Something changed in Travis Kasperbauer, and everyone had noticed.
His watercolor teacher noticed, she even showed his work to the class last Tuesday.
Bridget noticed too, but she wasn't quite as thrilled about it as everyone else seemed to be. You see, Travis had been painting more, just for the hell of it, and in the process, he found himself a muse: Missy.

Missy didn't know how to feel about being Travis's muse. She was flattered, but sometimes she'd be sitting on the couch watching The Mightiest Warrior or something and she'd turn to see him, paintbrush in hand, studying her face. It was too weird. But she had noticed this change in him too, and she didn’t want to spoil it by being an unwilling model. Plus, she had to admit, he was pretty damn good. Annoying, but good.

It was an average Wednesday morning, around 7:15pm. Life On Mars by David Bowie was playing from his radio clock. Travis sat at his desk working on a self portrait for his character design class. He hated self portraits. He could never finished them.
"Who am I?" He asked himself. "Who the hell is Travis Kasperbauer?"
There was an urgent knock on the door.
"Come in."
The door flew open, and there Missy stood, obviously pissed off about something. Travis noticed that she had been very pissy lately. Pissy Missy. He wondered if she was having lady problems.
"Good morning, Missy," he said without diverting his eyes from the canvas.
"Good morning my ass," she spat.
Travis looked up. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes, Travis, something is very wrong. What part of ‘stay the hell out of my room’ don’t you understand?"
Travis was confused. "I don’t understand."
"Oh my god..." Missy shook her head.
"Did I do something?" He asked, and he was genuinely curious. Usually he knew when he had screwed up.
Missy nodded slowly. "When I went to sleep last night, I had two black boots in my closet. Now I have one."
Travis looked down. Indeed, she was wearing only one boot. "That’s strange, he said. I wonder what happened to it."
"Travis, please be serious for a second! I have a date in fifteen minutes, and I’m going to need my other shoe!"


You know that feeling you get when somebody says something you really didn't want to hear but you have to act normal so they won't know that it hurt you? That's how Travis felt. He only just started to accept the fact that Missy would never like him the way he liked her, and the thought that she had a date with a girl and not with him made him feel a little nauseous. But he sucked it up. He had to.


"Do you want me to help you look for it? Where did you see it last? Retrace your steps. That usually works for me." He paused and then laughed to himself. "Retrace your steps. Get it? It’s a shoe..."
"Just give me the damn shoe!"
"Oh, you think I have it?" It all made sense now.
"Yes! You’re the only other person who lives in this apartment, and I certainly didn’t hide my own shoe."
"Why would I take your shoe?"
"I don’t know, you’ve kind of been obsessing over me lately." Missy put a hand on her hip. That’s how you know she’s really pissed. "I figured you probably wanted it for a still life assignment or something."
"I don’t have any still life assignments, and if I did, I wouldn’t use your shoe for inspiration." He paused. "And I’m not obsessing over you... I just like your face."
"Wow. That’s not creepy at all."
"You know what I mean. You’re aesthetically pleasing."
"Just stop... She sighed. So you really don’t have my shoe?"
"No!"
"Then where the hell is it? I saw it last night." She shook her head. "Now I’m going to have to change my whole outfit."
"Why? What’s wrong with your other shoes?"
"You wouldn’t understand." She sighed. "I’m sorry I freaked out on you. That wasn’t cool."
"No worries. I hope you find your other boot."
"Thanks." She checked her watch. "Shit, I gotta run. I’m already late. See you later." And with that, she was gone and Travis was alone again. 

Travis was experiencing a severe case of artist’s block. This self portrait was due the next day, and he could barely get his paintbrush on the paper without second-guessing himself. He was an extraordinarily good procrastinator, though, so he elected to go check the mail rather than staring at the blank canvas any longer.

As he was walking down the stairs, wrapped up in his thoughts, as usual, Travis accidentally bumped into a man on the fifth floor. The man paused and looked at him. He was clearly distressed about something. His name was Vinny. They had met once, probably in the elevator or something.
"Vinny..." he said. 
 "What?" He looked exhausted, almost as though he hadn’t slept in a few days. He was holding a stack of papers, but Travis didn’t get a good look at them. He was too busy trying to remember Vinny’s last name.
"Do I know you?" Vinny asked.
"Yeah. We met once."
"When?"
"I don’t remember."
"Where?"
"I don’t remember."
Vinny rolled his eyes. "Who are you?"
"Travis. Travis Kasperbauer. Twelfth floor."
"Not ringing any bells," Vinny said.
"Well, it’s nice to meet you, then." Travis laughed and held out his hand, but Vinny clearly wasn’t in a hand-shaking mood. Instead, he grabbed a sheet of paper from the stack and placed it Travis’s hand. "Have you seen this girl?" He asked. "Her name is Laney Reid. She went missing from the orphanage two nights ago."
Travis examined the paper. The small photo in the center of the page was pretty bad quality, but he was confident that he had never seen the girl is his life.
"No. Sorry," he said. "What happened?"
Vinny shook his head. "I don’t know. She just disappeared, and the cops aren’t doing a damn thing about it."
Travis stared at her picture. She had a sweet face. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No, not really. I just wish I had a better photo of her." He sighed. "When you’re an orphan, nobody really cares enough to take your picture."
Travis continued to stare at the page until something occurred to him. He looked up at Vinny. "I could paint it," he said. "I’m an art student, I could paint her for you."
"What?"
"It wouldn’t be perfect, but it’d be bigger, and certainly more noticeable," he said. "It’s worth a shot, right?"
Vinny shrugged. "All right. Go for it."
Travis was almost excited now. "What’s your apartment number? I’ll drop it off when I’m finished."
"511," Vinny said. "I probably won’t be home, but just slide it under the door or something."
Travis nodded.
"Thanks," Vinny said. He looked down at the paper in his hands.
"No problem. It’s the least I could do," said Travis. "And good luck. I hope you find her."
"Me too..." Vinny walked away.

