The Oblivion Society

by Marcus Alexander Hart

  “I am,” Vivian said.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Vivian opened her eyes and looked at her hand, still palm up, still open.

  “You didn’t make a fist,” Erik said.

  “You didn’t tell me to make a fist. You just said to visualize it.” Erik smiled triumphantly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he beamed. “You can sit there all day and think about closing that hand, but it’s not going to close until your brain just does it.”

  Vivian’s fingers curled into a fist, straightened, and curled again. Her gaze flicked from her hand to Erik’s eyes with some sense of enlightenment.

  “I understand,” she said quietly, “but at the same time I don’t. I mean, I understand the concept of visualizing versus actualizing, but how do you teach your brain to stop thinking and just start doing?”

  “That I don’t really know. My rat arms seemed to take cues from my human arms at first. Maybe you should try to train your wings by flapping your arms. Your brain knows how to make your arms move.”

  Vivian nodded eagerly.

  “Okay, stand back.”

  She straightened her back and stood with her arms at her sides. Closing her eyes and furrowing her brow, she raised her arms slowly to her sides.

  “Is it working?” she asked quietly.

  “Not yet,” Erik said. “Try again.”

  Vivian lowered her arms, cleared her mind, and raised them again. Again, nothing.

  “Hmm,” Erik said, scratching his chin. “I’ve got an idea. Lemme help.” He stepped behind Vivian and grasped the long bony ribs of her wings.

  “What are you doing, Erik?”

  “You just put your arms out again, and I’m going to spread your wings at the same time. Maybe we can get your brain used to the idea of the wings moving when your arms move.”

  “Okay,” Vivian nodded. “Nice and slow. Ready? … Go.” She closed her eyes and gracefully raised her willowy arms to her sides. Simultaneously, Erik began pulling her gnarled wings apart on her back. Their fleshy hinges were stiff and unyielding, and Vivian began to topple forward as Erik’s efforts inadvertently pushed her shoulders forward of her toes. His mutant paws immediately rectified the situation by grasping her firmly around her waist and holding her steady.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Keep going.”

  Vivian kept raising her arms, trying to wrap her brain around the obtuse concept of moving her wings without thinking about it. As the stubborn sails began to extend, Erik quickly realized that their span exceeded that of his own arms. He stepped forward against Vivian’s back to squeeze the last few inches of length out of his outstretched arms.

  Vivian kept slowly raising her hands to her sides. She could feel Erik’s body pressing against hers. She could feel his four hands on her body, his chest against her back, his stubbly face grazing her neck. Without opening her eyes, she turned her head toward him and spoke with a sly grin.

  “Did you really think this was going to teach me to use my wings, or was this all just a ruse to get fresh with me?”

  She could feel Erik’s extra hands tense around her waist.

  “I uh … well, you see I,” Erik stammered. “Oh man, I so feel like Trent right now.”

  A giggle escaped Vivian’s lips.

  “No you don’t,” she smiled. “If you felt like Trent you’d be on the ground with two black eyes by now.”

  Erik smiled shyly as Vivian rubbed her cheek against his. She could now feel Erik’s whole body pressing a firm warmth against her back. She could feel the softness of his sweatshirt along the backs of her own bare arms.

  But her arms were not bare.

  “Whoa, Erik!” she breathed. “Don’t move! I feel it!”

  “I’m sorry!” Erik chirped defensively. “I’m just nervous!”

  “I feel my wings, ” Vivian clarified. “I feel the sensation of your arms against mine, but … but not! It’s weird!”

  Erik suddenly realized that his hands were no longer supporting Vivian’s wings but actually holding them back. He released his grip and the black sails spread majestically outward. They seemed larger than Erik had remembered, now spanning at least eight feet from end to end. His fingertips ran like soft little rakes over their leathery surface as they extended outward from the red fabric of her trembling shoulders.

  “Eeesh!” Vivian giggled. “Stop it! That tickles! It’s weird! ” Vivian held her arms out to her sides and bared her teeth in a smile, bouncing on her toes as the ticklish feeling rained out of the air around her. The sensation was no longer coming from her arms. It had turned into a sparkling, freeform ghost that was sliding through her shoulders and across her back.

