Chapter 6

  A huge field, with nothing but a large house to smooth the divide between the green of grass and the blue of sky. It was about noon, and the sun was particularly hot, so I had no choice but to seek shelter within the house. I looked into the front windows to see if anyone was home. Nobody. In fact, there wasn’t even any furniture, suggesting that this place had never been lived in at all. I grabbed the doorknob to check if the door was locked, which it was not, allowing me free entry into the house. I wanted badly to sit down somewhere, but there were no chairs, and the floor did not look comfortable at all. Most of the house was rough, concrete floors and bare wooden walls. The only lighting was the sunlight pouring through the windows, which proved to be more than adequate. It almost felt as though the sun itself wanted to come down and touch Earth, but of course, it could never do such a thing, and instead it sent down as much of its heat and light as it could. I was glad to have shelter. I spent the next few minutes opening doors, seeing what they led to. There were so many, probably dozens, though they all lead to the same sight: a rectangular patch of concrete, boxed in by four walls of wood and capped by an equisized piece of concrete. Some of the rooms had windows. I repeated this process for probably ten minutes before I had seen all there was to see in the house. I was tired of all the walking, and so I decided to just pick a room and lay on the floor, however uncomfortable that may be.

  As I expected, as soon I lay myself upon the concrete I was met with a most unfortunate rigidness, leading to a premonition of back pain to come. Still, it was better than standing. I did not close my eyes. I don’t know how I knew, but it was not safe to do so here. The task of keeping my eyelids up was hard, considering the cool air around me and the near complete darkness of the room (there was no window), but the need to was dire, and so I combatted these forces. Suddenly, a sound broke through the silent house, the silent air, the silent wind, the silent world. A single fly had somehow found itself within this room, and it was approaching my face. As it swerved around my head, oscillating in and out of my vision, the instinct of my eyes forced me to blink. The fly flew away, its sound disappearing as did my view of it. I had closed my eyes. A deep feeling of regret and fear grew within me, as if my heart had been encased in stone and dropped into the ocean. Something bad was going to happen. Or was I wrong? The house was still, and there continued to be no sound of any kind. Maybe the gut feeling I had was just that: a feeling.

  My train of thought continued in this direction until it derailed once the cool asylum of the house began to morph back into the engulfing heat of the field. Until the heat began to exceed that of the field and entered the realm of Death Valley, exceeding that, going up and up until my sweat seemed to evaporate before it could even roll down my skin. I took off my hoodie, my shirt, eventually most of my clothes, but it changed nothing. I had to get out of this house. I ran to the door leading back into the main room, except there was no door. Just more wood. That was when I noticed the wood starting to turn black in places, flaking off the wall, crumbling from the heat. An invisible fire seemed to ravage the house, and by extension, me. I searched desperately for a way outside, a crack in the wall, a big enough gap for me to crawl through, anything, but there was nothing. Just more wood. Maybe I deserved this. After all, I had closed my eyes. I knew what to do, and yet something stupid made me fail at my task. It was all my fault. I was going to die in this burning room and I was the only one to blame.

  “Hey, are you okay? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

  “Huh?! Where- oh, I’m… yes, I’m alright.”

  “You sure? You were just flailing around in your sleep.”

  “Yes, yes, it’s fine. This kind of thing happens sometimes.”

  Calling it a “kind of thing” severely downplays the sensation of waking up face down on the floor with a bloody nose, but I had no better way of phrasing it. At least it doesn’t happen too often.

  “Oh. Well, I’m really glad you’re okay.”

  I felt a lot safer now, knowing I was in my car and not in some mental manifestation of Hell. Isobel looked perfectly comfortable driving, despite how much she had to lean forwards even after adjusting the driver’s seat. As I looked outside, it was evident that some time had passed. That is why, as a child, sleeping was initially a scary experience for me, even before my mind knew anything of nightmares. The passage of time in my absence was an imperceivable, unfathomable horror, and my childish brain knew of nothing more frightening. Of course, I have grown past this stage of my life, but the root of that fear has persisted. Time has passed me by for my whole life, not even stopping for a handshake or to glance into my eyes so I know it can see me. I turned 26 in January (which at this point was seven whole months ago!), but I have lived my whole life feeling like a kid, stunned by the enormity of it all.

  “I was hungry, so I stopped by Sonic. I didn’t know what you’d want, so I just got you a grilled cheese. Sorry if you’re lactose intolerant or something.”

