Kathy scrunched her nose in exasperation, trying to fold into the most comfortable position on the unfortunately-patterned upholstered bus chair. Tom, her companion, was gazing thoughtfully out of the window at the beautiful scene of a moon rising over a field. Tom did everything thoughtfully. Everything.
It had taken three months for Kathy to convince him to drop life in Ceresco, Michigan.
“You might be crazy,” Tom groaned. “Why are we dating again?” Kathy shoved him playfully, but with enough seriousness in her eye to make Tom listen. “Listen. If you want to be an accountant here for the rest of your life, be my guest. This is our chance! I just think…” “What?” Whispered Tom, so quietly it threw Kathy off-guard. “I think it’s boring and pointless here, and that we’ll end up with the same boring lives that our families have if we stay. There. Is that what you want me to say?”
That was the first time they had broken up, the beginning of a long series of break-ups. After number five, which by all recollections of those who may remember, was “The One When Kathy  Smashed A Vase”, Tom called her.
“We need to talk.”
“I don’t feel like being degraded today, Tom. It’s over. Forever.”
“If you would listen to me, maybe you would know that I don’t want to degrade you. Yet.”
“How comforting.”
“Look,” groaned Tom. “It is obvious that we have some sort of crazy, emotional, important-” at this, Kathy  made a gagging noise and rolled her eyes, having heard this same speech about ten times before- “connection,” he finished. “We need to either break up for good, or stay together. And the fact that I still have you on the line means that you want to get back together just as much as I do.” Kathy didn’t say a word for a moment. “Fine,” she said, bursting into a grin. “On one condition.”
So there they were, with full five suitcases, on a bus, in the direction of the greatest city Kathy could think of in about two hours’ time before she had to pack. New Orleans.

“But I’m not Southern,” complained Tom, drifting away from the window. “Neither am I, smart one,” Kathy  fired back, snapping into the present. Sometimes- read: always- Tom being a genius was annoying. His common sense as well as brainpower made him nearly un-dateable.
Nearly.
“So,” Kathy said. “Do you have any family in the city?” Tom snorted, and then took on his usual look of thoughtfulness. “Maybe.”
Twenty-seven hours later, unshowered, jobless, and starving, Kathy and Tom made their way to Tom’s cousin’s half-sister’s home downtown.
“Home” was kind of a stretch; the house was a run-down old shack with a huge, beautiful
oak tree that looked like heaven for squirrels in the back. Pearl, Tom’s cousin’s half-sister, was waiting for them on the porch, granola bar in hand. “Come in, come in,” she snapped. “I don’t have all day.” Kathy began to thank her when Pearl slammed a broom into her hand. “I think that y’all are perfectly capable of cleaning whilst I’m at work, yes?” “Yes… Pearl. Tha-” But Pearl was out of the door before Kathy  could get out a “-nk you”, the morning sun stretching onto the filthy porch, leaving the two teenagers to realize just the mess they were really in.

