By the time I was twenty, I knew as much as any other punk that graduated from Hancock. Probably more. But since I hadn’t earned any credits for auditing classes, it didn’t do me a lot of good out in the real world. I didn’t have a degree, and the people that mattered – the people that hired – still put a lot of stock in those pieces of paper with gold seals and fancy writing on them. About the only thing I did have was a reputation for being a hard worker and being something of a bad ass (second to Burnell, of course).
But my time was up.
It wasn’t a conscious decision. I hadn’t spent any great amount of time weighing out the pros and cons, or convincing myself I had learned all there was to learn. It was more of an anxious feeling that had crept up on me little by little that last year at Hancock.
I was scared shitless of leaving. After all, the place had become my life, it was all I knew outside of coming to grips with being alone most of the time.
Was I meant for something better? Maybe during those long nights lying in bed and staring up at the apartment’s water-stained ceiling I had entertained such a notion, but I hadn’t put any stock in those fantasies. I had spent most of my life living day-to-day, not really giving the future much thought. But I had dreamed. Dreamed of being on one of those space missions, of streaking out into space at close to the speed of light, leaving Earth, the planets, and our known solar system behind.
That’s all it had ever been though: one big dream.
Something they taught in one of the psychology classes at Hancock, one of the things they really tried to beat into your skull, was the utter aloneness of being in space, especially if it was for any significant length of time. They stressed how the effects of such isolation worked on a person’s mind. It was cabin fever on steroids. And there was no escaping it. The psychology instructor had pointed out case study after case study, making it crystal clear that it was a genuine condition, and despite extensive testing protocols, there wasn’t a definitive way to predict if an individual would suffer from such an affliction or not.
Only they hadn’t met me. I had spent most of the last five years alone. Sure, maybe I was seventeen when my mom split, physically anyway, but I didn’t think that counted. I knew all about loneliness. It didn’t bother me. Not really. Didn’t affect me the way it did some people. Some people couldn’t be alone with themselves for more than five minutes before they went nuts. I was comfortable with myself.
A word on demons: everybody has them, but I knew how to keep mine at bay.
My decision to leave wasn’t without some regret. I’d be leaving what I knew; leaving the people I had met over the last two years, and even if I couldn’t exactly call them friends, some of them came damn close.
Especially Burnell. When I finally mustered up the courage to tell him, it was early December of 2173. I had dwelled on it for a while. I wasn’t a fan of goodbyes. I made a point of trying not to carry around a lot of extra baggage, but sometimes the baggage is heavy on your back whether you want it to be or not.
I approached Burnell that day after class was over. It was snowing lightly. I’d gone over what I was going to say to Burnell at least a hundred times in my head, but as I walked over to him, I still had a case of the nerves.
Before I even opened my mouth, he said, “Leaving, huh?”
I nodded. “How’d you know?”
“Just a vibe. I suppose you thought long and hard about it.”
“Hard enough.”
“I’m not gonna try talking you out of it. When it’s time, it’s time. Know what you’re gonna do?”
I shook my head. He didn’t look surprised. Then he handed me a brochure. A paper brochure. With everything being digital or holographic, you didn’t see something like that every day. I glanced at the front of it. There was a picture of a rocket blasting off, with the words AN OUT OF THIS WORLD EXPERIENCE AWAITS YOU in big bold letters written across the top.
“What’s this?”
Burnell shrugged. “Your future. Maybe. I’m no hero, but I’ve still got pull with a few folks. If you’re interested, I’ll put in the good word for you.”
I did my best to mask my excitement. I folded the brochure in half and stuffed it into my pocket. I offered Burnell my hand and he shook it. I fumbled for words. “It’s been…”
“Save it, kid. I’m no good at goodbyes.”
I never saw Burnell again.
About the Author J.W. Bouchard is a horror, crime, science fiction, and children’s fantasy author best known for his novels Last Summer and The Z Club. When he isn’t writing, he enjoys surveying unexplored parts of Wind Cave in South Dakota, traveling to exotic locales, and teaching his kids bad habits. He lives in Iowa.
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Replaceable: An Alan Lamb Thriller Page 19