The War Game

by Black, Crystal

  The first page had pictures of three different cakes. Vanilla, chocolate, and marbled. “Please make one (1) check mark next to your selection”, the thing read in a script so fancy, so hoity-toity it took me twice as long to read. Maybe that’s why they sent someone over. They’d probably printed a thousand of these things, like they did with the clock stickers, and now they were stuck with them. They hired a person who could actually read the font.

  The next page had four selections of bouquets. Two selections of party favors (chocolate-covered raisins or chocolate-covered peanuts in small, white boxes). They had three choices of colors for the bridesmaid gowns (just one style of gown). The three colors were vomit, blood, and egg yolk but they gave them fancy names in the fancy font. “Ocean Breeze Green,” “Romantic Roses,” and “Sunnyside Paradise.” The wedding dress page didn’t show any pictures of the dresses but it did say that measurements would be taken and the dress would be custom-made.

  “What does it mean when they say the dress will be custom-made?”

  “Oh, that means someone will come out here close to the wedding date to take your measurements to make your dress. Are you ready to go over menu choices, Mrs. Hunt?”

  “I don’t have a last name.”

  “Well, of course you don’t! Not yet, at least. Now, let’s talk about the rehearsal dinner. Have you picked out a maid of honor? The girls in your neighborhood are awfully nice. Many of them are engaged as well.”

  “I don’t really know any of them.”

  “Have you not been getting along at the book club?”

  Book club? What book club? “It’s just that I already have someone in mind for my maid of honor.”

  “Who, dear?”

  “Miriam.”

  She gave a haughty little laugh, like I was a little kid who was still making sense out of the world, like I walked head first into a glass door. "But she’s going to walk you down the aisle. I mean, he’s going to walk you down the aisle. Do you want a train on your dress?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Are you sure? I think trains are lovely,” Michelle cooed.

  “No trains,” I said.

  Her wrinkles broke through her heavily painted forehead. She looked like a girl who opened a Christmas present expecting a doll but just got a pair of shoes or something. She sighed, “Okay, then.” She wrote down some notes on her pad of paper. “It’s your wedding, after all,” she grumbled.

  “Do you have something old, something blue, something new, something borrowed to wear down the aisle? It’s tradition.”

  My wristwatch was probably old. How old, who knows. The dress would be new. I could borrow one of Miriam’s necklaces. And my heart was blue. And it also had four valves, which made that thump-thump sound. Oh, the stuff I could recall at random when it mattered the least.

  “Pearl? Do you think you will be able to find one item for each of those? If not, I could give you some ideas. You should ask Carol, I mean, your mother, to borrow something of hers. I’m sure she will be so glad that you asked her! We could find a nice hair ribbon or butterfly clip for something blue.”

  “Then it would match my heart.”

  “Excuse me, dear?”

  “I think I can manage.” Maybe.

  ~~~

  I was sick of smelling plastic. Plastic flowers. Plastic table clothes. Plastic man and wife. The mailman dropped off a big box of samples on the doorstep. I had to give my signature in blood for the box. Okay, not really, but I had to sign a bunch of stupid papers. The wedding planner sent over all of these samples to me, probably to get me excited about becoming a child bride. They kept trying and trying to get me to make my mind up and decide on something, but when I did, they said no. I said I wanted real flowers, not fake ones. They basically implied if I wanted real ones, I would have to go out to the forest and pick them out myself. Or pay for them. Flowers were way too expensive, if you could find them. You’d think if people could figure out how to change weather patterns, they could figure out how to make real flowers last longer, or at least, stop the ones we have grown from dying so quickly.

  I told Miriam that I wanted her to be my maid of honor but it wasn’t going to happen. She looked at me with sad eyes. “I’m glad that you want me as your maid of honor. I know that I’m going to be the one to walk you down to a doomed fate but I just wanted to let you know you can still find happiness. A cultured pearl made from intervening humans isn’t special at all. But you, Pearl. You are a natural pearl, far removed from being molded into something society expects. After five or so years or however long this stupid deal is supposed to last, someonefemale or maleI don’t know which way you roll, and you know I don’t care...Well, they are going to be very lucky to have found you.”

  When I went on my walk, an old woman with curlers in her hair and bright red lipstick smeared over her face kept staring at me. She caught up to me on the moving sidewalk and whispered hoarsely in my ear. Apparently, when her “daughter” had a wedding, they weren’t allowed to keep any mementos. They were briskly taken away as soon as the bride and groom left the church. And then months later, she saw the same exact decorations being used for a neighbor’s wedding, down to the old nuts and chocolates that were left over in the party favor boxes. She knows this because she found someone’s used gum stuck to the inside of a little favor box. Even the wedding dress somehow disappeared after the honeymoon and then reappeared at different weddings in nearby towns. She had pinned a white rose she made of some fabric onto its bodice. She found this out by looking at the visual marriage records on the Internet and seeing that same one-of-a-kind flower she made on several brides. I think my “family” is a thousand interventions away from receiving any Internet access at all.

  I asked her why they hadn’t made my “parents” get married and the old woman (Edna was her name) said it was because since I’m so young, I can easily be rehabilitated. Older “clients” need more interventions. Whatever that means.

  Gross. Who knew how many brides had worn my dress.

  I also heard that the “honeymoon suite” special was just a regular room at some hotel in the city. The wedding planner decorated it with a heart-shaped pillow and other such junk. I finally got word of the details on the much anticipated honeymoon vacation. It’s near a lake. And a cemetery. Nature walks, free continental breakfast, a tour of the area (the highlight being a visit to a tree where an imaginary elf lives at the lake) and an hour on the canoe. Which we would have to paddle ourselves.

  I’ve annoyed everyone (except the pastor) by how indecisive I was about things. But the truth was that I didn’t really care if everything was painted in disco gold and teal because I had no plans to get married. So what purpose would it have served if I were to choose the chocolate-covered nuts over the raisins for the stupid favor boxes?

  I suggested, instead of a color scheme consisting of two, maybe three colors, why not use all the colors for the flowers? “Like a rainbow,” I said.

  What a stupid thing to have said. Now I’d have to take some bullshit classes on marriage preparation. So far, I’d learned how to set a table for a party, how to use a toaster (the thing you use to burn bread) and a microwave oven. More government-sponsored radiation, I guessed.

  At least now the wedding had been delayed.

