The Weatherman: Christmas Special

Ernest checks the time on his phone for what turns out to be the fifth time in the last minute. His dad isn’t technically late yet – Ernest had arrived at the address he’d been given far earlier than would be expected given his own lack of punctuality. But each second feels interminable without anything to distract him from the dread pooling in his stomach.

He closes his eyes and takes a slow breath to center himself. He can do this. Everything’s going to be fine.

Harold Welles slides up the sleeve of his checkered red and green over tan shirt, checking his Timex as he pulls the keys out of his car. He takes a deep breath, grabbing his leather briefcase. “Alright, let's go.” Harold whispers to himself.

Exiting the parking garage, he sees Ernest standing along the sidewalk in front. “Are you ready, son? This is your chance to make a difference.”

Ernest opens his eyes as the red-maroon tones of his dad’s voice leak into his vision, then proceeds to roll them as he registers the words. Apparently things like saving people’s lives on a semi-regular basis or volunteering at the community center didn’t count as making a difference.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” he mutters.

Harold gives Ernest a wide grin. “Let’s go inside before we catch a cold.”

Harold leads Ernest along the sidewalk and around the corner just as light snow begins to fall. They walk into a revolving door made of alternating brown and white glass panels. Inside is a small domed room with a spherical light at its peak and a small desk round desk guarding a hallway leading to a set of elevators. An olive-toned woman in a black suit with short braided hair and an expression that could turn you to stone sits across the desk, staring at a security monitor.

“Hello, Carol. Good to see you.”

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she looks up from her monitor.

“Umm, I’m bringing my son today. So I’ll need a guest pass.”

Carol maintains her rocky expression while opening a drawer and pulls out a plastic card, placing it on the desk in front of Harold.

Harold takes the badge, walks over to pin it to Ernest’s chest, and whispers, “I need you to be on your best behavior today. Not everyone here is as understanding as I am. I’ll get them to give you a permanent one so you can come and go as you like once you start full time here.”

The badge shows a line of brown and white pawns against a light green background. A light font underneath reads “*Ernest Welles, Guest, Bishop Technologies.*”

Ernest steps back as his dad approaches, pulling the badge out of his hands so that he can pin it to his shirt himself. “What do you mean full time?” he asks, not bothering to lower the volume of his voice. “I’m just helping you with your thing when I’m free. I still have to go to school.”

Carol glances over, then goes back to watching her security monitor with the slightest smirk.

“I got ahead of myself. This project might take a while and I was hoping during the summer and breaks you’d be coming down. Once you see the lab I know you’ll be excited.” Harold steps aside and waves him toward the elevator.

“Maybe you should focus on getting enough money to keep your project running before thinking about the summer,” Ernest shoots back before he can stop himself. They both want the project to be funded, even if he has little interest in its scientific or technological goals. But the fact that they’re supposed to be on the same side apparently isn’t enough to keep him from making a jab when the opportunity presents itself. It’s too late to take the comment back now, so he strides past his dad and into the elevator.

Harold bites his lip and follows his son inside the elevator, pressing his key badge against the elevator card reader. A happy little peach chirp follows, then he presses B3. As the door closes, he coughs before breaking the sound of dead air. “If you’re going to be in a foul mood, you should know that some people will be coming by today. I’ll be showing them the office as well. They insisted on an inspection on the project this morning, so you may be bumping into them.”

This time Ernest manages to stifle the snide remark that jumps to mind, only giving a shrug to acknowledge that he heard. Rather than keep up the conversation, he focuses his attention on preventing lightning from sparking off his skin in irritation. The last thing he needs is to short out the elevator and end up stuck here even a minute longer than necessary.

After what feels like an eternity, a lilac *ding* sounds to indicate they’ve reached their floor and the elevator doors glide open. The narrow hallway is lined with several doors with tiny slits of hard glass on each side. As they walk down the hallway Ernest can see into office after office. Each person inside has small clear diodes stuck to their head.

They arrive at a single door, which unlocks with a fuchsia beep to Harold’s badge. Inside, the room is filled with brand new computers and a clear glass wall. Beyond the glass is an open chair with two metal extrusions protruding from the back of the headrest and several small cables feeding into a large base at the bottom.

With a cough, Harold breaks the silence. “Um, I’m going to need you to sit in that chair while I ask you several questions. It should be simple. I'll ask the questions and the chair will test how many static particles you expel into the room.”

Ernest looks back and forth between the chair and his dad, raising an eyebrow in mild disbelief. Seeing that he’s serious, he passes through the door to the other side of the glass and gingerly takes a seat. The headrest isn’t particularly painful, but it certainly isn’t comfortable either, and he feels hyperaware of each point of contact against his skin.

“Ask away, I guess.”

“First I need you to state your name.” Harold’s voice comes slightly distorted through an intercom mounted on the wall, scattering scarlet squares across Ernest’s vision.

“Ernest Welles.”

“Okay, now where you were born.”

“New York City, New York.” So far this is easy enough, and Ernest actually manages to relax slightly. He can answer simple questions all day, provided they don’t start getting into math facts.

“Hrm hrm, now your father and mother’s name.”

“Harold and Helen Welles.”

Harold starts typing notes into his computer when a charcoal click sounds from the door. Several people enter in a small coordinated group, including a woman in a black turtleneck sweater with long pink hair and half of her head shaved, who closes the door behind them. Ernest jumps slightly at their sudden appearance, sending a few arcs of electricity down his forearms.

Harold glups when he notices the woman at the head of the group. “Mrs. Bishop... I wasn’t expecting the CEO to… I mean, when they were requesting a performance review, I had no idea it –”

“That’ll be enough stammering Mr. Welles,” she interrupts. “I’m here to see a test as it were.”

“Yes, ma’am. Alright Ernest, we’re going to go into phase two. I’m going to need you to use your powers now and try to generate as much electricity as you can and direct it into the chair.”

“That’s a terrible idea and you know it,” Ernest protests. “If I summon lightning in here, someone’s going to get hurt.”

“Come now, Ernest, this is why you are here. That chair is specifically built to withstand your electricity. While you’re using your powers, I will continue to ask you questions and we’ll see just how much energy you can produce.”

“How do you even know it’ll work? It’s not like you’ve had a chance to test it yet.” Ernest finds the volume of his voice rising as he argues. “At least ask them to stand in the hallway or something,” he says, gesturing to the group of people.

“Do you think that’d be wise? Is the safety glass not going to be enough?” The CEO taps against the wall separating them. “Intriguing. No, I think I’ll stand here.”

“I trust in my math, you should be fine,” Harold assures Ernest. “If it will make you feel better, just use a minimal amount of power for now. See for yourself how well the chair can handle the stress, hrm?”