  “How’s this? Can you feel this?” Erik ran his hands in broad circular strokes over the backs of her wings. In her own mind, Vivian could almost see blue sparks flying in the same spirals out of her shoulders, forming a cloudy outline of her newly awakened limbs in her subconscious. She could almost feel the distinct trace of each individual fingertip telegraphing an impulse to her brain down a line that had never before been used.

  “Oh! Right there!” she squeaked. “Yes! Yes! I can feel it! Keep touching me right there! I’m getting it! I’m getting it!”

  Vivian’s moment of intense physical clarity was cut short by the jarring voice of her brother.

  “Holy crap! That’s just wrong! ” Bobby gasped. “My best friend and my own twin sister. Man, now I know how Luke Skywalker felt!”

  The bright mental sparks immediately sizzled into a numb blackness as Vivian’s eyes flew open to see Bobby standing ten feet in front of her. His small, beady eyes looked especially menacing peering from the whiteness of his pale, bloodless face. Erik’s hands slipped from Vivian’s waist with a nervous cough. He took a step backward that didn’t seem embarrassed so much as caught red-handed.

  “Oh, uh … hi Bobby,” he said, not making eye contact.

  “So, now I finally see the truth,” Bobby said, taking slow, deliberate steps around the mutant conspirators. “This is how it is, huh? You never really liked me at all, did you, Erik? All this time you’ve just been using me to get to my sister. I should have known that you liked her more than you liked me.”

  “That’s not true!” Erik squeaked guiltily. “You know you’re my best friend!

  You’ve always been my best friend! I’m not using you to get to Vivian!”

  “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, Dr. Feelgrope.”

  Erik’s four hands flexed guiltily in the air.

  “I was just trying to show her how to use her wings!” he chirped. “That’s all!

  Nothing more! I swear!”

  Bobby’s accusing posture softened into his usual, easy-going slouch.

  “Jeez, man,” he smiled, rolling his eyes. “Lighten up. I was just messin’ with ya. Don’t get your panties all in a bunch.”

  Erik’s expression instantly changed from “being hurt” to “wanting to hurt someone else.”

  “C’mere,” Bobby continued blithely, walking toward the Rabbit. “Help me with the satellite dish-I want to see if there’s any news today. Hopefully I’ll have better luck at picking something up than you just did.”

  Erik watched Bobby’s feet plodding through the parking lot, crushing the last vestiges of a lost moment into the gravel. He turned and looked at Vivian sheepishly. Her eyes were fixed on his, and her face hung halfway between disappointment and anger.

  “Viv, you know I just meant that I wasn’t … that I didn’t … I mean, I didn’t mean that I don’t-”

  Vivian sighed and turned away.

  “Just go help Bobby,” she said coldly.

  Erik nodded helplessly and crossed the driveway, rushing to Bobby’s side and punching him hard in the shoulder.

  “Ow!” Bobby exclaimed. “What was that for?”

  “Why did you have to go and do that, you big jerk?!”

  “Do what? It was a joke. Get over it.”

  “Get over it? You
just ruined our … we were like, having a moment there.”

  “A moment? Oh please, Erik.”

  Bobby pulled the 5-in-1 camping lantern from the trunk and stuffed it into his friend’s four hands. When his stubby arms returned to his sides, a few short segments of stained Confederate bandages fell out of his bathrobe sleeve and fluttered unnoticed to the ground. He pulled the cable out of the trunk and plugged one end into the lantern.

  “I’m serious, Bobby,” Erik said earnestly. “I think we just had a spark.”

  “A moment and a spark!” Bobby laughed. “Wow! You were practically on your way to the warm fuzzies! ”

  He plugged the cable into the satellite dish and plopped into a cross-legged sitting position in the gravel.

  “Why don’t you just go after Sherri instead?” Bobby continued, taking the lantern from Erik. “She’s totally into you. And you’d get a lot farther with a lot less effort-that’s for sure. I’ll bet you could score with her in a second if you just asked, and I know you think she’s hot now.”

  Erik crossed his arms and leaned on the fender in an insulted huff.

