Zyloft

By Charles Rocha

This is a collection of short stories loosely based on an antidepressant drug called Zyloft (not to be confused with Zoloft from Pfizer) which has the unexpected side effect of allowing some people to recall their past lives. Most of these stories take place in an alternative reality in which Zyloft has become widely used. Those stories that are not related to Zyloft directly serve to illuminate a real-world facet of spirituality and life’s journeys.
The stories herein are interconnected thematically and held together by a thin framing narrative. The stories drift thematically within this narrative in the same sense that the soul wanders Samsara, our earthly world of experience. In some places, our soul acquires knowledge and becomes wiser. In other places, we are deceived and fall into traps. Superficially, this book is a work of fiction; however, it does not lie.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Rocha
• Release date: Dec 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005570910

Charles Rocha

Charles Rocha is a graduate of Central Washington University in Ellensburg, Washington, with a B.A. in English and an M.A. in British Literature. Currently he works as an ESL instructor in the city of Dnipro, Ukraine. He has had stories and essays published in small journals and online story websites.

Book preview

Zyloft

Zyloft

By Charles Rocha

Copyright © 2021 by Charles Rocha

Published by Charles Rocha at Smashwords

ISBN 9781005570910 (epub version)

Cover design by Charles Rocha

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Preface

Zyloft Introduced

A Charmed Life

Zyloft Unfolded

Old Friends

Chatbot

A Meditation on Death

Zyloft Appraised

White & Black

The Troublemaker

Regret

Zyloft Explicated

Mission № 20

Those Who Never Were

Hi Fidelity

Zyloft Challenged

Transcript

Lady Kenmore

The Umbrella

Close Call

Zyloft Projected

Language from the Past

Sister Corona

Writing Class

Zyloft Deconstructed

‘51 Mercury

Daybreak

About the Author

Other Books by this Author

Preface

This is a collection of short stories loosely based on an antidepressant drug called Zyloft (not to be confused with Zoloft from Pfizer), which has the unexpected side effect of allowing some people to recall their past lives. Most of these stories take place in an alternative reality in which Zyloft has become widely used. Those stories that are not related to Zyloft directly serve to illuminate a real-world facet of spirituality and life’s journeys.

Although this work is composed of separate stories, it is not labeled as a short story collection because the stories are interconnected thematically and held together by a thin framing narrative. The stories drift thematically within this narrative in the same sense that the soul wanders Samsara, our earthly world of experience. In some places, our soul acquires knowledge and becomes wiser. In other places, we are deceived and fall into traps. Superficially, this book is a work of fiction; however, it does not lie.

Charles Rocha, 2021

Zyloft Introduced

You and I have passed through countless births. I know them all; your memory fails you.

— Krishna to Arjuna, from the Bhagavad Gita

And so the drug trials were now complete. With little fanfare and scarcely a notice in some pharmaceutical journals, the new anti-depressant Zyloft (’zaɪlɒft) was released, available only by prescription. As far as antidepressants go, its effect was modest. Its principal advantage over competing drugs was its relatively mild side effects, which, according to the manufacturer’s literature, occurred in less than four percent of cases. These symptoms included dry mouth, nausea, constipation, headache, and a mild skin rash. In its natural form, the drug is a white crystalline powder that is semi-soluble in water. The principal form of dosage is tablets. The therapeutic dosage was 300 mg per day, with tablets to be taken just before mealtime.

During its development, the drug was given the project name 30041. It was initially believed that 30041 could be an effective tranquilizer. Early animal tests with rats and rabbits had shown that the drug, administered in large quantities, seemed to calm the lab animals. In some cases, the effect lasted even after the drug was metabolized in the animal’s system.

Tests with higher animals, particularly primates, were fairly inconsistent. In nearly all cases, 30041 had only a mild tranquilizing effect. This effect diminished a few days after the discontinuation of the drug. In a few cases, withdrawal symptoms such as anxiety appeared. These too decreased after a few days.

However, when administered at very high dosages for extended periods, a rare secondary effect sometimes occurred that persisted even after administration of the drug was ceased. In some cases, the subject would begin to exhibit bizarre, violent behavior. Aggressive behaviors would be constant pacing, cage rattling, shrieking, and self-directed violence such as hair pulling and scratching. In other cases, the subject would become sullen and withdrawn. Sometimes the subject would lose interest in food and cease eating. In one case, the subject died. The ratio of either effect was approximately equal. These psychotic breaks usually appeared abruptly, as though a tripping point had been reached. The likelihood of either a violent or listless response increased with dosage and time.