Ernest sends another thread of electricity running down his arm, and is slightly encouraged when the circuits don’t immediately fry. He holds his hands in front of him and starts gathering a dense ball of lightning between his fingers. As his hair begins to stand on end, he separates his hands and clamps them down on the armrests of the chair. There’s a hollow sensation left behind where he’d usually feel the pull of a growing storm, the wiring siphoning away the electricity before it can coalesce.

Harold rushes to examine a readout on one of the displays. “Excellent, the battery seems to be holding at 25%. Let's keep it steady there. Ernest, I need you to tell us about your earliest childhood memory. Focus on the image of it in your mind while you speak.”

Ernest closes his eyes, mentally blocking out the neon blue sound of crackling electricity and tangerine clacks of the keyboard, and reaches back to the distant edges of his memory.

“There’s a voice… humming something. Everything is indigo and navy, so it’s probably Opa.” His hands are shaking slightly as the power flowing out of them surges.

“You’re doing well, Ernest.”

Harold notices that the chair is reading an increased power intake but the battery isn’t holding the extra charge. After a few seconds, the charge disperses and becomes completely useless. It seems that the charges Ernest creates are very short lived. It will require a large amount of power before the battery can be filled and sealed to prevent the loss of the charge.

“Alright Ernest, how does that memory make you feel?”

Ernest cracks an eye open to confirm that yes, there is still a group of strangers watching him through the glass like some kind of aquarium exhibit. He’s not exactly thrilled to be talking about his feelings in front of them, but he can’t think of a way out of it without completely shutting down the test.

He focuses on the memory again. There’s a certain warmth to it, one that he hasn’t felt in a long time. “Homesick,” he says, quietly.

He’s missed certain aspects of New York since moving to Halcyon, but never anything that made him want to return there. Even so, he can’t think of another way to describe the sense of longing the memory brings up. Not like Opa was even in New York to go back to anyway.

A dense fog starts to fill the room, the air suddenly cool and damp.

“Good job, Ernest. Keep it up,” Harold encourages.

The fog rolls in over the dress shoes and of the men and women in black and white suits. They look nervously to each other - all except for the CEO, whose eyes are locked intently on Ernest.

Harold can feel the chill from room’s weather changing, but he focuses on the readings. Only 45%. That won’t be enough. The memory is too old; Ernest can’t get a clear picture. He needs something stronger.

“Now we need you to picture something a little more recent. Tell us about Opa’s funeral - what colors did you see? Describe the moment as best you can.”

Ernest’s eyes snap open. “Why would you ask me to think about something like that?” he demands.

The lightning surrounding his hands begins to crawl up his arms, no longer feeding smoothly into the circuitry of the chair. He’s using all of his concentration to keep it from leaping outward, and even though he isn’t consciously trying to bring up the memory, old feelings of confusion and grief bubble to the surface.

“The emotions need to be strong if this is going to work, Ernest. Let me help. It was raining hard, and we were stuck outside looking like fools because you didn’t want to get out of the car. You were crying your eyes out that you didn’t want to go. I grabbed your arm and told you it was time to get out of the car. What did you do, Ernest?”

“What, are you trying to blame the rain on me? I don’t think I even had my powers back then! I was seven years old, was I not supposed to cry?” He doesn’t remember standing, but he must have at some point, because now he’s at eye level with his dad, glaring at him. The fog swirls in eddies around his feet, billowing up into darker clouds.

Harold glimpses the console. Holding at 85%, almost there.

“You’re not describing it, Ernest, tell us what it was like!” Harold doesn’t even notice how quickly his voice has risen. But it was working. Just a little bit longer and he would have the test battery he needed to secure funding for his project, his proof that Ernest’s power could be used to do real good – not some silly superheroics, but real good – for the world.

“It fucking sucked, alright?” A miniature thunderclap punctuates the curse, rattling the glass wall in front of him. “What else do you want me to say about it? Sorry that I wasn’t thrilled to stand around in a rainy graveyard with dozens of strangers a few days after my grandfather died? Is that what you want to hear?”

Harold checks the machine – 100%. He can turn it off now. “Alright Ernest, we are finished. That’s enough, we got our readings.” He locked the battery.

The next thunderclap shakes the entire room. One of the security cameras breaks from its hinges, crashing into the wall. The safety glass shatters, raining pebbles into the watching suits. They are really in a panic now, except for the CEO who stands there grinning.

“Ernest, stop this instant,” Harold commands.

“What happened to your fancy chair that was supposed to withstand my powers?” When Ernest points back towards it, lightning jumps from his fingertip, scorching a hole into the seat. “Did you make a mistake in your math about how much of my stress it could handle? Or maybe you should have listened to me when I said this was a bad idea!”

“My chair was working fine, it loaded the battery. If you don’t stop right now Ernest – Don’t do this again, we both know what happened last time you did this!” Harold holds his hands in front of him, quivering as his voice rises to a shriek.

Ernest winces as his dad succeeds in conjuring up another painful memory, sky blue screams echoing in his ears. He doesn’t need to be haunted by making the same mistake twice. This is his chance to reign things in before he hurts someone again.

He closes his eyes and begins humming a low tone to himself, focusing on the wavering turquoise line. The lightning gathered around his body dissipates first, followed by the wind. Finally, the layer of fog slinks back. The room is quiet aside from the iridescent chiming of distant alarms.

Ernest steps through empty space where the glass wall used to be and removes the guest pass from his shirt, tossing it at his dad. “I’m going home.”

Harold releases a heavy breath as he watches the badge hit his chest and clang against the floor. Just as his mouth starts to speak, a slow clap rings out from the huddled mass of suits and broken glass. Mrs. Bishop stands firm amongst her cowering subordinates.

“That was quite a show there, Ernest. I do believe you’ve earned a solid rest after such a marvelous display. You’ve got quite the talented son indeed, Mr. Welles. We’ll need to retrofit your room before any further tests can be done.” Glass crunches beneath her boots as she walks over to Ernest, smiling and extending a hand.

Ernest barely gives her a glance as he strides past her and out of the room. “If you think I’m coming back for any ‘further tests’ after this one, you’re crazy,” he calls over his shoulder.

A cold air settles over the room as Harold and the Bishop representatives watch Ernest leave.

The CEO slowly lowers her hand, the smile never leaving her face. “Such a waste. This project showed a lot of potential, but without your test subject it appears you will have to be suspended indefinitely. We’ll be taking your materials and security will be escorting you out of the building, Mr. Welles.”

The employees scramble to carry out her orders. Two take Harold by the arms and guide him out of the room. The rest begin deconstructing the array of testing equipment. One fiddles with the base of the chair before returning with a large battery. As Mrs. Bishop hefts it in her hand, her smile grows slightly wider.

