by Nikki Harmon
“Thank you. Thank you for saving me.” She looks down at me concerned and then smiles.
“You’re welcome. What’s your name?”
“Kim. I’m Kim.”
“I’m Amira but you can call me Meer.”
“I already know who you are, Meer.”
“Oh yeah. Are you alright, did they …?”
“No, they didn’t get me.” I cry again. She holds me again.
“How did you … why did you help me?” I ask.
“I came by for the party but we heard screaming. So, we went to see what was going on.”
“Who?”
“Me, my brother and a couple of his friends.”
“Thank you.”
“You said that already.”
“Thank them.”
“Ok, I will,” she says. “It’s getting late. I should get you home.”
“I heard you were gay,” I say.
“Is that what you heard?” she says.
“Yeah, are you?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies.
“Me too,” I say.
“Oh yeah?” She smiles at me. I smile back and reach for her hand. We lace fingers and look into each other’s eyes. My vision blurs, the roaring comes and there is a lurching in my stomach. I close my eyes and feel pulled through and forward. It stops. I open my eyes.
I’m back at the table at lunch, with Meer. She’s looking at me and saying something. I’m clutching my glass of water. I shake my head.
“Are you ok?” she says. She sounds a little freaked out. “Yo, for a second, you seemed to blink.”
“What?” I say.
“You blinked, you flashed, you blipped. Like … like a flashbulb or something. Yo, that was weird.” She sits back in her chair. I take a long drink of water. I remember everything that happened, but it feels like I watched it on TV, as if I watched it happen to someone else, but I felt the feelings. I was terrified and hurt and angry and so, so, very sad. And thankful, so, so very thankful.
“Oh,” is all I can manage. The food comes, but I don’t think I can eat. I sit back and look at her. She looks at me with suspicion.
“What the fuck is going on?” she says.
“Hell if I know,” I reply.
“Look, I’m not hungry anymore. I’m going to get this wrapped up.” She looks around for the waitress and flags her down.
“Wait,” I say. “I can’t explain what you saw but I’m just as scared about it. I need to know something, though, it’s going to sound crazy …”
She is handing her plate to the waitress along with 2 twenty-dollar bills. The waitress rushes off.
“You said you went out last night. Where? Where did you go?” I ask.
She eyes me. “Why?”
“Please just tell me. I have to … it’s hard to explain but I need to know.” I’m pleading; I sound desperate and crazy to my own ears. “Meer, it’s not a big deal, I just want to know to check something, something I heard about.”
“I went to the Tumble-Down Lounge on Girard Avenue,” she concedes. “It used to be …”
“Juanita’s.” I finish the sentence for her. The waitress comes back with a brown paper bag and some change. Meer takes the bag but pushes the change back to the waitress. “That’s yours, sweetheart,” she says. The waitress nods, drops it in her pocket and moves on.
Meer turns to me and says, “I like you, Kim, but honestly, I have enough drama. I don’t know what just happened here, but I, I just can’t, not now.” She leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. As she pulls away, I see she has a small tattoo on her forearm. It says, “Keisha”. I sigh. She nods at me and walks away. I stay. I eat without tasting my food. I don’t think. I don’t know what to think. I just know I have class in two hours and work after that, so I had better eat. I try to pay but the waitress waves me away. It’s already paid for. I sit for another hour just staring through the glass. I see my reflection, but I don’t recognize myself. It starts to rain. I watch that instead. Sometime later, I get up and get wet as I wander and wonder what is happening to me.
Chapter 10
After math class, I grab a bite to eat at the Student Center and head over to work-study at the lab. I enter the building and look around. There are students at the far end of the lobby studying in the lounge chairs. The administrative offices are closed and most lights are off. I think I see a light on in Dr. Patel’s office, but as I walk past it, the office is dark. I approach lab #19 with more than a little trepidation. I don’t want to be here anymore, but it’s part of my financial aid package, so I don’t really have a choice. I notice a change as soon as I walk in. Mabel has been replaced. Instead, a new, healthier looking plant is on the table, and Mabel is about two feet away on a little stool. But poor Mabel! Her leaves are beginning to yellow and furl, her stems in a half-wilt. I walk in and croon to her; she perks up a bit. I check the lab kit. It is stocked a bit more than usual, and today it’s flea beetle saliva. Additional instructions tell me that Mabel is now the “remote receiver” plant and that I should take samples from both plants. Maybe Mabel was getting worn out with all the direct pheromones, or maybe this is just a new phase of the experiment. There is nobody here to explain anything to me. I’m just the grunt.
I read for bioethics between spritzes and slices. I can’t stop myself from looking at all the places in the room where I know there are tiny bits of metal peeking through. I do stop myself from looking up into the hole in the corner. It occurs to me that the red light might be a camera or recorder of some sort. I wish there was someone else to talk to about this, but with the ban on cell phones and my weird hours, I am feeling well and truly alone. At 10pm, I pack up, give Mabel a caress good-bye, turn off the light and lock the door behind me.