Despite the abrupt, persistent change in behavior, postmortem examinations of brain tissue did not reveal any unusual pathology, such as lesions or altered brain chemistry. Likewise, complete examination of the other systems, such as heart, kidney, and liver function, did not reveal any abnormalities. It was suspected that the effect was caused by a yet-undiscovered protein, enzyme, or even a malformed prion. Investigation into the mechanism of this effect is still ongoing.

As 30041 had been a failure as a tranquilizer, it was decided to try it out as an anti-depressant. The drug was administered to volunteers in a prison population and select patients at four psychiatric wards. Dosages were started low and steadily increased until the desired effect was achieved. Complaints were minimal; 30041 was tolerated well and reduced symptoms of depression in 77 percent of the control group as opposed to 12 percent of the placebo group. Of the 100 initial recipients, only five had to be withdrawn from the program due to severe side effects, versus two from the placebo group.

The most common side effects of 30041 were similar to those of drugs within the same pharmacological group: dry mouth, constipation, and nausea. In addition, sixteen percent of the subjects reported drowsiness at the onset of the experiment, while eight percent reported increased anxiety and restlessness. These symptoms lessened in severity after the first month of the trials. The extreme behavioral changes seen in the primates’ trial did not appear.

At the beginning of the seventh week of the trial, at one of the four psychiatric wards, three subjects reported increased lucid dreaming. These subjects reported these dreams having a strikingly real quality to them, and the memory of these dreams persisted in their waking hours. In both cases, the subjects were able to recall minute details of the dreams along with what they described as forgotten memories.

Another peculiarity is that the subjects claimed they were unable to act independently in these dreams. All of them felt as though they were acting out something according to a script, or perhaps reliving a moment that they had never known. The settings of these dreams were almost invariably times and places that were far removed from the experiences of their lifetimes. Most peculiarly, the subjects claimed to have separate identities in their dreams, with one middle-aged male patient even claiming he was a young girl in one of his dreams.

These patients were subsequently interviewed by the ward psychiatrists. The symptoms were characterized as hallucinations and false memories. The patients in the affected ward knew each other and were able to freely discuss their experiences. The interviewers concluded that it was doubtful that all of these patients had experienced what they claimed and that perhaps a bit of attention-mongering was involved. Staff shortages and a busy workload at the facility hindered a more thorough evaluation of the nature of these hallucinations.

By the tenth week of the trial, two more patients in the same ward had begun experiencing the same symptoms. A review was conducted, and it was found that, through a procedural error, the subjects in that particular ward were being given five times the recommended dose of 30041. Once the error was discovered, the dosage was decreased, and the side effects gradually disappeared. The remainder of the trial was completed without further recurrences at all locations.

The evaluation of the data was completed four months later. It was determined that 30041 was far from wildly successful for its intended purpose. At best, it was a moderately effective anti-depressant. Nonetheless, the decision was made to continue with the trials in hopes that it might have a better showing. During this time, 30041 was given the trade name Zyloft, and a patent was taken out.

The human trails were expanded. This time, the experimental drug was distributed with strict warnings not to exceed the recommended dosages at the risk of undesirable psychotropic effects. After three years, the trial was completed without incident. It was determined the drug was approximately 40 percent more effective at higher doses than was given in the previous trial, yet this dosage was still well within the safety limit to prevent side effects.

At the time of approval, it was decided that the hallucinations, false memories, and sleep disturbances reported in the first trial could be discounted in the efficacy of 30041. First, because these side effects occurred only after a prolonged overdose greater than double the recommended therapeutic dose. Second, because the side effects appeared only in a small number of patients who overdosed. And third, because the symptoms ceased after the patient was withdrawn from the drug (although the memories persisted). On September 30 of that year, Zyloft was approved by the FDA.

The manufacturer did not have high hopes that this drug would be a breakout success. Its advertising dollars were spent on more promising pharmaceuticals from the firm’s portfolio. Zyloft, therefore, was released into the competitive anti-depressant market with little fanfare. Limited samples of the drug were sent to doctors in blister packs of twenty-four tablets in plain white boxes with a simple blue ribbon printed along one edge. Perhaps the drug’s only real saving grace was that it did not interact much with popularly prescribed drugs such as Xanax and others in the benzodiazepine group. In addition, the physical side effects were relatively mild compared to most others.

