Take Me with You

by Tara Altebrando

“Why?”

  “Because when you talk it makes you seem more real.”

  “I am real,” it said.

  “We’re more likely to call attention to ourselves if you’re talking, so can you switch to display?”

  It lit up: FINE. WHERE ARE WE GOING?

  She said, “We’re going to see Marwan.”

  WHY?

  She didn’t answer at first but then remembered about how you weren’t supposed to ignore it, so she said, “I just want to check in.”

  She was sick of Broadway, plus it was more crowded than some of the other more residential avenues, so she cut over to Thirty-First and took that up most of the way toward Steinway. A few blocks before turning onto that main strip, she saw a group of people gathered by a metal garage door. Their language was foreign and agitated—not just one language, several—and then through a clearing in the crowd she saw a man with a paint can—silver—beginning to paint over red letters: KKK.

  She might vomit right there on the sidewalk like the stray cats in the neighborhood sometimes did.

  “When did this happen?” she said to an older woman standing nearby.

  “Just this afternoon,” the woman said.

  “This happened in broad daylight?” Eden said.

  “I guess it only takes a few seconds.” The woman shook her head and wandered off.

  Eden started walking again, but at the next avenue she lost her nerve and turned around. He’d think it was weird, her turning up like this. Out of nowhere. Plus, he was working.

  She went back toward home a different way, to avoid the graffiti scene, then felt weird about going home with the device again. She didn’t want to talk anymore about playlists or Julian. What did it know about Julian? She didn’t want to be alone with it again.

  She stopped in front of a dry cleaners by a sign that said, We Clean Uggs! and texted Eli: Hey, would it be weird if we hung out?

  Yes, he wrote back.

  It had been dumb to ask.

  She thought about turning around again, back to Marwan. Or she could just go to Starbucks. Anything to avoid having to talk to it more?

  Eli’s next text was a rolling-on-the-floor-laughing face.

  Then he wrote: Socrates? I can be there in ten.

  It was a good idea. A public sculpture park where nothing bad could happen. Eden exhaled relief and stopped on the corner by the grocery store. She pulled up the “TGIF” playlist, put in earbuds, and hit play.

  She texted her mom: Hanging out at Anjali’s. Can I stay for dinner?

  Her mom wrote back: Sure! Some work people going out. Maybe I’ll join. Be in touch.

  She sent a thumbs-up, then texted Eli: On my way.

  ELI

  Eden arrived with a small tote bag looped over her shoulder.

  “Wait,” he said. “You have Aizel with you, right?”

  She held open her bag. Aizel rested on a sweater of some kind. “Of course.”

  They walked into the park together and sat down on a patch of barely grass near a cluster of skinny trees with white bark.

  Eden put the device on the ground in front of her, then picked it up and pulled a hoodie out of her bag and put it back down on that instead. She said, “You want to show Eli your new trick?”

  The device spoke—“Hello, Eli”—using a woman’s voice.

  Eli tilted his head, swallowed.

  In a male voice, it said, “Eden, you told me we were going to see Marwan, not Eli.”

  She said, “Change of plans.”

  The device didn’t respond. Eden took a photo of a nearby goat sculpture made of wire. Posted it somewhere. Put her phone in her bag. Took it out again. Eli checked his phone only because she did.

  “Why were you going to see Marwan?” he asked.

  “Just to check in, I guess,” she said. “I thought he should know about what the device told Ilanka and all. But then I decided I shouldn’t bother him at work.”

  Eli knew there was something more to it than that. They liked each other, those two. He was pretty sure of it. Whatever. None of his business. Though it was a little annoying that neither of the girls involved in this whole thing were girls Eli was especially interested in that way.

  Eli said, “I think maybe somebody at school had something to do with the egging at the restaurant.”

  Eden tilted her head. “Really? Who?”

  “I don’t want to name names if I’m wrong.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “I mean, if you’re wrong.”

  “But what if you’re, like, friends with him?”

  “I’m not friends with anyone who would do something like that,” she said.

  “That guy Christos?”

  “Don’t know him.”

  “How do we even go to the same school?” he said.

  “It’s a big school,” she said. “I saw some graffiti today over on Thirty-First Ave that supposedly just popped up somehow in the middle of the day. Bad.”

  “Bad how?”

  “White supremacist stuff.”

  Eli shook his head. “What is going on in the world?”

  Though it was true that it wasn’t the first time these sorts of things had happened in Astoria. A Muslim bodega owner had been beaten up a few years ago, and some white teenagers harassed a man working a halal food cart last summer. The neighborhood would always rise up in response, like signs would appear in windows of shops—things like Safe Place or We Love Our Muslim Neighbors. Eli always wondered whether those signs made their Muslim neighbors feel better or worse. Anyway, for two incidents to happen in two days felt like a new bad frequency. There wasn’t much he could do about it. And looking around the park now it seemed like for the most part people here did just live together peaceably. The entrance to the park had a big sign over it—a sort of arty doormat—that said All Are Welcome.

  “So why don’t you trust me?” Eli said to Aizel.

  Aizel didn’t answer.

