Speaker 1: Hi, Welcome to Fiction Revised, a short story podcast. For
each episode is a short story, rewritten, reimagined, and reshaped
into a different genre, which is chosen at random. This week,
our story is rest Up and the genre is Romance.
By the time they pulled off the highway, Morgan's eyes
felt grainy and her jaw hurt from holding it in
one position for too long. The rest area appeared like
everything else had that afternoon, sudden, sunwashed and a little unreal.
A blue sign and eggs ramp curling away from the
river of cars, A low concrete building with faded restroom symbols,
A couple of gas station pumps, A row of trucks
lined with nose out towards the open land beyond the railing.
The desert spread in every direction, flat and complicated. At
the same time, Taylor eased the car into a spot
under a metal shade structure and killed the engine. The
air conditioned died with a soft sigh. Heat leaned in
through the windshield. We're almost there, Taylor said, fingers resting
on the steering wheel a second longer before letting go.
Like forty minutes tops okay, Morgan said, Her voice sounded
like it had been left in the trunk, slightly muffled,
slightly not hers. They sat there a beat. The engine ticked,
a semi rumbled past on the highway, the sound a low,
steady shudder. Bathroom, Taylor asked. Morgan huffed, bathroom, Yeah, do
you want water? Taylor reached towards the cup holder, already
in motion. We still have a coup of cold ones
from the last stop. I'm okay, Morgan said, it was automatic.
Taylor's hand paused, then settled back on their thigh. Okay.
The car had been their whole world for hours, music
shared jokes, long stretches of silence where the road hummed
under them. It had been easy, in a suspended sort
of way, the kind of ease that came when there
was always more highway, more time before the next thing.
Now the next thing was forty minutes away. Morgan opened
her door. He'd hit her like breath from a dog's mouth, warm, close, insistent.
She stepped out, her legs stiff and closed the door carefully.
Taylor popped the trunk and headed towards the gas pumps.
Morgan watched them go for half a second, the familiar
line of their shoulders, the way they walked, like they
already knew where they were going. Then she turned towards
the restrooms. The concrete was hot through the thin soles
of her sneakers. A kid ran past her, flip flops slapping,
hands flung wide. Someone laughed near the bending machine. A
dog somewhere shook tags, jingling. The bathroom smelled like every
restop bathroom she'd ever been in, cleaning chemicals, damp tiles,
an undertone of old water. She slid into a stall,
locked it, sat down, and then only then did she
realize that her hands were shaking. It had been a
day built of small endings, unplugging things, folding cables, carrying
boxes down narrow staircases, the sound of tape ripping, dropping
the keys through mister Howard's mail slot, and hearing them
land on the metal tray inside with the definitive clink.
She watched the door of her old building closed and
had told herself, okay, we're doing this. We had been
planning this, this is the part where the plan happens. Now,
in the fluorescent hum of a restop bathroom, the plan
felt far away and fragile. She finished, washed her hands
stared at herself in the mirror. The lighting wasn't kind,
but it wasn't cruel either. It just didn't care. Her
face looked almost normal, a little drawn, a little overheated,
not like someone whose life was currently somewhere between before
and after. You're fine, she told her reflection under her breath,
the way you might tell a stranger skittish dog you
meant no harm. Her reflection didn't argue. On the walk back,
she detoured without thinking, towards the low metal railing that
separated the parking lot from the open land. It wasn't
much of a barrier, just a suggestion that people and
cars belonged on one side and everything else belonged on
the other. The desert yawned vast out in front of her,
dotted with shrubs and low, stubborn plants. From a distance,
it looked empty. Up close, it looked busy, twigs and thorns,
sage and saltbrush, each claiming its thin strip of soil.
Mountains huddled on the horizon, blue gray and hazy. The
wind pushed at her shirt. It smelled like dust and
something green and bitter underneath. She wrapped her fingers around
the railing the metal was warm, almost body temperature. If
she turned around, she could see the car, see tailor
probably leaning against the trunk with their phone in their hand,
or sitting in the driver's seat with the door of open,
one foot on the ground, waiting ready to bring her
the rest of the way. The thought made her chest
feel tight and bright all at once. She had said, yes,
she had wanted this. She still did want this. She
also wanted very badly to rewind six hours and sit
on her old couch with her mug and pretend that
none of this was happening. Hey, Taylor's voice came from
behind her. You vanished, She turned her head. Taylor came
to stand beside her, leaving a few inches between them,
like they could feel her edges and didn't want to
crowd them. You fill up, she asked, yep. Taylor hooked
the thumb over their shoulder towards the car. We're rowed ready,
Then Taylor asked, how are you holding up? Taylor's question
was light, but the answer was not, and she didn't
have the energy to smuggle something honest into a joke
right now, so she did what she'd been doing all day.
