“Russet or sunburst, I’m thinking autumnal with a cottage core vibe,” Hanna said.
“Like orange. This isn’t Halloween, sweetheart. Orange isn’t for weddings. How about petal pink? What do you think Helena? Look at this one,” Mrs. Carmody said.
An confection of pink tulle and satin was thrust into Helena’s face. She fumbled with the bridesmaid’s dress. She was supposed to be the buffer between her baby sister and her sister’s future mother-in-law. Hanna’s face was flushed as Mrs. Carmody selected another pink dress. This one was a mass of bubblegum ruffles.
“Halloween! Look this is my wedding.”
Hoisting the two gowns up like a fluffy barrier, Helena separated the women before sparks began to fly. The bridal shop clerk hurried over with a distraction of cold cheap white wine. Helene ditched the dresses and hustled her sister towards the cocktail dresses. In a flurry of crepe and georgette, Hanna was venting. Helena’s face hurt from fake smiling. Nodding, Helena made soothing noises. The clerk and her mom were running interference to prevent Allan’s mother from sharing her suggestions with Hanna.
She brushed against crushed velvet. I should be bridal dress shopping, Helena thought. The image of Michael made her fingers clench the fabric. She felt his hands sliding up her back when they met at Skyline. Helena was wearing her favorite shirt dress, midnight blue velvet. Michael couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Brilliant and beautiful, Helene remembered shimmering under his gaze as they talked all night. He wouldn’t let her wear that dress anymore. Said she looked like a whore. She looked around nervously before forcing herself to smile again. It’s okay, we’re okay. He let me come dress shopping with my family. Things are fine, she thought.
“That’s pretty, I guess. It would compliment the auburn tea roses.”
The sound of her baby sister’s voice brought Helena back to the present. The entire wedding party had gathered around her and the dusty plum gown crushed in her hands. Mrs. Carmody was droning on about baby’s breath. The clerk showed up with mimosas. Her mom tried to catch Helena’s eye, wanting to say something, anything to her girl. Helena hurried deeper into the rows.
Potato salad, cold fried chicken, and a jar of dill pickles, Connie lifted out container after container from back of the station wagon. She handed Vin the platter of deviled eggs. Shouting, the twins were tossing a frisbee. An errant breeze caught the tablecloth. Grammy, holding a bowl of ambrosia, let lose an extraordinary riff of expletives. Plastic plates went flying. Laughing, Vin fumbled the slippery tray of hard boiled eggs. Egg halves tumbled over his Chuck Ts.
“Costello! Vin wake up! What are we going to do? Ramirez is under restraints and the other is in the decontamination airlock. What now?” Franz said.
The panic in his second in command’s voice cut into Vin’s thoughts. He could taste green apple Capri Sun. The grass at Overlook park was spongy under his Chucks. In front of him struggling Ramirez was zip tied to the med bay bed and the other one the one who looked and sounded just like Ramirez was shouting over the intercom. Its cries grew more frantic.
Vin put his hand to his aching forehead. His fingertips smelt of fresh cut summer. Something he couldn’t understand was happening to him.
“Cut the in line audio to the airlock. Make sure whatever it is can hear us though. Doc what about the readouts?” Vin asked.
“Look for yourself Fern—I mean Vin. Heart rate, blood pressure every reading on this Ramirez as well as one in the airlock reads as human. I’ve compared to previous scans for a baseline but what the hell, Captain? I don’t know what is happening? How can there be two?” Doctor Johnson said, her voice quaking.
“Listen to me! You know it’s me. We’ve served two tours together, Vin. I went out to repair the solar cells and came back. End of story. Kill that thing. I don’t know why you let it in. You know me guys,” med bay Ramirez said.
On the airlock screen Vin could see that Ramirez was mouthing the words, ‘kill that thing I don’t know why you let it in you know me, guys.’ Just below his left ear, an ice pick of pain pierced Vin’s head. Crying, Franz was mumbling to someone Vin couldn’t see. Doc’s nose had started to bleed. Vin’s eyes closed. Whatever was happening was happening to all of them at the same time.
Laughing the twins were tossing around a football. Grammy was slicing up Aunt Evie’s apple cake, Vin’s favorite. Grammy handed him a slice. Thick chunks of apple, the slice smelled of sulfur. Vin jerked back. Something was wrong. Focus, Vincent, Connie whispered close to his ear. His eyes flew open. Fighting the urge of red popsicles and jars of fireflies, Vin typed his command code into his wrist band. Bright drops of blood fell onto his silvery uniform. He dragged his forearm beneath his own bloody nose.