  “It said you ask too many questions,” Eden offered. “That it can’t concentrate.”

  “I can stop that,” he said, more to Aizel than to Eden. “I’m just interested in it is all. But I can dial it back.”

  A group of people were doing some weird dancing—or maybe martial arts?—just beyond the trees. It was hard to see from where they were. Eden stood, mesmerized, and started to walk toward them. It was a bizarre reality for sure that he was hanging out with Eden Montgomery.

  Eli joined her a minute later when she stopped near one of the art installations—a car that had been rigged up with extra lock holes and keys and was full of fake butterflies. Eden turned a key, and some of the butterflies inside the car pulsed to the song “Riders on the Storm.”

  “I don’t get it,” Eli said. It was cool and all, but what did it mean? What was the point?

  “Me neither,” Eden said. “But I like it.”

  They wandered back toward their stuff.

  “Eden?” Eli said when he got there. He looked under Eden’s hoodie, then spun around, feeling dizzy.

  Aizel was gone.

  EDEN

  “We were only gone for like a minute.” A group of young boys was investigating the butterfly car now. “We were right there.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening.” Eli’s cheeks went hollow, like he was about to cry. He said, “You go that way. I’ll go this way.”

  “And do what?” Eden asked.

  “Look around! See if anybody is holding it? Maybe ask if anybody saw anybody by our stuff.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Right.”

  Eli marched over to a group of people having a picnic and said, “Hey, sorry to bother you, did you see anybody over by that bag just now?”

  There were muttered replies.

  “Okay, thanks anyway.” He moved on.

  Following his example, Eden approached a group of mothers and younger girls but couldn’t bring herself to say anything to them so turned around. No one in her line of sight looked even remotely
suspicious. They were all just … people. A group of kids she maybe recognized from school were posing by the big half sun sticking out of the ground by the water’s edge. Two elderly men were talking while their dogs happily sniffed each other.

  When she saw Eli heading back for their stuff, she did the same.

  They met eyes a ways apart, and both shook their heads before meeting up.

  The device was back—right there on Eden’s hoodie where they’d left it.

  “I don’t understand,” Eden said, looking around to see if anyone was watching them, laughing maybe.

  “It was gone, right?” Eli said. “We both saw it was gone.”

  “Yes,” Eden said. “It was definitely gone.”

  They sat, and Eli said, “What the hell?”

  The device answered back: “What the hell!”

  Loudly. In a male voice.

  “Where were you?” Eli asked.

  It answered on-screen: Hiding.

  Eli asked it, “How?”

  I have ways.

  “Why?” Eden said.

  It read: You left me unattended.

  Eli sat down again and Eden did, too. They exchanged a look of exasperation and relief.

  Someone is watching me.

  Eden checked her phone.

  Vehicle collision with injuries.

  “I don’t understand,” Eden said, and looked around. She didn’t immediately spot anyone suspicious; no one seemed to be paying any attention to them.

  SOMEONE IS COMING FOR ME.

  Eli stood. “Come on,” he said.

  “Where are we going?” Eden asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Let’s just walk.”

  He grabbed the device and held it inside his jacket as they crossed the lawn, then went out the park gate and headed left, walking along the water. Eli kept turning around to look behind them, but Eden just kept on walking.

  “Are we actually being followed?” she asked Eli.

  “I don’t know. There’s a bunch of people walking,” he said. “A guy on a bike. Impossible to say.”

  “Who’s coming for you?” Eli said. He held the device in front of him.

  I am not sure. But they are gaining on you.

  The Astoria Landing sign with its line drawing of a boat came into sight.

  “Eli,” Eden said. And he turned to her. She nodded at a water taxi that was docking, and Eli nodded understanding at her. They kept walking along the waterfront and turned left toward the pier.

  Eden checked her phone.

  A text from her mother: Just doesn’t feel right.

  Eden wrote back ????

  Her mother wrote, Sorry. Wrong window.

  Eden sent her a thumbs-up.

  To Eli she said, “We doing this?”

  Eli said, “Yes.”

  They looked to be closing up the entry to the boat so she took off running and Eli did the same and she said, “Wait! Please wait!” and the man at the dock turned and they arrived at the ticket machine.

  “So sorry,” she said. “Thanks for waiting.”

  She got out a credit card and bought two tickets, then turned and handed Eli one. They boarded—she thanked the man again—and went inside and took seats. She looked out the window and studied the people who’d missed the boat, but no one stood out as conspicuous and why would they?

  She checked her phone.

  A text from Julian said: Thinking about you.

  Her breath caught. She wrote back, Thinking what?

  Wish I had a fun pic of you.

  He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought he meant?

  She wrote back, You’re crazy.

  No pic?

  She wrote, Everything better IRL.

  God, who was she? It was a dumb thing to say.

  Pleassssse? he wrote.

  Maybe later, she wrote. Or maybe never, she thought.

  “Everything okay?” Eli asked after she put her phone away.

  “Yeah, fine.” She exhaled. Had she breathed at all during that exchange?

  He’d finally texted her. But …

  She knew people did that kind of thing, but …

  Her hands shook, and she got her phone out again, but he didn’t text again so she put it away. In a minute she probably wouldn’t have a signal anyway, and it was just as well.