I'm fine, Morgan said, Taylor's eyes stared out at the horizon. Liar,
I know, Morgan muttered. They stood there together, watching the
heat dance above the sand in faint, wobbly lines. The
truck's breaks hissed somewhere behind them. The world went on
doing what it did. Hey, Taylor said after a minute,
random question. Did you bring your tombs in your backpack?
Or did we pack them in a box? If it's
in a box, it's fine. I just rode food and all.
For a second, the words didn't make sense. They hovered
in the air between them, and Morgan stared at them
like they were written in a language she used to know.
Tom's bathroom box. Her stomach dropped the box, she said,
her own voice sounded far away. We packed them with
the other bathroom stuff. Okay, Taylor nodded, like they were
checking off a mental list. Cool, just making sure the box,
Morgan repeated. But now the words came out. Dinner. She straightened,
fingers leaving the railing palms felt slick. Did you bring
it down from the bathroom, the one by the sink
with the blue tape. Morgan could see it with terrible clarity,
the small box on the floor for old bathroom tucked
beside the sink, cabinet, blue tape on top, her blocky handwriting,
bathroom slash, daily toothbrush, contacts, moisturizer, the cheap dry shampoo
she'd been weirdly loyal to, A half used bottle of
tombs razors, a tangle of hair ties, the chipped ceramic
dish she kept by the mirror, the mood ring she
hadn't worn in years, nestled in that dish, permanent background objects,
tailor's browsing it together, their gaze catching up with their panic. Yeah,
I grabbed the one from under the mirror with the tape.
I put it in the back seat behind you. No,
Morgan said, the words, cutting across theirs. No, that was
the medicine cabinet one with the extra stuff. I had
another box on the floor, the daily stuff. Did you,
She broke off. Her heart was pounding in her throat.
Now the heavy, stupid drum. Morgan Taylor straightened, fully, turning
towards her breathe. Let's just check. Maybe we moved it
earlier and you forgot. I can pop the trunk. It's
not in the car, Morgan said, I would have seen it.
There's only one bathroom box, and we didn't. The picture
of her old bathroom sharpened, the empty hooks where her
towels had hung, the bare ring on the counter where
the soap had been, the lone box by the sink
of waiting. She'd meant to grab it last after she
brushed her teeth, after one more rinse of the glass
by the mirror, after one more look, but she didn't.
The memory of leaving it pinched at the back of
her eyes. I forgot it, she said. Saying it out
loud made it feel heavier like metal. I left it there, okay,
Taylor said, Okay, nay, that's all right. Their voice found
the tone people you for near miss accidents and dropped plates.
We can go back. It'll take some time, but we're
not that far, Taylor. We're hours away. Morgan snapped. It's
sharper than she meant to the heat, the long day,
the sudden wave of nausea, I'll all packed into the word.
We're not just popping back. My keys are in mister
Howard's stupid little tray, and someone's probably already looked in
the bathroom and thrown it away. And hey, Taylor said,
it's okay. We can replace everything. The phrase landed round,
like biting down on something hard and soft food. Morgan's
voice broke. You can't replace everything, Sure we can, Taylor said,
still in fix it mode. There's a drug store near
the apartment. We'll get you more toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo, whatever, contact, morriage, drizer,
whatever you need. We'll go tonight. It's a big deal.
It's not. She shook her head hard enough that a
strand of hair stuck to her damp cheek. Her eyes burned.
It's not about the toothpaste. Taylor opened, her mouth, closed it.
The wind pressed against both of them. Morgan looked down
at her hands. There were little half moon marks where
her fingers had dug into her own skin on the railing.
Her throat felt thick, like it might never clear again.
It's not about the box, she said, and this time
her voice came out small and wrecked, or even the
stupid mood rang. Taylor blanked, mood rang. It was in
the bathroom, Morgan said. The words started to slip faster,
tripping over each other. This cheap thing from high school.
I never wear it. I just it lives there, has
lived there through every apartment, every roommate. I don't throw
it away because it feels like it's there. It's just
always there. I know it's dumb. Hey, Taylor said softly, Hey, Hey,
her hands hovering near her arms, not quite touching. You're tired,
it's been a long day. You didn't do anything wrong.
That's not Morgan. Let out of your breath. I know
I didn't commit a cry against boxes. I just she
could feel it happening, the way the emotion she'd been
managing in small, private SIPs all day suddenly sloshed over
the rim the empty apartment, the thunk of the keys,
mister Howard promising to keep an eye on things in
that vague way old men do, The way the light
had slanted across the now bare walls where her bookshelf
used to be. Leaving had felt like stepping over a
line painted on the floor. Now that line was miles
behind her, and she'd just realized she'd left something small
and irrational on the other side. The mood rang the
everyday items. The person who had known exactly where her
moisturizer sat in the dark was scared, she said, And
there it was out hanging between them. I don't know
if we're doing the right thing. Taylor's face changed, but
she didn't look at them long enough to catalog how
the words kept tumbling, pulled by their own gravity. I
love you, she said, Tears blurred everything, desert trucks Taylor's shirt.