“Doc prepare a quick syringe of morph. Franz complete the disinfection vacate airlock sequence. Miles, I am going to ask you one question. The Ramirez that gets it right lives. The one who gets it wrong dies. If you are both wrong or both right I will complete the self destruction sequence. I don’t know how far the replication process has gone. I don’t know if we can even be saved. I just owe it to my crew to try. Franz, pull it together soldier. Doc, ready? “ Vin said.
After a deep breath, Vin walked around the med bay bed. With a dose gun posed at Ramirez’s jugular Doc waited. Sniffling Franz tapped on control screen. Vin looked at both sets of bio readings. Both sets of readings showed anxiety. Vin nodded to his second. Franz turned on the airlock audio. Wavering, Vin placed a hand on the spaceship wall to steady himself. Turkey in the Straw playing from a passing ice cream truck made Vin wince.
“Ready everyone. Ramirez, here’s your test. Knock knock, who’s there, banana.”
Everyone froze.
“Knock knock who’s there, banana,” Vin said inches from Ramirez’ ear.
Suddenly the readings diverged. One spiked into the near heart attack range, the other sank into a resting heart rate. Over the intercom, the Ramirez in the airlock howled a litany of profanities.
“Knock knock who’s there, orange. Orange who?” Vin said in a sing song voice.
From the readings the real crewman was losing his rag and the other was confident it had the right answer. “Orange you glad I didn’t say ba—“
Before collapsing to his knees, Vin patted Doc’s shoulder. She shot the fake Ramirez in the neck and reached to activate the contamination field. Turning, Franz fired an air canister into the fake Ramirez. A perfect circle opened in fake Ramirez’ chest. Hissing, the fake crewman deflated like a tired balloon behind the shimmering force field. The real Ramirez stormed into the med bay still shouting profanities. Drowning in cinnamon, Vin sank onto the med bay floor.
No one ever tells you how hard it is to dig a hole. It’s not like in the movies, six feet deep with sharp corners. I tried to explain to Wilf but he’s hardheaded. I gave up explaining. Grandma has to go.
The first few inches are sandy. Once you are hand deep, the dirt gets hard. We had to switch from shovels to pointy trowels to cut the hard packed ground. Wilf and I went through Grandma’s tools again till we found what we could. Again and again, the trowel bounced off the ground. My palms ached. All of me started hurting.
Grumbling Wilf returned to shoveling. I stabbed; he shoveled. Then it began to rain and of course Wilf wanted to stop. I had to yell and Wilf started to cry of course. Softening the soil like Grandma explained, the rain will make it easier to dig. Grandma knew so much, practically everything. She was Wilf’s blood but grandma took me in when I was a little. She was always one to pick up strays that’s why she had a house full of relations and near relationship and of course me.
In silence we dug besides the new potatoes. Grandma said there would be less roots in this corner. Wilf is a year older than me but grandma always told me I had more common sense. Even with my job, Wilf’s SSI check, and the girls’ benefits, I understood that we needed grandma’s pension check to keep the house. Grandma knew she was sick. She explained to each of us what we had to do to keep going. But she didn’t have to tell me to look out for Wilf.
Auntie Carmen is taking care of Grandma. Elena even wrapped her in one of her favorite shawls. Sniffling Wilf sat by the makeshift grave. I tossed out shovelfuls of earth. Dirt rained down on me. Roots pulled at my shovel. I worked until I couldn’t see. Wilf patted my shoulder.
“My turn. I got you,” Wilf said taking the shovel from my hand.
Out of breath, I was going to argue. Wilf just climbed in and dug.
Hold me Not with R&B and candle-lit dinners Tuck my back to your front With my hair a lullaby scratching your face Your arm asleep beneath the weight of my head Pull me close But steal the covers While I knock the pillows to the floor and Eat secret cookies in bed Promise to always Stay up late reading with those store bought glasses And I will snore love sonnets Each and every night
The grandmother clock on the hearth ticked. Esmeralda scratched behind her ear. Raven stared out of the window at the cars passing by. Cocking his head to one side, the counselor studied the couple’s body language. One looked ready to pounce and the other seemed barely awake but was definitely alert. Tall and slim, one had a swoosh of jet black hair and annoyed dark eyes. The other was a fluffy. Looking left and right, the counselor waited. Raven tapped his foot. The counselor twirled his pen. Stretching her back, Esmeralda yawned.
“See that what I mean, Dr. Fantanbolus. Total disconnect,” Raven said. “Esme doesn’t care about working on us at all.”
