There’s a green ribbon tied around the doorknob of one of the homes I pass on my walk to work, down

narrow streets of houses that are both cozy and on the verge of collapse.

The frigid winter air sends a chill through me, and the sight of that ribbon, lime strands flapping in the wind,

only intensifies it. I hunch my shoulders a bit more and bundle up tighter, rubbing my hands together in a vain attempt to generate warmth. My beige coat is much too thin, but I haven’t gotten around to replacing it. I lost my favorite purple gloves on my way home weeks ago; hopefully they’re getting good use out there somewhere.

I push open the door to Captain’s Coffee, a cute little place nestled on a street corner across from a pub. Its

walls are painted a baby blue, the color of a little boy’s nursery, with netting and starfish and seashells filling up the empty space. The menu is scrawled on blackboards with white chalk, complete with drawings of dolphins and whales. There are a few sand-colored rugs scattered around over the brown wooden floors. It’s a little taste of the ocean in the middle of the desert.

Inside, Calvin, who opens during the week, beams and gives a massive wave, momentarily stopping wiping

the counter. He’s wearing a purple apron. “Morning, Laurie! The usual?”

Despite the green ribbon still haunting my mind, I offer him a smile. “What else?” It’s relatively simple—a

caramel macchiato with an everything bagel. And cream cheese, of course.

Calvin turns around towards the coffee machine, and I lean against the counter. “Did you see the green

ribbon on Main? Wonder who it was.” I try to keep my tone nonchalant; I don’t know how well it works. I trace the white outline of a squid on the counter with my too-cold finger.

“Oh, yeah,” Calvin says, his back to me. “It was Patty Colmar. Her mom found her this morning. Curled up

around their dog in her bathroom.” He grabs an everything bagel and cream cheese packets and wraps them in a napkin, then drizzles caramel sauce into my coffee.

“That’s horrible,” I say. “I went to high school with her.” She was nice—a little ditzy, didn’t always think things

through, but nice. She flashed the principal on prom night, then had to break up the resulting fight when her boyfriend punched him. I was always jealous of her hair, long and smooth and fire-hydrant red. It definitely wasn’t natural, but no one ever said anything.

Calvin slides my coffee and bagel across the counter, then plucks a croissant from the display and wraps it up

as well. “I know. I did, too.” Oops. “Such a shame.” His smile is back, but this time it’s sad. “Guess she shouldn’t have broken her ankle, huh?”

I don’t have a response for that. I just take my order and stare at the croissant.

Calvin notices. “That’s for Dave. I figured you could drop it off to him.”

At the mention of Dave, an officer at the nearby station, my eyes snap up. Calvin blushes ever so slightly and

looks away so fast that his neck makes an awful cracking noise. After a few seconds of tense silence, I grab the croissant. “You can do better than him, you know.”

“Shhh,” Calvin says, gesturing towards the door. A middle-aged woman has just strolled in and is gazing at

the menu. She’s wearing a hunter green scarf. Her eyes narrow a bit.

I bid Calvin a quick goodbye and rush back out into the cold. The macchiato does little to warm my hands. I

drink it too soon, and it scalds my throat going down.

​

When someone dies of an opioid overdose, their family ties a green ribbon around their doorknob. The

ribbon tying started a few years ago with the first death—Trevor Holmes, just hours after he graduated high school. His eyes were green, a few shades darker than the color we use for the ribbons. Out here in Zion, a town that’s never on the maps because it’s miles from civilization and so close to the national park, lime green ribbons are cheaper than dark green. Something about the pricing of shipping dye, I think.

We’ve always been an active community. We’ve got horse races and stampedes and those bull riding things

that my parents would never let me go to as a child. We fix our own leaky roofs and spend time by the railroad tracks. The train comes around a few times a day, carrying household appliances and sheet metal somewhere east.

Needless to say, we’ve got a lot of injuries. And a lot of doctors prescribing pills. 

Opioids are not that hard to get. People sell them late at night where Main meets High, hidden in plain sight

on street corners.

Turns out, they make you feel pretty good even when you’re not injured.

​

The first person I see when I stroll into the station isn’t Dave, but Casey. He’s my boyfriend’s brother, and he’s

handcuffed to a bench. The second person I see is Terry, the boyfriend in question.

Terry and I have been together since high school. We look like a picture perfect couple. Opposites in all the

best ways—his brown hair to my blonde, his blue eyes to my hazel, his tan skin to my pale. I found a ring in his closet a few years ago. He probably hasn’t asked me to marry him yet because it’s too much work. We probably haven’t broken up yet for the same reason.