She swiped at them uselessly. I want this, I really do,
and I also don't at the same time, and I
feel like that makes me an asshole. It doesn't, Taylor said.
She barreled on what if we're making a mistake. Her
voice cracked on the word what if moving in together
ruins everything? What if I turn out to be too
much like I always am and you change your mind,
and then I'm stuck in this brand new city. But
I actually, you know, I kind of love it. But
you're gone and I'm alone, and you just get to
go back, You get to take the same highway and
reverse and slide right back into your life. And I'm
the one who dismantled all the fine for this. The
confession hung there, raw and breathless. A car door slammed
somewhere behind them. A kid whined about snacks, A crow
called from a light post, horse and insistent. Taylor's hands
dropped to their sides for a second. Their face was
nakedly stricken, like someone had just knocked the wind out
of them. You think i'd just go back, Taylor said quietly.
Morgan closed her eyes shame crawled up for a neck.
I don't know what I think. I just she dragged
in a breath that shuddered all the way down. I
feel like I stepped off a ledge, and I'm not
allowed to say wow, that's a long way down because
I'm the one who jumped off the sledge. Taylor was
silent long enough that Morgan risked opening her eyes again.
They weren't angry. That almost made it worse. Their expression
was something softer and more complicated, like they were turning
her words over, looking at them from all sides and
seeing things they hadn't meant to show, Morgan. Taylor said, finally,
they sounded different. That's on top of everything. I'm so
sorry I made you feel like you're not allowed to
freak out. I thought I was helping. I know you did,
she said thickly. It's not like you're doing anything wrong.
I just every time you say, well, replace it or
it's fine, I just feel like i'm supposed to be fine,
and I'm not fine. I might be fine later, I
don't know, but right now I'm unfine. Something in Taylor's
face softened like wax narrow flame. They took a step closer,
slow enough she could have stepped back if she wanted,
but she didn't. I'm scared too, Taylor said, I'm so simple.
For a second, Morgan almost didn't register it. Her brain
had been braced for reassurance, or a counter argument, or
a list of practical comforts, not that she blanked. What
do you mean you're scared? I'm scared too, Taylor repeated.
They let out a breath, shoulders falling from a fraction,
like fully, not just a little nervous. I've been terrified
for weeks. I've been acting like the logistics very because
that feels easier than saying, hey, I wake up at
three am sometimes and stare at the stealing picture you
standing in my doorway with the suitcase, saying you made
a huge mistake. The image Taylor described hit Morgan in
another kind of way that made her stomach drop. Why
why would I do that? Because you're giving so much
more than me, Taylor said, And there was no hesitation
in it. You're leaving your coffee shop and mister Howard
and your trash truck schedule, and that we're staying in
the hallway. You're leaving streets, your feet no better than
your brain. I'm not leaving any of that. I'm just
I'm making a hole in my life and asking for
you to step into it. They rubbed a hand over
the back of their neck, looking away briefly towards the mountains.
The idea that I could be wrong, that I could
convince you to come, and then it wouldn't be what
you need and you'd feel trapped. Do you think that
doesn't scare the shit out of me. We're going swallowed,
your tears slowed, and you never said anything. Yeah. Well,
sometimes I'm very good at packing and very bad at
vulnerable monologues. When I said we can replace everything, I
meant there's nothing so important in that box that it's
worth you beating yourself up over. But I get that
it's not just shampoo and a mood ring. It's your routine.
It's you, and you're allowed to grieve losing the way
things were. Even if you're walking towards something, you choose
the wind gusted, flapping the hem of Taylor's shirt against
their jeans. Their eyes were steady on her. If you
ever hate it, Taylor said, cards on the table, If
it ever feels wrong, we will not just shrug and
keep going. We will talk about it, will adjust, We'll
figure it out. I'm not dragging you into a life
and then leaving you if it gets hard. That's not
the kind of person I am, and that's not the
kind of us that I want. Morgan thought of the
empty half of Taylor's wardrobe she'd seen on their last
video call, the extra toothbrush in the cup by their sank,
still in it's plastic, the way they'd sent her photos
of the cabinet they'd cleared out in the kitchen. You
could go back, though, Morgan said, If I left, you
could just stay. I could. Taylor agreed, geographically, logistically I could. Emotionally,
I don't think there's a version of where I go
back to my old life like nothing happened. You're not
a couch I'm swapping out. You're the part where my
life started making sense. That sentence hung between them. It
could have sounded like a line. It didn't sounded almost embarrassed,
which made it land harder. Morgan shifted her nose was
running in a very unromantic way. It was very earnest,
she said. Taylor huffed yeah. Morgan watched Taylor's face, searching
for the thing she'd been quietly bracing for a flicker
of impatience, an eye roll, a tight around the mouth
that meant that this was too much. She didn't find it,
But she found was someone who looked as scared as
she felt, and who was still standing there anyway, close
enough that she could see the pulse flickering at the
base of her throat. I don't want to disappear into
your life, Morgan said. I don't want to be this
add on that has to fit into all your existing slots,
like who I am, who I've worked hard to be.