Zyloft never became a first-choice antidepressant, but it was relatively cheap for a new drug and was worth trying if nothing else seemed to work. Five months after Zyloft was released, it was being taken daily by millions of people. That’s when people started seeing things.

A Charmed Life

When the heart weeps for what it has lost, the soul laughs for what it has found.

— Sufi aphorism

Vivienne stood alone on the balcony of her hotel room. Her gauzy white nightgown billowed gently in the breeze. The morning sky was a clear blue, and the sun shone hot against her skin. She leaned over the wooden rail and looked straight down. From ten stories up, the world looked awfully small and insignificant. The entrance to the hotel lay directly below. People were coming and going from the building. A few cars were parked in the driveway.

Slowly, deliberately, with the aid of a nearby plastic chair, she climbed onto the railing. She nearly lost her balance twice. Now she stood there on the edge, her bare toes hanging over the edge. She raised her arms above her head and closed her eyes. Now she wavered back and forth as the chilly air blew lazily through her gown. A sudden gust could easily blow her over the edge. A tear ran down her cheek.

Is this where it all ends? she asked herself.

Eleven years earlier…

It was Vivienne’s going-away party. Vivienne, her mother, and her father sat around the dining table. The roast duck was finished, and now it was time for the gifts. Her father pulled a small gift-wrapped box from his pocket jacket.

Vivienne was the younger of two children. She had a sister named Veronica, who was older than she was by six years. She lived in another city with her husband and two cats. The two had never been close as children and were practically estranged as adults. Vivienne had been the laggard of the two. She’d always been a bit lazy and a good deal less ambitious than her older sister. Her grades in school were mediocre at best. But the parents loved their underachieving daughter no less than the other. Despite the fact that most of her problems were caused by her own intemperance, they had steadfastly supported her through her difficult childhood and tumultuous adolescence.

For the parents, this day marked the end of a stage in their lives that had begun twenty-five years earlier. At last, the nest would be empty. They were still relatively young and in good health. They planned to spend their retirement traveling around the country in a motorhome they had recently purchased, visiting friends, relatives, camping sites, and the grandchildren when they finally came.

So what is it? Vivienne asked, shaking the box.

Open it and find out, her mom said, smiling.

Eagerly, she removed the ribbon and peeled off the wrapper. Inside was a purple, velvet-covered box. Is it jewelry? she asked her father.

Take a look.

Vivienne opened the box. Mounted inside was a stout silver chain, something that could be worn around the wrist.

She gasped. A charm bracelet! She lifted it out of the box. Attached to the chain was a single heart. The heart was so perfectly formed that it looked as though it could have been a drop of mercury. It reflected the light mightily and even seemed to radiate its own warmth.

It’s so lovely. She wanted to put it on right away. Please help me with this.

Her father put the bracelet on her left wrist. She held it up in the light. The heart dangled from the bottom, sparkling in the light.

And look at the little heart! It’s so cute!

It’s a charm bracelet, her father said. Your mother and I had it made just for you. Do you like it?

Oh, I love it! she said. Her eyes welled up with tears. And I love you two so much. She got up from the chair and hugged them both.

You see these loops in the chain? You can attach more charms later. Just pick out the ones you want and put them on.

Let’s have some cake.

Her mother brought the cake from the kitchen. On the cake were written the words, Good luck! As her mother cut the cake, she had the strongest urge to cry. The urge increased, and suddenly she broke down in tears. Her father looked at her with concern.

What’s wrong, Vivienne?

I’m just drowning in my love for you.

We’re glad to hear that, her mother said, putting a piece of cake in front of her.

"I think every parent likes to hear that," her father added.

You’ve always been such good parents to me.

There is nothing your mother and I wouldn’t do for you and your sister. You know that.

But I haven’t been the best of daughters, I know. I feel so ashamed of the way I talked to you sometimes and treated you in the past.

All is forgiven, her father said.

Honey, we love you just the way you are.

But I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve ever done for me. Now that I’m going off to college, I hope I can become the good daughter that I want to be for you.

Her mother and father traded glances.

