by Nikki Harmon
“It doesn’t matter what work you get done today if you don’t get yourself out of that work-study situation.”
“You know I depend on that for money. Are you after my scholarship? Is that what this is about?”
“No, I couldn’t care less about that!”
“I’m leaving.” Joan grabbed her books and shoved them in her bag. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but maybe you should get some help. Take the window seat, I’m leaving.”
“Joan, please.” But Joan kept walking and we let her go. I watched her walk stiffly down the hall and turn the corner towards the stairs. We could hear her steps echo all the way down. Amy turned to me.
“Trying to steal her scholarship?” Amy smirked. I ignored her.
“Maybe we should sabotage the lab. Try to skew his results?”
“He has cameras, remember? We would get caught.”
“There’s something else, Amy. I didn’t get the sense that anything was happening with her. By this time in the year, I was already experiencing weird vision. She didn’t seem to connect with anything strange or out of the ordinary.”
‘Hmmm … do you think the experiment is not working on her?”
“Maybe Patel is using a different formula, or maybe she’s just not receptive to the treatments.”
“Maybe she’s not conducting the experiments according to protocol.” We go back to staring out the window, crafting and tossing out ideas in our silence.
“I got it!” I blurt out. “I’ll leave her a letter. I’ll write a letter, leave it under Mabel and tell her what to look for. There’s no way she will be able to sit there for 6 hours and not be tempted to look.” Amy looks at me skeptically. “Got any better ideas?”
“Not really,” she replies.
We leave the library and head to the crowded bookstore. Surrounded by nostalgic alums, excited freshmen and encouraging parents, we stand in line for 40 minutes just to buy a notepad, envelopes and a pen. I write the letter and we head over to the Science Building. I make my way to the lab and find Mabel green and healthy under a sunlamp. The rest of the room is dark but I can see a sliver of metal in the corner. I draw an arrow on the front of the envelope and hope she gets it. I scurry back to Amy who is waiting for me in the lounge.
“Ready?”
“Ready. I have to go back home though I doubt anyone even noticed I was gone.”
“Really? The dramatic teenage thing?”
“Whatever.” Amy tosses her hair and flings her book bag up on her back.
“Just kidding Amy. Sheesh! I’ll see you in a few, Ok?”
“Ok. See ya.” Teenage Amy leaves and I sit and enjoy the quiet.
I shake my head at the craziness of this whole thing. I am riding the subconscious of my own subconscious in another dimension. I think about praying but I’m not sure what I would ask. That this whole situation is not real? Then that makes me crazy. I don’t want to be crazy. I can’t pray for that. I lay back in my chair and retreat inward to return to the warehouse and Sujatha. The roar begins and I ride out on it.
Chapter 30
I lift out of the fog to see Sujatha sifting through the timelines, Amy is not back, she sits there but not there. Molecules tenuous, her breathing steady and slow. I watch Sujatha frowning and then she turns back to look at me and sees I am awake.
“Well, any luck?” She brings me a bottle of Orange Crush. I shake my head no and take a long sip. Amy shimmers in my peripheral vision and by the time I turn my head, she is solid and awake. Sujatha hands her a soda from off the table.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. She thought we were crazy but we left a note in the lab about what she should investigate. But I don’t think…. Wait …” I search my memory.
Amy murmurs something. “Didn’t Joan disappear … before?” I ask and look around. Sujatha nods and puts her head in her hands.
“She didn’t die. I remember. She didn’t die, she just …"
“… transferred to USC or something.”
“Right!” I exclaim. “She transferred and …”
“I got the Mendel scholarship.” Amy sighed. “I got it. My freshman year, I did the work-study for Patel.”
Sujatha and I both turn and look at Amy who looks like she’s about to throw up.
“It’s ok, Amy,” I say.
Sujatha walks over to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Did the Russians get you? Did you go to the farmhouse?” Amy shakes her head. “No, I think, I think I made it easier for them.” She tears up a little.
