When I wake up, the sky is more blue and brilliant than should be possible. There are no clouds and no sun, just an aquamarine blanket. Where did I fall asleep? I reach below me and find a blanket of slick, dewy grass so thick that I can’t touch the soil beneath it.

For a moment, I think I can stay here all day, or all my life, just lying on the grass. No thoughts can come to bother me; they swirl around in my head, turning into a haze. I want to stay here forever.

My eyes start closing. I snap them open. Where is this? I sit up. Everywhere, there is shimmering grass. Beyond it is a wall of fog, so tall that I can’t see the top of it. A woman sits at a tiny desk a few hundred feet away. She stares absently out into the grass, fiddling with a pen.

I walk towards her. She looks middle-aged, with brown hair streaked with gray. It takes her a second before she notices me.

“What’s your name?” she says, taking out a sheet of paper blackened with scribbles and letters.

 “What is this?” I say.

The woman studies me for a second, as if trying to figure out why I don’t know, “The Waiting Rooms”.

 “What—” I stop myself. I have heard of this place before. People who come here have sagging, sullen faces and hollow eyes. Not many return from here.

"What’s your name?” the woman continues.

“Loraine Whitley.”

“What are you waiting for?” she asks. It is not a rhetorical question.

I look at the sky. Is there anything I’m waiting for? There doesn’t seem to be anything. I look back at the woman.

“I don’t think—”

I cut myself off. The pain hits me like a thousand-ton rock. I remember now and wish I could forget.

“For…” I say, “I am waiting for…Dwayne to come back. Dwayne Holman.”

The woman nods indifferently.

“You will be alerted if he does,” she says, beckoning at me to come with her. I follow her into the wall of fog. Water droplets stick to my cheeks and dampen my dress. The woman’s shadow is barely visible in front of me. Our feet make loud, squishing noises as we walk.

We emerge from the fog. In front of me is a large body of water, clear as glass. Floating islands dot it, each with a grass-covered ground, trumpet horn and lamppost clock. The ones nearest to me have couches and tables of food. There is a person sitting on most of the islands that I can see. Several canoes bob against the shoreline.

“See those islands far out there?” the woman says, pointing to the farthest islands, “Take a canoe and row out to one of them. If he comes back, your trumpet horn will blow.”

“Do I have to go?” I say.

“If you’ve come here, then you needed to come here,” the woman replies, “If you want to leave, just jump into the water. You’ll find yourself back home.”

I nod and slip into one of the canoes. With the paddle in my hand, I pull away from the shore.

The first thing I pass is a sign that reads “Revenge and Other Malicious Intentions”.

On each of these islands, there is feast. Aromas of roasted turkey, tomato sauce and chocolate cake flood my nose, making my stomach growl. For a moment, I stop rowing, wondering if I could ask one of these people if I could have some.

Bam.

The canoe rocks back and forth. I yelp and look behind me. A brunette woman dressed in a black jumpsuit is sitting there, a turkey leg in one hand and a fork in the other.

“What are you doing?” I say, scrambling away from her.

“Just need a ride,” she replies, taking a bite out of the leg.

“For what? Don’t you have an island?”

“Yeah, I do,” She points her thumb at the island next to us, where a half-eaten feast lays.

“Get out!”

“Row me over there,” She points to some islands to our right, “I want to get a nice fluffy pillow from there.”

“Don’t you already have a pillow?”

“It’s not as soft as the ones over there.”

“You can deal with that.”

“I’m not getting out of here until I get my pillow.”

“No—”

I notice that she is twirling the fork in her hand, and her eyes glinting with a trace of menace. It’s not much, but I don’t want to try it.

“Fine,” I say.

“Good girl,” she says, “I might get some sleep tonight.”

I shoot a glare at her and keep rowing. For a while, we don’t say anything.

“So, why are you here? Waiting for someone important?”

I snap my head around, “How did you know that?”

“You said that you’re passing through those islands,” she points again at the islands ahead of us, “the only islands beyond them are the ones for people who lost somebody important. Honestly, you guys have it the worst. The farther out your island is from the shore, the less likely you’ll leave.”

“And I assume you’re waiting for an opportunity to get revenge?” I say, remembering the sign I passed earlier.

“That’s right.”

“On who?”

“My dear coworker, Julia. She spread a rumor around the company I worked at that I sabotaged her business proposals by breaking into her computer and changing them. She didn’t have much evidence, but the rumor got big and spread outside of the company. So, my boss fired me to protect his reputation. The girl got promoted and it’s been hard for me to find a job since.”

She tries to say it nonchalantly, but I detect venom in her voice.

“So, how about you? Who are you waiting for?”

“Some guy,” I say, my mind drifting.

