Beckett stood on a sidewalk and ate a slice of Pepe’s Pizza, a super greasy favorite in these parts. You could go in and sit down and have a beer if you wanted if the line wasn’t too long, or you could order at the window and stand on the sidewalk and watch what seemed like every person in the town walk by. That’s what Beckett chose, because he needed the distraction of things happening to keep his mind from replaying that one track: Anna, standing above him peeling her yoga pants down. Or the other one: Anna with strawberry juice running down her chin. He needed a giant slice of pepperoni, folded up the middle. He ate it in four big bites and ordered another.

He wiped his fingers on a napkin and fished his phone from his pocket and called his aunt to check in.

“Hi Chickadee. It’s me.”

Chickadee appeared on the screen, in all her double-chinned, pastel-dyed, mohawked glory. “Beckie!”

She yelled off screen, “Dillybear, it’s Beckie! On the phone!”

She turned her attention back to the screen, her chins still waggling. “Beckie, how are you, are you still on the Outpost, of course not, you’re back, we weren’t expecting you until...”

Beckett laughed, “Chickadee if you’ll let me tell you I—”

“Of course, of course, Dilly tells me I go on and on and I pretend not to understand what she’s talking about but...well, don’t tell her I told you that I know.” Beckett’s Aunt Chickadee giggled merrily.

“How’s the house, the um...”

“You heard about Uncle Johnny?”

“Just now.”

“As you will attest he was a particularly obnoxious, mean, curmudgeonly old coot, and we are fucking grateful every day that he is gone. That being said, your Aunt Dilly and I miss him greatly.”

Beckett laughed. “You miss him, really?”

“Well, he was the only one that could get this dog to mind, so now this damn dog needs to go. That’s right, Horace, I’m talking to you, you’re fourteen and mean as a whip, time to call it a day. So how come you’re back from the Outpost early?”

Beckett recovered from laughing. “The water was rising and...”

“Aw Beckie, I’m sorry, I know what you were doing was important to you. It was important to us too, we were and are so proud of you, Dilly and I. Did you save the Waterfolk?”

“Waterfolk?” Beckett ran a hand over his head.

“Dilly and I watched that documentary, what was it called—Dilly! What was that documentary called? Oh she can’t hear me, she’s out cleaning the garden, we’re having one of our biweekly poetry slams tonight, it is such a life they lead, did you meet many?”

“I did, they were not exactly what I thought they would be...except—I met someone, she was...”

“On the Outpost?”

“Yes, a Nomad, she was—I don’t know.”

“You can’t describe it, or you don’t know, there’s a big difference there.”

“True, and it’s that I don’t know. I thought I knew everything I needed, but I wanted to know more, and she was beautiful and courageous and funny and...then she was gone and I don’t think I can find her. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Beckie, I’m going to ask you something, this is a question that you have to think about and wonder about and decide about on your own. Okay?”

“Okay, Chickadee, that’s why I called, because I wanted you to tell me what to do.”

“Well, this question isn’t like that, it’s not bossy, that’s not really my style, that was more Uncle Johnny’s style and he was a total ass. Here’s the question: Your life is a thirty minute romantic sitcom, it has a story arc, a beginning a middle and an end, your thirty minute sitcom has one big punchline. The punchline gets the whole audience laughing.”

“Not a laugh-track?”

“Beckie, you are not a laugh-track, you are live audience all the way. But you have one punchline, what is that punchline going to be?”

Beckett stood staring down at a gum-covered sidewalk. “That’s it? The big question? The one that will tell me what to do?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, you’re the writer, how about you tell me what my punchline will be.”

“We all have to write our own, but I’ll tell you what, sometimes when I’m stuck on a scene I find that casting helps.”

“Casting?”

“Sure, cast your life, Beckie, pick a location, choose your cast, the rest will come. Dilly is here she wants to speak to you.” The phone wiggled and jiggled and aimed at the sky. Had Anna meant it when she said I love you? Then why did she head north instead of east?

Dilly was short, dark haired, slim. “Hi Beckett, we are so glad to have your feet returned soundly to Terra firma.”

“Me too.”

“You heard about that devil-man meeting his maker?”

“I did. My condolences to you.”

“Ha ha, you always did make me laugh. We’ll have a proper celebrating party when you get back. I overheard what Chickie was telling you, you fell in love?”

“I did, but she’s gone. I want to go find her, but I don’t know how.”

“You have to start looking Beckett, this life is so short, and happiness, that’s worth looking for.”

“Yes, I knew it, but I needed you to say it, thank you.”

“Find her. Call us if we can help.”

“I will.”

Chickadee came back on the phone, “Beckie, I just wanted to say I love you and your mom and dad would have been so proud of you. We’re all rooting for you.”

“I love you too Chickadee, give Dilly a hug for me.”

“I will dear. Call us when you find her.”

“Chickadee, what if she doesn’t want to cast me in her sitcom?”

“Well, I don’t have the answer to that. It seems to me only she knows the answer.”

“And I have to find her to ask her.”

“Yes, what was the last thing she said to you?”

“She said, ‘I love you Beckett.’”

“Of course she did. And so you shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Beckett hung up the phone, wiped his fingers again and mounted his motorcycle.