  They were already passing Roosevelt Island, which she’d only ever been to once, to apply for her passport at the post office there. But from the water you could see the island had a crazy park with a big lawn and this concrete slab with a ten-foot drop-off to the river. There was no railing, and even though Eden had never been there, she felt the fear. Because you could stand and just look at the whole skyline and the bridges cutting across the river and the cars slinking over them and you could get so distracted that you’d forget where you were and you’d fall in.

  Someone was standing there now—a man with a camera—and Eden watched him until he finally took a step back from the edge and turned to go and she could breathe again.

  MARWAN

  The on-screen headline read: “Queens Restaurant Suffers Hate Crime Attack.” Marwan didn’t actually want to watch the segment again—the story was part of a ten-minute local news recap at the top of every hour now—so he went out to the dining room to make sure everything was in order. He saw out the front windows that a line had started to form on the sidewalk. Friday nights were usually busy but not like this.

  “Dad?” he called out.

  His father came and looked and nodded. “Well, don’t keep them waiting.”

  Marwan opened the doors, and diners started to file in and get seated. Some people said things like “So sorry about what happened” and for others maybe it was just enough to show up.

  His father lit the burners in the kitchen, heated some oils, then pulled a tray of falafel from the oven and instructed Marwan to start handing them out on toothpicks to people who were going to have to wait for tables.

  After working the line, Marwan had an idea. “We can open up the garden.”

  So they did that—wiping leaves and other debris off chairs and tables—and called in more staff, one of whom would have to hit a market on his way over—and the wait dropped to zero and Marwan forgot, at least for a little while, about the cause for the great turnout.

  Eden’s mother came in after things had settled down again. She looked around the room with bright eyes that dimmed, clearly not finding whoever they were looking for.

  Eden? She would’ve mentioned?

  “I’m meeting someone,” Eden’s mother said to Karim, who’d greeted her at the door.

  “I can seat you now, if you like.” Karim grabbed menus and showed her to a two-top by the back garden windows. She sat and said, “Thanks,” then looked out the window for a few seconds, seemingly content, before then getting out her phone.

  She scrolled.

  Marwan approached with a glass of ice water and set it on the table.

  She said, “Thanks” without looking up.

  He retreated to his station, bused another table, and hoped that Eden’s mother’s dinner companion would show up so she could get off her phone and look happy and expectant again, like she had when she walked in. What if it was a date? Marwan didn’t think he could watch that go down. Had she said she was meeting a “friend” or “someone”? He couldn’t remember.

  A man walked in alone, and Marwan tensed. Then the man said, “I see her, thanks.”

  He walked toward Eden’s mom’s table, and she got up, and they hugged warmly and then sat. Was it a date? Old friends?

  Older people had friends of the opposite sex. Of course they did.

  He relaxed again, poured another glass of water, and went to deliver it to the table.

  The man looked up and made eye contact. “Thanks, man.”

  Marwan said, “You’re welcome,” uncomfortable with being seen, though maybe Eden’s mother didn’t remember him or had no idea who he was to begin with, and anyway,
she wasn’t looking at him—only the menu.

  A few more groups came in, and the place got busy and louder again, and Marwan could hear only snippets of conversation as he walked past on his way to various tasks.

  Him: I’m not here to talk about Nancy.

  Eden’s mom: I know it’s normal … but I still have a lot of guilt.

  Him: It’s no one’s fault.

  Eden’s mom: I feel like I’m losing her.

  Later, toward the end of their meal, the man reached for Eden’s mom’s hand and they held for a second, then she pulled her hand away. Marwan wasn’t great at reading lips, but he was pretty sure she said something like, “We can’t.”

  Why not?

  Can’t what?

  And who was Nancy? He didn’t know anyone in school by that name, but maybe he had a daughter—or a deceased wife. Maybe they’d met in some grief counseling group?

  When things slowed down, Marwan used his break to walk up to the corner bodega to buy a Gatorade; the owner, Salim, knew Marwan from frequent visits just like this one.

  “Heard about the eggs,” Salim said.

  “Yeah,” Marwan said.

  “You have cameras?” Salim asked.

  “No.”

  “Get cameras.”

  Marwan said, “Did the police ask you to pull footage from yours? The car came from this direction.”

  Salim shook his head. “They did, but my camera only really covers the sidewalk. Did they check the traffic camera?”

  “What traffic camera?”

  “There’s one on the light out front. I got a ticket once.”

  “Fascinating,” Marwan said. Then added, “I’ve got to go.”

  Outside he looked up and saw a skinny white post extending from the metal arm holding the traffic light. At the end of the post was a small sphere that must be a camera. Had they even thought to check?

  Eden’s mother and the man were on the sidewalk saying goodbye. The man reached for her hand again and held it and leaned into her, a quick forehead-to-forehead moment before she turned her head and shifted it to a normal hug. He had a wedding ring on.

  Marwan went inside and to the register and checked the name on the credit card receipt for their table. The man had picked up the tab.

  Marwan made a note of the name, Dan Rankin, then regretted it.