I found it on a Tuesday. It was a small wooden box, about the size of 4 or 5 books stacked together. It was a dark wooden cube, with a cable that came out connected to what looked like a little metal bell. I thought it could have been an old phone. It even had a little wooden crank on top, though it didn’t seem to have any numbers.
I didn’t know what it was, but I was intrigued. I found it on my way to the bus. It was sitting next to a dumpster. A piece of junk for all appearances. I stopped for it anyway. Not sure why I did, but I did. It wasn’t that heavy either. I took it with me to work.
My co-workers didn’t seem as interested in it. A few expressed that it seemed like a dirty thing to bring up to the office. I couldn’t leave it in the garage, though. What if it was gone before the end of the day? I told them I intended to take it home with me and wouldn’t bring it back. That seemed to stop the glares.
It was hard to carry it on the bus. It was rush-hour and the bus was packed. I held onto it with both arms, clutching it to my stomach. I have poor balance and so it was a bit hard to stay standing without holding onto the bus. I managed to sway my weight well enough to remain upright for the 20-minute ride to my stop.
The wind was strong, and snow had just started falling, but it was not a long walk from the bus to my apartment. Shifting the box, and choosing which arm to lead with, I climbed the 10 stories to my place.
It was dark, as it usually was when I got home. Laura was at work. She usually left right before I got home and didn’t get home until early morning. I turned up the heat, kept my socks on for warmth. Fed the cat. He goes bananas for that wet food.
I sat on the couch, with whatever it was on the coffee table. I looked it over. It had three silver screws, and one gold screw holding it together in the front corners of the cube. The crank didn’t seem to turn, and I looked for a place to connect a phone line. Nothing of the sort. I looked over the bell, and inside noticed a sticker. It says: Form Airtight Seal.
I placed the bell down on the table, making sure it connected all the way around. There wasn’t an apparent change, but with some prodding, I realized that the crank spun around on its axle now. I spun it around and felt resistance grow the further I cranked it. Then with a pop the resistance vanished.
I lifted the little bell. Nothing seemed different. Then I started thinking. Maybe, nothing happened because nothing was under the bell. I put a quarter on the table, then placed the bell over the quarter. The crank needed a bit more pressure, but it spun around. It continued to gather resistance until I reached the pop. The air in the room felt slightly different.
I quickly pulled up the bell, to find the quarter still in place, but George Washington’s profile was warped. It looked like it was being sucked down a drain at the center. It still felt smooth to the touch. Flipping it over showed the same effect on the other side.
What did it do? I started looking for something else. I found an old bread clip the cat had batted under the couch. I placed the clip on the table, and the bell over the clip. This one seemed to take fewer cranks. I felt the pop once more and removed the bell. The plastic square was twisted. A pleated square of blue.
I tried many other things that night. I twisted a penny, some stamps, a paper clip. Made my way to food. I twisted a grape, and a peanut. Actually, I twisted one peanut, and then four peanuts at once. The four peanuts twisted into one strange nut, warped together.
Each item, without fail, was twisted. Warped like the solid matter had been liquefied and spun about in the middle. It was quite entertaining. To the point that I didn’t realize I’d been sitting there twisting things for hours. Eventually I reached the largest object I had that could fit under the bell. A broach of Laura’s I had bought for her a year and a half ago, but she never wore. Not once. A small metal cat broach. To be honest it is ugly. I realized it about 4 or 5 months after I gave it to her. She must think so as well.
It took the most cranks of any item so far. The poor cat broach was bent in unsettling ways to see a cat. The hinge of the fastener bent out of a usable shape.
Laura walked into a living room full of twisted tiny objects.
“You’re awake… What’s all this?” Laura asked.
“…I found this box on my way to the bus today. Check it out.” I placed one of the grapes from the bowl on the table and covered it with the bell. I spun the crank through to the pop. Her brow furrowed very deeply looking at the twisted grape. The skin of which was not broken. It was as if it had been grown that way.
“Huh… what the hell is this thing?”
“I’m not sure. It works on anything.”
“Oh. My broach.” She picked up the small metal cat broach twisted into a knot of cat limbs.
“Oh yeah. I’m sorry. I just… got a bit carried away.”
“Well. It’s okay. It wasn’t really my taste anyway.”
“Okay. Do you want to try?”
“Uh… maybe later. I’m tired. I’m going to rinse off and go to bed. Join me?”