He’s been coming home awful late recently. More sluggish than usual, more relaxed too. 

His sister, Katie, was the green ribbon after Trevor’s, after her girlfriend was outed and fled town, leaving Katie

with nothing but the leftover pills from a spine injury for comfort. Terry said that when Katie started staying out late, they should have known.

“What’d you do this time?” I ask Casey. He’s the kind of guy who does his talking with his fists. His parents

pulled him out of school in the seventh grade after he burned down the church.

He scowls. “Just a misunderstanding. Larissa will be here soon.”

Larissa and Casey have been involved for a while now. I’ve been cleaning up bruises and eyes that match the

black of her hair for just as long, every now and then. She always gets this look when I bring it up, that kind of don’t talk about it expression. Most of the town doesn’t know, per Larissa’s request. She and Casey will be here forever, as will most of Zion’s residents; there’s no point in instigating conflict. “I repeat. What did you do?” I ask, trying to put some force behind my voice.

Dave, who I didn’t even know was here, speaks from behind me. His normally cheerful gray eyes have

narrowed. “Alleged domestic violence. Neighbor called it in. Is that for me?” He gestures at the bag with the croissant in it, and I throw it to him. He catches it easily.

“Courtesy of Calvin,” I say, and he smiles, just a bit. I turn back to Casey, who looks annoyed.

“We were fighting upstairs and she fell on her way out the door. That’s it!” He shouts.

I sigh. That’s not entirely unbelievable. Every time we walk over the railroad tracks, Larissa trips and falls.

“Whatever. Hope she’s alright. I gotta get to work.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Dave says. He’s a couple years older than Calvin and I, with salt and pepper hair and

dimples. He gestures to the door, and I follow.

“Hey, man, let me get a word in to my girlfriend,” Terry says, startling both Dave and me. Terry does that

sometimes—just blends into the background, lets himself be easily forgettable.

Dave holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Tell Calvin I said thank you for breakfast.”

Terry offers his arm, and I loop mine through it. As we head out, he says, “Wanted to give you a heads up.

Dave told me they got Bob Delmar this morning. Had enough heroin in his garage to kill a small horse.”

“No way,” I say. “Is Suzy okay?” Bob is a horseback rider who fell off once at a race, and Suzy is the nurse

who treated his broken leg. The rest is history. They live a few streets over. They’re a sweet couple, always cooking enough food to feed the entire street and then some. Suzy’s got a kid, one of those ones who’s a bit behind everyone else, but Bob loves him with his whole heart, always fending off the bullies who want to string him up the flagpole. Suzy is my coworker over at the hospital—me at the reception desk and her treating junkies with broken legs, apparently.

“I don’t know,” Terry says. “I think she was pretty blindsided. But she’ll be okay. The town’ll cover her. The

church ladies are already organizing a task force to go clean her house.”

That much is true. We’d never let someone fall under, much less someone like Suzy. “Still. Can’t help but feel

bad. Wonder how he hid it from her for so long.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Terry says, nudging me gently. “Also, I’m gonna be a bit late for dinner tonight.

Something’s come up at work. I shouldn’t be too late. I can bring McDonald’s.” 

He works at an accounting firm in a larger town about forty five minutes away, so it’s entirely possible he’s

telling the truth. There’s a McDonald’s on his way home. I smile, but it’s shaky. “McDonald’s is just what I need.” It brings back old memories, of going with my parents when they were too lazy to cook and playing with the toys in my Happy Meal. Back when my biggest concern was when I could watch Pinnochio again, not which of my classmates will turn up dead this week.

Terry gives me a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

I can’t quite shake the unease in my gut, even as I walk to work.

​

Larissa and I have lunch breaks at the same time, mine from the hospital and hers from the library, so we meet

up at different restaurants around town. Today, a few days after I see Patty’s ribbon, is no different. We wander into some new Chinese place, with red seats and gold walls and jarringly dark green tables. Nothing matches, and the lights really need to be turned on. The music that plays over the speakers keeps skipping, but it’s hard to tell since it all sounds the same.

Our conversations are usually about death. Earlier this week, it was Patty. Then it was Jacob, Dave’s detective

partner who drove his girlfriend’s abusive ex-husband to the middle of nowhere and shot him in the head. He left him right by the train tracks, slumped over so close that the train ripped his hair off. Jacob will probably do a few decades, maybe even life; his girlfriend, Evie, skipped town. We won’t hear from her ever again. Neither will Jacob, I imagine. Then it was Lindsay’s horse, the one she raised. Poor thing slipped during a race, broke its leg, and needed to be killed. Lindsay had draped herself over its neck and sobbed as the rain pounded into the mud around her.

