Chapter 3: The Total Replacement Of The Cheesesteak

Thank god that is cleared up

Dreams: The gateway to life’s greatest secrets and your deepest desires. Dreams have that horrible tendency to happen whether you want them or not. Maybe that was a side effect of the medication. Either way, Jo wasn’t usually one to let dreams bother her but the one that had occurred that night shook her to her core. That night she took her orexin as usual and lay down next to Phil once he had returned from the bathroom. It took only about half an hour (record time) and she fell into a deep slumber. 

Cold. Oh, so cold. A cage shrouded in ink surrounded her naked body. Without warning, the cage broke to the light of early day. Jo was sitting in a ferris wheel seat that was in the middle of a park where a bench might’ve been earlier. “Do you not love me?” Slowly and painfully, she turned to face who it was that spoke. Next to her in the seat sat…Phil? This version of her boyfriend was missing his beard and appeared to be crying. “Or have you already forgotten about me?” His voice was strange, as if all the life in it had left and moved on. She moved to put her hand on his shoulder but found that she was unable to move. Helpless, she settled to sit in angry indifference as Phil began to sob. He raised his hands to wipe the tears but where there had once been hands there was nothing. No blood, flesh or bone. Simply stumps doing a poor job wiping away the tears streaming down the seat and into the grass. One moment he was crying and suddenly, like someone had pumped the brakes, he was gone and in his place sat a much taller figure. She examined the new figure and Clint stared back. “Come with me.” He held out his hand. “Come with me and you will forget all about the man before me. You will forget about how he has done nothing for you. Come with me and discover yourself. Jo, you are delusional and I can fix that.” His hand grew larger, glowing with a golden sheen. “Forget him, and you’ll be happy. Be yourself. With me.” She could feel her hand slowly reaching out for his. Contact between their flesh awoke Jo to the sound of her alarm signaling another wonderful, not so interesting West Virginian morning. Disturbed, she waited for Phil to kiss her goodbye and leave for his job at the cafe across the street from the university. When she was able to hear the door shut behind him, a conditioned hand reached for her glasses on the nightstand. When her eyes had focused on the ceiling above her, she clamored out of bed. After standing in thought for a solid minute, and making several false moves, Jo moved to the desk and pulled out the designated journal. She flipped past the first entry and to the next blank page. 

As stated in my first (and only) diary entry I don’t believe in soul mates. Well, I didn’t believe in soul mates. That was until I met Clint. He was kind, funny, smart and creative. So much so that I believe I might be in love…again. This was heavily amplified by a dream I had last night as well but I am not dumb enough to put total faith in that. Now, I am aware I have a boyfriend. Painfully aware. So aware, in fact, that I am almost fighting with myself over this. If we hadn’t been together so long this would have been easier. God, I wish this was easier. On another note, mom called today and asked if I was coming home for Christmas break or if I was spending it with Phil. I told her that, the way things were going, me and Phil would be lucky to survive till then. She didn’t really like that and told me that if I didn’t make it work I may never get another shot.

Jo sighed. It had always been like this. Her parents were shocked when she first got a boyfriend when in reality it was more him that got her. She pushed closed the journal and shoved it back into the stack of identical composition notebooks. Putting away the notebook was probably for the best. At that moment, Jo adopted the out of sight out of mind mindset as she turned to the bedroom door, the last thing she wanted to think about was what would happen if the relationship went sour. The nob yielded to her practiced grip and she stepped into the main room of the house for which she paid her fair share. Alone, Jo figured she might end up having to get used to this feeling. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and opened messages. The only one that sat unread was a text from Clint. The text in question read: ‘I want to see you, anywhere work?’ She looked up from the screen at the empty apartment then back at the phone. Her lightning fast fingers typed out the words ‘My place.’ She put away the device and stared with an indiscernible longing at the door opposite her. A second later her phone buzzed. ‘Where is that?’ Jo typed, grumbling ‘Did I not tell you?’ A second later: ‘No???’ Jo pursed her lips ‘1678 University Drive…Sorry.’ By the time she returned to staring longingly at the door the moment had passed. “Hey, Em, You hungry?” The tabby perked up at the sound of her shortened name and began to walk to her owner at the sound of the tab on the tuna can.

