by Dima Zales
“It’s all yours,” Grace says, getting up. “Meditate away.”
“Thanks,” I say hoarsely.
She raises an eyebrow, so I clear my throat and add, “You’ve gotten very good at yoga.”
“Thanks,” she says and beams a megaton smile at me. “I plan to talk to the yoga masters tomorrow at the Fair. Do you think I’ll impress them?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, my voice somewhat more controlled. “They’ll be impressed.”
“Great,” she says. “I’m glad I bumped into you. I needed a little encouragement.”
I mumble something reassuring and close my eyes, pretending I need to get back to my meditation. Whatever jitteriness I was feeling earlier has multiplied a hundredfold.
Through my nearly closed eyelids, I spy Grace walking out of the Rock Garden with a spring in her step.
I bring up a Screen to check the time.
I have fifteen minutes to meditate, assuming I don’t want to be late for Calculus.
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.
In breath follows an out breath, over and over.
Unfortunately, instead of focusing on my breathing, my thoughts wander back to a few moments ago. What the hell was that? Why did my body react in such a strange way? I’m not even sure I understand what happened, but it does seem like something forbidden.
In. Out.
The breathing isn’t helping.
I check the time. I have ten minutes left.
Getting up, I decide to try something else to clear my head.
I walk up to the nearest track and sprint as fast as I can. As my lungs start to burn, I realize how out of shape I am. My leg muscles ache as though I already ran this morning. Pushing through the discomfort, I notice the tiredness is at least providing some relief from the strange whirlwind in my mind.
As I approach the Lectures building, I decide to chalk up my earlier fascination with Grace’s body to Birth Day anticipation. Regardless of what it was, I make myself a solemn promise not to discuss this with anyone, not even Liam.
I walk to Calculus by way of the male shower rooms, which are there for those of us who wish to use this method of washing instead of the waterless gesture. When I enter the shower stall, on a whim, I decide to use cold water. As the chilly liquid immerses me, I realize it was a great idea, because by the time I’m finished, I feel like I’ve completely gotten over the Rock Garden incident, and I’m ready to face the rest of my day.
* * *
Though I usually like the certainty of math, today I find it hard to sit still as Instructor George describes the so-called Cauchy-Riemann equations. His heart clearly isn’t into his lecture today. I bet he’s worried about the attendance at his booth at the Fair tomorrow, and he should be. Calculus isn’t the most popular subject.
I’m equally distracted in my Debate and Philosophy Lectures, and the History Lecture reminds me of medieval torture, even though that’s not the topic today. Instructor Filomena gets on her high horse to discuss the perils of technology again—her favorite topic. She talks about the carbon emissions that the technology of the ancients pumped into the air, and how the resulting greenhouse effect would’ve destroyed Earth if the Goo hadn’t beat it to the punch. She doesn’t mention the geo-engineering efforts that solved the very global warming problems she’s describing, since that would ruin her argument. What really makes this session worse is that she decided to forgo my favorite part of her class, where she shows us glimpses of the ancient world.
I decide that all the Instructors must have Birth Day matters on their minds today, and thus the curriculum has suffered.
The highlight of the day is the lunch bell.
As soon as it rings, I jump to my feet and make my way into the corridor. Liam is already waiting for me.
“Want to chill in the room?” he asks. “Or should we go play something?”
“I think I want to take it easy,” I say. “I ran before this, and my legs are still sore.”
“All righty, then. We’ll walk back like this.” He walks exaggeratingly slow, like a man under water. “Or is this still too fast?”
I don’t dignify his jibe with a response and walk down the corridor that leads out of the Lectures building. Once I’m outside, I turn in the direction of our Dorm, and Liam follows me.
As we walk, we debate which ancient movie we want to watch during our break. Liam takes advantage of my distracted state by choosing a cartoon I’ve never heard of. It’s called Kung Fu Panda.
“If it sucks, which it will, can we watch something else?” I say as we enter the building.
“Yeah,” he says. “If we agree that it sucks, then sure.”
We discuss everything we know about pandas, which isn’t much, since they’re one of the few creatures that are missing from the Zoo.
“Yuck. Do you smell that?” I say as we approach our room’s door. “Did you fart?”
There’s very rarely, if ever, foul smells in Oasis. Food bars don’t usually make anyone gassy, but we do know the sensation, since it happens after eating non-regular food at the Birth Day celebrations. Also, on rare occasions, our bowel movements have a farting prelude, much to Liam’s delight.
“It wasn’t me,” he says, confused.
I wrinkle my nose as I take a couple of steps.
“Dude, watch out,” Liam says, pointing down.
I jump back, fully expecting to see a spider or some other horrible critter from the Zoo.
What I actually see is worse in a way.
It’s a pile of excrement.
“Crap,” I say.
“Literally,” Liam says.
“I almost stepped in it,” I say. “Where did it come from?”
“It’s Owen,” Liam says through his teeth. “But this is really low and disgusting, even for him.”
“What do we do?” I sweep my hand over the pile, and it evaporates. “We need to retaliate, but it needs to be something low-key. We don’t want to jeopardize Birth Day.”