“So,” Larissa says, over her egg foo young. “Did you hear about James and Olivia?”

“The Kays? Nope,” I say, picking at my rice with my chopsticks. James and Olivia were high school

sweethearts who got married last spring. They seemed nice enough, but kept to themselves.

“Their car got hit by a train when they were driving over the tracks. Killed instantly. Olivia was pregnant, too.

Said when they got to the bodies, they weren’t recognizable.”

“Oh, god. That’s horrible. How—how do you even get hit by a train? They’re loud. And even if your car breaks

down, just get out and run! We’ve got those barrier things in front of incoming trains! How could they have been so stupid?” I cut myself off abruptly, surprised at how quickly I got upset. I force some air into my lungs to calm down; I can tell Larissa is getting uncomfortable.

She leans forward. Her eyeliner, black as her hair, is thicker today. I can’t help but wonder what it’s trying to

cover. “Hey, it’s okay. Well, no, it’s not. They probably just panicked.”

It’s times like these where I’m reminded who Larissa’s boyfriend is, and that she reads books to kids for a

living. “Sorry. It’s just upsetting.” I push my rice around, my appetite shot. I’ll take it home and Terry will eat it when he inevitably comes home late tonight. I’m careful to keep my voice even. “I can’t remember the last time our lunches started with a ‘how are you?’ rather than ‘did you hear this person died?’—that’s not normal. Don’t you see it?”

“I do,” Larissa says, wringing her hands together. “But what are we supposed to do?”

“We could leave,” I say. “We could get on the train, hop one of the ones that barrels through here every day,

and just see where it takes us. You and me, and Terry and Casey, and whoever else wants to come. We’ll go east.”

“That’s a freight train,” Larissa says. “No passengers allowed.” As if on cue, we hear its horn. I give her a look,

and she’s quiet again before shaking her head. “Why would I leave? Everything I know is here. The kids at the library are here. You should see them at story time, Laurie—they shove each other to sit as close to the front as possible. How could I leave them? Casey’s here. He’s my home. This is my home. Don’t you get it?” She’s rambling, so I know I’ve touched a nerve.

I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t know if I get it. So I smile and take a bite of my rice.

​

Patty Colmar’s funeral is a few days later. In between, Patrick Shelley, my elementary school teacher, drives up

to the lookout point—at the top of a nearby hill with a beautiful view of the sky and the desert—with his brother, who had snapped his wrist clean in half a year ago. Neither of them come home. They were found sprawled on the car’s hood, their eyes gazing at the stars.

When Terry and I stop by Patty’s coffin, I see she’s buried in a neon pink dress that looks sickeningly familiar.

She’s wearing her prom dress, I realize with a jolt.

It’s tradition for her family to be buried in their wedding clothes. Patty had told me that one day in grade

school, explaining how that’s why her wedding dress needed to be so beautiful—she’d be in it forever. Except Patty doesn’t have one, because she died too young. So her prom dress was the next best thing. Her hair’s all dolled up, red and flat and lifeless, and she’s got too much blush on. She looks just like she did on prom night, but dead.

Terry and I are silent as we get back in the car to head home. He grabs my hand and squeezes it. I take a

deep breath and say, “You’ve been coming home awful late.”

It either means he’s using or cheating. I don’t know which one’s worse. “Yeah,” he says. After a few tense

moments, he continues. “I almost cheated on you, once. It was after some fight. I was in the car, had some old flame from before you on the phone. But I couldn’t go through with it. I drove to the diner—that fifties-themed one that closed last year—and listened to the jukebox until I could finally go back home.”

He doesn’t deny the other one. I think about what Larissa said, about Casey being her home.

“Did you see Dave and Calvin? Their chairs were awfully close together,” he continues, trying to change the

subject.

I don’t buy it. “Terry, what are we doing?” He inhales sharply. “What is this? Do we really think we’ll be

together forever? You’re doing something behind my back. We haven’t had a date, an actual date, in months. We hardly see each other anymore.” I bark out a harsh laugh. “And I can’t figure out if you’re my home or just someone from school who I got stuck on.”

Terry yanks his hand away. “Okay, Laurie, I get it.” His voice is venomous. “This town is full of death. I know

you know that. Don’t take it out on me.” We’re silent until we reach the house, and he leans over me and unlocks the door. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up.”