“In the shower or bed?”
“Both…”
That night as she held me in her arms, we laughed at the fact that she thought that cat broach was extremely ugly this whole time.
“You should have told me! I would have worn it,” I told her.
“Oh, you’d have worn it?” She didn’t sound convinced.
“Yeah! I could put it on my backpack!”
“I’ll remember that the next time you buy me an ugly broach…”
Saturday came, and I decided to examine the machine more closely. The box itself held no more secrets, but in the daylight, I saw something more to the bell. Where the cable connected to the bell was a small ridge. After some prodding, I realized the cable was simply screwed onto the back.
Unscrewing the cable from the bell left a small hole in the top of the bell. Looking into the end of the cable was when I realized the bell was just a metal cone. I drove to a hardware store and bought several sizes of O-rings, and any conical metal shapes I could find. Mostly some funky industrial lamps from the lighting section. Also decided to grab some lumber, and a roll of thick plastic. I was next in line at the cashier when I realized I didn’t have anything to drill holes with. I grabbed a cheap electric drill.
“Uh… this seems expensive,” Laura shared when I got home.
“Well…I want to try something. It wasn’t as much as it seems.”
“Okay. Well, what are you going to try?”
“I think I can make a bigger bell. Or at least try. I think if I connect the cable here, and if what I make is airtight-”
“You can, what? Twist a watermelon?”
“Maybe! Maybe we could use it.”
“I mean. It’s kind of weird in a fun side-show attraction kind of way.”
“Well, maybe it could be a side show?”
“What? Be serious…”
“I mean think about it! ‘The Twister! It twists anything!’ And we could charge people to use it.”
“So, what, are you going to go back and get some tarp for your tent? Wood for the stage?”
“You’ll see. Then you’ll feel silly.”
“Oh, yes I’m sure I’m the one who will feel silly.”
It took several attempts, and a couple more trips to the hardware store, but by 8PM I’d created a larger bell with wood and plastic, where I could screw the cable into the back. Now it was big enough to accommodate things about the size of a shoe box. Maybe a little bigger, even.
I had to move the whole procedure to the floor. The coffee table pushed up against the wall. I twisted larger things. The tongs, a whisk, a pair of old flip flops. All twisted right in the middle.
I don’t know why I was so fascinated. I just couldn’t stop. Laura came home to most of the things we owned that were small enough twisted. She was much less amused this time.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She held a framed photo of us, twisted where our faces were. “Change it back.”
I realized then; I hadn’t even considered if I could reverse it.
“Go on. Change it back! I love this photo, and we don’t have a copy. So, change it back.”
“I don’t… I don’t know if I can. I never have tried it before…”
“Well try it now,” her eyes sharp and skewering.
I took the photo from her hand and placed it on the floor. I placed my new bell over it. I tried twisting it again. It cranked, and the pop did arrive. However, when I lifted it, the photo was even more twisted than before. Tears welled in Laura’s eyes.
“Let… let me try again. Let me push it the other way.” I replaced the bell and turned the crank counter-clockwise. Or tried to, anyway. It didn’t budge. I pushed and strained. Nothing. I started pulling it forward to try to jam it back. It let me crank it forward, but not back. I realized then it could only twist more. I could only crank it forward.
I was only making it worse. I stopped and went to lift the bell. It wouldn’t budge. Laura just stared at me, glaring. Her hands were white-knuckled fists at her side. The bell was completely stuck. It took me 20 minutes of kicking before I gave up. The only thing I could think to do was finish the rotation. So, I did. I lifted the bell to see the photo twisted beyond all recognition.
Laura said nothing. She walked into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She didn’t come back out until morning. I knocked at a couple of points, but no answer.
I woke up early Sunday morning to her in the kitchen. She was cleaning out the coffee pot.
“Hey…” I managed to say.
“Hey.”
“I-I’m so… sorry, bun. I don’t know what the hell came over me.”
“No. I’m sorry. I mean. I’m not sorry. I really loved that photo. And my damn hairbrush,” she said while gesturing toward the living room while still washing out the coffee pot. The living room where a twisted hairbrush was lying on the arm of the couch.
“I know. I- it’s just so… consistent? I don’t know what the deal is. I’m sorry. I should never have twisted all those things. I’ll stop.”