“Why, what did you do Amy?” I ask feeling my heart speed up in my chest.
“I’m so sorry. I posted some … some videos up on YouTube.”
“What!?!” Sujatha yelled.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know but I knew something was happening and I videotaped myself doing small jumps, changing clothes, hairstyles, that sort of thing … I had an old YouTube channel from high school. I had a decent amount of followers but most people thought I was just good at special effects, you know … ugh... that was so stupid.”
“Patel never said anything to you? Did you ever make the connection?”
“No, not then, not until later. I just thought I was …special.” She looks overwhelmed as she tries to absorb and make sense of all these new memories. I know the feeling.
“Oh, and my channel was shut down too, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.”
“And then the study came along?” Sujatha asks.
“Yes, then the study, and we all trained together. And the missions began.”
Sujatha and Amy stare at each other for a minute.
“At least Joan got away,” I say and take a sip of my soda.
Amy jerks forward and throws up all over the floor. “Sorry,” she says and starts to cry. Sujatha runs to her and hands her a tissue then walks her into the other room. “Come on Amy. It’s not your fault. You should lie down. A lot has changed, you should rest. You have a lot to process.”
I listen to Sujatha’s soothing as I look around for something to clean up Amy’s vomit. She comes back just as I finish up with a roll of paper towels. I gag over the smell though. As I’m washing my hands in the sink, I hear a match being lit. I turn to see Sujatha holding a stick of incense in the flame. She blows it out leaving the fire red tip and a coil of smoke. She looks at me and raises her eyebrows. I look away and dry my hands on my shirt.
“Well, that was kind of a bust,” she says.
“I hope she’ll be alright,” I say gesturing towards the open door. Sujatha steps towards it and closes it with a whisper.
“Yeah, she fell asleep almost as soon as she laid down. I’m not sure what is happening with her but she is very shook up over this.”
“What should we do now?” I ask.
“We have to find a way to distract Wasserman, maybe we can get him interested in something else, some other business venture …
“Maybe something personal …
“Maybe a problem? What do we know about him anyway?”
“Nothing much … ok, let’s start there. Maybe he is the key.”
“I don’t know anything about his past, maybe we can find him in the future. Wanna try?”
“I’m game.”
∆∆∆
With Amy snoring in the next room, Sujatha and I made our plan. It was going to be a little more complicated but I had a hunch of where we should go. She had a hunch of when. Somehow, a tape of Prince’s Graffiti Bridge had been left in the old tape recorder by the bookshelf and we needed a trigger. We listened to the tape and decided on The Symbol used by Prince as his name for the tattoo. It meant both woman/man and god, though I thought the arrow could also stand for “go home”. It was specific enough and nostalgic enough to remind us of this time and place.
We played “Still Would Stand All Time” over and over while she tapped on my wrist. Dip and tap, dip and tap, dip and tap. She held my hand still. I mulled over our plan as I watched her work.
“Your turn,” she said as she finished.
“I’ll try but you know I’ve never done this before.”
“You’ll be fine, draw it first, then just follow the line.” I did as I was told and only messed up when I looked up at her. Her eyes were closed as she hummed along with the music. I thought of kissing her. Stupid mistake. My heart raced, my hand shook and her arrow got a slight curve. When she opened her eyes and looked, she raised her eyebrow at me and laughed.
“Well, that should remind me of you.” I withdrew my hand and blushed, embarrassed. “Ready?” she asked, swabbing her new tattoo with disinfectant. I nodded and turned to put the kit away.
“Hey,” I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about that, it’s fine, ok?”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. I just … I just wish this wasn’t. I just want to go back to my life. I want things to go back to normal.”
“What? Tired of me already?” she teased.
“No, not you. But I’d rather get to know you, you know, under different circumstances.”