Well, you just keep wearing that bracelet we gave you, her father said, and you’ll make us proud.

She put her hand over the bracelet. I’ll never, never, never take it off. Never.

A few days later, Vivienne’s parents drove her to a college two hours away in another town. WELCOME NEW STUDENTS, read a large banner on the red-brick facade of the freshman dormitory. They parked the station wagon next to the main doorway. Her father helped her carry several cardboard boxes of her personal belongings into her second-floor dorm room. After a tearful goodbye, they drove off.

She had a modest one-bedroom in a co-ed dorm, with battered wood furniture and a lockable closet for valuables. It was noisy confusion in the dorm that day as the other students were moving in. Students and harried parents were constantly coming and going. Someone was playing grunge music loudly from somewhere down the hall. Vivienne unpacked her things slowly. Now she was alone in a strange environment. She didn’t know a single person on campus. She already missed her parents. Tears came to her eyes. She clasped her hand around the bracelet. At that instant, their comforting presence seemed to flow through her, and she instantly felt better.

Vivienne was the first to move into her room. She waited in anticipation for her roommate to arrive, wondering what this person would be like. A half-hour later, a short brunette girl with a round face walked in, carrying a box of books. She was followed by three boys: two older than the girl and one younger. They all resembled each other. From this, Vivienne assumed that they were her brothers.

The girl walked up to Vivienne and smiled. Vivienne noticed that she had braces on her lower teeth.

Hi! We must be roommates. I’m Sharon.

I’m Vivienne. Glad to meet you.

Glad to meet you, too.

In short order, Sharon had moved in. The two made small talk as they unpacked. As it turned out, they had some things in common. Both had undeclared majors, disliked studying, and had the same taste in guys and music. Vivienne decided that Sharon would be an acceptable roommate. After they had achieved some order in the room from the chaos of unpacking, they went to the cafeteria and shared a pizza together.

In time, Vivienne and Sharon became close friends. Although they didn’t share any classes together, they studied together in the library or had dinner in one of the campus cafeterias. Vivienne decided that college wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

The first semester began two days later. Although Vivienne had started strong, by the fourth week of the ten-week semester, she began to fall behind. In her exuberance to please her parents, she had taken on a challenging course load, and now she was having trouble keeping up. She had midterm exams in three of her five classes. She thought she had done reasonably well on them. It was a bad day for her when she received a C-minus and a D on her algebra and chemistry exams and outright failed her Native American History exam. That night, she cried herself to sleep.

Her spirit broken, she trudged through the rest of the week. By the end of the week, she felt feverish. She spent all day Saturday in bed. There were four weeks left in the semester, and it seemed all but impossible to recover her grades in those classes to receive a passing grade. She had nightmares about being put on academic probation.

You should get out a little today, Sharon said to her. The weather’s beautiful outside.

I can’t enjoy life anymore. I’m going to fail all my classes. I’m doomed.

Oh, don’t be so negative.

On Sunday afternoon, she called home. Her mother answered. Tearfully, she told her about the failing grades. Her mother listened carefully and was sympathetic. Nothing she could say could comfort Vivienne. Concerned, her mother told her that her father would call her later after he returned home from an errand. She waited for the rest of the afternoon for her father to call, but the phone never rang. She wondered if her mother had not taken her seriously and had not told her father about the grades. Vivienne had her algebra class the next day at noon. In her state of mind, she considered ditching the class.

The phone finally rang at 10:30 that night. It was her father.

You sound upset, Viv. What’s the matter?

Daddy! I’m going to fail my classes!

He listened patiently as she told him how she’d tried to do well but was overwhelmed by the number of classes she’d taken. The drop deadline had long passed, and now it seemed certain that she would fail her first semester of college. Finally, she was all talked out. The line was silent as he seemed to be thinking over what she’d said.

Daddy, can I come home?

No, you can’t. Your place is there. Besides, your mother and I are leaving in a few days. We’re going to visit your grandfather in Oklahoma.

Well, what am I going to do?

Okay. It just so happens that the jeweler who made your bracelet has a store in your town. I want you to go there tomorrow morning and get another charm for your bracelet.

On hearing this, Vivienne was at a loss for words. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.

You want me to get a charm for my bracelet?

That’s right.

What does that have to do with anything? Daddy, I need good grades—not charms for my bracelet! She felt that he was mocking her. He wasn’t taking her seriously. She began to cry.