“…Well, okay. I know it’s just stuff. I just… wish you had stopped to consider me even for a minute.”
“You’re right. Damn it you’re right.” I put my arms around her, and she let me. Gently resting her arms on mine.
“Okay. Well, I’m still sore about it, but… I guess we have other photos. Just be a little more thoughtful, okay?”
“Of course. I’m so sorry, bunny.” She dried the coffee pot and started a pot of the stuff. She grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the living room. That’s when she saw the cat box, twisted into a whirlpool of kitty litter. I grimaced.
She began to laugh. Like a full belly laugh. Her laugh made me smile.
“Why are you laughing?”
She pointed at the wall, which had the cat box scoop propped up against it. Also twisted in an identical twisting pattern.
“At least they match!” We both started cracking up. We spent the rest of our Sunday laughing and petting the cat on the couch with the rest of our untwisted possessions.
I didn’t touch the machine until the following Friday evening. The cat started chewing on the cable, and I shooed him away.
“Should we give it to someone?”
“What?”
“The box, or whatever. Should we give it to some, like, scientists or something? To study?”
“To study. To study?”
“I mean, we don’t know how it works right. It just… twists things?”
“Yeah. I suppose you’re right. But… why do we have to give it away?”
“…Would you rather sell it?”
“What? No. I just mean, why not keep it for us?”
“To what? Make sure we can always twist things? I don’t get why we’d need that.”
“Well, what if we want to make a cocktail.”
“Oh HA. So funny. You should probably know more about cocktails if you are trying to make a ‘with a twist’ joke.”
“I mean, who knows where it even came from! Maybe there are hundreds of these things. Why should I give up mine?”
“You’re obsessed.”
“I am not.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
“Well, it’s kind of cool. I like it, alright!”
“Whatever. I think it’s weird. I’d rather we got rid of it.”
“What if I could make it useful?”
“Useful how?”
“Well… we could revisit my side show idea.”
“Be serious.”
“I am! There’s a cute little craft fair at the mall this weekend. I heard they under-booked, and if you know the right people, which I do. I can get a booth.”
“And… what?”
“Twist things! I’m sure there’ll be buttons, and weird fabrics, and whatnot. All things that people might enjoy being twisted.”
“I guess so…”
“Let me give it a shot.”
“Okay… give it a try. I guess there’s no harm. But after, we should get rid of the thing. Before you twist something, you regret twisting.”
“I’ll be careful…”
“Sure…wait, how do you know the right people at this craft fair?”
“Well, you know Natalie from work. She was one of the volunteers. She told me yesterday they had booths available.”
“Did you tell her about it?”
“No… I just said it was a cool… thing I could do.”
“Wow, that makes it sound interesting.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I mean… not really. Sorry to break it to you.”
“Well, I guess we will see.”
Laura laughed and we switched topics. Early the next morning, I dragged the machine down to the garage, and into my car. I drove it to the mall about 10 minutes away. I parked in the parking lot, walked into registration, and checked out one of their moving carts.
At first people just ignored my booth. It was rather sparse compared to my neighbors. Cute felt sculptures, and quilts covered their folding tables.
Eventually someone looked my direction long enough to get curious. They asked about my weird contraption.
“It’s a twister.”
“A what?”
“A twister. It twists things.”
“What? It twists things?”
“Yes.”
“Like what kind of things.”
“So far… anything that fits.”
“Well, uh… “ She reached into her purse and pulled out a loose button. “Can it twist that?”
“Easily!” I took the button from her hand and placed it on the folding table of my booth. It was just wide enough to form a seal under my homemade bell.
I turned the crank clockwise. It didn’t even need a full rotation to twist this tiny button. The woman turned the now twisted button over in her hands and shared her shock to some passersby. Loud enough to pull in attention from others.
“What do you mean it twists things?”
“Well, it uh… takes an object and warps it. In a twisted…. Fashion?”
“You don’t sound like you know much yourself!”
“Look it twists things. You want me to show you?”
“Fine!” The quilter next to me shoved one of their quilts into my hands. “Twist this!”
There was a small crowd that had formed at this exchange. Only about 8 people. Perhaps that’s not enough to be considered a crowd. After I twisted the quilt, though, that’s when interest really took off. Suddenly there was a steady stream of people. Fabrics, and buttons, and murals, and paintings. Anything small enough to fit, people gladly threw to me for me to twist it.