Travis completely forgot about the mail, ran back up seven flights of stairs, and got to work. Within an hour, he had finished Laney’s portrait and made good progress on his own. When Missy came home, he was done. He was just sitting on his stool, listening to WTF, so Missy joined him. The station was playing a sad-sounding song by some girl who called herself Birdy, but it didn’t seem all that sad to Travis. For some reason, he was happy. He felt odd being happy after hearing of Laney’s disappearance, but he hadn’t been genuinely happy in a while, so he just accepted it.

Travis Kasperbauer bought a new alarm clock last week.

He had been dumped before, more times than he'd like to admit, but for some reason this one was different. For some reason, this breakup inspired him to switch things up a bit. So after spending all of art history class listing aspects of his life that desperately needed improvement, he went to Target and dropped a whopping $14.89 on a new digital clock with a built-in AM/FM radio.

Suddenly Travis became a morning person.

Shortly after plugging in his new clock, he discovered the WTF radio station. He actually looked forward to waking up every morning just to see which bizarre song they would play.

This morning they played Mr. Blue Sky by the Electric Light Orchestra, which Travis found pretty funny because he hadn't seen anything but overcast skies in a week or so, and today was no different. Nonetheless, he hummed the song all the way down 12 flights of stairs and out the front door of Castle Apts. and almost didn't notice all of the commotion on Poplar St. Seeing the stalled bus and the crowd forming around it, he approached the scene. While walking, it occurred to him that normally he would have avoided it completely. "That's the old Travis I guess," he said to himself.

"I beg your pardon?" Asked an old man standing next to him.

"Huh? Oh, no, I was just talking to myself. Sorry," Travis said.

"Don't be sorry, boy. Talking to yourself periodically is good for your health. How do you think I lived to be so old?" The man laughed.

"Good to know... So what's going on here?" He asked the man.

"The bus stalled out, he said. Now everybody's rushing around yelling at their cell phones. It's ridiculous. You know, that's the problem with people now-a-days. They're always rushing. Rushing to get to work, rushing to get home, just rushing through life like it's not long enough for them. So ungrateful. I'll tell you what, kid, life is too damn short. Don't waste it on rushing."

Travis stood there, speechless. All he could do was nod in agreement.

"Yes sir," he said.

"I think I'll go take a nap," said the old man. And with that, he walked away.

Travis thought about what the man said. In fact, he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that only the loud, obnoxious argument between a woman and the bus driver could snap him out of his trance-like state.

Well, I think that's my cue to leave, Travis thought. He didn't have any classes that day, and he certainly had no friends to be with, so he resolved to going back to his apartment and listening to WTF until Missy came home.

This time they were playing a Gorillaz song. Travis found it very calming. He liked it so much that he actually started painting. This was novel because it had been years since Travis had painted just for the sake of painting. It had also been years since he had been that pleased with his own art. This was the final product:

Almost exactly two months ago, Travis Kasperbauer took in new a roommate, Missy.

Like every college student, Travis ran into some money issues. Well, he'd had money issues since his dad lost his job 12 years ago, but college just made them worse. When he talked to his girlfriend, Bridget, about it, she suggested the roommate idea, adding that he needed to meet some new people anyway. After a week of unsuccessful roommate hunting, Bridget told Travis about Missy Carmichael, the blond chick in their animation class.

Travis was genuinely surprised that Bridget was so open to the idea of him living with another girl, especially a girl like Missy. After Bridget mentioned her, he started to... observe her. She had a short, pixie-esque haircut and wore awesome vintage band t-shirts and aviator sunglasses. She also drove a motorcycle.

This girl was cool.

A week later, Missy was completely settled in her new room, and she and Travis began to get acquainted. He was thrilled to discover that Missy shared his passion for Kung-Fu movies and was thoroughly impressed by her rare comic book collection. To top it all off, she was an 11th level Wizard in Dungeons & Dragons, which warranted Travis' ultimate respect and admiration... and affection.

One night, while watching Chinese Super Ninja, Travis finally got up the courage to go in for a kiss. However, before he could make contact, Missy began to laugh.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I... I thought... What?"

"Dude. I'm a lesbian."

"Oh. Wait, really?"

"Didn't Bridget tell you?"

"You're not serious. You're joking."

"How could you not have picked up on this yet?"