“Yeah …. you never know, maybe we will. March 22, right?” I nodded. We held our silver spoons in our mouths, closed our eyes and leaned back. “Still Would Stand All Time” was still playing, my wrist pulsed with its fresh wound and I reached for the wave of my SELFsoul, focusing on my 30th birthday. She grabbed my hand at the last minute, I felt HER as a vibration – faster, lighter in some way and I knew I would be all right.
Chapter 31
Red, blue, white, dark, purple, red, blue, white, dark, white, dark, white. Thump, thump, thump. Police siren. A face, another, faces, faces in the crowd, eyes closed, faces scrunched up, lips pursed, or mouths open in ecstasy. I’m moving, dancing, gyrating my hips along the beat, dip, bounce, turn to see a face, looking at me. Oh, she’s cute! Ok. I smile, she smiles back. Asymmetrical blonde fro, dark shiny skin, is that glitter? Big feather earrings floating a half-beat behind the music. She dances up close to me and I get lost for a minute in the music, in the invitation behind her eyes.
“Kim!!!” I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and see Kendra.
“Come on girl, I have the shots lined up!”
I turn back to the woman I’d been dancing with, she makes a sad face then turns to dance with another woman on her left. Giving her one last look, I dance off the floor following Kendra’s bright blue locks. They reach down to the back of her knees. I am pretty sure it’s a weave. At the bar is Jen and her boyfriend, Darryl. He looks kind of uncomfortable. It’s his first time at Ellen’s Last Stand, named after the comedian Ellen, who was killed a couple years ago. A stab of regret goes through me. Kendra is cozied up to a very well dressed man, who, I have a feeling did not start out that way. I turn to the drinks, then to Kendra.
“They are Flaming Lemon Drops. Don’t worry you will love them!”
“Vodka again? You are going to kill me with this stuff Kendra!”
“That’s what friends are for!” She smooches me on the cheek and hands out the glasses. “To Kim! Thirty, dirty and I heard she was squirty!”
“Ewwww… Kendra!”
“Drink up pussies!” Everyone toasts and takes their shot. It burns, then twists but ends up sweet from the sugar rim. I shake my head from the intensity but that just makes me a little dizzy. Kendra gives me a huge hug. “You still hot girl!” Then she waltzes off to the dance floor with her fine friend. Jen looks happy but sleepy and then I remember why.
“How’s the baby?”
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s with my mom and Brittany. Hopefully, he’s asleep by now. She looks at Darryl who indulges her with a smile. “I don’t think we are going to stay out too late, Kim. We’ll both be up early tomorrow.”
“I’m so glad you are back in school, Jen.”
“Well, I had to do something else, right?” She shrugs and I think back on all she’s been through – the dancing, the addiction, the abuse that got Alonso arrested and the accident that brought her home. “Let’s dance. Can you dance yet?”
“Yeah, not quite the same but I still have some moves.”
Jen and I head out to the dance floor. They are playing some old M.I.A. song mixed with neo-reggaeton, and it is on fire. We bump into Kendra, and for a few blissful minutes, lose ourselves in the music, the liquor and the comfort of familiarity.
Then the siren blares. Another raid. Another invasion of privacy implemented under this neo-fascist regime. The music stops abruptly as people find the people they came with and stand in groups. We begin digging through our wallets to pull out our citizenship cards. Covered in black body armor but guns holstered, they walk in. Arrogant and efficient, they sweep through the room, scanning cards with the finger lasers built into their suits, eyeballing each person through their infra-red eyepiece. They are looking for dissent, looking for a reason to yank somebody out as a show of force. And they find one. A young woman is huddling in the bathroom. She doesn’t have her card. She doesn’t speak English though she’s dressed like a patron, not a worker. They whisk her out of the club as she weeps. Nobody steps forward to help her. She doesn’t ask for it either. They leave. The door closes behind them with a loud rusty clang. There is a moment of silence as we all exhale. Then the DJ plays a huge fart noise. We all laugh and put away our wallets. The lights dim, the music ramps back up but it is hard to get back in the mood. We should be used to it by now, but the fear and strain persist. Like the proverbial elephant in the room, it is massive, imposing and capable of crushing any and all of us at a moment’s notice. Jen comes over.