And at $3 a twist, I wasn’t doing so bad. I drove home $246 richer. Of which I spread into a hand fan formation and waved triumphantly in my face when I walked into my apartment with Laura waiting.
“Well, well, well. So, you found a couple of weirdos like you!”
“Ouch.”
“I’m sorry!” Laura laughed. “Sorry, that was harsh.”
“Well dinner is on the twister tonight, so perhaps you should apologize.”
“To you?”
“No to the twister of course!”
“Oh, great twister, I’m sorry I ever doubted you. You happy?”
“I will be with a few hundred more dollars.”
“Ugh. Please don’t tell me you are sticking with this.”
“Would that be so bad? Make a little extra cash.”
“I guess not. I stand by my first assessment. That thing is weird.”
I went to a few more craft fairs over the next few weeks and months. My best session left me with an extra $600 in my pocket for 4 hours manning the booth. It was at that one that I was approached by a newspaper.
“Can we talk about your contraption in the paper? Did you make it?”
“Oh… well no I didn’t. But sure, you can talk about it… if you’d think anyone would even want to read about that.”
“Are you kidding! I was sent here to cover a craft fair. This is far and away more interesting.”
“Okay. If you’d like.”
Laura rolled her eyes at the sight of my picture in the paper.
“What’s your deal?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being a jerk.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I don’t know why. It’s not hurting anything. It’s just a weird machine. I suppose I should stop being so weirded out.”
“Well… thank you. I appreciate that.”
“It’s a good picture.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The following Tuesday I got a call.
“Hello!” It was the reporter who printed the story about my machine.
“Oh… hi. What can I do for you?”
“I’m so glad I caught you. Thank you again for letting me cover your machine. We received a call from a local news station. They asked if we could facilitate an introduction to you so you could go on the news.”
“The news?”
“Yeah! They want to do a short human interest piece on it. Maybe have you twist a few things. Really test its limits, right?”
“Test its limits?”
“Yeah… put strange things in. See what happens.”
“I suppose that would be okay.”
“Wonderful! So, I can give them your phone number?”
It was a strange experience being at the news station. I sat in the green room with the twister. It sat on a rolling cart with a nice cloth over it.
They asked a few questions. Where did I find it? Do I know where it came from? Then a list of objects to try in the twister. An apple, a chess set, a vinyl record, 5 peanut butter M & Ms.
Then they switched to things like solid blocks of wood, and metal. All twisted with ripples in it like an eddy in a river.
“Have you ever tried a bug? Or a fish or something,” the male anchor asked.
“Uh… no nothing living.”
“Yes, that does sound a bit gruesome.”
“Well… everything I’ve twisted comes out like it’s always been like that.”
“But surely, nothing living could hold out in… whatever state they emerged in.”
“Yeah… you’re probably right.”
“What about something… bigger! Could we modify it?”
“You mean make the bell bigger?”
“Yes! Exactly.”
“Well… truth be told this is not the first bell it came with. I made this one. I guess I could make something bigger.”
The segment ended, but I received an email several days later saying how popular the segment was on the news that night.
They asked me if it’s okay to give out my information to folks calling in to ask about the twister. I gave the new email I created to the news station and invited anyone who would like to write to me to do so. Most people asked weird questions. Some people sent me things they wanted me to twist and send back.
Laura was mostly silent about it. She seemed annoyed but was happy with the money from fans and appearances I was getting.
“I’m going to my sister’s for the weekend.”
“You are?”
“Yes, I am. I’ll be back Monday… or Tuesday. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Oh. Okay… Is something wrong?”
“What? No. I just need to get out of this town for a few days.”
“Uhm… sure. That makes sense. Do you want me to go with you?”
“Someone should stay with the cat.”
“Oh. Well, alright.”
I went to the department store after she left. I bought some of the cheap home goods like a decorative pillow, and a rug. Some mugs. I ended up spending like $80 dollars on things. And I took them home and twisted each of them. Formed grooves in each of them.
It wasn’t enough. I kept twisting. I twisted the silverware. I twisted the leftover lasagna. Pint of half-eaten ice cream. The toaster. Several books. Some of them mine, but some of them Laura’s.
I twisted anything I could get a hold of that would fit. I twisted a few things more than once. I just kept grabbing each of them and before I knew it, it was 10AM.
10AM and I had twisted everything we owned. Except the things too big to fit. It was Sunday morning, but I finally took a break to check my email.
