“We’re back from the break, live coverage of this year's CVRBC. The 7th annual Central Valley Regional Breakdancing Competition, right here in the heart of crops and oil, Bakersfield, California.”

  “Hear that noise, Rhonda? The energy in this place is poppin’.”

  “Absolutely, Hank! Breakdancing has taken hold of the Central Valley these past seven years. The Bakersfield Convention Center is alive with three thousand fervent spectators chanting for their favorites.”

  “Beats, Beats, Beats!” The chant rolled through the auditorium like thunder, the crowd picking sides early.

  “Hank, the underdog crew from Bakersfield High School—The Electric Beats—is rising against all odds. Last year’s reigning champs, The Rad Knights from the same school, dropped an impressive 88 out of 100 in round one. Minor glitches, but they’re up 10 points. Can The Beats close the gap?”

  “It’s anyone’s game, Rhonda. Ten thousand dollars first place and the regional trophy on the line.”

  Backstage, Maurice Green fought to keep his nervous excitement locked down. Sweat dripped, adrenaline surged—everything hinged on this final routine. In practice, The Beats had the talent to top Kevin Mooney and The Rad Knights. But practice wasn’t the floor.

  “Hear that?” T.J. grinned. “Crowd’s on our side! Knights flopped that last round. We gotz this!”

  “Our first round was fuckin killer. We’re set to close this!” Miguel said, eyes fierce with determination.

  “Hey, easy on celebrating, my dudes,” Maria cut in. “Knights blew that last set, but someone’s blowing that one judge.”

  “Not you, chica,” T.J. quipped. “Or we’d score even lower.”

  “You wish, puto maricon!”

  “No sense actin’ stupid now!” Maurice’s voice sliced through the bickering. “Stay focused. Everyone better bring it.”

  T.J. and Maria dropped the edge quick. Maurice turned to Miguel, clocking the limp getting worse.

  “Homie, that ankle gonna hold? Let’s adjust—less of you on stage.”

  “I’m good, Mo. Too late for changes.” Miguel’s jaw tightened against the throb.

  “We up, fools!” T.J. interrupted.

  For the final salute, the crew huddled hands in. “No ree-grats!” Maurice declared, twisting the chant on purpose.

  “No ree-grats!” they echoed, arms pumping in unison.

  As The Electric Beats stepped onto the floor, the chant swelled louder: “Beats, Beats, Beats!”

  The DJ dropped their custom mix tape—freestyle beats they’d drilled to during lunch at school and every weekend. The auditorium speakers swallowed the crowd roar, blasting the sounds that had become their heartbeat.

  Maria and T.J. kicked it off: fierce hand spins, head spins, windmills, freezes, rhythmic pops. The crowd answered every shift, stomping for the bass drops.

  Lights rotated blue and red—their colors—strobe flashes syncing to the rhythm. From center stage, Maurice and Miguel launched double somersaults, landing with Olympian precision into James Brown splits. Gasps turned to cheers as they popped up, flowing into slow-motion robotic waves that passed seamlessly between the four of them.

  “Hank, what a sight. The Beats are delivering this round.”

  “Rhonda, no doubt. Coordinated, flawless so far.”

  “Add the visual package—matching red and blue Adidas track suits, white low-profile Nike Air Force. The judges have to be impressed.”

  “Definitely. Let’s see if they nail the finale…”

  “Beats, Beats, Beats!” The fever pitch hit. Judges leaned forward.

  As the crew set for the big finish, Miguel felt the ankle give. Pain shot white-hot. He winced, looked down—grotesquely swollen now, ballooning under the sock. The hurt overpowered everything. A loud, raw cry tore out of him, cutting through music and crowd.

  The DJ, horrified, killed the tape dead.

  Silence crashed in.

  The loud buzzing vibration woke him out of his intense dream. Miguel Gutierrez reached out and silenced his phone. He let out a huge sigh of relief knowing his ankle was fine, just another one of those vivid dreams that felt too real.

  He stared up at the patterns in the textured ceiling, the early dawn light hitting them just enough to make the bumps stand out. Miguel wondered why he kept going back to that moment in time, over and over. Past failures like that one stuck in his head, and this was one of the biggest. He would let his thoughts go there constantly, hoping to figure out something new, something he wished he’d done differently. The sprain had been his fault, and it still festered, letting his friends down like that. But this is now, he told himself. It was a waste of time to keep ruminating. Heather didn't know about this secret obsession of his. Miguel couldn't bring it up to her, and even if he did, it probably wouldn't change anything. In his eyes, it would just turn into another argument.