“I have an idea,” Liam says. “Follow me.”
He determinedly walks through the corridors to where Owen and his posse share their lodgings. When he reaches their door, he crosses his fingers and whispers, “Let’s hope they aren’t there.” Out loud, he yells, “Owen, this is Liam and Theo. We want to organize a study group. Are you in there?”
When no one responds, Liam gives me a devilish grin and executes the door-opening gesture.
The door obeys.
No one seems to be inside, so we gingerly walk in.
“Jackpot,” Liam says after we verify that the room is empty. “Help me with this.” Liam makes the palm-up gesture, and a bar of Food appears in his hand. He drops the bar on the floor and repeats the motion. Another bar of Food appears on his palm, and he drops it on the floor too, next to the first piece.
I catch on and make a Food bar appear, then drop it on the floor. Then I do it over and over again.
It takes us almost the whole break to fill up most of Owen’s room with Food bars. Then, laughing, we head back to Lectures. I can’t even imagine what Owen’s expression will be when he opens his door to find his room completely flooded with bars of Food.
The rest of the school day is easier to get through. My hand got tired from the Food prank, but paradoxically, the activity also soothed my mind. When the lessons get particularly boring, all I have to do is picture Owen entering his room, very tired, and a smile shows up on my face. He’ll be cursing and making sweeping gestures similar to the one I used to get rid of his prank, but each gesture will only get rid of a single Food bar at a time. Liam and I verified that by doing a test. Owen will be beyond pissed at having to perform all those cleaning gestures.
A final bell rings, and I yawn as I get up.
“Let’s play soccer,” Liam says when we exit the Lectures Hall, “or basketball.”
“Why don’t you do that without me,” I say. “I’m tired, and I want to get some sleep. I’d rather save my ene
rgy for Birth Day.”
“Suit yourself,” Liam says. He feigns nonchalance, a sign that he’s actually disappointed.
“Sorry, dude.” I yawn again. “I’m just feeling tired for some reason.”
“Just go,” he says, suppressing a yawn of his own. “Go before you infect me with your yawning.”
He talks to me as we walk in the direction of the Dorm, and I give him sleepy, monosyllabic responses until he takes off for the soccer field.
I walk the rest of the way on my own, glad for the silence.
When I get into bed, I experience Oneness, which is extremely intense today. The pleasure in the beginning is almost painful. As I adjust to it, I feel the presence. Oddly, an unbidden vision of a surreal, pixie-haired goddess enters my consciousness. The presence is usually vague, just an ethereal sensation without a specific focal point. I don’t worry about the visage, though. I’ve heard of Youths describing this part of Oneness as speaking with angels or the gods of the ancients, though we all know that’s just an illusion.
The next step of Oneness is the unsolicited feeling of love and kindness toward everything and everyone, but I don’t get a chance to experience it as I fall deeply into sleep.
7
I’m running along the Great Wall of China. A moment later, I’m gazing up at the Empire State Building.
“Theo,” someone says, and I realize I was dreaming of pre-Goo times.
Reluctant to let go of the dream, I pretend I’m still sleeping.
“Dude.” The voice is louder. “You’re sleeping through Birth Day.”
I instantly open my eyes.
“You sleep too much,” Liam says, splashing some water from his cup onto my face. “Especially for someone who went to bed as early as you did.”
Wiping the water off my face, I look him over. Liam is dressed in a special Birth Day edition of clothes. They look more like an ancient outfit than our usual shapeless gray jumpsuit/scrubs. Everyone’s wearing clothes of varying colors and designs today. In Liam’s case, he’s dressed in green overalls, similar to what farmers used to wear.
“I had a cool dream,” I say. My voice is groggy from sleep, so I clear my throat. “I dreamed of places from pre-Armageddon times. There was no Goo, and I could walk or run in any direction for as long as I wanted.”
Liam waves at me dismissively and says, “Sounds like the beginning of Filomena’s class.”
I grimace. “No talk of Lectures today. We don’t get days off often enough for that.”
“Good thinking,” Liam says and extends his hand for a bar of Food.
I sit up in bed. “Dude, leave room for the ancient food they’ll have at the Fair.”
He stuffs his mouth with the Food bar and mumbles something that sounds like, “I don’t like that stuff.” He chews a little bit and adds, “It smells funny, and it’s hot to the touch.”
“That’s the point,” I say and get up. “It’s how food was, back in the day when it was ‘cooked.’”
I look down at my outfit. Unlike Liam’s green clothing, my clothes are predominately blue, reminding me of jeans. I’m also wearing a blue sleeveless t-shirt, which is a huge improvement over our usual clothing.
Liam uses my distraction to chew more of his Food and then says, “Still sounds like history. Maybe you should swing by Filomena’s booth.”
“Sure.” I roll my eyes. “Right after I stand on my head for a few hours.”
Liam grins. “I can stand on my head for twenty minutes.”
I don’t say anything; if I challenge his statement, he’ll actually do it to prove that he can. In many ways, Liam is the most immature Youth out of the batch of us turning twenty-four today. So instead of buying into his craziness, I say, “Ready to go?”
Without waiting for his reply, I hurry to the door. Then, without looking back, I make my way outside.