Now, now. Don’t cry, Viv. It’ll be all right.

After she had calmed down, he sent her the address of the jeweler. She hardly slept that night. She didn’t believe that getting the charm would do any good at the time, but she welcomed any diversion from the studies at the time. So, the next morning, she headed straight for the jeweler in town.

It was a small, unimpressive-looking shop near the downtown area. A small bell, attached to the door by a metal spring, rang when she entered. She found herself in a claustrophobic area with hardly any place to walk. She didn’t see any jewelry on display in the store. There was only a simple wood counter. It was a shop of some sort, but it could have been for anything. She wondered whether she had come to the right place.

Hello? Is anybody here?

She heard some movement from behind a velvet curtain that led to the back of the shop. A hunched, bespectacled old man ambled into the room from behind the curtain. He wore a stained and dirty worker’s apron. Small hand tools stuck out of the pockets in the apron. The man was Jewish, as evidenced by the black skullcap. The man squinted at her despite his spectacles. It was obvious that his vision wasn’t too good.

Hi, uh—is this a jewelry shop?

Yes, yes, Miss, we do jewelry. What can I do for you?

My father called you. I’m here to get a charm for my bracelet. She held up her wrist with the bracelet.

Ah, yes. Just a moment. He went into the back room and returned with a battered wooden box about the size of a cigar box. He opened it. Inside, arranged in five neat rows, were silver charms of different types.

He plucked from the box the charm of an open textbook. This is what you’ve come here for. Give me the bracelet, and I’ll attach it for you.

She clutched the bracelet. I’d prefer not to remove it.

The man smiled slightly. Of course. It’s a very valuable gift.

He pulled out a tool from a pocket of his apron and attached the book charm to the bracelet. She turned and studied it in the light that shone through the store windows. It glistened pleasantly, and it looked good with the heart. It appeared to have been made by the same artisan, judging from its design.

How much do I own you? she asked the man.

It’s already been paid for. Have a nice day.

She left the store and got on the first bus back to the college. On the trip back, she thought about the old man. Something about him creeped her out, and she was glad to be out of the stuffy shop. She hoped she would never have to see him again. The off-campus trip had taken less time than she expected, and she had arrived back home about a half hour before the algebra class was to begin. She sighed. Why not? she asked herself.

She entered the class just as it was beginning. She took her usual seat at the back of the room. The instructor began his lecture. Today they were studying polynomials. Usually, no more than five minutes after the lesson began, her attention would drift, and she’d begin to daydream. This time, however, she was far more engaged in the topic. As the instructor spoke, she found she could practically anticipate his next phrase. The topic of polynomials seemed infinitely more interesting to her. She followed the equations on the board with rapt attention. It was almost a religious experience. For the first time in her life, she was disappointed when the class ended.

She left the classroom with knowledge of the day’s lecture clearly in her mind. She never understood why the subject of math had ever been so difficult for her. That afternoon, when she took lunch, instead of joining Sharon as she normally did, she sat at a table by herself, reading her algebra textbook. She reviewed the chapters covered in the previous test and wondered how she could have been so stupid as to have failed such a simple exam. She made a note to herself to ask her instructor whether she could retake it.

Her Native American History class began at 2:00. Again, she found herself deeply engaged with the lecture. When she left the class two hours later, she felt as though she had actually been able to see through the eyes of the Native Americans during that time. The same thing happened in her chemistry class at 7:00. After class, she felt like spending an hour or so reading her chemistry textbook at the library, but her mind was entirely spent.

When she arrived back at her dorm room, Sharon was studying for a psychology quiz. Vivienne plopped down on her bed.

There you are. I was worried about you, Sharon said, real concern in her voice. I thought maybe you’d jumped off the bridge. How was your day?

Vivienne smiled. You have no idea.

The next day, the same thing happened. By the end of the semester, Vivienne had recovered her grades enough to pass all of her classes. The next semester, she found she could easily pass her classes if she spent time studying. With the academic crisis out of the way, she could not turn her attention to other things.

Vivienne had never been very outgoing and had made few friends in high school. But what really bothered her was that she didn’t have a boyfriend. Never in her life had she had a serious boyfriend—or at least one that was serious about her beyond getting lucky in the back seat of a car. In fact, she had no love life whatsoever. So, she fondled the heart charm on her bracelet whenever she met a new guy she was attracted to. She fondled it even late at night when she lay alone in bed while her roommate was asleep. She kept hoping that love would come her way, but it never did.