“I hear you Raven, but let’s use “I” statements. Can you reframe your statement?” Dr. Fantanbolus said.
“I feel like all I do is serve her. Everything is on Esmeralda’s terms. I feel like my familiar is an asshole,” Raven said, pounding the arm of his chair.
Ears folded back, Esmeralda hissed. Raven hissed back. Blue violet light sparked from Raven’s eyes. With an angry flick , Esmeralda’s tail batted the energy back towards Raven. He screamed. The harsh sound twisted into a caw as Raven transformed into a large black bird. Shaking out of his clothes, the bird continued to caw. Raven jumped free. Knocking over a lamp, Raven flew around the therapist’s office. Dr. Fantanbolus grabbed and missed the lamp. Esmeralda made a leap for Raven, catching some tail feathers. Her chair fell backwards. The cat somersaulted and a naked woman landed on all fours.
Esmeralda stood and slipped into Raven’s abandoned shirt. Tutting, Raven landed on the clock. Stamping her foot, Esmeralda pulled a slender black feather from her mouth. The bird jumped up toppling the grandmother clock. The counselor caught the clock inches from the floor.
“Damn! It is the same every time. You’re always angry, blaming me for your craptastic magic skills. I can’t deal with it so I shut down. My bad!” Esmeralda shouted at the bird.
She grabbed the rest of Raven’s things and marched out of the therapist’s office. The door slammed and Raven banged into the picture window. With a sad caw, he landed on the window seat. The door opened.
“Come on,” Esmeralda called.
Raven flew to the door and landed on Esmeralda’s shoulder. The door slammed again. Sighing the therapist picked up the chair.
“Good session, see you next week.”
“Another water with lemon?”
“Yes, please,” Larissa said.
With a clunk, the waitress set the glass down on the cafe table. The water sloshed on the table. Droplets landed on her well creased paperback. Larissa rubbed her book cover with the hem of her jacket. This was her fourth glass of water. Her bladder was about to bust. But she wasn’t going to move from this seat at this outdoor cafe. This time would be different.
Larissa was a good girl. Her mother taught Sunday school. Her daddy served as a deacon. And every Sunday found her in church, front and center. Larissa smoothed a hand over her long sweater. I should have worn the flowery dress, she thought. Nervously she glanced up and down the street as she sipped at her water.
Larissa was never one to make a fuss. With three older brothers and a baby sister, she learned to never ask for too much. And she had the church. There was choir practice and mission work. Her mother was thrilled Larissa never got boy crazy the way some girls did. The waitress circled her table. Larissa pretended to look for something urgent in her purse.
At first Larissa didn’t understand liking girls was a bad thing. It was as natural as breathing in and out. Quickly she got the message and hid in plain sight, pretending to be shy instead of disinterested in dating boys. It worked for a while until college. Her friends were always trying to play matchmaker. Matchmaking led to her friend’s brother, Thomas.
Awkward around people, Thomas was the first person Larissa came out to. He was easy to talk to and pretending with him was easier than standing on the truth alone. Larissa checked her phone for the fiftieth time. No text from Josie. She’d tried so hard to be good. She married Thomas and set up house. Soon there would be children and Sunday school. Until Josie. She was just a thumbnail on the screen, an attendee on an online prayer group.
They had so much in common. Same traditional religious background, same need to please, Josie was Larissa’s spirit in another body. They texted and called each other everyday. Thomas had to tell Larissa she was falling in love for the first time. They talked all night before Larissa asked Josie to meet up in real life.
Maybe Thomas is right. Josie was a complete stranger. A voice on the phone, pixels on a screen. Thomas was the person she was supposed to be with, right. Am I really upending my life for someone I don’t know from Adam. Larissa thought. She slammed close her book. Her eyes burned. She left in a huff.
“Miss, Miss, you dropped yout book, “Left Hand of Darkness, excellent taste, beautiful.”
With a pixie cut and lovely long lashes, the stranger from another table handed Larissa her book. They held each other gaze for a long moment before looking away. She tucked her book in her coat pocket. She read it as a child late at night with a flashlight while her family slept. Larissa didn’t know why she grabbed it today. Something to keep her company iwhen Josie didn’t show.
A warm flush spreading from her toes to her crown as Larissa walked to her car. In a couple of days she knew Josie would reach out with an excuse and tearful promises to turn up next time. Again. Larissa turned around and noticed the stranger was checking her out. Driving away, Larissa set her book on the passenger seat and smiled to herself.
“Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the other who would drag us all into the eternal light,” Georgie said.
“Sorry to wake you up. I need to collect your vitals,” the nurse said. “Name, birthdate?”