Across the room the bell on the door rang. Although the armchair was extremely comfortable, Jo stood and dragged her feet to the door. Beyond the white wood stood a familiar smile and chiseled jaw. “Can I come in?” It was only then that she caught herself staring and moved to welcome her guest. “Yeah…yeah, come in. It’s a bit of a mess haha.” Clint stepped in and looked around the pristine interior of the apartment. “I suppose… Is Phil here?” Jo laughed “Oh, God no. I wouldn’t have us meeting here if he was. We would have to come up with an alibi and do work and-” “I wanted to tell him how you felt about me.” Jo stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, horror in her eyes. She rushed up to him and put her arms on his shoulders. “W-What are you…no, no you can’t. Seriously you can’t.” Clint looked down at her concern plastered on his perfect face. “Jo, honesty is a key part of any relationship and if we want this to continue I think telling him would be the best idea.” Jo shook her head “That would be the worst idea. Do you realize what that would do to him? I agree he needs to be told but not by you and definitely not yet. This is still new and, as far as we can tell, this may just be a fling. Besides, my parents would kill me if he left and and I would have to tell them and… Clint don’t you think this is all a little too sudden?” It was only when she landed back in the armchair that she realized Clint had been gently leading her over to it. He looked her in her eyes and straight to her soul. “If we don’t let him know soon, there will be worse consequences than if we didn’t. I know you love me, I love you. Why do we need to hide it? Are you ashamed?” She sighed. I suppose I must be. He gave her a small kiss on the forehead, right where Phil had several hours earlier. A moment of silence passed before Jo spoke again once the blushing toned down. Wishing to break out of the awkward silence, at least it was awkward to her, she could only think of one thing to say: “Are you hungry? I could make you something.” Clint was caught off guard by the question. “Um, sure?” Jo stood up, not wishing to sit any longer than she needed to. “How about grilled cheese?” 

She had no idea why she had offered to make grilled cheese. It was weird and awkward but she felt she had to do something for him. After all he was a guest, her guest and that was all he was… a guest. After scouring through the cupboards, Jo resurfaced with a package of parmesan cheese and a single loaf of wheat bread. At the time, she didn’t think about it but as it began to cook she realized that this was about to be the worst tasting grilled cheese in the history of the craft. At one point she tried to take it off of the pan but ended up with a mild burn on her middle and pointer fingers on her left hand. As she held her hands under cold water from the kitchen sink a stench began to arise. At first, Jo thought that Emily had been messing with the sockets again but, as the smell grew stronger, she realized that the grilled cheese was now becoming a flamed cheese. In order to prevent it from becoming a charred cheese, she quickly took hold of the pan handle and set it into the sink. Turning off the grill, she turned back to the sink. It was at that moment that she had the startling realization: it was now a steamed cheese. Turning off the faucet and wringing out her hands, she finally set eyes on the abomination that now sat melded to a steaming pan. Given the absence of butter, the once sandwich now sat completely flat against the lopsided pan. It was then that Clint entered the kitchen to see the scene: a girl nursing her hand on one side of the room staring, with the fear of God, at a piece of brimstone releasing its black soul from within the kitchen sink. Concerned, he turned to Jo trying not to laugh. “What happened here?” She turned her wild eyed gaze to him and could feel her face turn red. In an attempt to play it off, she almost lept in front of the sink and leaned on the counter. “Mistakes were made, some things got burned, and I no longer feel like making anything at this moment.” Clint looked around the room once more and began to laugh. Jo laughed along with him all while she felt a pang of regret in the attempt. She knew it should be funny but she didn’t feel very comedic. Once Clint regained his composure he turned back to Jo. “The reason I actually came in here was to tell you that I needed to get going. I have work. So…see you later?” Jo nodded. Hopefully sooner. “Have a good day, Jo.” As he walked out the door a faint “You too.” exited her mouth. She felt so scatterbrained. A part of her wanted to clean up the mess, another wanted to leave the house. Both of these parts did battle while she sat back in the chair successfully doing neither.

