Coaxial Dreams

Elena knelt on the carpet, the coaxial cable looped around her fingers like a dead snake. Another Tuesday, another apartment complex, another tenant whose internet had failed at the worst possible moment.

"You're a lifesaver," the woman said, hovering in the doorway. "I've got a Zoom in ten minutes."

Elena smiled automatically. She'd been running these calls for three years. The repetition had worn grooves in her brain, smooth channels where her thoughts flowed in predictable patterns. Check the signal, replace the splitter, test the connection. She could do it in her sleep. Sometimes she felt like she was.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket—probably Marcus, asking what time she'd be home. Or maybe one of those automated reminders from her vitamin subscription service. She'd started taking them after her mother's stroke. B12, D3, omega-3. A daily ritual of swallowing pills, each one a tiny prayer against her own genetic lottery.

The apartment was silent except for the hum of the tenant's laptop fan. On the coffee table, a framed photograph showed two women on a beach, arms around each other, faces bright with sunscreen and happiness. Elena looked away.

She'd been running for months now—not exercise, but escape. From the conversations she didn't want to have. From the question marks that lived in Marcus's eyes when he asked if she was happy. From the mirror that showed her mother's face emerging, day by day, in her own.

"There we go," she said, tightening the final connection. The signal bars on her tester jumped from red to green. "You should be all set."

"Thanks again. Seriously." The woman's phone pinged. "Oh, gotta take this. Thanks, really."

Elena gathered her tools. The door clicked shut behind her. In the hallway, she sat on her equipment case and pulled out the vitamin bottle from her pocket. Three capsules rattled inside. She dry-swallowed them without water.

Somewhere in the building, a baby started crying. Elena stood up, hoisted her case, and headed for the stairs. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she'd call the therapist back. Tomorrow she'd let herself feel it all.

The cable was fixed. That was something.