by G. P. Ching
Caleb laughs. “You might not want to judge by that view.” He motions toward Jeremiah.
“You’re right next door. Let’s get you settled in.”
The boys slip from the room, giving me a moment alone.
It doesn’t take long to unpack everything I own, and I begin to wonder where we’re going to get our Englisher costumes. I return to the living room to ask. Caleb isn’t there, but a girl in a tight T-shirt and jeans is reading a magazine on the sofa. She glances up at me.
“Lydia, I’m so excited to have you here.” Her bright blond curls bounce over her shoulder with the movement of her head.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Don’t you recognize me?”
I concentrate on the makeup-covered face in front of me. The girl’s skin is flawless. Silver eyeshadow feathers across her lids and over her eyebrows toward her ears. It looks like she’s wearing silver, wing-shaped glasses that have melted to her skin. The color contrasts sharply with her robin’s egg blue eyelashes—long, thick lashes. A wide black line surrounds each eye and her lips are puffy and blood red. But under it all, I recognize the bow-shaped mouth and narrow nose. “My word, Hannah, is that you?”
The girl nods, bounding from the sofa and spreading her arms.
I accept her embrace. “You are so beautiful. Look at your hair, your makeup. It’s like something from a painting… or a dream.”
“You’ll look like this too. It’s expected here.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
Hannah opens her mouth but is interrupted when Jeremiah and Caleb enter the room.
“Great, everyone’s here. We can do the welcoming ceremony,” Caleb says.
“What’s the welcoming ceremony?” I ask.
Caleb and Hannah move to the windows and shut the blinds, plunging the room into darkness.
“Hannah, can I have a drum roll, please?” Caleb asks.
Hannah drums her fingers on the coffee table and trills her tongue off the roof of her mouth. Ritualistically, Caleb approaches the wall, chin held high with the exaggerated step-together-step of a formal occasion. His eyes fix on a switch. A light switch. Suddenly, I understand what all the fuss is about. This will be the first time Jeremiah or I have ever seen an electric light work.
Plain folk aren’t against electricity per se. Our community is against dependence on an ungodly world. That’s why it’s okay for us to use gas to power our homes. Gas isn’t connected physically to the grid, and frankly, we could live without it in a pinch. Still, whether it’s the novelty or taboo that draws me in, I’m excited for this experience.
I smile, oddly breathless with anticipation as Caleb’s finger hooks beneath the off-white plastic switch. Hannah quits her drumming with a fake cymbal crash. Click. The lightbulb in the lamp next to me glows for a moment. The bulb flares quieter than my gas version. But then bluish-white lightning arcs from where the lamp plugs into the wall, dancing for a moment in the storm of its own making.
ZAP! The bolt strikes me in the chest. Sparks fill my vision. A boom rattles my eardrums. Head snapping forward, my feet lift off the carpet and I fly backward until my shoulder blades slam into the far wall. Crack! My skull follows my momentum. Pain radiates from my heart to my fingertips as I am suspended for a moment, arms outstretched.
Jeremiah yells my name.
The white light retracts and my body crumples to the floor. I fall as if the hand of God has dropped me from heaven.
Continue the story. Get your copy at https://gpching.com/books/grounded/
