By Sierra Stonebraker, Fiction Editor
Sharp and exciting language is the most immediate way I engage with a story, and my favorite aspect of “You Can Never Come Back to Now” (issue 115) is the prose, which functions as a main engine of the narrative. The first few sentences conjure images of a world-ending asteroid veering toward Earth before shifting gears to ground the reader into the perspective of Evan. These first few sentences will grab you by the collar with visions of the end of the world. The rest of the story will put its arm over your shoulders, smooth out the wrinkles in your shirt, and walk alongside you while relaying a compelling story about a couple struggling to find their footing in a capitalist system that may not be as immediately world-ending as an asteroid, but in many ways, feels like it is.
This narrative focuses mainly on the quiet dynamics of a couple living in a world ruled by technology that is becoming increasingly interpersonal and on track to replace human-to-human connection. Evan and Em attempt to relate to each other while Evan is unemployed and struggling to place himself in an industry that no longer has use for his skills, and Em is employed, loves her job, but her connection to Evan dwindles as she remains focused and steadfast in her career of producing apps. As a way to cope with his fears and loneliness, Evan becomes obsessed with a crystal he ordered from a website, praying it can bring good luck to his life. At the same time, instead of attempting to connect with Em, he uses a mindfulness app named OptiBot to catalogue his hopes and fears, an app that, unbeknownst to Evan, Em has access to the backend of and is able to see everything Evan reveals to the app.
This is a story that captured me with its complex prose while keeping me grounded in the narrative of a young couple existing in a world that refuses to make room for them. The prose is able to get away with complicated and long sentences that support its themes of technology and mysticism because, at its core, the story is not really about the end of the world, but about two people who continuously wake up with this sense that the end is near. Even if they are unable to see the asteroid veering down on them, the sense that it’s on its way seeps through in every word.
Edmund Sandoval’s “You Can Never Come Back to Now” appears in our new Spring 2024 Issue 115.
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Sierra Stonebraker is a second-year MFA student in fiction at UNCG. Her work has appeared in The Greensboro Review and Allegory Ridge’s fiction anthology Archipelago. She grew up in the high desert of Southern California and lived in Seattle, WA for four years before moving to Greensboro. She currently serves as a Fiction Editor for The Greensboro Review.