### Overture

*December 18, 2019*

Timothy has been shuffling his food around his plate for nearly half an hour now. Ernest had assumed he was stalling to avoid telling their mom some kind of bad news – maybe a bombed exam or botched audition. But Timothy doesn’t say anything as their mom excuses herself from the table to finish up work in her room, so Ernest waits to hear whatever has been weighing on his mind.

Eventually, Timothy puts down the fork he’d been chasing a green bean with and looks across the table at Ernest.

“Dad and I are going to New York for Christmas.”

The words hit Ernest like a punch to the gut. A chilled gust of wind sweeps across the room before he stifles his powers. Dozens of questions and objections rise in his throat, but he manages to force the most important one out first. “You’re coming back to Halcyon afterwards, right?”

“You can come too, if you want,” Timothy continues as if he hadn’t heard. “Mom’s staying in Halcyon, though.”

Ernest knows this isn’t a case of his brother’s hearing loss becoming an issue. Timothy is looking directly at him, there’s no way that he could miss seeing his lips move. Ordinarily, Timothy would stop if he even thought he might have misheard something. Which means he’s intentionally ignoring Ernest.

“I know you probably don’t want to spend more time with dad, but I’ll be there too. And I’m sure grandma and grandpa would be happy to see you. Or if you – if there’s anyone else you want to see in New York,” Timothy stumbles slightly over the last sentence, and Ernest wonders if he was going to suggest someone specific and thought better of it.

There’s a brief pause, as Timothy pushes back his chair and stands, but Ernest isn’t sure if Timothy will acknowledge anything he says right now, so he holds his tongue.

“Just think about it, okay?” Timothy urges, no longer making eye contact as he clears off his place. “We’re not leaving until Monday, so you’ve got a few days to decide.”

He leaves the kitchen before Ernest can find the words to respond.

### Glissando

December 19, 2019

Hey there, it’s me again. The worst older brother in the world. Timothy might be moving back to New York forever and it’s all my fault.

I keep thinking about what he said a few weeks ago, when he first told me that he might move back to New York with dad. He said he’d been having a hard time making friends in Halcyon, which took me completely by surprise. I should have noticed he’d been having trouble sooner. Between the two of us, he was always better at making friends when we were younger, so I guess I just assumed that if I was managing to make friends, he must be doing fine. But I never actually bothered to ask him about it, because I’m a terrible person.

He seemed happy enough, but Timothy is very good at seeming cheerful even when the world is falling apart. I can’t always tell if it’s because he’s actually optimistic or if he doesn’t want to show people that he’s hurting. I used to be jealous of him for being able to do that. I had a hard enough time hiding my emotions before they started messing with the weather. Now I wish that he wasn’t so good at it. Or that I had been paying enough attention to realize something was wrong.

I told Timothy that I’d help dad with his research project so that they could both stay in Halcyon. I figured that if mom, dad, and I were all here, at least he wouldn’t feel as homesick for New York, and I could try and help him with making friends at school or something. But I managed to screw up the first step of that plan even though all I had to do was follow dad’s instructions. Instead I lost my temper and blew up the lab because apparently I’m incapable of making it through a single test without destroying something. Even if I did go back like they wanted me to, they’d probably have to spend so much money repairing all the stuff I broke that there wouldn’t be any left to run the project anyway.

So that plan completely failed. And I don’t have another one to keep dad from moving back to New York. I guess I should start thinking about whether I should move back to New York if Timothy does? I don’t really want to leave Halcyon. I like being part of Big Team, and helping people as a hero. I’ve even got more friends here than I ever had back in New York. But I know Timothy wasn’t thrilled to leave New York either, and he still did it for me. And clearly I haven’t made it up to him by being a fantastic brother these past few months.

I don’t know what to do. But at least I’ve still got some time to figure this out.

-Ernest

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

December 20, 2019

I haven’t figured anything out.

Timothy still hasn’t told me whether he’s coming back to Halcyon after the break. Which means either he hasn’t decided yet, or he has but he knows that I won’t like the answer. I really hope it’s the first one.

We’ve barely spoken since he told me he was leaving. He’s not completely ignoring me, but we’re not talking like we usually do. I don’t know if he thinks that I’ll get mad? Or try and talk him out of it? Both of which could happen, I guess. It’s just… Timothy’s never acted scared of me before. Even after I hurt him so badly, he always seemed so sure it wouldn’t happen again. Although I’ve never figured out if that’s what he really thought, or if he was just pretending to make me feel better. Either way, he must be really upset with me now, since he won’t stay in the same room as me for more than a few minutes.

I hate this.

I tried talking to Mom about it. I think I was hoping Timothy hadn’t told her and that she’d make him stay or something. Which was stupid, because he said she was staying in Halcyon, so clearly they talked about it before he told me. Not to mention that going to a parent with something your sibling told you to try and get them in trouble is the worst kind of move to pull. I feel terrible for even thinking it might work.

I did bring up the fact that Timothy might stay in New York permanently. She just said that she didn’t force us to move to Halcyon, and wouldn’t stop us from moving back if that’s what we wanted. Even when I said that I might go for Christmas too, she didn’t say that it would be lonely without us or anything, like she used to when Timothy wanted to hang out with friends over the holidays instead of getting dragged to all the family events. I get that she probably doesn’t want to make Timothy’s choice any harder than it is already, but I wish that she would. I hate that I wish it, but I do.

Technically I could ask dad if Timothy’s planning to stay. He’d probably know. I really don’t want to hear it from him, though. And I don’t want to spend Christmas with him. But these past few days have been awful, and I don’t want them to be the last memories Timothy and I have of living together.

-Ernest

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

December 22, 2019

Fuck it.

I’m going to New York City.

This isn’t over yet.

-Ernest

## Part 2: Suspension

### Elegy

December 23, 2019

Hello from New York City,

It’s weird being back. Not like it’s completely different from what I remember or anything. Almost everything is the same, it’s just… less familiar? Like going back to an old song you haven’t listened to in a long time, and the lyrics are the same, but the rhythm takes longer to settle into your bones.

I guess I did eventually get used to the background noise of Halcyon. I remember the colors distracting me for months after we moved. But thinking back, they haven’t been bothering me very much these days. Now it’s the New York taxi horns that keep catching my attention from the corner of my eye, when I hardly ever used to notice them.

All the tiny differences in our apartment stood out. Dad got a new fridge, which makes sense since I’m pretty sure the one we used to have was older than me. But I still do a double take at it every time I walk through the kitchen. And at the new pieces of goofy looking art hanging up in the living room. He also tried to paint over some of the scorch marks on the wall, but I guess he didn’t get the right kind of paint, because you can still see them underneath.