  Fuck yes. A grilled cheese. Cheese is created via the aging of milk, which is probably why it is just as incredible. And if we’re going down that road, I think that yogurt should also be mentioned and appraised just as highly. Anyways, I was now in possession of a grilled cheese. Searching through the paper bag awkwardly positioned between our seats, I found the mass of tin foil containing my meal, a shining harbinger of inner greatness. Within a few moments, I found the foil to be empty, and my stomach full. Perfection had been achieved, and I had fully indulged in it.

  Observing the small digital clock adorning my dashboard, the time was 4:37 P.M., meaning that I had slept for about two hours, and that we would probably arrive at Blank's house in another two hours. It was at this point that the reality of my total lack of planning or strategic knowledge began to set in. Today I had met an odd stranger, given her my complete trust, and set off on a wild adventure to my greatest enemy's front door, all without even considering the possibility that he may not be too happy about my presence. I felt like a badass this morning, but now, I just felt kind of scared. I understood what Isobel meant when she said she didn't know what to do. This realization set forth a subsequent realization which countered the former, resulting in much confusion, which my thoughts tend to create. I realized that this onsetting despair was exactly what Blank would want me to feel in this situation; he would want me to be confused and scared. Therefore, I could not allow myself to feel such emotions. Unfortunately, feelings do not work that way, no matter how much some professor of psychology or sociology or behavioral science would like to convince you otherwise by talking your ear off on a stage surrounded by people who don't actually hear what he's saying and only let the words go through their heads like cars go through a tunnel. My brain puts me through whatever feeling my surroundings and inner thoughts dictate, for better or for worse (usually for worse). The thoughts that lead to these feelings create more thoughts that lead to more feelings, culminating in absurdly lengthy ruminations about the nature of my thoughts, a particularly bad habit of mine which I have just caught myself indulging in.

  Speaking of cars going through tunnels, I watched as Isobel maneuvered my car under a damp, moss covered bridge made of stone, which looked ready to collapse at any second. Fortunately, the second that this bridge would collapse was not one of the few seconds we spent under it, nor was it any of the seconds that I observed its presence. Past the threshold of that bridge, my peripheral view shifted from solely trees to a sizable collection of buildings. A small sign said “Welcome to Thorngood!” This town looked small, though not nearly as small as Brayfield.

  “We actually don’t have to go through this town, but we were close by and there’s something I’d like to do here,” Isobel explained, her eyes still transfixed on the road.

  “What’s that?” I was genuinely curious. I wanted to know more about Isobel; she was one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.

  “Well, you heard me talking to Edith earlier, bless her heart. It’s been so difficult trying to find a replacement screen for her, considering her age, but there’s a really neat shop in this town that purportedly has it, according to their old-ass website. Pretty cheap too, considering I’m probably the only person on Earth who’s looking for one, though that’s probably also why it’s been hard to find. I could’ve bought another identical model and transplanted the screen from that, since these days it’s much easier to find the whole phone rather than just its screen, but that just felt wrong. What would I do with the new one after I rip off its face? What a violent waste of such beauty. So, I’m going to try and pick up that screen right now. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  I admired how dedicated Isobel was to her companion, however unconventional it may be. In fact, most feelings I had towards Isobel could be described as admirative. For me, that’s just how it is with most women. It has always been hard for me to discern between attraction and envy, for reasons that I have never quite understood. My mom would always be suspicious when I brought a girl home, leading me to have to explain our relationship in terms of friendship and nothing else, because that’s all that it was. I always related to them more.

  The car slowed to a stop, positioning us in front of a place that as indicated by a large banner was titled “Thorngood Cyberpalace.” The concept of a Cyberpalace was intriguing to me. Who would hold such a throne and claim the silicon treasures within? Isobel and I got out of the car and walked towards the large building, our hands finding each other in a way that this time I almost did not notice.

  As I opened the door, I found myself surrounded by every type of electronic imaginable: mice, keyboards, widescreen monitors, boxy CRT screens, new and old phones and their parts, computer towers, printers, headphones, laptops, assorted cords and wires, webcams, microphones, routers, weird scraps. In a way, it was kind of mesmerizing. I spent a few minutes just looking at all the random wonders they had here, and Isobel seemed to be doing the same. A familiar smile spread across her face, and her free hand was having a very hard time deciding what to do. Her excitement could hardly be contained, though I could tell she was making a great effort.

  Walking through the expansive halls of the store, I found myself having to step over or sometimes duck under wires and other hardware jutting out into the walking space. While the building was quite big, I would not consider it spacious. The way the store was set up, there was a long hall filled to the brim with items, opening up into a wider rectangular area with more specific items on the left and right and the checkout counter in the middle facing us. It was probably the most simultaneously cozy and flammable building I had ever entered. If there was a dial going between these two things, it would move so quickly that it would appear to be touching both ends at once.