  He knew the drill to snap out of the funk—exercise, hobbies, and the long-overdue sex with Heather. All of which were only thoughts and wishes at this point.

  He turned to the right, trying to see if she was awake. As usual, Heather was facing away from him, asleep or pretending. Miguel would give anything to see any sign of excitement in her eyes again, staring at him, any welcome opening to jump her.

  He sighed quietly, but in his head it rang loud. He climbed out of bed, stepping over last night's scattered clothes, and made his way to the bathroom, starting the shower.

  Heather was actually awake, alone in her own thoughts and ruminations. She heard Miguel get out of bed, heard his footsteps cross to the bathroom, heard the door close and the shower start. Only then did she open her eyes.

  She'd been awake since five-thirty, lying still, listening to Miguel's breathing change as he woke up, listening to him have what sounded like a bad dream—restless movements, occasional muttering. She'd kept her eyes closed, her breathing steady, maintaining the pretense of sleep.

  It was easier than facing him first thing in the morning. Easier than forcing small talk when she didn't know what to say anymore.

  Heather sat up and stared at the water stain on the ceiling shaped vaguely like Florida. They'd been meaning to fix it for three years. Add it to the list of things they'd been meaning to do but never got around to.

  She got out of bed and changed quickly into her yoga clothes—black leggings and the purple tank top the twins had given her for Christmas three years ago. From the bathroom, she could hear the shower running, the familiar sound of Miguel's morning routine.

  Heather rolled out her yoga mat on the floor next to the bed and opened her laptop on the nightstand, pulling up the yoga video she'd been following for months. She positioned herself on the mat, adjusting the laptop screen so she could see the instructor.

  The calming voice filled the bedroom as Heather began moving through the poses, but her mind wouldn't quiet.

  She'd been avoiding Miguel more and more lately. Not consciously at first—it had started small. Timing her yoga during his shower so they wouldn't overlap in the bedroom. Staying late at school to grade papers. Scheduling visits to her sister in Cambria on weekends. Finding reasons to take separate cars to family events.

  But the avoidance had calcified into routine. A careful choreography where they moved around each other like dancers who'd learned to never touch.

  When had that happened? When had Miguel become someone she needed space from rather than someone she wanted to be close to?

  Heather held warrior pose, her legs beginning to shake. Through the bedroom window, she could see the morning light hitting the neighbors' roof, the same view she'd been waking up to for twenty-eight years. Everything looked the same. Everything felt completely different.

  Five years since the twins had left. Five years of this profound quiet that she still couldn't adjust to. No sounds of teenagers fighting over bathroom time. No music bleeding through walls. No Julisa yelling about someone using up all the hot water. Juan thundering down the stairs late for school.

  Just silence. And Miguel's shower running in the bathroom. And Heather on her yoga mat, pretending to be too focused on her practice to think about how empty the house felt. How empty she felt.

  The shower turned off. Miguel dried off, dressed in his work clothes, and headed downstairs. He popped a K-cup dark roast into the machine for his travel mug, then set the stovetop kettle to boil for his yerba maté.

  While the water heated, he prepped the gourd—scooped in the leaves, added cool water to swell them, slid in the bombilla. The kettle whistled. He grabbed it bare-handed out of habit and cursed at the sharp burn—the worn handle exposing hot metal again. That kettle was one of their first wedding gifts, back when things felt new. Now it was just another small daily sting.

  Upstairs, Heather finished her yoga, rolled the mat, showered, dressed for school, and packed her bag. By the time she came down, Miguel was already sipping the hot, bitter maté through the bombilla—staring out at the same street they’d lived on for decades.

  They had it down to a science. Two people living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, sharing the same last name, and barely speaking to each other.

  She used to feel guilty about the avoidance. Now it just felt necessary. Self-preservation.

  "Don't forget about therapy with Dr. Anderson tonight!" Heather called from upstairs.

  Miguel winced, one foot barely out the door, travel mug in hand.

  "Right. It's on my calendar! I mapped out directions. She’s in south-southeast, so it'll take about half an hour to get there. We should probably leave at five."

  "I say 4:45, the latest," she called back. "I'm worried about traffic and don't want to be late."

  "I'll try, but no telling what work will allow." Miguel's voice carried frustration—Heather's need to control even the departure time. "We should take separate cars."

  "No, I prefer we drive together."

  "Fine, I’ll see what I can do. Gotta go!" He walked out the door, hoping the therapy session would be less of a burden than how the morning was starting out.

  Miguel climbed into his truck and headed toward Arvin, the same route he'd driven for decades.

