ONE

Little Ozzie still insists that I keep writing. He claims it's therapeutic. It's probably more therapeutic than his 150-pound ass on my chest, so I've decided to keep writing. Besides, it's the only thing I have left, and it helps me hold onto the last few thin strands of my sanity. So, here I am again. Once again, I was reminded to keep the tone light, though in contrast to my last story, this one ends on a brighter note. I also don't feel like getting peed on, which Terrible Chester still insists on doing.

When Stormy Llewellyn died, people would always say one of two things either to me or about me. The first was 'she was your first love, and you were hers, that'll never change.' This I knew to be true. The other was 'it'll be alright if you never love anyone again.' This I also believed to be true. Up until that one day, I would have flat out denied any claim otherwise, knowing Stormy to be it as far as my love life was concerned. But then, on February 15th, exactly 6 months to the day after my love was lost and Pico Mundo changed forever, something happened that would prevent me from safely making that claim.

I had woken up at the same time I had every other day. I pulled on jeans and a plain black t-shirt, and briefly straightened my hair before pulling on my shoes. Before heading out the door, I stopped and stared into the mirror next to it. Stormy had put it there to give herself one last glance before heading out into the world, making sure she was presentable. There were times when I would stare so long and hard that I thought I could see her reflection next to mine, peering at me with a small smile. But when I turned my head, she wasn't there. She never would be. Stormy had accepted her fate, and moved on to her boot camp promotion. She had done that 6 months ago. I still have trouble coming to terms with the fact that I may never see her again, even in the next life.

With a weary sigh, I exited the relative coolness of the apartment and was greeted by the warm golden glow of the rising sun, peeking over the tops of the buildings. I took the same route to the Grille that I did every day. I still thought about relocating to Tire World, but without Stormy, I had lost my ambition to get into selling shoes. With things as disrupted as they were, I felt changing careers at this point would have been too much. I know my place at the grill, I'm good at what I do, I enjoy doing it. So for now, this is where I'll stay.

As I followed my route to the Grille, I thought about the warmth of the sun. I thought about how right now, in the winter, it was pleasant. I thought about how much I liked the sun, I liked that it was always sunny, and I liked sunny things in general. I thought about how Pico Mundo was a bit like the sun, usually bright, but occasionally eclipsed by darkness. I thought about how I was lucky, because even though it was the middle of winter, it was 65 degrees and warm, and I had to make no changes in my routine. I thought about how I was lucky because the folks on the east coast had to wake up an hour earlier to bundle on their layers and pull on their boots, how they had to start the car and let it warm up while they got ready to leave, scrape the ice off their windshields and unbury their cars from the snow, how they had to drive extra slow because the roads were slippery and dangerous and the snow made it hard to see, and they had to do all these extra things in order to be able to get to work on time.

With all these thoughts preoccupying my mind, I was a bit surprised to see that I was already at the Grille. The idea that I had been so distracted by my own mind that I had lost track of where I was was a bit terrifying, and I resolved to think a little bit less on my way to work. I hadn't seen more than a small handful of bodachs in Pico Mundo since the incident, and the ones I had seen were likely just feeding off the residual effects of the tragic event.

I stepped inside and clocked in, greeting Viola with a wave and a smile. "How are the girls today?" I asked casually.

"Pretty as peaches, like always." Viola was immensely grateful that she still had her daughters, and that her daughters still had a mother.

I pulled on my cap and apron, then turned on the griddle. It was early yet, and it would be quiet for the first hour or so. I spent the morning doing what I always did; flipping pancakes and waffles, being creative with eggs, spinning sausage links on my spatula, all while simultaneously processing the diner lingo orders and putting on a show for the customers that had chosen to watch.