I don’t know why they feel like such huge changes. Maybe from seeing those rooms all the time in my nightmares, I expect everything to look the same as that day.

After stressing so much about wanting to spend more time with Timothy and not spend time with Dad, I haven’t really talked much with either of them since we left Halcyon. I planned to pretend to sleep during the car ride so dad wouldn’t try to make conversation while driving, but ended up actually sleeping, since I’ve been too wound up to get much rest the past few days. And then pretty soon after we got here, I snuck out to visit Opa.

I thought about asking Timothy to come along, but he was really excited about his plans to meet up with friends today, and I didn’t want to bring the mood down. Sure as hell wasn’t inviting dad after what he pulled at Bishop, hence the sneaking out. My window lock is still all janky, though, so I got locked out and had to come back through the front door. I guess some things never change.

I miss Opa. I wish that I remembered him better. I do remember that we were really close. He spent a lot of time with me and Timothy when we were little since mom and dad were both working. But I have a hard time remembering any specific conversations we had. Maybe because they were mostly in German.

Opa knew English, but he really wanted me and Timothy to learn German, so he almost always spoke it at home. But after he died, we didn’t really have a reason to use it any more. I haven’t heard mom speak German in years, aside from a swear every so often. So now I can only remember a handful of words. I’ve thought about trying to learn it again, but German isn’t one of the standard languages they teach in high school, and taking separate classes just seemed like a hassle. And now I’m in the middle of learning ASL, and I don’t think I’ve got room in my brain for two new languages at once. So I guess German will have to wait.

Even though I can’t really remember his words, I do remember the sound of Opa’s voice. Deep blue and indigo and navy, sometimes even teal when he sang. He sang for me a lot, and always traced out the most beautiful shapes with his songs. Sometimes I wonder if he knew I had synesthesia, even though I didn’t realize that’s what it was until I was older. But he probably just noticed how much I liked his singing. He didn’t get to be around when I found out that the colors and shapes were only in my head, or when my emotions started leaking out of my head and into the weather.

I wonder what he would think of me if he could see me now.

-Ernest

*[tucked between the pages of the entry is a sheet of paper with a pencil rubbing, reading:*

HANNELORE OBENAUS
OCTOBER 24, 1946 - JULY 5, 1999

ERNST OBENAUS
DECEMBER 27, 1945 - JANUARY 8, 2009

SEI GESEGNET UND GELIEBT
AN DAS ENDE

*the paper is heavily warped, as if it had been thoroughly soaked at some point and later dried]*

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

*December 24, 2019*

*1:04 AM*

*He’s standing in the center of the living room.*

*Maybe because he’s seen the real-life version so recently, the realization that he’s dreaming comes quickly. He waits for the wind to pick up, waits for the screaming that he won’t be able to block out to start. He knows how this goes.*

*Except none of that happens.*

*The air stands still.*

*It’s unnaturally silent. Not even the hum of the heating or the buzz of traffic below are audible.*

*He stands still too.*

*He’s worried that if he tries to move, he won’t be able to. Or that if he can, moving will kick off the rest of the nightmare sequence he knows so well.*

*So he stands.*

*Waiting.*

*Eventually, the thought that this dream apartment might be empty occurs to him, and he is thrust back, gasping, into the waking world.*

*When he manages to fall asleep again, he finds himself standing in the silent room once more.*

### Christmas Eve: Fugue

*December 24, 2019*

*6:34 PM*

A series of ruby red knocks on his bedroom door interrupts the song Ernest had been listening to, steamrolling through the delicately interwoven layers of melody and countermelody. He pulls off his headphones, but doesn’t budge from his bed.

Timothy knocks a few more times, and when he doesn’t receive a reply, he pushes the door open anyway. “Hey, Ern, are you okay?” he asks, hovering at the room’s entrance.

Ernest rolls over onto his side to face Timothy. “I’m doing great, why do you ask?” Seeing Timothy’s thoroughly unconvinced expression, he lets up. “I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know that grandma and grandpa are here, so we’re gonna start dinner soon.” Timothy shifts his weight back from one leg to the other a few times before continuing. “I was hoping you’d make it, if you’re feeling up to it. I mean, you’re going to spend some time with us after coming all the way out here, right?”

Ernest slowly sits up, rubbing his hands across his face as if he could physically pull his features into a more agreeable expression. Timothy has a point – if he was just going to sulk in his room the whole time, he may as well have stayed in Halcyon. “Alright, just... give me a minute.” Not that a minute would make much of a difference, when he’s had the entire day to prepare.

“Okay,” Timothy says quietly, before closing the door and walking back towards the kitchen. Ernest can hear the multicolored chatter from down the hall as his grandparents shed jackets, scarves, and boots at the door.

This shouldn’t be so difficult, but his minute is already up before he’s moved another muscle. He covers his face with his pillow, hoping to muffle the deep groan that he lets out. Apparently it doesn’t block the sound enough, since the conversation outside falters for a moment before continuing. But at least it gives him the momentum to swing his legs over the side of his bed and stand.

After quickly changing into slightly less disheveled clothes, he steps out of his room and is immediately greeted by the smell of ham wafting down the hallway. He follows it to the kitchen and mumbles his way through greetings and hugs before piling his plate with food and taking a seat at the table.

Ernest is only half listening as his dad and grandparents talk with Timothy about the various shows he’s been involved in since they moved to Halcyon, although a few of Timothy’s one-man reenactments manage to pull a laugh out of him. Timothy clearly adores the attention, but eventually they run out of classes and plays and grades to discuss, and turn towards Ernest.

“So, Harold says you’re applying to colleges now?” his grandma starts, clearly hoping to kick off another extended conversation, this time centered around him instead of Timothy.

The question catches Ernest off guard. College was not on the list of subjects he’d prepared to be asked about. His time as a superhero, sure, he’d even thought about what to say if his dad had roped them into trying to convince him to participate in more research studies. But not college.

“No, I’m not?” He can’t help turning the response into a question as he looks to his dad with a raised eyebrow. Apparently, his dad hadn’t bothered to check with anyone before passing his assumption along to his own parents.

It’s Harold’s turn to look dumbfounded now. He opens his mouth a few times and frowns before saying, “You may have missed a few deadlines, but plenty of schools have applications due in January. If you start working on them now, you can still apply this cycle.”

“You can’t miss deadlines for something you’re not planning to do.” It wasn’t like he’d just forgotten. The topic came up in school often enough, since most of the other seniors had been working on applications over the past couple of months. It just never seemed particularly relevant to him.

“What are you planning to do after you graduate then? You’ve figured out something better for you than college?” Harold scoffs.