Her roommate had a boyfriend, and so did most of her acquaintances. Every pretty girl needed a boyfriend to validate her. While she was in her classes, she would play with the little heart. She wanted to have more charms put on the bracelet, but that would require her to leave the bracelet with a jeweler, and she didn’t want to part with it, even for a second. She never took it off, and she even slept and showered with it on. She had never removed it since her father clasped it on her wrist at her going-away party.

It was during the third week of her third semester that she met Stan. He was a classmate of Sharon’s. They had met in an astronomy class. Occasionally, he would come to their room to hang out with Sharon. She had wanted him from the first moment they met, but he seemed indifferent toward her. It was something she could not understand. She sought Sharon’s advice.

Well, it seems that you two don’t have much in common, she told Vivienne.

What can I do? she asked.

He’s into tennis, you know. He loves the sport. Why don’t you offer to play tennis with him? Maybe he’ll like you then.

Vivienne watched Stan play tennis a few times. He was really good. Pretty girls, especially, seemed to like playing with him. This made her envious. She decided that she would like to become better at tennis so that she too could play with him. Tennis didn’t look difficult, and she was sure she could pick it up in no time. For the next few weeks, she practiced at the courts with whomever would play with her. But tennis was much more challenging than it looked, and she soon discovered the limits of her coordination and agility. After several weeks of practice, she found she could not even hit the ball most of the time. When she did manage to hit it, it flew wildly out of the court. This upset her so immensely that she could hardly concentrate on her studies.

So she went back to the jewelry shop to see the old man who had helped her out the time before.

You’re back, the old man said when he saw her enter the store. Did that book charm work for you?

Yes. It was great. Now I need help with something else.

The man narrowed his eyes at her. What is it?

I want to play tennis.

Tennis? Why tennis?

I just do.

Well, let me see what I have.

Again, he retrieved the wooden box and looked inside. How about this? He held up the charm of a tennis racket.

Yes! I want that! She held out her wrist. Put it on me. Right now.

The man sighed. He pulled the tool out of his apron and attached the bracelet. She held it up and gazed at it.

Great. I feel like I can play tennis better already. So, uh, how much do I owe you?

Nothing. I’ll bill your father for it.

Really? Thanks!

Without another word, she turned and left the shop. The next day, she went back to the tennis court to play. She had a rough start, but after a few hours of practice, she found that she was able to hit the ball with reasonable accuracy. She called Stan.

I didn’t know you played tennis, he said.

I do. And I’ve been practicing quite a bit.

So they played tennis the following afternoon. She played a reasonably good game with him. She cajoled and taunted him while they played. Sometimes she did a little victory dance when she scored a point. He laughed at her antics. She was in perfect form that day, and she had beaten him soundly in three out of three matches.

Hey! You’re pretty good, he told her after every game. I’m impressed. Really. I had no idea you could play so well.

But after the games, he didn’t invite her out for coffee or anything else, and they went their separate ways. That evening, she sat in her dorm room, watched movies, and ate an entire quart of Ben & Jerry’s chocolate ice cream.

Looks like someone’s in a bad mood again, Sharon said. By the way, can you help me with my algebra homework? There are some things I can’t figure out.

Again? Last night it was chemistry; tonight it’s algebra. Can’t you figure anything out for yourself?

But you’re so good at everything. And I like your explanations. You’re much better than the instructors.

She could not resist living up to the flattery. Yes, yes. I’ll help you. Give me a minute.

Helping Sharon with her homework was a welcome distraction for Vivienne. It was getting late before she got around to calling Stan. To her dismay, his phone was off. Later, she sent him two SMS, but he didn’t reply. The next time she invited him out, he told her that he was too busy with his studies and wouldn’t be able to join her for a game for a while. As it ended up, the more she called him, the less likely he was to answer. Eventually, he blocked her number.

At the end of her first year of college, Vivienne decided to stay on through summer school. Sharon went back to her parents’ place in Minnesota. They agreed to room together again in the following semester.

