But Doctor Meadows shakes his head and laughs and says That isn’t quite right either, I’m much too young for all that. I should be a child, just like Katy over there, and I like Katy don’t I?
Katy’s okay, but she never wants to play anymore, just sits on her bench under her apple tree and reads her papers. We used to have fun and play together and be all kinds of things, but that was before she found her true form and they put that bracelet on her, and now she’s never fun. She says she likes it better this way, and that they still let her take her bracelet off every once in a while, and then she can do what she wants.
Katy says it’s good to have a bracelet because it teaches di-si-plin, but Doctor Meadows never told me about that word and Katy looks at me like I’m stupid for it. She says true forms are important so everyone always knows who she is, and how she can’t wait to serve her country. I don’t like thinking about having my own bracelet, no sir, not-one-bit.
Doctor Meadows says I should be like Katy and find a true form that everyone likes, and that will be me until I’m older and ready to leave, and then I can find another true form and grow up properly. He says Don’t worry, you’ll learn how to by then, just like Katy’s learning now. But I don’t understand because how can something have two true forms? Doctor Meadows says I think too much and it’s normal for things to change over time, but if that’s so true then I should be able to change all the time and never worry about having a true form because I’m always me. Even when I’m a blade of grass or a cool breeze or the dew on the glass I’m still me.
I don’t want to be like Katy and wear a little silver bracelet all the time. I like being a spider and a hummingbird and a big stripy tiger like in the pictures. They don’t like it when I’m a tiger, not-one-bit. They come out with their glowing nets and shock sticks and stun beams and tracer guns and look at me with frightened eyes, and I don’t like it when they look at me like that, not-one-bit.
The doctors say one day they’ll let me out and I’ll be able to serve my country, but I don’t know what that means. The nice lady with the cart serves me my proteins and minerals and fatty jellies and all the other things they say I need to grow healthy and strong, but I don’t know how I can do that for a whole country so that can’t be what they mean.
I don’t care much what they want me to do because I’ll be outside, and I’ll make sure to stay in my true form when people are around so they won’t hurt me, just like they tell me to. I’ll be nice and sweet and dull for them, just like Katy and her apple tree and her bench.
But sometimes I think they only want me in my true form because of all their clipboards and papers and filing cabinets, because everything for them has a name and a place and a use and if it doesn’t then they get all cranky and shaky and cruel, like that one grey man who comes into my room sometimes with his shock stick.
He pokes and prods and laughs when he does it, and I lose all control and then I’m all limbs and wings and bones and bark and shell like some crazy Frank-in-Stine, and I don’t know what one of those is but he sneers it when he shocks me. Sneers like fears and leers and tears, and I don’t like those words or how they taste, no sir, not-one-bit.
One day I see Katy and she’s all ready to grow up, she says. She’ll get a new true form and a new bracelet and they’ll let her out of the institute to serve her country. I’m happy for her because that’s what she says she wants but I’ll miss her. She says she doesn’t care what I think anyway because I’m not so good with my words like her and she thinks I’m stupid. And that makes me sad.
We didn’t need words before I was Rosie and she was Katy. We spoke with texture and gesture and colour and scent, we jumped from one form to the next and we both understood just peachy. Peachy, peachy, all sweet like apples and oranges even though people say you can’t compare them, and that makes no sense because I just did, and maybe words aren’t so good, words are blunt and sharp and hot and cold all at the same time and I don’t like how Katy’s words make me feel. Not-one-bit.
I tell Doctor Meadows and that makes him sad too, because he thought I was coming along all proper and this is a setback, he says, because I need my words to think how people need me to think, because I can’t go around thinking in ways that people might not understand like texture and gesture and colour and scent. I can’t write texture and gesture and colour and scent down and I think that’s what makes him sad because he likes to read my words with me.
He gives me big new crunchy words to play with, like infiltrate and assassinate and impersonate and detonate and extricate, and then spicy-twisty-lilty words like sabotage and espionage and camouflage, and those are from France which is somewhere far away where they speak different words, so I don’t understand why I’m learning them anyway. I don’t think he likes telling me these words much but the Thin Lady with the pointy face and the tight hair makes him.
But maybe he’s just sad because I don’t have my true form yet, because I don’t want to be like Katy so much. Sometimes when he’s sad we play hide and seek and that cheers him right up but today he says he Doesn’t Have Time For Me and I think if only I can surprise him and make him smile and laugh again everything will be alright. So I’m sneaky and hide in the hallway when he talks with the Thin Lady and they don’t see me because I’m in the handy-man’s bucket and all over his mop and spreading out all over the floor, flowing over the bumps and grit and grime and letting all the people step on me with their soft heavy gooey shoes. Last time I was the air but that didn’t work out so well with all the breathing and sneezing and coughing that people do.
The Thin Lady never looks happy, never smiles like Doctor Meadows. Her voice is all scratchy and high when she talks about Subjects and Phases and Moving Things Along. Doctor Meadows says he just needs more time with Her and that She’s making a lot of Progress and then he says my name, and I almost turn into bubbles and vapour but they don’t see.