“I didn’t mean forever, just this year,” Ernest protests. “I needed some time to get used to going to high school again, and I didn’t want to be dealing with college applications on top of that.”

“So you have enough time to run around playing the hero, but not enough to work on preparing for your future?”

Ernest can feel the hairs on his arms stand up as static electricity begins to prickle around him in annoyance. Timothy and his grandparents seem mildly concerned by the proceedings, but none of them cut into the conversation.

“It’s not like the world is going to end if I take a gap year,” he retorts. “And I’ve done a bit of saving the world lately, in case you hadn’t noticed.” With everything that went down in Halcyon on a given day, Big Team’s missions often didn’t make the news, but his dad couldn’t have missed the coverage of the fight with Gambite last week.

“You need to spend less time getting into fights up and down the city and start figuring out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life. Don’t you want to set a good example for your brother?” Harold gestures towards Timothy, who looks like he’s considering sliding out the bottom of his chair and disappearing under the table.

“Oh, so it’s not applying to college that makes me a bad example? You’d think that after watching me fail out of senior year once already, and generally make a mess of my life, he’d have figured out that I’m a walking poster of what not to do.” The tablecloth starts to flutter as the air in the kitchen grows choppy.

Harold holds up his hands in what Ernest supposes is intended to be a placating manner, but he looks too nervous for it to be effective. “Ernest, you need to calm down.”

Ernest can feel the atmosphere around him shudder, ready to manifest the anger and frustration he’s built up over the past week. It’s not so far gone that he can’t pull it back, but he can’t imagine sitting at this table for the rest of the evening, pretending that everything is fine. Instead he stands, wind sweeping at his feet as he walks to the front door and begins pulling on his coat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harold asks, tone equal parts warning and astonishment.

“Anywhere that isn’t here. Coming back was a mistake.”

He regrets the words the second he sees Timothy’s expression, but slams the door closed behind him anyway.

### Christmas Eve: Duet

< Messages
                         ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥
               *(Tues, Dec 24, 9:46 PM)*
                            **so i'm in new york rn**
                                     **hanging around**                                **where we first met**

Ernest leans against the wall of an alley, the texture of rough brick uncomfortable even through the thick layer of his coat. The dumpster across from him is peppered with dents, and full of the hailstones that caused the most recent ones. He stares intently at the pitted surface, trying to see whether he can spot any of the oldest dents he remembers making, nearly a year ago, or if someone had replaced the dumpster since then.

“Hey, Ern.” The royal blue voice that rolls across his vision is quiet, but familiar. Teresa stands at one end of the alley, her dark hair pulled back into a long braid. Despite the frigid air, she appears comfortable in a thin jacket.

“Hi, Teresa.” The name catches in his throat, as if going months without saying it had left him out of practice. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come out here.” The last time he’d tried to reach out to her after moving to Halcyon, she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested in talking to him anymore. But even after that, he hadn’t been able to think of anyone else in New York who would be more likely to meet up with him in the middle of the night.

“Well, Tina and Avery sent the youngest kids to bed already and are currently trying to sneak presents under the tree without waking any of them up. I’ve just been waiting up for Midnight Mass, it’s not like I’m missing out on anything,” Teresa explains as she walks over, slinging her backpack to the ground and leaning against the wall next to him. Ernest has to consciously refrain from reaching out to hold her hand, the way that he always had when the two of them were together.

The fact that she might have been busy due to Christmas Eve hadn’t even occurred to him. “I meant more, I thought you were still mad at me.”

“Holding a grudge seems against the Christmas spirit,” Teresa shrugs. “I reserve the right to be mad at you again in like, three days, though. Also, I figured you must be doing pretty bad if you decided to tell me about it, so just ignoring you didn’t strike me as a great idea. I’m glad I came out because you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Ernest says flatly, but doesn’t dispute the assessment.

“No seriously, you look absolutely miserable. What the hell happened? And why are you even back in New York in the first place?” Teresa folds her arms and stares at him expectantly.

Ernest sighs. After channeling most of his emotions into a dumpster hailstorm, he feels more tired than indignant. But leaving Teresa without an explanation after she went out of her way to meet him would be rude, and she does seem honestly concerned.

He launches into a description of the past few weeks, jumping back and forth between his worries about Timothy and arguments with his dad without any regard for chronology. The rambling is only barely coherent, but Teresa listens patiently. He supposes she has the advantage of having heard him complain about his family situation many times before.

“So I don’t know if I should move back to New York, or…” Ernest trails off when he sees Teresa’s expression shift from supportive to incredulous. “What?”

“I wish I had recorded that, so I could play it back to you. Maybe you’d be able to see how ridiculous you sound.” She flutters her fingers in an arc in front of her face. “I know, I know, that’s not how it works. But it seems like you were doing a lot better in Halcyon, and clearly here’s not going great for you. Why are you even considering it?”

“Well, if Timothy’s going to be here… I mean, a big part of why we moved to Halcyon in the first place was so that we could stick together. If he doesn’t completely hate me at this point, wouldn’t it be better for me to move back?” It clearly wasn’t the ideal scenario, but he still hadn’t thought of any plans to get his dad to stay in Halcyon, so it might be the best option he had left.

“First of all, I sincerely doubt that your little brother suddenly started hating you. I mean, he had the decency to let you know he was thinking about moving. Second, you do realize that just because you don’t live in the same city as someone, you don’t have to completely cut off contact with them, right?” Teresa’s tone is largely teasing, but some bitterness bleeds in by the end.

“Sorry,” Ernest mumbles. “I know I really messed up.”

“Yeah, you really did.” Teresa glares at him for a moment, then seems to reconsider. “But like I said, I’m ignoring that for now in the spirit of Christmas. You still haven’t said a single thing to make me think that you moving back to New York is a good idea, though.”

He had been ready to leave his life here behind when his mom proposed moving to Halcyon, and for the most part, he didn’t regret that. But if there was a reason besides Timothy that could convince him to move back...

“If I did end up staying here,” he says haltingly. “Do you think that you and me could –”

Teresa starts laughing before he can even complete the sentence, the blue of her voice running into orange when she pauses to catch a breath. “Sorry, it isn’t that funny.” Another giggle escapes her. “It is a little funny though.”

“Why?” Ernest asks, heat rising into his cheeks.

“Oh you know, I just thought that since I was the one who got dumped, I’d be hung up on you longer.” Although she seems to have gotten the laughter out of her system, Teresa still looks thoroughly amused at this revelation. “I should have figured this would happen, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you remember how much you were pining after that Cyril guy when we first met? And you two never even actually dated!”