  “Dude! Dude, I can’t believe you! What makes you think that I’d do Sherri? I’m not just gonna suddenly be interested in her just because … okay, yes, so she’s kinda cute now. But, God! Do you really think that I’m just some horny asshole looking for anyplace hot and willing to stick his-”

  Bobby looked up at Erik with a sigh and a slow shake of his head.

  “You’re messing with me again, aren’t you?” Erik scowled.

  “I’m sorry,” Bobby chuckled. “It’s just so easy.” Just then the sound of tiny feet in cloddish boots crunched stealthily into the parking lot. Sherri threw one last glance through the turnstiles and darted over to Vivian.

  “Good, you’re all here,” she hissed confidentially. “Quick, let’s get the hell out of here before Trent wakes up.”

  “Sherri, we’re not leaving without Trent,” Vivian said. “No matter how admittedly tempting the idea might be.”

  Sherri’s eyebrows wrinkled with incomprehension.

  “But if you’re not ditching Trent, then what are you all doing in the parking lot?”

  “We’re having breakfast. Or the closest available substitute,” Vivian qualified.

  “Here. Dig in.”

  She picked up the crinkling bag of cookies and pushed it into Sherri’s tiny hands. Sherri plucked out one of the crumbling snacks and distastefully examined it between her bony thumb and forefinger.

  “Okay, how about this,” she suggested, “let’s just kill Trent and eat him. ”

  “Stop it, Sherri,” Vivian grumbled.

  “We’d be doing him a favor! He’d go a step up the social order if we turned him into shit!”

  Before Vivian could reply, the calm morning air was broken by tinny, childish voices in conversation.

  “Whazzat, look! That hermit has all kinds of puppets that we can use for our puppet show!”

  “I don’t know, Lookout. Mayor Ben says that we should never talk to strangers.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud! He looks harmless enough to me!” Vivian and Sherri stepped to Erik’s side. All three of them looked over Bobby’s shoulder and into the tiny TV screen he cradled in his lap.

  “What’s going on?” Vivian asked hopefully.

  “Well, it looks like the dumpy-ass bear wants to get some puppets from the weird, furry drifter,” Bobby said, “but the kangaroo chick thinks they shouldn’t be talking to-”

  “I meant, what’s going on with the search for a broadcast,” Vivian interrupted irritably. “Did you find any new channels? Any news?”

  “Nada,” Bobby frowned. “Same shit, different day. Nothing but Zoobilee Zoo out the wazoo.”

  He poked the power button and the miniature screen went black. He shifted his tightly bandaged girth awkwardly in the gravel, but he couldn’t quite manage to climb to his feet. Ultimately he held his arm up to Vivian in surrender.

  “Gimme a hand here, sis.”

  As Bobby’s arm went up, his baggy bathrobe sleeve slipped to his shoulder, revealing a row of uneven green spikes the size of scissor blades sprouting from the top of his forearm.

  “Whoa!” Vivian gasped. “What the-”

  Bobby held his arm up to his face and stared at the bony protrusions that sprouted from his wrist to his elbow like a lime-green mohawk. He flicked them with his finger-they felt like plastic.

  “Well, shit,” he shrugged. “Looks like I’m catching up to you guys.” Vivian reached down and grabbed Bobby’s thick hand with both of her own, hoisting him upward with a labored grunt. When he was on his feet, she took the cuff of his sleeve in both hands and pulled it back over his arm.

  “We better hide that before Priscilla wakes up,” she said. “She’s worked-up enough with only two of us showing mutations. If she saw this too, I don’t know what she’d do.”

  “She’d just stand there staring like an idiot,” Sherri said. “Like she always does.”

  “That’s an unfair assumption,” Vivian scowled. “How do you know what she’d do?”

  Sherri turned her eyes over Vivian’s shoulder and gave two tiny, pointed thrusts with her chin. Vivian turned around and saw Priscilla standing slumped on two buckled legs just five feet behind her. Her dilated eyes were placid, and she stood quietly, save for the sound of the air being sucked down her mangled throat.

  “What’s she doing here?” Bobby murmured. “I thought she was scared of you guys.”

  “She was!” Erik agreed. “Maybe after an evening with Trent she’s decided we’re not so bad.”