“Oh, really?”

She says something else, but I don’t hear her anymore. The only thing that fills me is my own thoughts.

Dwayne and I were so angry at each other when he left.

“So, you’re just going to quit like that?” I said.

“Don’t talk about it in that tone,” he replied.

“You had a job! A good one! Now, you’re quitting so you can play a violin?”

 “You don’t understand. I need to leave and do something else.”

“It’s life, Dwayne! We don’t all get to do what we want!”

“Well, I don’t want to spend my life being miserable.”

“Like father, like son. Your old man quit his job to paint and now look at where he’s at. On the streets!”

“You don’t know anything about him.”

“Oh, now you’re defending him. Haven’t you seen your daddy sleeping on the sidewalks? Do you really want to be him?”

“ENOUGH!”

“What—”

"I’ve had enough of you. I don’t know why I bothered to care about you in the first place. Good luck, Loraine.”

He started toward the door.

“You—”

But the door was already slammed behind him. I believed he would come back, but he didn’t.

“Hey!” a voice calls. It’s the woman. I shake myself back to reality.

“I’ve yelled at you three times already! What’s wrong with you? You’re about to crash into an island,” she says.

“Oh,” I correct our position.

For the next few minutes, the woman occupies herself with the turkey leg. I look around. There are so many people here, people who have given their time here in exchange for the guarantee that they will know when what they are waiting for comes. That is how desperate they are, how desperate I am.

We pass a sign that reads, “Dreams”.

“Ah, here we are,” the woman says.

The islands here look like the barf of a unicorn. Rainbow colored pillows and stuffed animals form layers two feet thick on the grounds. On top of the pillows are rose-pink couches and sunburst yellow bookshelves.

“I’ll just need to grab one of those pillows,” the woman says. We row closer. The islands must be heavily perfumed because the air is filled with the cloying smell of candy hearts.

“You sure you want them? They smell—”

“Don’t worry about the smell. The food back there will drown it out.”

When we get close enough, she hops onto one of the islands and grabs a pastel-blue pillow.

“All right. Take me back now.”

I turn our boat around, but then stop. Somewhere, in the distance, I spot the form of a man, slouched on one of the couches. For a moment I can’t breathe. I don’t dare to think it, but I recognize it.

“Now, what are you doing?” the woman says.

I ignore her and row out towards the man. His form becomes clearer.

It’s Dwayne Holman.

“Dwayne!” I blurt out. He turns around, confused.

“Loraine?” he says, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, do you want me to stab you with this fork? Just go back,” the woman says behind me. Again, I ignore her.

He stares at me, as if not quite believing that I am here. Finally, he seems to accept it.

“Loraine, what are you doing here?” he says, somewhat sluggishly.

“I…I’m,” The rest of my words come out in an unintelligible jumble. 

“What?”

I stare at his face, trying to search for a hint of affection, but I see none, just confusion. My voice shrinks.

 “I was hoping that you’d come back,” I hate how weak I sound.

He doesn’t seem to hear me for a second, but then he shakes his head and leans back on the couch.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask.

He takes a few moments to respond, “I told you I was going to play violin.”

“So…you’re waiting for an opportunity to be a violinist?” I know that he had loved the violin as a kid, but gave up on it because he didn’t think it would make much money.

Dwayne doesn’t reply.

“Why’d you change your mind?” I say.

“Huh?”

“I thought you gave up on violin a long time ago.”

He leans back, “You remember my father?”

“Yeah.”

Dwayne gulps, “He died.”

“What?”

“He gave me a call before he died and said that though he didn’t have much money, he was a hundred times happier than most people because most people don’t get to do what they like to do for their lives. My father didn’t have money, but he could paint, and that was what mattered. He didn’t want me to be chained to a job because of money and told me to do what I like to do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were so mad when I said I was going to quit my job that you didn’t give me a chance to tell you. I got mad too. You insulted him.”

"I-I’m sorry.”

“What’s been said has been said.”

He looks away. I understand. He won’t ever forgive me for what I said about his dead father.

It takes all my effort to keep my composure and row away without saying anything. Every second, my heart and chest feel like they are about to explode.

“So, that’s the guy you’re waiting for?” the woman says, cleaning off the leg, “He’s a lame reason to be here, if you ask me.”

I want to throw both her and her turkey leg into the water and call her every foul thing in the universe. Instead, I bite my lip and row on.

“Hey, I thought we were turning back,” she says. I row on, but she doesn’t press further, “Your name is Loraine, right? Mine is Rita.”

Her casual, indifferent voice does not cool my desire to strangle her.

We pass a sign that reads “Return of Loved Ones”.

“This should be your place,” Rita says.