“I’m pretty sure I tried to erase that from my memory, but now that you’ve brought it up, yes.” Ernest slides down the wall, hiding his face by wrapping his arms around his knees. The ambient temperature of the alley is creeping upwards along with his increasing embarrassment. He doesn't need to be reminded how both of his crushes ended disastrously, even if one of those cases was his own fault.

Teresa crouches down next to him. “Sorry, that came out meaner than I meant it to. It just took me by surprise. I honestly assumed you’d moved on ages ago.”

Ernest takes a moment to breathe, allowing the pocket of warm air to disperse, before he turns his head to the side to look at her. “I mean, that’s fair. I’ve been in Halcyon for almost as long as we knew each other in New York.” And he probably would have moved on by now if he’d had the guts to tell her goodbye properly.

“We’re practically different people now,” Teresa points out. “You’re a superhero, I’m in art school… And aside from the terrible week you’re currently having, I think we’re both a lot happier than we used to be.”

Ernest opens his mouth to object to her last statement, but the more he considers it, he can’t help but agree. Teresa had made him happier, but she had been one of the few bright spots in one of the darkest points in his life. And even from the brief time they’d been talking, Teresa has a self-assuredness about her now that he didn’t quite recognize.

“So you did end up transferring,” he finally says. “I had been wondering.” Quite a few of their conversations in the weeks before he left had involved Teresa stressing about whether to accept her offer or stay for a second year of community college to finish the program she’d started there. But the deadline was after he moved to Halcyon, and he never found out what decision she’d made.

“Yeah. I’ve had to pick up a part-time job, but I also landed one of those scholarships I was hoping for, so we’re making it work.”

“But speaking of art,” Teresa interrupts herself. “I’ve got something for you. It was supposed to be a birthday present, but I guess it can be a Christmas gift now.” She rummages through her backpack, pulling out a notebook and several spray cans.

Ernest stands and reaches for one of the cans, but Teresa pulls it back at the last second.

“Can you even still do graffiti anymore?” she asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “Or would that be hypocritical?”

He’s glad that she’s questioning his moral standing rather than his technical skill, given that he’s fallen entirely out of practice since moving to Halcyon. “I’m a superhero, not a cop,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “We don’t arrest people for vandalism.”

Teresa rolls her eyes, but lets him grab a can when he reaches out this time. She blocks out a few large shapes for him to fill in while she works on the more intricate elements, refusing to let him peek at the complete design in her notebook. Eventually, only small details are left, and Ernest stands back to watch her place the finishing touches.

After replacing the cans in her backpack, Teresa walks back up to the wall. She snaps and a flame appears at the end of her index finger, which she uses to burn a cursive T in the bottom right corner. “So, what do you think?” she says, turning back to Ernest and shaking her hand to extinguish the flame.

Although Ernest had figured out where the piece was headed about halfway through making it, it’s still impressive to see the final product. Purple and teal lightning bolts intertwine to form a stylized E against a background of fluffy white clouds.

“It’s amazing. Sorry that I didn’t get you anything.”

Teresa waves it off. “Like I said, it was meant to be a birthday present. And it’s not exactly something I could give it to anyone else. Although it could have worked as a going away gift if someone had given me a heads up.” She nudges Ernest in the rib with her elbow.

“If I apologize again, will you accept it this time?” he asks.

“Eh, maybe,” Teresa replies, but Ernest can see a hint of a smile as she does.

They admire the piece for a few more minutes before Teresa speaks again. “By the way, don’t think I didn’t notice your costume.”

Ernest smiles sheepishly. “I learned from the best?” he offers. While not a direct copy of any particular artwork of Teresa’s, he couldn’t deny that his costume was heavily inspired by her style.

“I’m just saying, if that design showed up around here as a tag, I’d have to slash it for biting.” She traces out a X in the air in front of him threateningly. “You can keep it wearing it, though. Count it as a second present if you want.”

They begin walking out of the alley, not wanting to linger too long at the scene of the crime. Without a particular direction in mind, they circle up and down a few familiar streets, silently admiring the gentle snowfall.

Eventually, Teresa starts the conversation again. “Alright, I think I’ve waited long enough to ask – is all that superhero stuff as exciting as it sounds, or what?”

Ernest smiles. “I’ll tell you about it if you tell me what’s up with art school.”

“Deal.”

They chat, and it feels almost like old times again, as if it had only been days and not months since the last time they’d wandered the streets at night together.

Eventually, Teresa leads them towards a church, where people are streaming inside for the upcoming service.

“See you around?” Ernest asks when they reach the doors.

“Ern, if I see you around New York, I’ll kick your ass and you’ll wake up on a bus headed back to Halcyon,” she replies, giving him a light punch on the shoulder.

“Alright, fair enough,” he says with a grin. “Bye, then.”

Halfway through his walk home, his phone buzzes.

< Messages
                         ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥
               *(Wed, Dec 25, 12:01 AM)*
Merry Christmas!
It was good to see you again
                                                   **you too**
                                    **merry christmas**

## Part 3: Resolution

### Christmas Day: Rondo

*December 25, 2019*

Ernest sits back on the couch, listening to the playlist Timothy had arranged for him and paging idly through the book from his grandparents without actually retaining any of the words. Present opening had been a short affair, in part because Ernest had only remembered to get something for Timothy. No one had called him out on it, the same way it seems they’ve all agreed not to mention how he’d stormed out of dinner last night. Which suits him just fine.

The lime green spirals of a ringtone dance briefly across his vision. He can hear his dad’s crimson voice from the kitchen, which clashes terribly with the pastel color palette of the current song, so he turns on the noise cancelling features of his headphones. Whatever conversation is happening must be exciting, because a few reddish blotches still manage to creep into his vision.

He’s trying hard enough to block out all outside sounds that he doesn’t notice his dad walk into the room until he addresses him, making him jump.

“Ernest! It’s a Christmas miracle!” Harold is beaming and waving his phone through the air.

“What?” Ernest asks, bewildered, pulling his headphones down around his neck.

“I just got a call from someone who says that you saved him – something about being held hostage at a mall, with a statue and lightning?” Harold brushes past the details. “Whatever the case, it turns out he’s quite wealthy. He wanted to find some way to thank you, and he came across my research project and decided to fund it!”

“That’s... great.” Ernest tries to match his dad’s wide smile, but the expression feels hollow.

“I’ve got to work out some of the details with Bishop right now, but with what this man is offering, there shouldn’t be any trouble.” Harold turns back to the kitchen, rapidly dialing a number.

The room feels like it might spin out from underneath him even as he sits still on the couch. His fingers lose their grip on his book, and it drops to the floor with a goldenrod thud.

It can’t be that simple. Can it? He’d made a wish, after all. All of them headed back to Halcyon, just like that. The picture perfect image that had seemed so out of reach is suddenly thrust into his face, and Ernest isn’t sure he likes what he sees.