The summer was long and hot. She had a lot of idle time, and she felt lonely. She decided that she needed some culture, so she enrolled in an extracurricular piano course. The class was held in a room full of electric pianos. The students spent class time essentially teaching themselves while the instructor buzzed around the room, guiding each student as needed. The instructor was a Frenchman named Mr. Abalone. Vivienne could instantly tell that he favored the more promising students, as he spent more time instructing them than the less promising ones. Vivienne’s first three lessons were a disaster, and she found herself in the latter category. The notes in the beginner’s book just swam on the page; she could not connect them with the keys on the piano. Most of the time, Mr. Abalone seemed to ignore her.

You need to be more patient, he said with a thick French accent before walking off to another student.

At the fifth lesson, most of the other students were on page 25 of the self-study book. She was on page six, and she wasn’t even sure that she had mastered the material on the five previous pages.

Learning to play the piano had become an exercise in self-humiliation. Halfway through her fifth lesson, she took off the headphones and walked out of the classroom in a huff. Ten minutes later, she was on the bus back to the jewelry shop.

You’re back again. Didn’t the tennis work out for you?

Vivienne couldn’t utter a word before she broke down and cried in front of the old man. Ten minutes later, she left the shop with the charm of a grand piano jangling on her wrist.

The semester ended. Another began and ended. Three years passed. Her wrist grew heavy with charms. During her tenure at the school, she became president of the chess club, president of the Spanish club, and treasurer of the student union, and she won five awards for varsity swimming, volleyball, tennis, and the fencing club. On top of that, she had given five solo piano recitals. On top of all that, she was a master skier. But she had no friends. Instead of the admiration she thought she would receive, people seemed to scorn her. So-called friends came and went, and at the end of her third year at university, she had only one person she could count on as her friend—Sharon, her first roommate. But even that relationship became estranged after Sharon became engaged to a guy she’d met in her pottery class. The love they had for each other made her nauseous with envy. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure whether she hated her.

And Vivienne hated seeing the old man. He never liked the way he looked at her. Somehow, she always got the feeling that he looked down on her. A few times, she tried using charms from other places, but they did nothing at all, and she eventually removed them. Only the charms she’d gotten from the old man seemed to work. So, from time to time, she was forced to go back to him. Strangely, he never asked for money. If she asked about the payment, he would always say that her parents would be billed.

Vivienne told no one about the effect of the bracelet, not even Sharon. Whenever someone noticed the bracelet or asked about it, she would just tell the truth: It was a gift from my parents. The topic of the bracelet never came up between her and her parents. There was also never any mention of bills or payments for the charms. Everything was silently understood.

Vivienne majored in marketing with a minor in sociology after her second year. At the end of her third year, she had achieved a cumulative 3.95 grade point average and would graduate one year early.

The graduation ceremony took place on a windy morning in June. There she was in her burgundy cloak, the yellow summa cum laude ribbon draped over her neck. After the matriculation ceremony, she stood alone, clutching her bracelet, her gown flapping in the breeze. Her parents came down from the stands to congratulate her.

Oh, we’re so proud of you, honey! her mom gushed.

Yeah, Viv. We just love you so much!

But nobody else came up to congratulate her. Nobody even looked in her direction. No one except Stan. He walked up to her, seemingly from out of nowhere.

Hey, Vivienne. You look pretty good in your cap and gown, he said.

What are you doing here? You’re not graduating today.

I just came to congratulate you, Vivienne. You’re amazing.

Vivienne turned and walked away from him. She had never forgiven him for rejecting her three years earlier. To her, the whole ceremony felt like a sham.

She moved back to her hometown and stayed in her parents’ vacant house while they traveled around the country on their everlasting vacation. This week, they might be in Oklahoma; the next week, they might be in Kentucky. A large continental map on a cork board in the kitchen, stuck with colored pins, kept a record of all the places they visited. They were having the time of their lives. They would often post pictures on their Facebook account of the places they visited, and family members would comment.

Your father and I took this selfie while visiting the Grand Canyon.

Vivienne missed her parents and was always glad when they called her. She never revealed to them the increasing malaise that had taken hold in her life since she graduated from college.

Staying alone in the big, empty house made her sad. She didn’t go out much and mostly stayed at home and watched TV. Occasionally, she would go to the grocery store or run errands around town. As it turned out, the more desirable boys she knew in school were now either married men or had left the town for better prospects in the city. Those who stayed behind were losers, alcoholics, or just plain bad-tempered. Just the same, whenever