“I think we’re going to go now,” She smiles crookedly. “My hip is killing me and ... you know.” She shrugs our collective resignation. I hug her tight and kiss her cheek.
“Thanks for coming out Jen”.
“Happy Birthday Kim! Love you so much, bestie. Have fun and please, keep an eye on Kendra. She has been out of control since her divorce.”
“I know. I’m on it.” Darryl hugs me good-bye and I squeeze his hand hoping he knows I mean for him to take care of my best friend. Our eyes meet and he nods. Thank God. I look around for Kendra. She is slow dancing with her friend in a corner, no matter that the music is a frenetic electronic rendition of “Fight The Power”. The DJ is determined to scrub away the past few minutes, the dancers consent to the tactic by whirling around me like Dervishes. Kendra, however, has always danced to her own beat. I am on my way to check in with her but something catches my eye at the bar. It’s the golden-haired glitter girl. She smiles at me, then beckons me to the bar. I decide that Kendra is fine and head over to the bar.
“Hi,” I say smiling and edging my way through the crowd.
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asks.
“Yes, please.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Vodka, I guess.”
“What’s wrong with vodka? It always does the trick.” She sips her pale drink for emphasis.
“I guess so, but I’ve always had a gut feeling that brown liquor was better for you. You know that old saying … the darker the berry …”
“The sweeter the juice?” She laughs at my corny line but leans in to kiss me anyway. It is tender and as predicted, sweet.
“You just proved my point,” I say staring into her beautiful brown eyes. Her expression changes in that instant from playful desire to bemusement as she looks over my shoulder. I turn to see what she is looking at. A gorgeous Indian woman, dressed head to toe in black leather, eyes lined with kohl, lips a bruised shade of purple, stands with hand on hip, shaking her head at me. It feels like I just got caught cheating, but I don’t think I know this woman. The glittery girl slides from her seat and whispers as she passes.
“Catch ya later cutie. You look like you already have more than you can handle.”
I open my mouth to reply, but the woman in black raises her eyebrows and sighs.
“Kim… Sujatha.” She extends her hand to shake, and, as I unthinkingly reach to shake it, I see her wrist tatt
oo as a mirror of my own. Memories flood through me crowding out the linear history of this timeline, cutting through my buzz and reminding me of who I am and what I’m about. Holding her hand, I pull her to me and to the bar.
“I would have never pegged you for a black leather type.”
“You think you know me that well?”
“No, I don’t think I know you at all. How did you find me?”
“This is my fourth club. I figured a thirty-year-old would probably pick a club to celebrate. I was right.”
“Ugh, I hate being so predictable.”
“In this case, it worked to our advantage.” She smiled as she looked around the bar. “So this is a gay club, huh?”
“First time?”
“Yes. Despite the clothes, I’m not really a club kind of a girl.”
“The clothes give it away”, I say, “Nobody would come to dance in leather.”
“Oh,” she said, suddenly looking unsure.
“No, they might come in leather to impress the ladies, but you would sweat your ass off in that outfit.”
“But I look good right?”
“Yeah, you look good… Would you like a drink?” I ask trying to reign in my attraction to her.
“Oh, how about a cognac, neat?” I smile and order her drink and get myself another Lemon Drop. We toast when they arrive.
“Happy Birthday,” she says. “Listen, I know we have a mission to find Savvy, but let’s just enjoy your birthday tonight, ok?”
“Savvy … right, right…” I pull out my phone and scroll through my messages.
“We don’t have to find her. She’s in Washington. I have her contact info.”
“You do?” I hand her my phone and she reads through the logs.
I sip my drink. “D.C. is just down the road. She’s been working on this project for almost a year. I never pictured her working as a lobbyist but she says the pay is through the fucking roof.”
“I bet. Well, we can’t travel at night anyway. So DC tomorrow then?”
“Should we take my car or should we go on your bike?”