There’s something he needs to know first. After a few minutes of slow breathing to center himself, he feels steady enough to walk over and knock on Timothy’s door.

“Hey, Tim?”

“Yeah, what is it?” Timothy slides over to the door and pulls it open, not bothering to stand from his chair.

Ernest enters the room and sits cross-legged on the floor. He picks at loose strands of carpet as he speaks. “A few weeks ago you said that if Dad was going to stay in New York, you might move back with him. But for the past week, you haven’t really said anything about it. Can we talk about it now?”

Timothy fidgets in his chair, swiveling slightly back and forth before responding. “Are you sure? Last time you got really upset. And it’s Christmas! Let’s talk about something nicer instead.”

Admittedly, he’d had a bit of a meltdown, exaggerated by his powers as always. But the incident was what had pushed him to try and work with his dad, so that Timothy would stay in Halcyon.

“I’m sorry about that. It’s just – I really want to understand what you want, and that’s hard if you won’t tell me what’s going on. Is that why you haven’t been talking to me lately? Because you didn’t want to upset me?” After his behavior over dinner, he couldn’t exactly deny that it was something to be worried about.

“No. I mean, maybe a little, but…” Timothy looks like he’s struggling to decide if he actually wants to say what’s on his mind, so Ernest waits patiently. When he does start speaking again, the words tumble out in a rush. “I thought that if I did move back to New York, you might not want to talk to me anymore, like you stopped talking to everyone in New York when we moved to Halcyon. I know that you and dad were fighting, but you even stopped talking to Teresa and you still liked her. So I figured I would have to get used to it if I was really going to move.”

The situation is hardly amusing, but Ernest can’t help cracking an ironic grin. “I guess dad was right, I have been a pretty bad example for you.” Seeing Timothy’s quizzical look, he elaborates, “Not talking to Teresa when we were moving was a really bad idea. I’m trying to fix it, but I wouldn’t make the same mistake with you.”

He thinks he has his answer already – if Timothy was willing to risk not talking to him anymore, he must have really wanted to move to New York. But he has to make sure.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were having such a tough time in Halcyon. You were in all those shows all the time, I guess I didn’t realize you weren’t making friends,” Ernest says.

Timothy smiles, but it’s a shadow of his usual wide grin. “Just because you’re in a show with people doesn’t make you friends automatically. I’m pretty sure some of the other actors only knew me by the role I played and not my actual name. Besides, most of my friends here I’ve known since kindergarten. It’s kinda hard to replace that.” He swings his feet a few times before continuing. “Sorry for not talking about it. I guess I was worried you’d hate me for choosing to live with dad instead of you and mom.”

“Tim, I promise I wouldn’t hate you for that. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to move to Halcyon.” At the time it felt like their joint idea, but maybe he’d pressured Timothy more than he’d thought.

Timothy leans an elbow on his desk and props his head against it. “Oh, I don’t regret moving to Halcyon in the first place. You didn’t really have anyone after you stopped talking to Teresa, and I was worried about you. But now you’ve got Big Team and everything, and I just never really stopped feeling homesick.”

Not exactly the response Ernest had been hoping to hear. But he wasn’t surprised to find out that he’d painted a rosier picture of their initial move than what had actually happened. “I’ve gotta talk some things over with dad now. Sorry if it gets… angry. But if it does, it’s not your fault, okay?”

Timothy nods, watching solemnly as Ernest stands and exits the room.

Stepping back into the living room feels like entering a battlefield. He can’t help thinking of all the arguments they’ve had in this spot before, the past shouts echoing in his head. The scars of their worst fight are still visible against the wall, poorly concealed under a layer of paint. He can feel the lightning prickling for release before his dad even returns.

Harold eventually finishes his phone call and makes his way into the living room. Upon spotting Ernest standing at the other end, he says, “Everything is all worked out! Don’t worry about what happened last time, I’ve smoothed it all over with Bishop. Once we get back to Halcyon, we can get right back into our project.”

“No.” Ernest can only speak the single word before having to turn his attention back to keeping his powers in check. The air around him hums with energy, eager to spill over and demonstrate his true feelings.

“What do you mean, no?” Harold steps forward a few paces, but hesitates when he sees Ernest’s expression.

“I mean no! You’re not going back to Halcyon, and I’m not working on any projects with you. Why would I even want to after what you did last time?” He’s trying not to yell, but it’s difficult to keep his volume from climbing with each sentence.

“You told me that you’d decided to help me out.” Harold says, wringing his hands. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to work on my project with me?”

“I lied, okay? The real reason I said I’d work with you was so you’d stay in Halcyon and Timothy wouldn’t leave. I never actually cared about your stupid project!” That part feels good to admit. He hopes that it hurts. “I don’t care about the money. Tell that guy to donate it to charity or whatever instead.”

Harold winces slightly. “The money is all in Bishop’s hands now, so that may not be possible. But listen, Ernest, this is a perfect second chance to start over. We can’t pass that up. We’ll all stay in Halcyon, just like you wanted.”

“You’re not listening!” A growl of thunder underscores the rising pitch of his voice. “Timothy doesn’t want to live in Halcyon anymore, and I don’t want to work with you. Maybe you would know that if you actually paid attention to what anybody else wanted!”

Ernest hates the way that his dad flinches at the sound of thunder, hates seeing the fear flash in his widening eyes. He wants his dad to feel bad because of what he’s done, not afraid of being hurt by Ernest’s powers. He hates that he’s right to be worried.

This is his cue to leave, before someone gets hurt. He’ll hop a bus to Halcyon. He can’t stop his dad from following him back, but if he keeps refusing to work with him, he’ll get the message eventually.

As Ernest moves towards the front door, Harold steps in his path. “Ernest, wait. I’m sorry that the first test went badly. I wanted to impress the CEO and I took things too far. But I promise, it’ll be better once we start working together.”

Ernest stumbles, caught off guard by an apology he’s wanted so desperately but never expected to get. He can’t keep a handle on his powers as tears rise in his eyes, and the living room is suddenly filled with pouring rain.

Harold simply stands there, drenched, looking baffled.

“Fuck. Why couldn’t you have said something like that earlier?” Ernest isn’t even sure his words are intelligible between sobs. “I’ve been waiting for you to apologize for anything for the past year!”

“Does that mean you’ll give me another chance to make things right?” Harold asks.

“No! It’s too late! We broke everything and no one can put it back together.” The rain is still coming down in sheets, and Ernest vaguely wonders how long it would take to flood the entire apartment. He can’t imagine getting the rain to stop before then.

Harold rests a hand on Ernest’s shoulder for a moment, then pulls him into a hug. For the first time in over a year, Ernest doesn’t pull away.