"No. You're not a lesbian."

"Travis. Look at me. I like girls."

"I don't believe you."

"I have short hair, I drive a motorcycle, and–"

Suddenly, Missy's cell phone rang: I kissed a girl and I liked it...

Travis sunk into the couch, mortified. How could he be so oblivious? Of course she's a lesbian. Why else would Bridget be so comfortable with them living together? But what kind of lesbian name is Missy, anyway? That's so misleading.

So they talked it out. Well, Travis apologized profusely and Missy tried not to laugh at him, but at least by the end of the conversation, things weren't quite so awkward.

A month later, Travis was sitting in bed, staring blankly at his cell phone screen as his stupid train alarm clock blared on. Missy hated that alarm clock almost as much as Travis did, and after about three and a half minutes of it choo chooooing around the mountain, she burst into his room, sleep-deprived and cranky.

"What the hell, Travis? You know this is the one day of the week that I don't have class in the morning."

But Travis didn't look up, partly because he could barely hear her over the sound of the train, but also because he just couldn't bring himself to care about what she was saying.

Although they hadn't known each other for very long, Missy instantly knew something was up. She walked across the room and turned the alarm off. Travis's eyes never left his phone.

"What's wrong?" She sat at the corner of his bed.

Travis looked up. 

"Is it Bridget?"

He nodded.

There was a long pause. Nobody said anything. Travis stared at his phone while Missy stared at Travis.

"Get dressed. Said Missy. I'm taking you out for breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"Then don't eat anything. I'm still taking you out for breakfast."

"Missy, not today, please," Travis begged.

"I'll buy you a beer."

Travis blinked. "Give me two minutes."

After leaving apt. #1212 in Castle Apartments, Travis & Missy walked in silence down 12 flights of stairs. Missy had gotten stuck in the building's elevator multiple times in the past, so she insisted that they take the stairs whenever possible. Travis didn't mind. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings, anyway.

However, as they exited the building, something caught his attention. Across the street, and old man sat on the sidewalk by the clinic, singing along with his tiny, beat-up walkman:

"...She dropped a coin into the cup of a blind man at the gate
And forgot about a simple twist of fate..."

Beside the old man was a small, copper bowl containing a few coins and a one dollar bill. Travis didn't have any money, but he felt a strong, inexplicable urge to give the man something. He shoved his hands in his pockets, searching for anything that could be of value to the man. His fingers wrapped around a small pocket knife given to him by his father when he was a cub scout. You know, the kind with scissors, a cork screw, a wrench, etc. The whole shebang. He hadn't used it since he quit the boy scouts in the 5th grade, but he carried it with him everywhere we went. This was, oddly enough, one of the few pieces of advice from his dad that he actually listened to, and one that, until now, seemed pointless.

Travis crossed the street and gently placed the knife in the bowl, smiling at the man. It was then that he noticed the man's eyes: vacant, almost translucent. The man was blind.

Upon hearing the chime of the knife hitting the bowl, the man smiled. "What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence," he said.

What? Asked Travis, confused. But the man just continued to sing:

"...Maybe she'll pick him out again how long must he wait
One more time for a simple twist of fate..."

After a brief pause, Travis and Missy continued down the block to Casa d' Waffles. They spent a lot of time there because it was the only place on the block where college students could afford to eat regularly, the only place open 24 hours, and the only place that served alcohol before noon.

Missy ordered pitcher of the Casa's cheapest brew. Three cups later, Travis began to open up, explaining how surprised he was, how he thought that everything was going great with Bridget. All the while, however, the blind man never completely left his thoughts. His words repeated in Travis' head for the rest of the day:

"What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence."

The day started with an end. Well, I guess it actually started with a text message, which led to an end, but you get my point.

At exactly 7:58 this morning, two minutes before his alarm would have woken him up, Travis Kasperbauer received a text from Bridget Alexander, the finest girl in his character design and watercolor painting classes at the Art Institute of Sommersville. The text was brief, not even using all of the 160 characters permitted in a single message. But that was what Travis had always liked about Bridget, in addition to the fact that she was extremely attractive. With Bridget, there was no bullshit. No games, no 'I said no but I meant yes' crap. She didn't make everything so complicated like other girls.

But at 7:58am, a little bullshit would have been nice. It might have softened the blow of:

Travis, this thing we have going on, whatever it is, has gotten old. I'm bored. I think we should see other people.

That bitch.

By the time Travis had begun to grasp what he just read, his stupid train alarm clock started blaring. Choo chooooo. He'd seen a commercial for it on Cartoon Network when he was seven and begged his parents to buy it for him for months. Finally, for his eighth birthday, he got his train.

He knew from watching the commercial repeatedly that the little plastic train went around the little plastic mountain and blew its little plastic whistle. What he didn't know was that the whistle was nearly as loud as an actual train.

The alarm startled Travis so terribly the next morning that he actually fell out of bed.

That was the same morning that Travis' father lost his job.

So when Travis asked his parents to return the ridiculous clock, all they said was: "Sorry honey, but money is going to be a little tight for a while."

12 years later, Travis still had that same damn clock.