  Eventually, we reached the area with the more specific items, at which point our hands parted. Isobel and I scanned through them, finding many interesting and somewhat impressive tidbits, but there was no sign of a new face yet. We progressed through our respective shelves opposite from one another, Isobel at a slightly slower pace due to her utter enthrallment in these sorts of things.

  “Hey, I think I found it!”

  Indeed, Isobel was holding a medium-sized white envelope encased in bubble wrap with a small label adhered to the front indicating the model this screen was for. “Samsung SGH-X200,” it read. I had no way of knowing that this was correct, but surely Isobel knows what her beloved needs.

  “Great! So that means you can fix her?”

  Isobel just looked at me with wide eyes for a moment. Initially, I thought I had unknowingly said something rude, as I often do, but just as suddenly as her face shifted she put her arms around me with enough force to almost knock me down.

  “You’re the first person to… to get what… to understand and respect our relationship.” Her voice sounded more lively than usual.

  I did not understand what would bring one to disrespect Isobel and Edith’s bond. Clearly, even if I could not perceive it, there was something special which brought the two together, as shown by Isobel’s dedication to fixing Edith. Isobel’s fond descriptions of Edith proved to me that their relationship was just as valuable as those between two humans, even if I technically did not have the capacity to understand how their relationship worked. This puzzled me to no end until I remembered just how cruel other humans can be sometimes. I tried to imagine how someone like Kevin might respond to the knowledge of Isobel and Edith, before subsequently trying to forget that anybody like that could possibly exist; it saddened me beyond words. It would have almost been enough to make me cry, were it not for the disconnect between my emotions and my expressions. I’ve had that disconnect my entire life. I’ve noticed it in Isobel, too. In that way, we are alike, despite our other striking differences.

  I soon put my arms around Isobel with just as much compassion as she had given to me. I didn’t care about any onlookers perceiving our exchange oddly; in this moment, I only wanted to comfort Isobel as much as I possibly could. I’m not sure how long we stayed there, but we did stop eventually, despite my mind calling into question the very possibility of ever letting go. After our moment of bonding, we went up to the counter to let Isobel pay for Edith’s new screen. The cost was surprisingly low, and in pleasant contrast with our experience at the car shop, the man who had rung us up was quite nice; I think his name was Thomas or something like that. We left the store after only spending about 20 minutes there, though our embrace felt like it should have been centuries.

  Upon reaching my car, Isobel carefully placed the envelope amidst the random garbage in my trunk, and I reclaimed the driver’s seat. We just sat there for a moment. I watched two birds fight over a tiny piece of a french fry, which was mildly amusing. One of them eventually won the battle and flew away with its prize, leaving the other bird to peck at the ground for the crumbs left behind. Eventually, Isobel broke the pause in words.

  “Why do you… understand as much as you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just… don’t get how you’re so nice no matter what. You’re the most understanding person I’ve met in a long time.”

  “It’s because rude people piss me off. I try my hardest to not be that way. Sometimes I fail, though, and I’m rude without realizing it. I don’t understand the way most people act.”

  “Me neither. That’s why I don’t really interact with people all that often. And when I do, I never know what to say. At best they think I’m mean, and at worst they think I’m a freak.”

  “Don’t let people like that get to you. It kind of fuels them, you know? They aren't worth your time.”

  “I know, I know. It's just… I wish I had people that I could relate to, that I could talk to. People who aren't some random strangers online who I could never know the intentions of. Finally meeting you has shown me that people like that exist.”

  “I'm glad I could fulfill that role for you. I'm not really used to having friends either. No matter how well I socialize, people just seem to slip away from me. I'm not really all that bothered, though. I’m fine with solitude. You're nice, though. I feel like you're more like me than most people I've ever met.”

  “I hope that's true. I really like you, and I hope we can spend more time together.”

  Even though we didn't really discuss anything that may resemble a plan, I felt better about our journey going forward. If anything, I knew that Isobel and I would be a great team for taking on any task. As I started my car and began to drive out of Thorngood, I saw that the opposite side of the sign we passed earlier read “Come back soon!” I knew this would probably never happen, but the thought wasn't bad. I'd love to be able to come back to moments like this, where everything in the world is coming together to create something beautiful, where all the opposing currents of nature calm down just long enough for me to experience a moment of pure happiness. I think that when our journey comes to an end, I'll look back at moments like these and smile.