“Hello,
I hope this note finds you well! I own a car dealership, and I thought I might ask if you would consider any form of partnership? In the segment on the news, it was mentioned that you made that bell bigger. Well, I have a great idea for an event to get a little buzz going! I’d like to pay you for access to your machine, and for you to modify it to twist one of my cars! A clunker of course, but that’s not the important part.
Anyway, if you are interested, please reach back soon.”
He made no mention of how much he’d pay. Yet, I was fixated on the idea. Making the bell even bigger. The idea kept presenting itself. By 1pm I’d returned from the hardware store. With enough lumber and plastic to make a bell big enough to cover a small vehicle. It took a while. It couldn’t just be big enough. I’d also have to design it so I could disassemble it and reassemble it elsewhere.
It was cold in the apartment. I’d turned off the heat and let the winter weather chill the floors, and walls.
I’d spent another Sunday fixated on the Twister. I sat down realizing it was now getting closer to Monday than I’d like. Perhaps I’d take a personal day tomorrow to make up the sleep I’d missed.
I looked at my work, though. It was beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’d ever made. I didn’t even miss my untwisted things. This was so much better. I had it, and no one else did. It was time to test it. Now I could fit much more. The TV, the coffee table itself.
I used a couple of boxes to prop it open when I loaded and unloaded each item. I stripped photos off the wall. It was 5AM when I called my boss and left a message that I was sick. The cat begging me to bed.
I wasn’t quite ready yet to be done for the evening, though…
Laura came back on Tuesday evening. I hadn’t been to work yet this week. She immediately commented on the smell, and how cold it was. It wasn’t until she turned on the light that she got a look at everything. Shock on her face.
“What… what did you do?”
“I… I got a little carried away… I’m sorry, Bun-”
“Don’t you fucking do that now. Don’t you fucking dare. What have you done to everything we own? What is wrong with you?”
“I got this email about making the bell bigger-”
“Fucking Christ! Who the fuck cares about that thing?! Get rid of it!”
“What? Are you kidding? At least let me make enough to replace-”
“Replace all the things you’ve ruined?!”
“They aren’t ruined….”
“Well, I say they are. Get rid of it, or you’ve gotten rid of me.”
“Bun, you can’t mean that… I haven’t twis…” It was as I said this that I had a moment of clarity. Remembering that I had in fact twisted things that were… over the line. I felt tears well up in my eyes, and the words in my throat sputtered out, as I choked up.
“… What? Did… did you twist something unforgivable? What the fuck did you twist?”
“I… I-”
“Please tell me you didn’t twist my family stuff. Please tell me you left my mother’s ring, and her rug…” Laura ran to the bedroom at this. I think to check if I’d done those things. She didn’t make it to her jewelry box. The rug was under our bed. Twisted beyond recognition.
It wasn’t for the rug, though, that Laura let out a pained cry. A horrified scream. The emotional welling of tears turned to sickening sobs, as she saw the tangled mess of mangled cat limbs on the rug.
The cat writhing on the ground, trying to make some sound that resembled a meow with its twisted airways. Its eyes wide with fear, and panic.
It had looked that way ever since…
I’ve never seen such hate come through in Laura’s eyes. Not until that moment. Her love for me, if any had not already been shattered by my other acts, gone.
“You better get the FUCK away from me.”
“Please… Laura-”
“I mean it! I swear to God. You take a step closer to me…” Laura pulled herself up from the ground where she had fallen to her knees at the sight of the cat. She pushed past me on the way to the kitchen. I tried to put my hand on her shoulder, and she smacked it away. As hard as she could.
She got to the kitchen, and grabbed her phone with one hand, and the kitchen knife in the other. My back was to the Twister, as I watched her dialing the police.
“Laura wait… please let’s talk about this.”
“Talk? Talk?! Fuck you. Fuck you, forever. This is unforgivable, BULLSHIT. You deserve to rot for what you… what you…” Small sobs escaped her lips. She hesitated for a moment, and I lunged towards her.
The knife was up in the air quicker than I anticipated and I grabbed her by the wrist. She dropped the phone and pushed be backwards. We held still for a moment, as we braced against each other. Pushing against the force of the other as she tried to push the knife down towards my body.