  Miguel worked as head manager at Vinnie and Sons, a small business distribution warehouse supplier on the outskirts of Bakersfield. He'd been with the company since right out of the military and had helped build it up as the go-to supplier for mom-and-pop markets, restaurants, and chains from Modesto to Arvin. Despite his loyalty and contribution, his salary had leveled off—with no raise in three years. The pandemic hit the area hard: family-owned spots closed for good, fewer new ones opened, and Vinnie and Sons never fully recovered. Seeing it all firsthand, Miguel didn't feel right asking old-man Vinnie for more. Still, the unfulfilled feeling gnawed at him, a quiet yearning for something beyond the daily grind.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Heather, on the other hand, was content with her career as a middle school science teacher. She'd been in the Panama School District for the past 25 years, passionate about the subject and well-respected by colleagues and parents alike.

  Couple’s therapy, in one form or another, had been scattered throughout their thirty-year marriage. It had started when they were first married, right out of high school, and continued every time they reached a boiling point and communication stopped. Early on they both realized it got too personal asking family for advice and assistance. After one bad situation with Heather's mother siding with her without hearing Miguel out, getting professional help was inevitable. Having someone educated in family psychology, and impartial, offered the best solution. In the beginning therapy sessions were expensive and completely out of pocket. At that time, it wasn't covered by their health insurance. Their tight budget usually determined the number of sessions. It never stopped surprising Miguel how marital issues would miraculously resolve when they ran out of money.

  Something happened in the past ten years with their benefits that allowed them to have the sessions partly or fully covered by insurance. This helped them dig deeper into their issues. Most of the counselors picked throughout the years were a hit and miss. Heather and Miguel would take the sessions seriously, follow the advice and steps to the letter. Well, at least for the first few weeks. Up until their normal routine and kid activities would get in the way. Most problems would resolve themselves naturally or they would sweep it under the old rug, blaming stressors on work or differences in rearing their twins, Juan and Julisa.

  Like with most marriages, the arguments and tension slowly built up over time. It also didn't help that Miguel and Heather had extreme differences in pretty much everything: personality, cultural upbringing, philosophies of how they dealt with stress, and personal solutions to handle them.

  Until recently, most of their arguments revolved around differences in handling major changes to their family dynamics. Heather not understanding Miguel’s role as the husband and father. Miguel not understanding Heather’s role as a wife and mother. The economic stresses of paying for private school and fulfilling the wants and desires of Heather’s need to see her family versus Miguel’s need to be the center of the family. Moving the kids from private to public school. The issues were resolved temporarily or swept under the rug again, and they moved on.

  Things were very different now. It had been five years since the twins left the nest. They're no longer around to blame, or provide a buffer between them. The arguments had gotten very raw, personal and cut throat. If there ever was a PG-13 era in their lives, it was all in the past. It was NC-17 all the way. Flashback two days ago to the texting that initiated the current emergency therapy session…

  Miguel: Hey babe, Guess what?!

  Heather: Hey dork ;) Did you get the promotion?

  Miguel: No. Try again.

  Heather: Did you get a speeding ticket/accident?

  Miguel: Accident? What? No, but thanks for the confidence booster. :( In your eyes, I'm either making more $$ or suck at driving. Ok, ready?

  Heather: Lol. That's just where my brain tends to go. Ok, yes, ready.

  Miguel: Nice. I just booked a four-day trip to New Zealand for our 30th!!

  Heather: Wait, what? New Zealand?! Umm…[typing]

  Miguel: Yeah, I've been researching romantic getaways for a few months, and this place is on the top 10 lisp.

  Miguel: *lisp=list. Lol

  Heather: That's on the other side of the world, Miguel! Literally. Sorry, that's a hard pass.

  Miguel: Wait what, why not? This'll be fun, I promise. Once in a lifetime adventure. Let me break it down.

  Heather: Well, for one, it's going to get in the way of my online courses.

  Miguel: OK, but we were going to go away that long weekend anyways. You were planning to take a break from courses that weekend. Plus, we've been visiting your family in Cambria, two weekends in a row. I didn't hear a peep about your courses then. This is our anniversary weekend. The big 3-0. You already have that Friday off. The trip's going to rock!!

  Heather: Well, I just wasn't expecting such a far destination. A weekend is way too short for such a long flight. Can't we go somewhere more local?

  Miguel: That’s all we do is go local. I've been researching/planning and stashing funds for several months and have enough for fares and lodging.

  Heather: You know I have a fear of flying.

  Miguel: Wait, since when? You flew to your sister's in Texas last year, by yourself. This is just a longer trip. What is going on?