Georgie rolled her words around in his mind like gritty marbles. Each syllable scratched under his tongue. They always asked the same question as if they needed a shibboleth, Georgie thought, a special password, that only a select few can pronounce to distinguish one group from another.
“Which group am I in?” Georgie asked. “Dead or asleep.”
“Need your name and birthday, hon,” the nurse said as she set medications on the tray.
Her voice sounded far away. Georgie thought she sounded like an angel. Or maybe a robot. Definitely a robot.
In the velvety blue light of his hospital room, he watched the nurse navigate the supply cart, the uncomfortable chair. Something was in her hands. He wondered if she brought the blue light night with her. Chuckling Georgie imagined a handbag full of sparkling stars.
Pain sliced through his laughter. Shaking, his body constricted into a hard C. The nurse laid her hand on his face. Her fingers were cool side of the pillow smooth on his forehead. Georgie took a shaky breath.
“He will give you death, and you will love him for it,” Georgie said.
“Is that another Tolkien quote, George? I don’t know that one. Tolkien is one of my favorites but I haven’t read him since high school,” the nurse asked.
George fumbled for the answer. Who wrote that? he thought.
“Deep breaths, love, that’s it. You are alive, very much alive. My name is Noreen. Will you tell me your name? Will you tell me when you were born?”
The pain ebbed.
“George Lance, November 22nd, 2005.”
Tight quick breaths Quick stiff steps Uphill in heels and my good purse Steeling myself for another day At the office On your ice Bruised and numb Skating around missed deadlines Smiling till my cheeks hurt Arms flung wide open to an audience of jeers Criticisms piled in the sidelines Let me pirouette A perfect spin of never good enough No worries See you on Monday I’m used to balancing on blades
green fingers plunge deep unabashed into the soil sink into cool wetness against my tips or caress dry resistance crumbling turn towards the light joy uncurls from its sheath the green stretch of new growth petals blossom into exclamation points green fireworks of fenestrations Pinch away what’s spent dry leaves crunched into pockets held up to brightness bottom water till heavy and satiated drink deep unabashed into my soul green fingers
Black-eyed peas with rice. Ging looked from the front of the khaki green pouch to the insides and back again to the package’s front. The package said Hopping John, which sounded festive and at least edible. Instead it was just more brown sludge that smelt of beans. Ging poked his fork in the pouch and retrieved a slimy mouthful. Prepared for the worst, the soldier opened his mouth. That’s when Ging saw the red dot.
The Sniper had found him. With a shrug, Ging returned to his breakfast. At least it was evenly hot, he thought. Last night’s korma was molten on the bottom and icy at the top. A lot of the MREs were defective. Capt. Clark said cold rations were the price of war. Ging thought that meant Olde Earth was cheaping out and buying discounted rations from Mars. He read the list of ingredients. The red dot on his chest moved slowly up.
Snipers liked to play games. There had been heavy fighting earlier in the week, but the last few days had been peaceful. Baker Company was mostly patrolling the Brandywine, rooting out any rebel robots that had been missed. Ging looked at the burnt umber dirt and the twisted blackened trees. He had been born on Mars to a mining family. His folks and baby sis immigrated to work as miners on Saturn. Ging had decided to join the military to earn a homestead. Ging took another mouthful of beans. He’d had worse. The red dot was off his chest and was probably on his forehead for all he cared.
The Sniper was ready to make their move. Eating more quickly, Ging could taste onions and red peppers in the beans. He thought of his mother’s stew and wished for home. Ging didn’t understand this war with the Androids. They were either tools or people. If they were tools then the Androids should follow the rules. And if the Androids were real life people because they caught feelings and learned thoughts they should still follow the goddamn rules. Everyone followed the rules. No one got special rights. Ging’s folks worked their fingers to the bone for next to nothing. No one gave his family anything. In the bush, Ging heard a gentle rustle to the left as he picked a hunk of garlic out of his teeth.
Ging belched. That wasn’t half-bad, Ging thought. With a wrist flick, he flung the empty pouch to the right. It whacked the Sniper in the forehead.
“Damn it, Ginger, you got guck on my helmet,” Mirre said. “I just came to give you a hand.”
Snipers loved to take trophies. His pal lobbed a disembodied Android arm onto Ging’s lap. Grey and flaccid, it stank like rotten broccoli. Tossing it, Ging gagged and Mirre giggled. Content, Ging scratched at his belly. The hopping john was good but it knew it would give him an ache by nightfall. As Mirre went to retrieve her latest prize, Ging leaned back and hoped for a quiet night.