I took a step back, and my foot landed on a twisted Tupperware container. I slipped. At first, I thought that Laura would come down with me, and that knife would be firmly lodged in my stomach. Laura kept on her feet, though.
I fell backward enough to fall into the vicinity of the bell. Right into the boxes propping it open. Upon their collapse, the bell fell around me. I was under the bell, but I could still see Laura through the plastic lining. She glared at me with such hate and looked for her phone on the ground.
Her eyes fell on the crank first, though. I began to pull myself up upon realizing the vulnerable state that I was in.
She reached the crank before I could get to a standing position, though.
“You fucker…” She pushed the crank ever so forward. Just enough to start the twisting. I felt as though the air were heavier. Like it was weighing me down. She stopped cranking it. “Don’t you dare try to move.”
In my days with the Twister, I had learned a lot about how it works. One thing was clear no matter how many times I twisted things, though. Once you start… you can’t stop. You must finish. Laura had just…
“What are you afraid? Are you scared?! You should be. I could do it you know. Only I can stop it, too.”
“Laura… there isn’t any stopping it. Once it begins….”
“Well, then you’re FUCKED aren’t you?”
I began pounding on the plastic lining. Shoving my nails into the sides of the bell in hopes of tearing it.
“I thought you said once you start you can’t stop. Seems to me like you’re trying.”
Nothing I was doing was working though. It was as if the plastic were impenetrable. I scraped and scratched. I tried to lift the bell up from the inside. It wouldn’t budge. I knew the truth, but I couldn’t stop. The panic started to set it, and I became a bit crazed. I think that’s when Laura realized I wasn’t lying. I think that’s when she realized what she’d done.
“Look… I don’t want to… I- Can we stop this? Please tell me there’s a way out. I’m not trying to- fucking christ.”
We sat there for hours. And we tried different things. I apologized over and over, but now it seems her focus was on aborting this impulsive decision. Nothing we did had any effect on the bell. It was as though the plastic and wood became invulnerable.
“I don’t forgive you… but I don’t want this,” Laura said to me. Her eyes swollen from fits of sobbing.
“I know… I don’t forgive me either.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t do.”
After it became apparent there was only one way out, I asked Laura to just get it over with. She hesitated for a good 45 minutes. Even claiming to prefer to call for help. I told her it was pointless, though. Maybe I thought I deserved it too.
She eventually flatly refused. At this point I begged. I pleaded with her to just do it. To give me a taste of what I’d been inflicting. After begging failed, I tried prodding through reminders of the horrible things I’d done. She relented. I don’t know if she did out of pity or hate. I do know it wasn’t out of love.
It took way more cranks than anything I had twisted. Each turn made the air thicker. It became so unbearably heavy and pushed me to the floor. Laura complained that it was like it was getting stickier. The air was so heavy it pushed any air I had right out of my chest. Otherwise, I would have told her how the pressure was making me feel as if I might explode.
Then, there was the pop. All at once, I felt my body warp, with my belly button as the epicenter. A twisted, horrible, wrenching feeling as my stomach rippled, and my limbs were turned into sickening angles. I let out a… sound. Close to a scream, though not quite.
My mouth was twisted corridors of flesh. My jaw crunching as I attempted to open it. Teeth scraping together in horrible ways. Laura threw up on the living room floor at the sight of me.
I think her guilt got the better of her, because for the next few weeks she made arrangements. She brought me to the hospital, cleaned out the apartment. Put down our poor kitty. Laura got us out of our lease, moved our belongings out. Any that she cared to keep even though they were all twisted.
The doctors couldn’t restore me to how I was before. All they could do was get my needs met. My mouth was too messed up to consume food, so I received a feeding tube. Though even that was… difficult.
Laura finished making the arrangements for me, and officially ended things. She never brought up the… cat… to the authorities. Eventually, I did learn to write, and I tried sending a note to Laura.
I apologized in so many ways. I told her about how much I regretted my actions, how much I’d learned. I asked her question after question to see if we could just speak. I needed to speak. I asked her in this letter if she’d ever be able to talk to me again. I knew she would never forgive me, but could she talk to me? Please?
In the end I know I didn’t deserve even that, though. Finally, I asked one last question: When she was moving us out of our old apartment, what did she do with the Twister?
A week later I received a reply. It ignored all other parts of the letter. It simply said that when she was moving us out of the apartment and deciding what to do with the Twister, she made a decision. She left it by the dumpster.