I pleaded with her for a while, saying Heather was my good friend, I just wanted to know if she was alive. For fuck’s sake, I almost said, stop typing and just nod your head. Tell me she’s OK. Because she shouldn’t be in here; she should be running around on the roofs downtown. That’s where she should be.

I took out my notebook and drew a map. I put Ming’s on the map, and above Ming’s, I drew a lightning bolt. Then I made a line for Yates Street, and where the alley was, I drew a little crooked star. Heather, I wrote, come and meet me here and we’ll have a good time. Love, your friend, Sara.

I tore the page out of my notebook and handed it to the robot. I turned my back on her before she had a chance to tell me that guests weren’t allowed correspondence.

As I walked back down the lane, pink blossoms were still fluttering through the air, and when I lifted my head I saw a single white seagull soar up from the gray wet rocks of Arbutus Cove. And me, just running down the lane because I didn’t want to think about Heather anymore, and the blossoms and the bird seemed so wrong, like I didn’t deserve to see all that. All that beauty.

ACROBAT

IN the alley where I last saw Justine, there was no sun. The storefronts displayed carnation bouquets and orthopedic shoes and hearing aids, but in the alley, these same stores were just dark walls, and looking at them was like looking at the back of someone who has turned and walked away from you. I found a fire escape and walked up the steel stairs quickly, as if I was being followed. I swear, I could still hear his threat. I’ll find you.

I sat on the roof and thought, This will be my bed for the night. How could I complain? Knowing Heather was in Ledger, I would never complain.

I flirted with ideas. A holdup, a hostage-taking, a getaway. I could point my knife at the neck of a pilot and scream, Take me to New York. But I didn’t know where the airport was. I could steal a car, but I didn’t know how to drive. I was so pathetic it wasn’t even funny.

Right then, my father was building his new house. I thought of him surrounded by his beloved trees, drinking black coffee while he whistled a Neil Young song. He was probably running his hands through Sylvia’s hair and she was smiling up at him patiently.