“So,” asked Kathy, her long, ebony fingers pulling at the small weeds in the garden, “what do you think you’ll do here?”
“Maybe,” grunted Tom, cleaning the windows, “I can apply to Tulane, seeing as Stanford is obviously out.” He sat, and looked slowly at Kathy. “How long are we going to be here?” Kathy averted her eyes to the dry earth.
“I don’t know. I thought… This would be romantic.”
“Romantic?” Tom threw down his washcloth, eyes wild. “We didn’t tell our parents, friends, anybody that we were coming here! College opportunities are dead or dying, and we don’t have any sort of a job, other than cleaning Pearl’s windows! Idiot!”
Kathy began to cry at his stinging words, words stumbling out through her tears. “This… This is what I m-mean, Tom. All you do is… Criticize! And think about your stupid résumé and where you’re going to be in twenty years! Twenty! What about now? What about getting a simple job and enjoying life?” 
Tom kicked the ground. “Don’t you see?” He yelled, gesturing at the skyline. “This… City! This city is the boring and pointless place! In Ceresco, I had a life! Here, I have nothing!”
Kathy stared at him. “You have me.”
Tom scoffed. “There you go. I have you. You and your dumb romanticism, and your crazy ideas.”
Kathy stood, brushing off the dirt on her arms. “My personality- and ideas, for that matter- are not crazy, or stupid. They’re a part of me,” she said pointing at herself. “Me. And you… You were the one who said you loved me.”
“WELL, MAYBE I WAS WRONG!” Screamed Tom, attracting the stares of more than a few pedestrians. Kathy froze, and slowly walked to the enormous backyard, humming a song, drowning her pain in showtunes.
Tom waited for five minutes before following her, which was a rule. “I’m sorry I said that. It was... “ “Nah,” said Kathy, dismissing him with a wave of one hand, placing the other on the tree. “Don’t worry about it. I understand. I’m not as smart as you. I am an eighteen-year-old obsessed with the idea of being happy and in love.”
Tom paused for a moment too long. “That’s not true.” “It is,” said Kathy, squeezing his pale hand with hers. “But I don’t care.” “I do,” murmured Tom, half-meaning it. Kathy laughed. “Sure. Whatever,” she sighed, rising to go inside. “I’m going to unpack, and then go find a job. We’ll get along, Tom.” “How do you mean… We’ll get along?” He called after her, puzzled. Kathy rolled her eyes. “How do you think, dummy?” “I’ll never figure you out,” chuckled Tom, trying to make amends. Kathy smiled as well. “You don’t want to.”

Dinner that night was awkward, but only briefly, as the couple soon discovered that Pearl enjoyed takeout, mild threats, and bad television. These actions put their minds on other things than a fight. After the third episode of “Family Feud”, Kathy saw the clock, which said 21:45, and excused herself to the kitchen. “What is it?” Asked Tom, his eyes still glued to Steve. “Job opportunity,” said Kathy. “I’m a final candidate, and they’re calling me back tonight, no later than ten, on the home phone. The job is at a-” Pearl’s eyes swung to Kathy, in a silent test of superiority- “photographic magazine. It’s called, ‘PhOTO!’ Closely related to many big newspapers.” Pearl sniffed, clutching her granola bar. “Newspapers. Dying out, they are.” Kathy suppressed a big smile all the way to the kitchen. 
At exactly ten that night, Kathy  got a call.
“Hello?” She said sweetly, on the third ring. Not too desperate, Kathy.
“Yes. Is this… Kathy Dahn?”
“Yes, and who is this?”
“Uh… Jon Palki. We spoke earlier…”
“Oh! Jon!”
“Yes… I, uh, was calling you about our position for assistant photographer. We’d, uh, love you to join us…”
“That would be fantastic. Thank you, so much.”
“Of course. We’re always looking for new talent, and your portfolio was great.”
“Well, marvelous. Thank you. When do I start?”
“Tomorrow, eight in the morning. Come to human resources; the first day is the “prep day”.
“Alright. See you soon!”

Tom couldn’t fall asleep that night.
The air in Louisiana was too sticky. It felt like one was walking in slow motion. The Di Caras weren’t meant for this type of weather. Maybe, he thought, listening to the ceiling fan would lull him to sleep.
This was an error.
The ceiling fan was faltering; its blade holder was in terrible shape. It irritated Tom, who would have to buy a fan in the morning, and find a job in the afternoon.
Kathy, he thought, twisting on the pullout couch, didn’t understand the concept of “consequences”. If they were to ever go to college now, it would be infinitely harder than even two days ago; their families were undoubtedly, justifiably furious. All that Tom had left in explanation of himself was a sticky note on the microwave which said, “don’t worry” with his classic signature,

“Tom Di Cara the third, of Ceresco.”

He and Kathy would never work. She was just an immature teenager, whose whirlwind ideas were contagious, and he was a slightly emotionally inept bookworm who was in her ocean of disaster, completely over his head.
But for some unknown, mysterious, confusing reason, Tom loved Kathy with all of his heart. The fact that she was always out of his reach of comprehension was like a constant itch; annoying.
“I hate when you over-romanticize me, Tom,” mumbled Kathy from the other side of the couch. “It’s weird. Take the drama down a notch.”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes. Have you ever heard of keeping your thoughts to yourself?”
“Have you?”
“Good night, Tom.”
Good night, thought Tom.