  Heather: And I'm also not a fan of flying long distances.

  Miguel: Really?? What about Peru? We flew down there our first year of marriage to see my family…

  Heather: I'm sorry, Miguel. Let's talk after work. How about going somewhere closer, like Maui or Catalina Island?

  Miguel: Every fucking time your family invites us somewhere, you don't think twice and we just go. Me smiling like an idiot. I've gone to so many of your family's bullshit outings with you. When I try to organize something grand, it's met with a campaign of resistance. We don't have kids anymore to get in the way and blame this on.

  Heather: No, I'm not blaming the kids. I just don't want to go on a long flight and deal with jetlag halfway on the other side of the world. Can't we just celebrate closer to home?

  Miguel: Really? I know you're not blaming the kids. That was your excuse in the past for not going with my flow. Did you not read anything I just wrote? It's the same shit every time. If you or your fuckin needy family don't approve...Yeah, forget about the trip.

  Heather: Why you dragging my family into this?! You are the one with the issue. Fuck you.

  Minutes later...

  Miguel: I canceled the trip. Refunded the flights, canceled the kayak tour, and mountain bike rental. All were booked up solid, BTW. The $$ for the driving permit visa is non-refundable, but so is this marriage.

  Heather: That's not fair. I didn't know you planned that out all in advance. I still wouldn't have gone, but you should have told me you were thinking about it.

  Miguel: It's called a surprise. Fuck you, back.

  Heather stared at her phone for a few minutes, reading and rereading every word exchanged and closed the screen. Heather spotted Mary in the teacher's lounge and walked over, eyes already red.

  "Hey Mary, do you have a minute?"

  "Yeah, what's up? Whoa, you look like shit."

  "I feel like it too. Miguel and I are really struggling. I think we need to see someone again."

  "Oh no… since the kids moved out?"

  Heather nodded, wiping her eyes. "Yep. How's the counselor you're seeing with Blake?"

  "Kim Anderson? She's great—dependable, personable. We've been going about three years. She came from… hot yoga? Raunchy book club? Wait, no—my AA meeting. Doesn't matter, she's solid. I'll text you her contact."

  Heather nodded as a tear slipped down her cheek, a little worried about Mary.

  Heather grabbed a tissue from the counter, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. "Thanks, Mary. I'll call her today and see if she can fit us in soon."

  "No problem." Mary patted her hand. "I hope she helps you two through this rough patch. If you need anything else, don't hesitate. It's just a road bump, Heather. You'll get through."

  Heather managed a small nod as another tear slipped down her cheek. "Thanks again."

  Mary squeezed her hand once more. "Absolutely. Good luck.”

  Heather wasn’t so sure. She’d been in similar situations before with Miguel. In her eyes, he was being compulsive. What Miguel called going with the flow, gave Heather a visceral reaction.

  Like pricking a finger or seeing a black widow. She avoided pain and the unknown as much as possible. Heather never considered herself closed minded or racist, like her father was described, but she settled into a routine of sticking with people within her circle and eating only foods familiar to her diet.

  Miguel, on the other hand, was on the opposite spectrum. He loved experiencing new adventures, eating new foods, meeting new people. When Miguel would bring home a new co-worker or someone from his mountain biking Meetup group, Heather had a hard time engaging at dinner table conversations. It seemed to take a while for her to warm up to people she just met.

  Cooking was another point of contention. Heather loved cooking and didn’t give up the kitchen very often, choosing to cook most nightly dinners. Miguel loved her cooking, but occasionally missed eating his Peruvian favorites. When Miguel had an urge to take over the kitchen, Heather would reluctantly give in to him but she did not favor a lot of the spices used in his Peruvian dishes. Early on in their marriage, Miguel learned the limit of what Heather was comfortable eating and what she wasn’t.

  Nevertheless, Miguel was always surprised by her lack of openness to experiencing new things, going outside her comfort zone. Miguel would be the initiator of new ideas, and Heather would be the one pushing back. Miguel would take notice that the only times Heather seemed truly excited to try anything new or travel to a new place would be if one of her siblings or parents brought it up. This was a point of irritation. He constantly felt outranked by Heather’s extended family. Over time, as these things happened, he slowly lost interest in pursuing anything exciting with Heather. Occasionally, Miguel would get the travel bug again, the pitching of ideas, campaigning for a new adventure that would be met with disapproval, disappointment, and arguments that would cycle over again.

