Allen’s short flight from Miami to Havana shook more violently than any he’d ever been on. A child across the row started crying. But Allen started laughing while drinking a delicious rum and coke. “puedo tener…hay mas comida, señorita?” he asked the flight attendant if another bag of peanuts was possible.

He had to, at least, hear himself laugh. The other passengers might think him cruel. But really, he was elated to be in their company. Last night, his Collins Avenue hotel room almost drove him insane. He could hear young people leaving the poolside room right next to his and laugh up their excitement for a proper Miami clubbing night. The ceiling fan swung mocking whooshing sounds toward him, framing the cackles of the 30-year-olds outside. Allen was getting eaten up by the music, merriment, and solitude. In reality, People whose lives consisted of small wins basking in the temporary sanctuary of the glamourous city on the southern tip of North America. The night outside contained the wandering bands of hungry young spirits thronging liquor stores and bars selling frozen mojitos and Pina Coladas - painful hangovers in plastic cups. In a few days they’d be back at their telemarketing jobs in Atlanta or Ottawa or Newark. A momentary release from the grind. But, to Allen, it sounded like a bunch of young millionaire geniuses were celebrating how easy life was. They met each other in the streets in their shorts and bikinis. Soon enough they’d be wet, slapping, spitting on, and fucking one another in some penthouse orgy..

I need to get a drink! 

Allen found the hotel’s bar and posted himself there till nothing else mattered.

——

Grace returned to her Marina Del Rey apartment and found an envelope leaning against her door. It was from her dad. The first line was reassuring:

This is not a suicide note!

         The following lines were vague but more or less confirmed Grace’s worst fears: You’re probably wondering why I haven’t been picking up my calls lately. If you haven’t been wondering, you’re shitty children, and I regret having left you a note!

There was a space of five lines where Allen hadn’t written anything because the area was occupied by a brown splatter. It looked like Allen had taken up chewing tobacco and spit out of spite for his children. It also looked like Allen had written it with ink from a quill because there were numerous places where the words were smudged from the inside of his left hand. The entirety of these mannerisms gave the message the last will and testament of an 18th-century pirate.

I digress. I hope you take pride as the recipient of the ‘goodbye letter,’ as I didn’t have the time (or discretion) to write one for either of your self-obsessed brothers. You’re my favorite, Grace. But you’ll never see me again. You’re too young to understand just how awful it was when I saw the way my father died on the news almost 30 years ago, but it was fucking stupid. And I promise, I don’t plan to go out like that. Long story short. I’m leaving and I’ll be quite unreachable.

I love all three of you very deeply.

And that is why you’ll never see me again.

Peace,

Your father.

Grace grabbed high on the bridge of her nose like she was trying to shield her third eye. “You fucking psycho.” She dropped a couple tears into her palm. She took a sharp double inhale and fumbled the door open lest a neighbor show up and ask if she’s alright.