  ~~~

  They were making me pack up my belongings from the house so it could all be moved into the new place. I only took a few items. I knew it sounded creepy but I did pack one of the “family” pictures of the three of us. We were at Mount Rushmore, which didn’t even exist anymore. It took me a whole three minutes to pack.

  The new place was an apartment building. Not fancy, not upscale, but not crummy or in need of any serious repairs. Some of the light bulbs needed replacing but the apartment complex had already maxed out their limit of them for the year. The dim light made everything look creepy and dreamlike when it was late.

  Bulging from within my pillow case-cum-bag was my anatomy book, my wristwa
tch (which wasn’t visible to anyone’s eyes unless I showed them a little ankle but why in the hell would I do that), some food, and other odds and ends.

  I found the door open and Steven was already in there. He was on a ladder, wiping a thick layer of dust from a ceiling fan.

  He looked at me and said, “I will be right down. I just need to finish this and then I can help you carry the rest of your stuff in.”

  I dropped the bag down on the floor. “This is it.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He seemed momentarily confused. “You sure didn’t bring much with you.”

  Steven, I wanted to say, you have no idea how much stuff I brought back with me. You have no idea how much excess baggage I am carrying into your little world.

  He climbed down the ladder and threw away the rag. He stopped and stared at me. “What?” I asked.

  “I’m going to wash my hands.”

  Did he expect me to go follow him and watch?

  I heard the water stop running and he came out of the kitchen. Again, he stopped and stared at me. “So...”

  “So?” Is this what I had to look forward to every evening from now on? Would the awkwardness never end?

  “Too bad about your neighbor dying.”

  I shouldn’t admit to this, but at first, I had no idea who he was talking about. But Miriam told me that the kid died unexpectedly and she had no idea how. “Yeah, he was only ten years old. I would have liked to attend the funeral.”

  “We can go and visit his grave after the honeymoon, if you would like,” he offered. Why not, I wanted to add. The cemetery will be just across the street.

  “Yeah, sure. Do you know how he died?” I asked.

  “Reattachment therapy. Heard of it?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Well, I’m not a fan. I will say I believe in what I’m doing here but I don’t support this type of therapy.”

  “How does it work?”

  “There’s this machine that acts like a gigantic womb. It can contract, push, and squeeze. Once out of the tunnel, there’s a super-bright light and a loud piercing scream. To stimulate what birth must be like to a baby. That way, the kids are reborn and can begin to bond with their adoptive parents. At least, that’s basically the theory of it.”

  “Wait, they make kids climb into this machine?”

  “Yeah, that’s where he died. But I’m not a fan of that kind of therapy because I believe that being reborn should be spiritual, not physical. Plus, it poses some health risks.”

  Yeah, that risk being loss of life. A very long awkward silence passed. He stared at me. I hope he wasn’t thinking that he needed to fill the silence with a disgusting, premeditated kiss.