Aside from the clock and grass, each island here is adorned with one wooden bench, nothing else. As soon as I get to an empty island, I crawl out of the boat and collapse on the island, sobbing.

***

I don’t know how long I’ve been crying. I just know that my throat is raw and the grass beneath me is soaked. The clock tells me that it is six o’clock. I don’t know if it’s morning or afternoon. The sun is never here.

***

There is nobody that Dwayne cared about more than his father. Insulting his father is the worst thing I could’ve done, and I did it. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. Anger made me stupid. Now, he is never coming back. I look up at the sky and laugh. It’s sickly blue, the kind that makes me want to vomit, and I’m about to spend an eternity with it.

***

I’ve been sitting on this bench for days. Maybe years. I’m not sure. I’m staring out at the islands, my mind empty.

“Hey, Loraine!” a voice calls. A canoe is coming towards me. It’s Rita.

She pulls in front of me.

“How’d you—” I say, my voice aloof.

“Took this boat from some guy. Don’t worry, I already dropped him off at one of the islands back there.”

I don’t say anything.

“Okay, listen, I heard you cry real hard. I’m just checking back on you.”

“Why do you care? You already got your pillow.”

“Because I got nothing else to do,” she replies, but I see something different in her eyes: empathy.

“Well, I’m fine,” I say.

“Tell that to me when your eyes don’t look like puffed-up cherry tomatoes.”

She continues, “So, what’ll cheer you up? I got an eight-inch chocolate cake back at my island.”

“I’m good.”

“If you insist.”

She pauses for a moment, then asks, “Why are you still here? I thought your Dwayne made it clear that he’s not coming back.”

“Maybe he will.”

“Probably won’t.”

“However small the chance. He was good to me. It’s my fault he left.”

She thinks about it for a moment, “Is that really enough to keep you here?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I get this Dwayne might’ve been good to you and all. I also get that you think it’s your fault he left, and maybe it is. But, fact is he’s probably not coming back. So, you best leave.”

“I’ll stay,” I say, though my voice is meek.

She shakes her head, “I thought I’d shake some sense into you, but I guess not.”

“I’ll be fine.”

She looks up, “It’s quite a pretty sky.”

It’s revolting.

“But,” she says, “You’ll get sick of it. I know that you’ll endure it to wait, but just remember…there are sunsets outside here.”

She shakes her head again, muttering something under her breath, and pulls away.

However, the last thing she said stays with me. Outside, there are sunsets.

***

I find a canoe that has drifted near me and row it to Rita’s island

She’s sitting there, gorging herself in an apple pie.

“Hello,” she says, “Looks like you stopped moping.”

That’s not true. My chest is aching and my throat is throbbing from keeping tears away

However, I’m not collapsing on the ground. I sit down quietly next to Rita.

“So, what’d you come here for?” she says.

I swallow hard. I can still turn back. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to do so. There is still a chance, they say, you’ll waste it if you go.

Finally, I say, “I want to see the sky.”

I pause, then add, “One with a sun.”

Rita says slowly, “So, you’re leaving.”

I hesitate for only a second, “Yes.”

She studies me for a moment and then leans back, smiling, “So you finally realize that the Dwayne guy isn’t worth waiting for.”

“He is worth waiting for, but I think there are other things worth the time more. One of those is sunsets.”

She cuts herself another slice of apple pie. I stare at her.

“Well?” I say.

“What?”

“Aren’t you leaving too?”

She shakes her head.

“Why?”

“I’ve got to wait here.”

But you told me—”

“I have more to wait for than you, and I know that my chance will come around someday. I just have to be around when it does.”

“Vengeance is more to wait for? And how can you be sure that it’ll come?”

Something dark settles into Rita’s eyes.

“I know that my chance will come someday. Justice does not disappoint. This is different from you waiting for some sappy love.”

I open my mouth to protest, but I know it’s no use. She said it so calmly and poisonously, a conviction that I cannot move.

I give Rita one last glance.

“Goodbye, Loraine,” she says, her voice nonchalant, containing none of the poison as it did before.

“Goodbye, Rita,” I say.

Then, I jump into the water. It is freezing cold and endlessly deep. I gasp and the liquid fills my lungs, my mouth, my ears.

And everything goes black.

***

The first thing I see is a plaster ceiling with bell-shaped light hanging over it. The next is an old wooden desk. A yellow pillow. A dusty bookshelf.

This is my room.

It is bathed in warm light. I turn around and look out the window. There is a sunset. The sky is colored like an orange sherbet, with violet clouds and a crimson sun, halfway below the horizon.

For the next half of an hour, I watch it fade, giving way to the stars. They wink down at me and I smile a little.