  “Good morning, Priscilla,” Vivian said with a carefully controlled measure of cheer, as though addressing a volatile child. “I’m happy to see you again. We’re all happy to see you. We’re your friends. Do you understand that?”

  Priscilla showed no sign of answering Vivian’s question. In fact, she seemed almost unaware that she was being spoken to at all. Her vacant glare was fixed blankly just past Vivian’s hip. Vivian followed the eye line curiously to its terminus, which was Sherri.

  “Why is she looking at me like that?” Sherri said apprehensively. Priscilla took a lumbering step toward Sherri and raised her hand, a low sound raising from deep in her throat.

  “Okay, seriously,” Sherri squeaked, gripping the crackling bag of maple cookies tighter. “Why the hell is Lurch looking at me like that? I’m going to kick her ass if she touches me. I swear to God.”

  Priscilla took another step forward and pointed her finger at Sherri’s hands before raising it hungrily to her lips.

  “Wait, it’s not you!” Vivian hissed. “It’s the cookies! She wants the cookies!”

  “First she wants Trent, now these shitty cookies,” Sherri grumbled. “This girl likes some pretty messed-up shit.”

  “Priscilla, are you hungry?” Vivian offered. “We’ll share with you. We’re all friends here.”

  Vivian plucked the bag from Sherri’s hands and slowly stepped toward Priscilla. The skittish girl quickly hobbled backward, squatting behind the fender of the Reliant with a gasp. Vivian closed her eyes and pulled back her arms, and, in a smooth and graceful movement, her wings extended straight back and downward behind her body, effectively hiding them from Priscilla’s glazed eyes.

  “Nice,” Erik smiled.

  “It’s okay,” Vivian continued. “This is for you.” She set the bag on the trunk of the square little car and backed away slowly. When Vivian had removed herself a sufficient distance, Priscilla stood up and dug into the crinkly cellophane, stuffing a stack of cookies into her ravenous mouth.

  “Well, I’m glad to see somebody likes those things,” Bobby smirked.

  “We’re making progress with her,” Vivian smiled. “She’s getting used to us. Pretty soon she won’t be scared of us at all.”

  Erik looked at Priscilla clumsily digging her fist into the crackling bag and shoving more into her mouth.

  “So
do you guys think she’s … you know.”

  “Think she’s what?” Vivian asked flatly.

  “Um … a very special episode.”

  Vivian looked at Priscilla and shook her head.

  “I don’t think she’s developmentally disabled, if that’s what you mean. I think she’s just got some major psychological damage that we’re going to have to work through.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” Vivian admitted. “Baby steps. For starters, we just need to convince her that we’re all her friends and that nobody in our group wants to do anything bad to her. That should be easy. We’ve all shown her nothing but kindness and respect thus far.”

  “Lookie here, lookie here! First thing in the A.M. and the T’s woman is already out of bed and finding her man some breakfast. That’s what I call love, yo.” Trent pushed through the turnstiles and strutted across the gravel of the parking lot like the ludicrous white pimp in a blaxploitation film. He plunged his hand into the cookie bag and grabbed a handful before throwing an arm around Priscilla’s waist and planting a kiss on her crumb-covered chin. His diaper of canvas bandages had disappeared, but its shape remained visible in the form of a clean swatch of fabric on his otherwise filthy clothes.

  “Trent, what happened?” Vivian asked, puzzled. “Your bandages came off.”

  “Hellz yeah they came off,” Trent grinned. “They came all the way off last night!” As if to emphasize his point, he stepped forward and swung his hand in a high arc, preluding a dramatic zipping up of the open fly of his pants.

  “That little woman was feisty with a capital damn! ” Vivian’s hand flew to her mouth in horror.

  “Oh my God, Trent. You didn’t!”

  “Didn’t what?” Trent said coyly.

  Vivian’s eyes ticked between Trent and Priscilla’s faces.

  “You didn’t have sex with her! ” she hissed.

  “Oh no! No, no, certainly not,” Trent said with a smarmy smile, tracing finger quotes into the air. “I didn’t have ‘sex’ with her. Not legally, anyway. Let’s just say I didn’t have ‘sex’ with her in exactly the same way that the president didn’t have ‘sex’ with his intern. Aw, snap!”