Okay, so maybe Liam’s immaturity has rubbed off on me.
When I exit, I see that everything is already set up.
I can hear at least two genres of music—classical and electronic. Large, colorful floats hang high in the air, right under the Dome, and brightly dressed Youths are walking around. The Institute grounds are covered with Birth Day paraphernalia, including a dance platform and food stalls. In the distance, the Adults have set up their career and hobby exhibitions, as usual.
“Are the glassblowers there?” Liam asks. His eyes are pinholes as he scans the distant region of the Fair.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m starving, so I’m starting my explorations with the food stalls.”
“See you later then,” Liam says and sprints away.
I walk leisurely, allowing my nose to carry me toward the smell of fried dough, which is one of the highlights of Birth Day. The Adults have recreated other ancient foods, such as French fries, pretzels, and popcorn, but fried dough is still my favorite to this day.
I wonder if there’ll be something new to taste this year. The Adults get pretty creative; in fact, they have a whole field of study called Culinary Anthropology. After they give you the treat, they tell you about it in the same way other Adults talk about their passions. Last year, the Culinary folks told me they recreate anything they possibly can, so long as it doesn’t require something like the meat of animals or other things that no longer exist. And sometimes, they don’t let the lack of authenticity stop them. One year, they tried to make some kind of fake hotdog, which became a Birth Day legend because of how atrocious it tasted. Or maybe everyone was grossed out by the idea of eating a cooked dog, even a fake one. Those animals are so cute at the Zoo.
In general, I don’t know what the ancients were thinking when they decided to eat the flesh of living creatures. Then again, they did crazier things than that ‘for fun,’ like inhaling cancer-causing chemicals or diving into oceans with just a barrel of oxygen on their backs. Perhaps insanity was part of being mortal. With their relatively short lifespans, the ancients didn’t value their lives or the lives of other people and creatures as much as we, their immortal descendants, do.
I inhale the smell of fried dough again. Okay, I’ll be first to admit that even when it’s drowned in powdered sugar, this treat isn’t tastier than Food. Liam was right in that the two aren’t comparable, especially considering that this stuff is loaded with things that are really bad for one’s health. Even eating them once a year has to be limited to one or two pieces, max. I found the wisdom in that limit the hard way, when I ate four pieces (two of mine and two of Liam’s). I felt so sick I had to go to the nurse’s office. All that aside, it’s something different, which I like. Plus, it’s a traditional food the ancients ate at carnivals and fairs, so I’m following a tried-and-true tradition.
As I pass the dance floor, I see Youths of all ages dancing to upbeat music that gives my step a little bounce.
With all this merriment, it’s almost possible to forget that we’re the last remnants of humanity, surrounded by deadly Goo on all sides—which may be one of the purposes of Birth Day.
When I get to the food stalls, I see Youths already lined up, and I silently curse myself. I should’ve set an alarm to wake up earlier today.
The largest cluster of people is by the fried dough, proving that other people also find it the best treat of the bunch. I stand behind an older-looking guy and wonder if he’ll be leaving the ranks of Youths today to become an Adult. Then I wonder if Adults celebrate Birth Day the same way we do. If not, this might be this guy’s last chance to eat fried dough.
To kill time, I bring up my Screen.
The Adults sent out a color-coded map of the Institute and a list of activities we can find here today. Bursting with excitement, I inspect the different hobby and career options, making a mental note to check out the painters, sculptors, and every one of the professional athletes’ stalls.
Like in the prior years, there’ll be championship games in a variety of active sports and some more brainy activities, such as chess. This should be fun, as long as we do
n’t compete with the Adults who chose those occupations. Last year, Liam and I played on a team of eleven Youths against three Adults who’ve made soccer their lifelong study. Our numbers didn’t help. The three Adults handed our asses to us in a defeat so crushing I’m too embarrassed to mention the final score.
The fried dough line crawls forward. The smell is getting stronger, making my mouth water.
To keep sane, I look at the Screen again. There’s a mention of secret prizes, plus a forest egg hunt, which is a new activity and something I think Liam will be willing to check out with me. When it gets darker, the day will end with the traditional aurora borealis display that will culminate in fireworks.
“Theodore,” a raspy voice says from behind me. “I need you to come with me.”
The Youths in front of me, including the nearly Adult-aged guy, look scared.
Reluctantly, I turn around.
All it takes is a glance at the dreaded visor to recognize the source of their fear.
It’s a Guard.
My adrenaline spikes. What does he want with me? I’ve been careful not to get into trouble.
“What’s going on?” I ask the Guard. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Please follow me,” the Guard says with a steel edge to his voice. “Make haste.”
“Can I at least grab a fried d—”
The Guard moves his hand in a strange motion.
I’m hit with an intense sense of relaxation.
My hands drop to my sides.
It’s actually rather nice and timely that I got a chance to calm down. Resisting a Guard’s commands can double or triple your Quietude—something I learned a long time ago.
“Follow me?” the Guard half-asks, half-commands.
I nod and exit the line.
The Guard turns and heads away from the food stalls. I walk to his right so he can see me. I know the drill.