Eventually the downpour slows to a drizzle, and the air inside the living room clears. Every piece of furniture is soaked, and the paintings have run streaks of color down the walls.

“Sorry about ruining your weird new art,” Ernest mumbles into his dad’s shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Harold replies. “I’ll find something to replace it.”

“So you’ll stay in New York then?”

Harold pats Ernest on the back and steps out of the hug. “Ernest, I’ve always wanted the best for you and Timothy. I realize I might have not done the best job of showing it –”

“No shit.”

“– but if you and Timothy both think it’s better that he and I stay in New York, I will.”

“Can I go home now?” Ernest asks.

“I can figure out getting you a bus ticket to Halcyon, if that’s what you want,” Harold offers.

When Ernest nods, Harold steps into the kitchen to make a phone call once again.

Ernest turns to go start packing his things, but barely makes it two steps before Timothy comes flying out of his room and tackles him in a hug, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’s soaked to the bone.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Ernest says, wrapping his arms around him.

“I bet you’ll be too busy with all that exciting superhero stuff to even notice that I’m gone,” Timothy says, and Ernest can see that the mischievous sparkle that had been missing for the past few weeks is back in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, your plays take up way more time than Big Team does. I bet you won’t miss me at all.”

“I will!” Timothy insists. “Or I would, but I’ll visit you tons so I won’t!”

“That’s what you say now, but I’m sure you’ll forget all about me when you become a Broadway star.” Ernest sighs dramatically.

“Well, I’ll tell you about all the backstage drama if you keep telling me about how you’re saving Halcyon. I mean, I know you did it once already, but I doubt it’s going to stay saved for very long.”

“What’s that thing people say? A hero’s job is never done?” Ernest smiles. “Love you, Tim.”

“Love you too, Ern. See you around.”

### New Year's Day: Coda

January 1, 2020

Welcome to a new decade!

Just the normal kind of new decade, that comes once every ten years. No time travel involved, unless you count moving forward through time at the normal pace. But yeah, Happy New Year and all that, even though it’s unlikely you’re actually reading this on New Year’s.

No New Year’s Wish from me this year. Since as I’ve found out, even if you get your wish, it might not actually be what you want.

When I wished on the falling space laser debris (to be fair, I didn’t know that’s what they were at the time, I thought they were just regular shooting stars), I thought that if dad’s project just got funded, everyone would stay in Halcyon, and everything else would work itself out. But it turned out not to be quite that easy.

I will try to make some resolutions though. Those are more like goals to work towards, not something you just expect to happen magically. And you can change them if they’re not working out anymore. So here are mine.

Learn ASL – I’ve been working at it with Atlanta for a while now, and I’ve gotten to the point where I can halfway carry out a conversation. I’m still pretty slow at signing, but I feel like I’m understanding what’s going on during those community center meetups better. And Timothy had the great idea of muting some of our video calls for practice, which has been working really well so far.

Work Out More – Yeah I know kind of a boring regular resolution. But it’s not like being in better shape will hurt superheroing stuff. And I swear I’ll beat Melody in sparring one of these days.

Get Better At Controlling My Powers – It feels a little weird writing that one down as a New Year’s Resolution given that I’ve been trying to do it for years, but hey, I might as well put it on the list. I’ve definitely improved a lot since joining Big Team. I can do all kinds of stuff with them I’d never thought I’d be able to, like flying. Kind of. Sub-resolution: Get Better At Flying.

Keep In Touch – Don’t make the same mistake twice. Like Teresa said, just because I’m in a different city as someone doesn’t mean I have to stop talking to them completely.

Well, if it is me in the future reading this, how did I do? Did I actually accomplish any of this? Make new goals instead? Just completely forget about them immediately after writing them down?

Anyway, since I’m not in the future yet, I’ve got a brand new decade ahead of me. I think it’s gonna be a good one.

-Ernest

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

**To:** timwelles@bmail.com
**From:** ernwelles@bmail.com

Happy New Year Tim!!

It turns out Halcyon likes fireworks as much as New York, maybe even more, so I mostly stayed inside all evening. I did watch the New York show though, to see if I could spot you in the crowd. Unfortunately I didn’t, but I’m pretty sure you’d have to be on stilts to stand out enough.

I hope that watching the ball drop was as fun as you hoped! I still don’t quite understand why you’d want to spend all that time waiting in a huge crowd that is guaranteed to all start shouting at the same time, but I guess there’s enough people willing to put up with that to form that huge crowd in the first place, so it can’t be that weird.

Miss you tons, but I hope everything is going great in New York.

Here’s to a new decade,

Ernest

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

**To:** tere5934@bmail.com
**From:** ernwelles@bmail.com

Hey Teresa,

I’m pretty sure my Christmas forgiveness grace period is over by now, but I hope you’re not back to being mad at me again. I mean, it definitely makes sense to be mad at me, but I’ve missed being friends with you, so I hope we can still talk. I’d love to see the stuff you’re making for art school these days.

And thanks for talking some sense into me about not staying in New York. I played back the conversation in my mind-recorder and you were right about me sounding ridiculous.

Happy New Year,

Ernest

< Messages
                         ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥
               *(Wed, Jan 1, 12:13 AM)*
Who even sends emails anymore?
Absolute nerds I guess
                                                         **hey!**
                   **it’s easier for me to put all**
                  **my thoughts down at once**
Fiiiiiine

**To:** ernwelles@bmail.com
**From:** tere5934@bmail.com

This email constitutes a formal offer of friendship from one Teresa Cardenas Estrada to one Ernest Welles. Should it be accepted, it is binding for all time, no takes backsies, forever and ever, amen.

Signed,
Teresa Cardenas Estrada

< Messages
                         ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥
               *(Wed, Jan 1, 12:18 AM)*
                                         **okay i accept**
Oh so now we’re back to texting
                  **emailing 3 words felt weird**
You are impossible
                                                  **too late**
                                 **no takes backsies**
Darn
Guess I’m stuck being
friends with you then
                                                          💜
❤️

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

**To:** haroldwelles@bmail.com
**From:** ernwelles@bmail.com

Hi Dad,

I want you to know that I am still mad at you. I don’t know if I’ll ever not be mad at you, at least a little. But I don’t think that stopping talking to you when I moved to Halcyon helped at all. So I want to try something different this time.

I feel like you haven’t really known who I am for a while, and I want that to change if you’re willing to listen. I know you don’t like that I’m doing superhero stuff, but being a part of Big Team has really turned my life around, and I don’t plan to stop anytime soon. I don’t know if that’s what’s best for me, but I don’t think you know what’s best for me either. So I guess we’ll both just have to see how it goes.

Love,

Ernest