As I head towards the subway, the turmoil and stress of the day start to weigh on me. I need someone to talk to and think of Jen. I pull out my phone to see if I can stop by on my way home when I am yanked from behind. A hand covers my mouth, and I hear a click behind my ear.
The accent is thick and familiar. “Don’t even think about trying to fight. You are nothing to me, and I will kill you like nothing if you give me any trouble. Get in and you might not get killed.” My phone tumbles from my hand and lands in the sparse patch of grass by the curb. The solid wall of a man pushes me towards a dark green van with an open door. I hesitate, trying to think of an escape, but he is too strong and too fast and he propels me into the van where another hand reaches over my face and covers it with a thick, sweet smell. I lose consciousness.
∆∆∆
I wake up cold and nauseous. I am lying on a floor … of a van. It’s moving. I open my eyes but don’t see anything but the floor rug and the feet of the person in the seat in front of me. I try not to move or breathe too hard. I feel the leg of someone next to me. They must be sitting in the seat. I can hear them breathing over the rumble of the engine. It’s dark in the van, so it’s still nighttime. I am starting to feel my body again, and I am stiff and uncomfortable. My legs are twisted up and bent pressing against the metal bottom of the seat. My arm is contorted beneath my body, and I have an irresistible urge to straighten myself out. I listen. I think the breathing person is asleep. Ever so slightly I lift up to try and free my arm. I manage to untwist my shoulder before I hear the breathing change, and I force myself to stillness.
“Are we almost there?” asks the man who abducted me in his thick, slow speech.
“What are you, my kids?” retorts the driver. He also has an accent but it is not as thick as the big guy. He sounds smaller, nasally and quick. The big guy grunts, “Fuck you. I have to pee.”
“There’s a jar back there,” says the driver, “it’s in the blue bag”. The leg presses on me as he strains forward to reach for a bag. I hear fumbling, a jar lid unscrewing, a second or two, then the sound of a stream of piss, followed by a sigh, a jiggle, more jar screwing and a thud. The smell of urine floats past my nose. Gross. The big guy settles back.
> “Thanks, Marco.”
“No problem. We should be there in two hours. The boss already has Patel. I don’t know what he wants with the girl, though.”
“Shhh … no talking. You know the rules. Drive. I’m going back to sleep.”
“Sure,” says the driver, “whatever,” and he turns up the radio. I wait. My legs are aching and I can hardly feel my left foot. I wait so long that I fall asleep and wake up as the van starts down a gravel road. It is very bumpy. I try to adjust my limbs in rhythm with the bumps. I think I’m doing a good job being unnoticed until I hear, “You can get up if you want to. You are not tied up. No need.” I look up and the big bouncer-looking guy from the Science Building is looking back down at me. “We are almost there. See!” and he points out the side window. I struggle to get up, my legs are numb and I am cold. I push up on the seat and manage to get my legs under me to boost up. I’m squeezed in the back row of a mini-van. The guy in front of me turns around and looks at me with animosity but the bouncer guy is not fazed. He points again as we head up through a farm to a farmhouse. It looks old but not abandoned. I look out the windows, nothing but cornfields in every direction. I can see low mountains further up. I see a silo off in the distance and some old trucks parked farther up one road, but that’s it. I get an icy knot in my stomach. Nobody will ever find me out here. We turn left and head up to the farmhouse. Red curtains shift in the windows and I can see two other cars already parked in the front yard. We pull in alongside an old blue Alero and park. Marco stays in the car while the mean guy gets out first, and the bouncer guy shoos me out in front of him.
This is surreal; it’s happening, but I also feel very distanced from it because it has nothing to do with me. I don’t know these men. I have no idea what they want (except Patel), and I feel like a bit player in a bad movie. I’m just waiting for it to end, or make sense, or for a commercial to come on so I can change the channel. But I walk across the yard, I mount the stairs, I walk through a kitchen to a set of stairs and am led down into a cellar (of course.) There is a chair, a sandwich, a bottle of water and a toilet with a ragged roll of toilet paper. I sit down. The bouncer guy says, “Wait here.”
I turn up to him and say, “What do you want from me?”
“Me?” he replies, “Nothing. My boss …” he shrugs, “You’ll find out soon enough. Eat. Wait.” He leaves.
I look around. There’s not much to see. I drink some water. I eat half the sandwich. I try to figure out what is going on upstairs, but all I can hear is the squeaking of floorboards and occasional laughter. I use the bathroom. Through a small, murky square of window, I can see the sky is a lighter shade of black. I hope somebody is looking for me, but I kind of doubt it.