But the Thin Lady says I’m not a She or a Her and I’m not his little friend, and if he doesn’t get better at Moving Things Along then she’ll reassign It to someone else. And I think It is me.
I’m not so stupid as Katy thinks because I know they’re talking about me and I don’t like it. It It It. But Doctor Meadows says my name is Rosie and Katy’s name is Katy and a Rosie or a Katy can’t be an It because that doesn’t make sense, and Doctor Meadows is always saying words are feelings given form, but their form changes shape more than I do and I can’t trust words and feelings that make no sense and mean so many different things. Maybe words and feelings don’t have a true form.
And I don’t think I much like being It. It, It, not-one-bit. I don’t think I like words much at all anymore, no sir.
I have to wait until Doctor Meadows and the Thin Lady are all gone and then I’m a hummingbird again, racing through the corridors with their bright white colours and funny scents that mean nothing. I fly to the garden and go as high as I can, right up to the invisible wall, so close I can hear it humming to me and I hum right back. I know I can’t go any higher but at least nobody can find me up here for now, not before the night bell rings and the sonic sweeper brings me back down.
I find a little perch at the edge of the wall, just big enough for my tiny claws, and what happens next isn’t something I can write down for Doctor Meadows to read so I just slot the words into my mind with everything else I remember, and I remember everything.
Another little hummingbird arrives on the other side of the invisible wall, and I want to tell it to fly far away from this place and its glowing nets and shock sticks and stun beams and tracer guns, but it just hovers there beating its wings and peering at me. Then I wonder if it’s Katy come back to call me stupid again.
I never met anyone like me but Katy, I know there’s more at this place but they keep us all in pairs and separate, except for me since Katy left and I’m all on my own now. That’s not so bad though because Katy wasn’t really like me anymore at the end anyway, more like one of them, like maybe Katy h
ad been a Thing they’d Moved Along. And I think that’s what they’re trying to make me.
I hope the other bird is Katy so I can tell her I’m not the stupid one. She’s the stupid one for thinking that bracelet makes her so smart. I’m not the stupid one because now I know the big pretty words take away my feelings, but she laps up all those big words and asks for more, and I don’t want to serve my country if it’s a place with so many horrible words that try to change my thoughts, but already I can’t think my thoughts without their words and that makes me sad.
Then I know the other hummingbird can’t be Katy because she loves that bracelet and doesn’t take it off. So then I wonder if there’s more like me out there, if the little bird is like me but free of this place and its rules and words and people that like to hurt me.
But it’s just a little bird. I become a tempting little spider and the bird rushes in to catch me in its beak, but I hear the sizzle and see the flash and then it’s all gone, and that was pretty stupid too, and I’m smart enough not to do that. I’m also smart enough to fly back down and return to my room before the sonic sweeper hits, and to know not to write these things down but keep them all for myself.
That’s what I’ll do from now on. I’ll find a form they like and tell them it’s true but only to please them, because Katy said true forms are important so everyone always knows who she is, but I don’t think that’s such a good thing anymore because I never stop being me. Maybe that scares them because everything has a name and a place and a use, but if their words and feelings can get by without a true form then maybe I can too.
I’ll learn their words and read their papers and wear their bracelet and be good. I’ll write down all the words that Doctor Meadows wants to read and I’ll make him smile some more and make sure the Thin Lady isn’t mad at him, and then one day I’ll go just like Katy.
But the rest of me, I’ll keep for myself because even their glowing nets and shock sticks and stun rays and tracer guns can’t take that away. Then when I get my chance I’ll not wait a moment longer, and I’ll be a little hummingbird on the breeze and they won’t like that, no sir, not-one-bit.
CONNECTIONS
by J. Thomas
That’s me. I’m the guy standing there in the tan leather jacket and shredded jeans. My name’s Jasper Kennedy— all right, that’s not my real name. But, my real name’s not important— what I do is. I hang around malls and I watch people. I’m a people watcher. Like that song “Girl Watcher” by the O’Kaysons— except I watch everyone. Dammit, now I have that song stuck in my head.
Standing here next to the Cinnabon in the Burnsville Mall and I’m humming, “I’m a girl watcher, watching girls go by. My, my, my…” Although the first time I really heard that song was on a commercial for Wheel of Fortune and the tune had been changed to, “I’m a WHEEL watcher.” Not very original but it must have worked because I’m twenty-seven and I still remember it.
The smell of assembly line cinnamon rolls wafts out of the blue brick shop, making my stomach grumble and reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I don’t have any money to buy anything and I’m no thief. I’m no beggar either so I ignore my stomach and continue watching people. See, I can tell things about people just by looking at them. It’s a knack I suppose. I prefer to think of it as my superpower.
Although, if I had my choice I think I’d prefer to have Superman’s powers. To be able to fly, shoot lasers out of my eyes or frost out of my mouth and basically survive anything (except Kryptonite) wouldn’t be too bad. Instead, I can see how people are connected to one another. Kind of a lame superpower, I suppose.
I certainly don’t dress like a superhero either with my pair of torn jeans and flannel shirt hidden beneath a Crocodile Dundee jacket. If you’ve never seen the movie, you should— it’s the only thing that Paul Hogan did right. Second one’s not too bad either.