  Similarly, Heather never understood why Miguel was reluctant to spend time with his own family. After his dad died of lung cancer a few years into their marriage, Miguel stopped participating in his own extended family events. Miguel’s younger brother, Joaquin, got heavily into drug dealing and using, and was constantly in and out of jail. Early on, soon after the funeral, Miguel would take frequent visits to tend to his mother and brother. After Joaquin started getting into trouble with the law, Miguel stopped visiting as often. Eventually, getting word that his brother had taken his life, sent Miguel spiraling down into depression, even worse than when his father passed. Heather couldn't help him and that's when counseling sessions started becoming common practice.

  In spite of their relational differences, they ended up being amazing parents and their kids had grown into incredible young adults. After graduating from Cal State Poly, San Luis Obispo as a mechanical engineer, Julisa now works on secret military satellites as a Skunk Works defense contractor next to China Lake. Juan went a different direction than his sister. He paid his dues for the last 5 years becoming a journeyman electrician. This past April, he passed the exam and is working on opening up his own electrician business. Miguel and Heather couldn't be more proud of their children's achievements.

  ?

  "Hey Pablo, what happened with the delivery truck?" Miguel asked on his cell phone.

  "Uh, hi Miguel. Yeah, there was an accident. Some idiot parked their car too close to the truck and I couldn't maneuver around it."

  "You okay? Anyone else hurt?"

  "No, no one is injured. But the car is banged up. The truck's tailgate is just scratched. I think the car might be a total loss."

  "Fuck you say? Total loss? Send me pics. What kind of idiota are you?"

  "I swear, the car's double-parked, illegally."

  Miguel sighed. "Okay, Pablo. Not sure that'll hold up. I'll call the insurance company and fill them in. Stay put, call the police, and don’t leave without a report."

  "Got it—won't do. I mean will do. Thanks, Miguel."

  Miguel hung up and turned to old man Vinnie, shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure empty parked cars are never at fault. I'm going to call the insurance company and get the process started."

  "Damn, another accident. That’s three strikes for that fool. The premium hikes are going to eat us alive."

  “Yeah, I wish we could somehow REPLACE this guy.”

  “Unfortunately, my sister wouldn't appreciate it.”

  “I get it,” Miguel said, showing Vinnie the phone. “Check out these pics. How about at least putting Pablo in his place? He needs a serious time-out.”

  “God damn it! Yeah, okay. You're making more and more sense lately. He'll do less damage there.”

  “Wanna bet? What you mean by lately?”

  ?

  "And here, the right ventricle is where the oxygen-poor blood is pumped to the lungs." Heather was holding up the pig's heart for the students to see. "Starting tomorrow, you and your partner will start dissecting a heart similar to this. It's important to remember this is a preserved heart, and we must respect the life that once belonged to the pig and treat it with care."

  A few students raised their hands.

  "Yes, Sarah?" Heather asked.

  "What about the formald..formald...”

  "Formaldehyde" finished Heather.

  "Yes. Is it safe to be around?" Sarah asked, looking worried.

  "Formaldehyde is a common chemical used for preserving specimens, like this pig's heart. It's important to handle it with care, wearing gloves and goggles. Follow my written guidelines and you’ll be fine. Yes, Tyler?” she asked, pointing to a boy in the back row.

  "Is it true that a pig's heart is similar to a human heart?"

  "Yes, that's actually true. That's why it's a great subject for dissection in a science lab."

  The bell rang, signaling the end of the last period.

  "Alright, class. Dissections will start in tomorrow's lab after the quiz. Read up on Chapter four, section three tonight before coming to the lab."

  As Heather walked to her car, the late-afternoon sun slanted across the parking lot, warming the asphalt. A student called out to her from across the parking lot…

  "Goodbye, Mrs. Gutierrez!"

  Heather waved back, smiling. "Goodbye Andrea, have a great evening!"

  Sitting in her car, Heather couldn't help thinking about the therapy session later that evening. Things had been distant between them, and she was hoping Dr. Anderson could help work out their issues. She found herself drifting back to the good old days—high school dating, when everything seemed so much simpler.

  Starting her drive home, Heather started getting nervous and teary-eyed again. She wanted the relationship to be stronger, but did not know how they could get past their differences. Another tear escaped down her cheek.

  ?

  Overseer Jeff here: At this point you're probably wondering a few things. Like, why use naming conventions for planets and sections of space like Zed Alpha Omega? Why do Cosmic Overseers adopt quirky North American nicknames like Bran-dy, Chad, La-qui-sha, Os-car, and Jeff. What's going to happen next?

  As your Overseer, I will fill you in on what's important. So far, none of these questions merit a direct answer. Hang tight, your questions will be answered in due time…

  See what I did there?

  ?