You and I… we’re…” The pause hovered in the air, froze for a moment and then crashed back to earth as realisation struck. “What? What? We’re, like…We’re-” “No need to sound so thrilled, darling,” Meredith said dryly. “But yes. At some point in the near future that we can’t really wait to get to, it’s safe to say that you trust me quite a bit.” “Wait. Just hold on for a damn minute. If we’re…why are we even having this conversation? Wouldn’t I have told you about this? Couldn’t you just tell me what future me said happened?” Meredith smirked. “You did say that I made quite the first impression. But that fact that you just became more confused trying to even construct that sentence should explain why it doesn’t really work like that. It’s just too complicated. On the whole I try not to ask too many questions about things I’ve apparently yet to do - puts everything out of balance somewhat if I’m operating off a mental checklist of everything I have or haven’t yet done or said. But. You did say that I needed to show you this.” She loosened her tie, undid the top button of her shirt and fished out a necklace, a pendant the shape of a swallow hanging from a simple silver chain. “Where did you get that?” Sara snapped, staring at the necklace. “From you, Sara,” Meredith said with real impatience in her voice now as she tucked the necklace away again, fastened her top button and adjusted her tie back into its impeccable original position.  “I know this is hard to comprehend but you’re really going to have to try and have this existential crisis a little bit faster. This is your mother’s necklace, the one that you promised her to keep safe, the one that you gave to me on our… well. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You gave me this necklace, Sara. Can you trust me now?” “Trust you?” Sara felt completely lost. She couldn’t relate to this future person, this Sara, who gave away family heirlooms and was apparently very important to the universe. “I don’t know if I can trust me. …Who am I?” “Who are you?” Said Meredith with a quirked eyebrow. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re Sara. If you don’t know who you are then there’s not much chance for the rest of us.” “Well I obviously don’t know,” Sara said, hysteria rising, “Because I think I’m a very, very normal, boring 25-year-old who’s a copy editor for a bad women’s magazine, who grew up in the Lake District and is allergic to cats, whereas clearly there’s a rather different Sara going around who, like, knows about inexplicable cafes and dates mysterious women and, and, can do stuff to the weather?” Meredith gave an exasperated sigh. “That is the least helpful self-description that I think anyone has ever given about themselves, ever. All right. You, Sara Dawson, did indeed grow up in the Lake District and you are quite impressively allergic to cats.  That’s where the correct part of your surmising ends. You’ve been a copy editor for all of a year so I hardly think it’s fair to say that that’s a large part of your personality, especially since you stop working there as of…well, today. And I doubt a boring person would be able to do what you’re able to do.” “And what is it exactly,” ground out Sara, completely at the end of her tether, “That I am able to do?” Meredith looked at her a moment. “I see I’m going to have to give you a nudge. All right. I wouldn’t normally do this but the time being what it is…” She held out a hand. “I’m sorry to spring this on you so suddenly, and so, well, brutally. I always hoped it was a little more gentle, but apparently not. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to trust me right now, Sara. Please.” Sara hesitated, then took the offered hand. It seemed like by this point it was better to continue forging forward in this utterly insane sequence of events than look back and realise how far from normal she’d somehow come. “Close your eyes,” Meredith instructed and Sara did so, feeling utterly foolish. “Right. I might as well warn you that this is probably going to be a little frightening. I realise that this thought is less comforting than it might be, given the context, but…I’m right here with you.” A second passed. Nothing. Two seconds passed. Nothing. Sara had just opened her mouth to say that whatever terrifying thing that Meredith thought might be happening it didn’t seem to be working when-  

Suddenly, impossibly, Sara heard everything. Felt everything. It seemed overwhelmingly like life had, unbeknownst to her, been previously lived in a black and white photocopy, a dull 2D imitation of what existing could be, and now unexpectedly had brilliantly opened up into high definition 4D. Even as she marvelled at this new impossibly expanded world there was a distant, vague memory that this was how it had been at the start, at the very beginning of being Sara. But, oh! The joy, the power of that sensing, that feeling - the beat of her heart, the blood coursing through her veins, through Meredith’s veins, green shoots twisting up through the earth under the tarmac deep, deep below her feet, the electricity crackling in the air, even the slight vibrations of the very atoms making up the table, the floor, the air, the entire fabric of existence tangible and ready to mould into- “Sara! Stop!” With a gasp, Sara was sucked back into 2D, though not quite the same 2D she had left: that sense of feeling, of sensing, hummed in the background, ready to be pulled forward once more. Meredith, letting go, pushed her hands through her hair in a gesture that belied her stress. “Bloody hell, Sara. Let’s go easy on ripping apart the universe, shall we?” “I remember,” Sara said slowly, the world and Meredith reduced to muffled background noise as it all slowly fell into place. “I remember now. This is how I used to see things.” “Yes.” Meredith looked a little more calm as she drank her tea. “Until someone sensible on the Board decided that having a 1 year old playing around with the existence of life as we know it probably wasn’t the best idea. You were fitted with the mental equivalent of bicycle stabilisers. Something to hold everything in check until you were ready to actually control what you could do.” Sara frowned. “The board? What’s the board? A group of, I’m guessing, old white guys got together and decided to…what? Essentially… maim me? Didn’t I get a say in this?” “They’re not exactly guys and you were, again, let me state this, under one years old so couldn’t say much in the first place but, yes, I see your point. Which is why I’ve taken the metaphorical  bicycle stabilisers off. Something that I’m sure several people will think is a terrible, terrible mistake on my part.” Sara looked at Meredith, really looked at her, for the first time, eyes slightly narrowed. “And why isn’t it a terrible, terrible mistake on your part?” She smiled slightly, cocking her head. “Because I know you. Someone who likes living on this world, who likes biscuits and sunrises and puppies and, well, generally being alive as much as you do, is unlikely to implode the universe. Not on purpose, at any rate.” “…What about not on purpose?” “…Well yes, that’s a slightly different matter. And why we should really get going, darling. We have an issue with the Board that needs your help but it’s probably a good idea you get a handle on things first. I know somewhere where you can test drive a few of your…capabilities without causing lasting damage to any small solar systems.” Sara drank the last of her tea and stood up as Meredith pulled on her damp coat. “You still haven’t explained who these board people actually are, Meredith.” “One thing at a time, dear,” said Meredith absent-mindedly as she steered Sara towards the door, picking up the umbrella as she did so. “Let’s start at the start and see where we go from there.” `”Oh come on, it can’t be that complicated.” “I really think you might be surprised about that…but if you insist…” The two of them slipped out of the cafe and into the rain. A moment later, both the cafe and the figures were gone. And a moment after that, if you listened carefully, drifting on the breeze, you might have heard:
“They’re the board of WHAT?!”