Damn, I’m rambling. I tend to do that especially when I’m hungry. Where was I? Oh, yeah, my superpower. I see how people are connected— literally. It’s like a string of light that emanates from one person to another. It’s the color of the light that tells me how people are connected. A bright white light means absolute dependence. A child and mother share this type of connection, the occasional husband and wife might share it but it’s rare. Sometimes that type of connection is so bright it’s hard to look at - like in the case of this new mother nursing her baby in the food court. I can’t look at that light for very long or I’d probably go blind. Plus, it’s rude to stare at a mother breastfeeding her child. She should cover up though because there’s a hazy purplish black line touching her and the source is a creepy looking guy across the way. The connection he’s forming is a darker shade than motherly love, a bruised wavering hue snaking out of his chest. He’s wearing a food stained t-shirt and black jogger pants although he doesn’t look like a jogger with his belly pushing against the elastic waistband looking like a balloon ready to pop. He’s clutching an extra large soda in one hand and his other is— oh, god— heading down south. What’s even creepier though is how his light - that’s what I usually call it - is beginning to encircle the mother and her infant. It can’t complete the connection because she is oblivious to him— which is probably for the best - and it’s this type of connection that I’m looking for.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t enjoy watching this sort of thing, but it can be profitable. I glance over to my right and see a mall cop— he’s trying to blend in as a normal shopper but the navy sports coat and the walkie talkie on his belt give him away. Knowing that he’s there watching, I make my move.
I circle around the food court, my eyes locked on the pervert who now has his hands down the front of his pants. He’s still looking at the mother with her infant and her exposed breast. He doesn’t think anyone can see him, hiding behind the fake potted plant tucked up against the safety railing. But he’d be wrong. I sidestep past a pair of teenage boys with their noses stuck in comic books and make a beeline for Mr. Jogger Pants.
“Hey, buddy,” I say slipping in next to him. Startled, he pulls his hand away from his waistline.
“What do you want?” He wheezes and I know I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be near him. He’s disgusting and frankly he shouldn’t be around people. But, I’m hungry and I’m pretty sure I can get a few dollars off him.
“I saw what you were doing - staring at that lady feeding her baby over there,” I say, nodding toward the food court. I watch as the color drains from his face and he begins to perspire. He turns those fearful eyes toward me, seeing me for the first time. I’m thinking this might go better than I previously anticipated until he squints and furrows his brow.
“I wasn’t doing anything and you can’t prove nothing,” he barks taking a sip from his liter of soda.
“Au contraire,” I retaliate. The only French I learned was from Pepe Le Pew, gotta love those Looney Tunes. “You see that mall cop over there?”
I turn and point across the way at the guard in navy blue. The guy notices me pointing at him and when I turn to the fat man, he knows he’s up a creek without a paddle.
“He saw what you did too and in just a moment he’s going to come over here and ask you to take a little walk to the office. That is, unless you give me fifty bucks,” I say and as if on cue, the guard lifts up his walkie talkie and presses it against his lips.
“Fifty dollars?” he whines.
“Yessirree. You pay me and nothing happens. You don’t - let’s just say, I don’t think you’d do well in the county jail.”
“I don’t have fifty dollars,” he complains, eyes bulging out of his corpulent face.
“What do you have?” I growl and he fumbles a hand into his pants pocket. He eventually withdraws a tan leather wallet with beads embroidered on the front. Thumbing through it, he pulls out a twenty, a ten and a couple singles sandwiched in between.
“Fine, fine. Give me that, but you better leave and I don’t want to see you back here again
. You understand me?” I say and the fat man is nodding emphatically. He withdraws the bills and I glance over to see if the security guard is watching us. He’s not, so I snatch the money from the fat man’s hand and send him packing.
Once he’s gone, I count my winnings thus far. It comes out to be thirty four dollars, enough to buy some food. I spot a scrumptious looking Chinese place in the food court. Whistling, I stuff the cash into my pocket while making my way down the steps into the pit. Inadvertently, I end up walking past the woman nursing her child.
“What a beautiful baby,” I say and she glares at me suspiciously. I look her straight in the eye flashing a friendly smile. This seems to disarm her and although I fight the urge, I end up catching a real glimpse of the white light connecting the mother and child.
Shit.
I find out his name is Charlie and her name is Pauline.
I can’t stop looking .
She had him out of wedlock and the “sperm donor” (her words, not mine) disappeared the moment he found out she was pregnant. I don’t want to see anymore.
She’s in her early twenties, works any shift she can get at Wal-Mart and her parents kicked her out of the house a week ago.
Goddammit.
I sigh and turn away before that light blinds me, but it’s already done its damage.
“Here,” I say and hand her the money from my pocket. She looks at my hand for a moment and then graciously accepts the cash. I even see tears well up in her eyes.
“Th - thank you,” she mumbles and I just shrug. I’m such a sucker. Before she can say another word, I turn and head out of the food court. I catch one fleeting glimpse of the Cinnabon as I make my way down the hall and to the exit. My stomach grumbles, but I know I’ll get some cash somewhere, somehow. After all, I am a superhero.
Kzine Issue 9 Page 3