When I get inside, I head straight for the phone and call Dave. His home phone, not the police station. He

answers on the fourth ring, and I say, “You gotta do something about Casey. At least get him into some sort of treatment program.” Dave sighs, but it sounds relieved. When I hang up, I can’t tell if I feel good or not. I wonder what Larissa would think.

​

“I’ll give you a year,” I say, later, while flipping through TV channels. Terry doesn’t look up from his crossword;

I don’t stop flipping. “If you don’t stop in a year, I’m leaving.” I’ll take the train somewhere out east, with the household appliances and sheet metal.

“A year’s an awfully long time,” Terry says, his voice carefully even.

“I know,” I say back. I don’t know which one of us that time is for. Terry doesn’t respond.

There’s nothing on TV. The antenna has shifted a bit, so all the images are staticky. I turn it off and roll over,

putting the remote on my nightstand and collapsing onto my side. The bed shifts, and I roll a bit towards the center involuntarily. Then the lights flick off.

​

Terry comes home for dinner some nights. Other nights, his plate goes cold. Other nights, he doesn’t have a

plate at all. Sometimes I throw the bacon grease out, sometimes I crack his eggs in it. His smile always reaches his eyes when he sees me do that.

The ring’s still in his closet. The diamond taunts me with a life that could have been, a life in limbo,

simultaneously getting further from and closer to me every day.

Green ribbons keep appearing on doors. We go to a few funerals. My mom and I go to my cousin Dominick’s.

I didn’t know him very well. I wish I did. As we walk home, the sun starts to dip beneath the hills, painting the sky purple and gold and pink. The clouds look like cotton candy.

“You know, I’ve lived here my entire life, and I never get tired of watching the sunsets,” my mom says. “Each

time we went on a date, your father would take a picture of the sunset. Put them all in a little book and gave it to me for an engagement present.”

“That’s sweet,” I say. My feet scuff over the pavement. Gray sneakers on the gray ground.

“Terry ever do anything like that for you?”

“Sometimes. He saved all the notes I passed him in high school, and receipts from first dates and stuff. He’ll

bring donuts back sometimes, does the grocery shopping every now and then. You know, things like that.” I pause for a moment. “I gave him a year to get his head on straight.” My mom’s the first person I called when I realized he was coming home late.

“That’s an awfully long time.”

“That’s what he said, too. Just want to make sure I’m making the right decision.” We’ve reached the railroad

tracks. We look left, look right, and carefully climb over. “There’s so much death in this town. What’s left for me here?” Right behind us, a horn blares, rumbling the ground, causing me to flinch. “Those stupid green ribbons. The train crashes and horses getting shot and half of my high school class overdosing on the same drugs.” I laugh bitterly. I should be crying, but I don’t have any tears left. “Why does everyone stay? Why doesn’t anyone leave? Every single person at my graduation who hasn’t died is still here. What makes them stay?” Finally, finally, a tear slips out of my eye. It trails slowly down my face before disappearing on the pavement. “Do they want to die?”

My mom puts her hand on my back and gently guides me away from the tracks. “The train’s coming, sweetie.

Let’s step away.” Sure enough, the barriers fall, and the lights flash. We take a few steps, then a few more, then a few more, and soon the tracks are far behind us, the roar of the train just a sound in the distance. We sit on a street corner until I can pull air into my lungs again.

“I’ve been here my entire life,” my mom says. “I’ve never really wanted to leave. We’ve got each other in this

town, Laurie. We always have. I don’t know just what it is that gets people to stay. But maybe it’s the same thing that gets us up in the morning. What made everyone sweep water out of the Jones’s house when their dishwasher exploded. What made us all cook Lindsay dinner for a month after they had to shoot her horse.” She sits back. “People want a better life, but they want that better life to be here. And that’s the important part.” She trails off.

I think about Calvin and Dave, their chairs pushed a bit too close together. About the light in Larissa’s eyes

when she reads to the little kids at the library. About what’s keeping me here, what’s stopping me from getting on a train whether Terry follows me or not.

Because I can talk all I want, but there’s a reason I gave him a year.

My mom continues. “Wait until the getting’s good. When you’re done waiting, recalculate. Maybe try a new

strategy. Maybe move somewhere else. But you still keep working towards that good. You gotta, Laurie, or else you’re gonna be stuck here for real.” She stops for a second. “I know it’s not the greatest advice. But it’s the best I can offer you.”

I lean back onto my hands and let the cooling air dry my tear tracks. The sun has sunk beneath the hills. I’m

not stuck here yet. Most of us aren’t. “I’ll give it a year,” I say again.

The train roars by, heading east with household appliances and sheet metal. We sit until the sound

disappears into the distance.