  “On a lighter note, I have tickets to the Water Planet Exhibit. They have sharks and turtles and lots of other creatures swimming in tanks. You stand on a conveyor belt and watch the fish swim by. It’s just like being under the sea.”

  ~~~

  “Let’s play a game,” Michelle chirped much too enthusiastically. Instead of trying to break the silence, she drew too much emphasis to it.

  I didn’t mind the silence, as I didn’t feel any obligation to fill it.

  “Annette is going to bring out a tea tray of items. Everyone please take a slip of paper and a pencil.”

  Annette, a few years older than me with thick curly hair that was almost black, and bushy eyebrows, came out with the tray. She stopped in front of everyone for a few seconds so they could get a look of what was on the tray.

  There was a fairly large turnout for my party. At least, far more people came than I thought. They were all neighbors but I had never seen most of them before. Probably hired seat-fillers. Most of them were either in their late teens or my host’s age.

  On the tea tray, there was a a box of matches, a lip balm, a thimble, a tea cup, a pen, an eraser shaped like the former flag of the United States (back when it just had fifty stars), a pack of playing cards, a pair of tan gardening gloves, a beaded coin purse, neon yellow shoelaces, a bottle of Wite-Out, a makeup brush, a piece of butterscotch candy, scissors, a locket necklace, a spool of beige thread, a small jar of grape jam, and a few other odds and ends.

  After making a big show of carrying the tray around the room, Annette went back to hiding in the kitchen.

  Michelle started passing out pieces of blank white paper (I took several and hid them in my pocket so I could write stuff later) and pencils. I was going over the things I saw in my head; I believe I remembered all but one or two of them. I have great short-term memory, when I want it.

  Michelle took a seat on her folding chair and announced, “Now what I want you to do next is, write down everything that Annette was wearing. The lady with the most accurate answers wins a mystery gift!”

  Well, crap. Everyone hesitated but was able to write down at least one or two, if not more, things. Except me. And this was my supposed party.

  Kelly, another engaged neighborhood girl, won the mystery gift. A set of expensive pots and pans. I had no use for pots and pans. If Steven wanted to eat anything, he could make it himself. I’d been to more camps than he has had girlfriends. I could survive on potato chips. I was glad I didn’t win and I was glad I didn’t waste much effort into trying to win. I was not going to store my memory with useless information.

  ~~~

  The dress was beautiful, even if the stitching was unraveling by the armpit. The cake would be delicious. The ceremony would have been lovely if there were to be one. The guests would be getting antsy, looking back at the door I’m supposed to walk through. Miriam’s mascara would be undoubtedly running down her face. The groom would be growing bored but who cared, he was getting compensated. The soldiers would probably be loading their guns.

  And I would be miles and miles away, driving for the very first time.

  At least, that’s what the pastor is saying between the lines to me.

  “Marriage is one road that life may take us. Just one of many roads. There are always two roads to take-at least, if not an infinite number of possibilities. To get to the road that you want to travel, all you need is the right key. ‘Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?’ Matthew 7:3.”

  It was those weird numbers again. Not to mention, who was Matt? Someday I should ask about those but for now, more important things resided on my mind.

  Eldon slipped a bulky envelope into my hands.

  “It also can’t hurt to have a GPS. All you need to know is how to get from Point A to Point B and which pedal is the brake. We take as many as we can to Canada. Unfortunately, we have to travel with as few as possible, as to not attract attention. You know, fly under the radar. Do you understand the scope of what I’m saying, Pearl?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will find a change of clothes underneath the passenger’s seat. Remain calm. Don’t draw attention to yourself. They will be waiting for you at Point B. But you need to go now.”

  I turned the envelope over to open it. Inside contained a map, some money, and a set of car keys.

  ~~~

  It was scary climbing into the car by myself. I felt around for my watch before I threw my bag of stuff on the floor on the passenger’s seat. I put my watch on my wrist, for the first time in months. I didn’t care who saw. I loved that watch and it was mine. One of my few possessions that I’d managed to keep for longer than a week. It stopped telling time right around when John’s bus pulled away.

  I had a secret hope that once I saw John, it would start ticking again.

  I remembered to check where I was to go and was relieved to find out that it was basically a straight line. Point A to Point B.

  Turning was easier than I expected. I drove slowly out of the parking lot. I didn’t need any tell-tale metallic scraping of cars to alert people that I was out here.

  I pressed the gas pedal down to the floor, and the car nearly crashed into the van in front of it (I shrieked), but luckily I found the
brakes fast enough.

  My god, now that was scary. Cars had a lot of power. I drove over a curb but other than that, I made it safely out of there, unnoticed. At least, for the time being.

  There weren’t many cars out, thankfully. I didn’t know how I was going to merge off into my exit once it approached. But I guessed I would learn as I went.

  Way in the back, there was the blur of a white car. As fast as I was going, I was still well under the speed limit. The handful of other vehicles were going faster than that. But this one kept its distance for a little too long. I kept my eye on it but my heart was racing like what I imagine the first time doing cocaine would feel like.

  ~~~

  I came to a toll booth. A little shack with a glass window and a door with a sign listing different decrees. I’d have turned on the radio to drown out the thumping of my racing heart but I didn’t know which button it was. There was this white mail truck that might or might not have been following me for an uncomfortable time a few miles now.

  There were two young guys working there at the booth. They looked juvenile and pathetic, like even I could take them out. But they also looked like they were tattlers. And I’m sure they had guns somewhere hidden on them.

  I quickly took out the money and slid the map underneath the seat. As soon as I got to the front of the line, I rolled down my window just enough to slide the money through, so he couldn’t see all of my face. I reached out to give him the money.

  He took the money but then he held onto my hand, looking at the watch. I sent a silent prayer, up to sky to whoever would listen. Probably just a bird.

  “Could you roll down your window all the way, ma’am?” he asked. He let go of my hand.

  I put my hand on the steering wheel, sticking the face of my watch out. I dared him to look at it. Yeah, I had a watch on. It might not have worked, it might not have been the most expensive thing in the store, but what did they know.