The sun rose as lazily as Tom did; at seven hours a.m., sharp, with a burning passion for the day. The hardware store opened at eight, and at eight eleven, Tom had the replacement parts for the old, purple fan, three job interviews within walking distance, and two cups of coffee. “Here,” he said, shoving the steaming coffee at Pearl and Kathy, who were rubbing the night away from their eyes, yawning, still wearing pajamas. “I got you coffee. Have fun at work today. Bye.”

Tom sprinted to interview one, but drinking water so he remained hydrated and looking extremely professional. You, he thought, can do it. You will be an amazing meter reader assistant. Life is unbelievable sometimes. But it will be lovely.

“So, Sal,” coughed an old man. He sat in a poorly-lit room in a worse-lit building, surrounded by bad furniture and miserable people.
“It’s T-”
“Whatever,” laugh-coughed the old man, extinguishing his cigarette on an ashtray shaped like… Was that a pelican? “Why do you want to be a meter reader’s assistant? This,” he coughed, “is a terrible place to be, filled with people who CHEAT AT CARDS,” yelled the old man at the office to the left which resulted in a shout of “SHUT UP, ROLF”.
Tom smiled, and began his prepared speech. “I believe this is an environment for me to learn, helping me in future careers-”
“No,” Rolf said, suddenly grim. “Really, kid. Why are you here?”
Tom cracked his knuckles, giving up his professional facade. “I have this girlfriend. She’s… Crazy. She knows it, deep down. Says she’s obsessed with the idea of being happy, and in love. I… Want that for her. You know, love. Happiness. So I gave up my dreams of being a Stanford graduate and the head of an accounting firm by thirty, with two kids by thirty-five, and came with her to New Orleans, and now we live with my cousin’s half-sister Pearl, who isn’t very nice, frankly, and I don’t have a job, and I need money, and I am getting extremely sick of Family Feud.”
Rolf scratched his bald head. “You kinda lost me there, Tom, but… I’ll tell you what. I’ll train you, and you can be a meter reader yourself in… Three months. You’ll make about $36,000 a year. Not shabby, eh?”
Tom groaned inwardly. “Not shabby at all, sir. When do I start?”      “About… Twenty-four hours from now. And don’t be late.” 

That night, Kathy came home with a fancy film camera. “We’re doing a piece about the life you live that you don’t want anyone to see,” she said. “Y’know. Lazy days. Fights. Binge-eating ice cream after a long day.”
“That’s nice,” Tom said, reading a pamphlet, sucked into the world of meter reading.    “Are you… Paying attention?”
“I’m trying, Kathy. But my job starts tomorrow, and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“You’re not supposed to. He’s training you for three months, isn’t he?”
“Rolf? Yes. Oh, joy. Three months with Rolf.”
“Be nice,” Kathy frowned, putting down her camera on the table to their left. “He gave you a big break.”
“You don’t have to deal with Pelican Smoker. You…”
The camera went off, and Tom slammed his fist on the table. “Turn that off!”
“I didn’t mean to have it on!”
“Really?”
“Yes, really! What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing! Leave me alone!”

Three months and two days later. September third, 2:15 p.m. At first, Tom was having a great day.
Rolf had won at cards, for the first time in four years. As a celebration, he left everyone go home early. This allowed Tom to adjust his daily schedule by half an hour, which would be devoted to finding an apartment for he and Kathy, as Tom could now afford at least seven month’s rent. Unfortunately, Tom had to walk past a Walgreen’s with a magazine rack in the window. And there, on the front cover of ‘PhOTO!’ was the purple fan and Tom, with his favorite soda in his hand, looking like he was about to explode, from that fight. Photographed, the magazine seemed to smirk, by Kathy Dahn.