∆∆∆
A few hours pass without me getting any closer to figuring out what to do. It’s clear that I am not a priority. I can hear lots of movement above, but no one has come down. I finished my sandwich, but I’m trying to reserve my water, and I’ve inspected the entire room three times. There is no exit. There is no more food or water. There are no scraps of metal or bits of rope or anything I can use to jerry-rig any contraption of any sort. There’s just dirt, scraps of old newspaper and rotting wooden bins. I have gone through my options, and none of them are good or seem remotely feasible.
First option: Try to bust out a window and call for help – But the window is too small and low to the ground and there is no one to hear me.
Option two: Try to run – But the door is locked, the men are huge and armed, and there is nothing but cornfields for miles. Where would I go?
Option three: Flood the toilet – Pretty sure I would only be inconveniencing myself.
Crazy option number four: Shift out of here.
The last seems like it has the most potential, which is crazy because I’m not at all sure of what will happen. Meer said I blinked or blipped, but I never disappeared even though I felt like I was gone for hours. What if I jump but then just end up back here a second later?
But still, it’s my only feasible option. I’m just scared because I don’t really know what I’m doing. The other problem is that I can’t recall making any conscious choices today. I did everything as it had already been planned. The date with Meer, class, eat, work, go home. The only possible choice I can think of was choosing to go to work even though I didn’t want to go. Ok.
Experiment #1 – choose to go home instead of into work.
I close my eyes and try to summon the roar. I think back to the moment I hesitated in the hallway. I’d felt uneasy. I concentrate on that. I think about choosing to go home instead. I concentrate, I bring the roar, my vision blurs. I close my eyes. I push, I push hard. I sense it. I’m through.
∆∆∆
I open my eyes. I’m in the same room. It’s the same time of day. My water bottle is empty though and there is an apple core on the table. I am colder, stiffer and I see I have stacked the wooden boxes near the window. Sigh.
Ok, maybe I can think of an earlier choice. Maybe during my date with Meer … no … maybe earlier that day … just worked on scholarship essay … maybe the night before … I gasp. Oh, shit. What if I choose to go back to not reading to the kids but going on the date last night? Shit. I bet that would change everything. I think the cops were coming, Meer was getting beat up … oh, I don’t want to go back there but it won’t really be back there, it’ll be now, after that. I have a pang of regret because I know this will probably nix any chance of Meer and me.
I sigh and begin to decide how to fix the choice in my head when I have another idea. What if I decide to go to the basketball game with her after all? Then no drama at the lounge, no ex, no pool sticks, no cops. I grab onto this idea. And I distinctly remember thinking about my decision whether to go with her or get home in time for dinner. I chose to avoid my mother’s disapproval rather than hang out with this interesting new chick. I settle in and visualize the street I was standing on while I was talking to Meer. I see her face asking if I want to come along. I think to myself, “yes, I want to come along. I’d love to go." I see myself reaching for the door handle. I summon the roar, I think about getting in the car, I hear the roar louder now, my vision blurs, I push myself into the car, I push hard. I push through.
∆∆∆
I open my eyes. Fuck me. I am still in the room. There is some water in my bottle. The sandwich is gone, and the boxes are not stacked. But I am a little different. My body feels loose, and I’m wearing one of Meer’s shirts. It smells like her. And I have new memories. Sweet memories.
I went to the game. I watched her play. We went back to her apartment so she could change her clothes. We decided to just eat something there. We listened to music. She likes ‘70’s soul music so we listened to the Spinners and Phoebe Snow, Dionne Warwick and Earth, Wind and Fire. She lit candles and we drank cheap wine. We made out and made love. It was good. So, so good and sweet and good. I slept over. We kissed goodbye for 20 glorious minutes until I tore myself away. I got home just after everyone left for work and school. Then I worked on my scholarship, read and started a paper for Evolution, went to Math class, ate, and went to work. I was in the middle of texting her when they took me.
Ugh. I have got to get out of here! I sit back overwhelmed with my new memories, the old ones fading and I’m just trying to keep my memories straight in my head. I drink the last of my water just as I hear the click of the lock. Finally! I look up and coming down the stairs is Dr. Patel.
Chapter 11
Dr. Patel hesitates, staring at me in disbelief. He looks beat up and tired, but manages some dignity when he turns to bouncer guy behind him and says, “What in God’s name is she doing here? She has nothing to do with this. She is just a work-study student helping with plant experiments. Let her go! She should not be here.” But there is more fear than indignation in his eyes, and I do not know why.
“Hey Doc, I don’t make the rules. The boss will talk to you, and then maybe you will talk to him.” The Bouncer guy
is holding another chair and two water bottles. I notice he still has his gun tucked into his waistband. He sees me look at it and smiles.
“No trouble from you, right sweetheart?”
I shake my head “no,” and turn back to Dr. Patel. He takes the chair from bouncer guy and sits down with a sigh. Bouncer guy puts the waters on the table, takes my empty bottle and the sandwich paper and leaves without a word.