Phil felt dead. He knew he had class tomorrow too and so he wished he was as he felt. Working in fast food sucks. Almost falling into the driver's seat of the beat up 2004 Forerunner, he turned on the radio. La Vie En Rose was playing on a weaker radio station. He began to drive home under the setting sun while Louis Armstrong’s unique voice fought its way out of the crackle of the static. On most days he would love this song but now it sounded almost sad. Like Satchmo had forgotten what it was he was singing about. Halfway home the song changed to I Heard it Through the Grapevine by Marvin Gaye. This isn’t usually one on the radio, why are they playing this? Instead of questioning it further, he simply shook his head and pulled into the driveway. As he unlocked the door he was met by the faint scent of burning along with an overwhelming waft of Febreeze. “Are you ok, honey?” He stepped further into the house to see Jo spraying in the air. She looked at him with a bit of a guilty look on her face. “Yes, I'm fine. Just had a bit of an accident, that's all.” Phil shut the door behind him and began to move for the bedroom. “Did Em mess with the sockets again?” Jo paused for a second. “-Yes cats do these things a lot and Emily is a cat so…yeah.” Phil didn’t want to question it, not the time for it was the sweet release of sleep that called his name. 

Scrapping the mess off of the pan, Jo couldn’t help but feel guilty. This was the first time she had ever willingly offered to cook for someone and it wasn’t even for her own boyfriend. It was for a stranger that she had met only a week ago, or was it two? As she poured on the fifth layer of soap she realized her head was beginning to ache. Do people fall in love this damn quick normally? She began to panic, maybe she was taking things too quick. Having a boyfriend for so long and all it takes is one small and incredibly handsome hammer to break it all down. Part of her wanted to break up with Phil, another wanted to cut off Clint, and a smaller feeling deep inside her wanted to run away and never come back. That last part was drowned out by rational thinking but its effects stood their post. It caused her to wish for a simple life. One where she could live how she wished and with whom she wanted. Right now, that was with Clint. Storing the dish soap and the pan, she stepped out of the kitchen and into the hall. Jo crossed the floor and into the closet. She had never felt that she moved so slow, like time itself was trying to stop her. Once she had changed into sleeping clothes at a snail's pace, she took the pills and climbed into bed beside Phil. Shutting her eyes, she wished to not have a dream like the night before. Instead of a dream she was met by a simple night filled with staring up at the ceiling wishing that she had never climbed into bed at all.

She knew she should probably go for a walk. Sitting at the computer for several hours never did anything good for her back and the pain that resulted from rising confirmed this. The sunshine outside made it worth the pain. As she stepped through the door she thanked the sky for not pouring like yesterday. Checking her phone she remembered that she had booked an appointment with her publisher to discuss the release date of her next book. The very thought of meeting with him gave her a headache. She checked her watch and saw that she still had two hours, enough time to grab a coffee on the way. She sighed and took the first step onto the pavement. 

Two hours passed, then two hours more. Talking with her editor was like fingernails on a chalkboard scraping away at her sanity. “How fast can you get this one out?” He leaned back in his comfy chair while she sat on the backless wooden stool on the opposite end of the desk. “We are getting worried that you are getting slow.” She shifted on the seat “I- look, getting out books isn’t easy normally let alone fast. You rush the art and you could end up with a mess.” Although he looked like he was considering this response she knew that he was about to ask of her the impossible. “Two months. You get out the third book in two months. One month to finish the manuscript, and another to make revisions.” Sweaty hands gripped the stool. “But that's- that's absurd. You can't ask this of me! Do you realize how hard-” He waved aside the comments “Do you want people to be happy? Do you want to make an ounce of money from this career?” “Ye-” “Then you have got to be quick. No one in this life got anywhere by crawling along the ground.” “But I-” “I don’t want to hear it. Talk to me when you have a manuscript. Two months. Got it, Madison?” She nodded, shaking legs moving to an unsteady stance. Empty coffee cup in hand, she walked out the door careful not to collapse. Three months for a novel of this magnitude was an absurd task. Two was impossible. Who did he think he was? She was a best selling author, he was just an editor.