“Kathy?” Said Tom, looking like the epitome of calm. Kathy rose from the paisley couch where she had been sitting, a worried expression etched on her face, Pearl next to her, one eyebrow raised, which to be fair, for Pearl, was the farthest she went in expressing emotion. “Tom,” Kathy began.
“I don’t want to hear it. I know this speech. I’m right, and you’re wrong, it was a mistake, live in the now, et cetera. How stupid do you think I am?”
“It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have entered the photo. How condescending can you be?”
“Can I be condescending enough to warrant you putting a personal photo on a magazine cover without asking me?”
Kathy was quiet. “I said it was a mistake.”
“That’s not good enough! All I do in this relationship is try. I left my entire existance for you! My family! My parents. For you. All we do… Is for each other. And it’s not enough.”
Kathy was still quiet. “What do you want from me, Tom?” 
“Anything. Everything. Everything,” he said, fetching his gray sweatshirt from the coat rack, “but you. I’m done.”
Kathy started to laugh. “Fine! Where will you go?” “You walk out… You don’t come back,” said Pearl, rising slowly from the couch. Tom grinned, lost in anxiety. “Good.”

Kathy was staring at the ceiling fan that night. Pearl had initially insisted on watching Family Feud, as per usual, but seeing Kathy’s tears changed her mind.
Was it worth it? Kathy thought, clutching a blanket as though it were the answer to all of her problems. Was it worth sacrificing his respect for… The biggest advance possible in my career? Yes, she suddenly realized. If he loved me, he would have accepted my mistakes. All of them. All of…
A hard knocking nearly broke down the rickety door. Kathy prepared herself for ending it with Tom. For the hundredth time. But… What do I say? She wondered. Kathy opened the door and balled her fists.
“Go away, To- Oh. Can I help you, sir?”
It was a police officer, whose eyes were stained with sadness. “I’m afraid so. Are you Kathy  Dahn?”
Kathy pulled her sweater tighter around her waist. Pearl approached the door, toothbrush in hand. “Yes. What’s going on?”
The officer sighed, and stared at the sidewalk. “I’m afraid your boyfriend, Tom Di Cara, was shot, two hours ago. He wandered into a bad neighborhood… Y’all aren’t from here, are you?”
Kathy shook her head, shaking off the shock as much as she could. “No. Michigan.”
The police officer nodded. “I thought as much, ma'am. I know this is hard, but I’m gonna need you to come with me to identify… Tom.” Pearl dropped to the floor, the toothbrush falling dramatically onto the pink rug.

Kathy stayed in the tiny house with the gorgeous oak tree for almost sixty years, becoming a fairly well-known photographer. She stayed through hurricanes, the death of Pearl, and every chance of more adventure.
Kathy, a wise woman, knew she was going to die eventually. At the age of seventy-eight, she put her large property, generously given to her from Pearl, on the market. A married couple made an offer. They reminded her of a young Kathy and Tom, madly in love.
“Let me meet them,” she asked her realtor, Josh Posh. “Fair enough,” said ‘Mr. Posh’, as he called himself.
“Hi,” said the girl. The boy nodded. Kathy  chuckled. “How old are y’all?” The boy gave a grin. “Twenty-seven.” The girl made a noise of disdain. “I’m twenty-eight! Just got my doctorate from Tulane.” Kathy nodded. Posh and the girl made small talk for a minute while Kathy and the boy stared at each other. “What do you plan to do with the property?” She asked, still looking directly at the boy. The icy blue eyes turned hard. “We plan to tear down the house. Build a bigger one. We want children.” The girl clucked her tongue at the boy, in a sign of “she’s right here”. “Good,” shouted Kathy, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “I want the house to go. It’s falling apart anyway.” Kathy stretched, rising, shaking the girl’s hand. “The property is yours. Just… Do me one favor.” The girl nodded, her light eyes shining. “Of course, ma’am. What do you want?” Kathy cracked her kuckles, smiling. “Keep the tree.”
Kathy died three weeks later. The tree came down as well a month after her death.