I like her. I don't want to lose her just
because I love you good. Taylor said, I don't want
to lose her either. I like her too. I'm kind
of counting on her existing Morgan let out of breath.
She hadn't realized that she'd been holding onto. The air
tasted like the sun and dust and something green. You're
allowed to be sad that you left, Taylor added, even
if you don't regret leaving, those are not usually exclusive settings.
Morgan stared out at the desert again, the shrubs, the
low plants, the way everything out there was still alive,
without any of the things she thought she needed. I
feel like I left a version of me standing in
that bathroom, the one who knows where the good tortillas
are and which cashier will ask about my day, and
just walked away from her. I left her with a
dumb mood ring. Maybe she's not stuck there, Taylor said.
Maybe she just came with you and the mood ring
is the only thing that stayed. I mean, I guess
that is kind of how objects work, and it's not
really how people work. He keeps showing up in new places.
It's gross, actually, Morgan laughed, a small startled sound that
unpunched something in her shoulder. You're an idiot, okay. Taylor's
hand brushed the back of hers. I'm come and sit
on the curb with me. Okay, Morgan nodded. They moved
close to each other, with their back toward the car,
the heat pressing around them but less oppressive now that
she'd stopped fighting her own reaction, like they were weather
she could change. They sat on the curb, facing the
open stretch of land. The sun was angling lower shadows,
stretching a little longer under the parked trucks. For a moment,
neither of them spoke. The quiet wasn't empty the way
it had felt in the car. It was full of
things that had just been said and things that didn't
need to be said. Then Taylor turned their hand, palm
up on the curb between them. There wasn't a grab
or a plea or a demand, just an open, offered space.
Moran looked at Taylor's hand, and she let her own
hands slip into theirs. Their fingers folded around hers carefully,
like they were closing a book they wanted to keep
reading later. The contact was small, warm, no lightning bolts,
no swelling music, just skin and skin and the steady
anchoring weight of being held. I'm still scared, she said.
It felt important to say it explicitly, to not pretend
this gesture had magically reset her brain. Me too, said Taylor.
I don't think that that's going to vanish the second
we cross city limits. Great, Morgan said, we can be
cowards together. Perfect Taylor said, we'll start a club, two members,
super exclusive. They leaned into each other and watched the desert.
Morgan pictured the bathroom box again, sitting on the floor,
blue tape, her handwriting the mood rang catching a slipper
of light through the window. It hurt thinking of it there,
It didn't hurt as much as the idea of never
having gotten in the car. Maybe I'll buy a new
mood ring, she said, slowly, from like the mall kiosk
in your stupid city, Our stupid city. Taylor corrected. She
rolled her eyes, but didn't argue, fine, our stupid city.
Maybe I'll even wear it unless it turns my finger green.
You know it's going to, Taylor said. Morgan smiled. The
wind gusted and then settled around them like an exhale.
For the first time all day, the space inside her
didn't feel like a cliff edge. It felt more like
a room with the door she could walk through and
back out of as needed. Okay, Morgan said, quietly, okay,
Taylor said. They sat there until the concrete started to
feel too hard under them, and the sun slid a
little lower, painting the distant mountains in a softer color.
At the car. Taylor opened the driver's door, paused, looking
over the top of it at Morgan. If you want
to sit in the back and stare moodily out the window,
I'll respect your process. Morgan shook her head. No, the
front's perfect. Taylor started the engine before they pulled out.
Taylor glanced over Morgan met their eyes. They were still scared.
She could see it now, but they were scared, and
staying scared, and breaching for her hand. Anyway, Let's go home,
Morgan said. Taylor's mouth curved. Yeah, let's They pulled out
of the parking lot and back onto the on ramp,
the car gathering speed. As they merged onto the highway,
the rest stop shrank in the side mirror, bathrooms, trucks railing,
all folding back into the landscape ahead of them. The
road stretched towards the city, where nothing of hers existed
yet except a clear shellf awaiting toothbrush, and a life
she hadn't lived. Beside her, a hand was within reach.
Behind her, a cheap mood ring sat in an empty bathroom.
Catching the last of the light. She turned forward. She
was still scared. She was not alone. The car moved on,
thank you for listening. Let's see what I'm writing next.
Looks like I'll be rewriting the story coming back. I
was previously done as a horror story, and this time
I will be turning into a fairy tale. Next week,
story changes. See then,