For Centuries More

by Ethan Johnson

  Gene’s face reddened, and his eyes widened in fury. A young girl seated across from him stared at him sternly and shook her head.

  Gene took a swig of coffee and fumed in silence.

  CHAPTER 7: MODERN MESSENGER SERVICE

  As usual, morning came too soon for Gracie. Despite being on Central Time for a few months, she hadn’t broken free of her bad habits from a lifetime back home, especially the late starts afforded by a part-time work schedule. Staying out late on a work night had consequences now, even with Agnes’s help with rent and utilities. Gracie finally had a real job and she was determined to hang on to it. Her immediate co-workers were laid back to a point, but Cathy was quick to let her know when she was slacking off. Gracie found her to be easier to get along with than Warren. Maybe it was the new surroundings, or maybe Warren really was an ass.

  Gracie munched her cereal and slurped coffee, making sure to hit her marks to ensure an on-time departure. The route to work was fairly straightforward, but life in the big city meant coping with big city traffic, and whatever new and improved ways it could wreck your best-laid plans. She figured she had about ten more minutes before she had to be behind the wheel and revving up the engine. Fortunately, winter was officially over, as best as she could tell, and her passable used car required much less time to warm up, which she greatly appreciated.

  After rinsing out her cereal bowl and coffee mug and setting them both in the dishwasher, she grabbed her car keys and headed for the front door. She paused and doubled back to Agnes’s bedroom door. She rapped at the door a couple of times. “Agnes? I’m leaving. Do you need anything?”

  There was no reply.

  Gracie glanced at her cell phone. Time was up. “I’ll check in with you later, okay Ag? I’ve got to go.”

  Agnes did not answer.

  Gracie shrugged and stuffed her cell phone into her back pocket. She turned the lock in the front door knob on her way out and grasped the knob. It held firm. It was minimum security, but at least nobody would be walking in on Agnes while she was in the bathroom or something.

  Traffic was uncharacteristically light, which Gracie appreciated. Once she figured out her average travel time to and from work, she tried to give herself ten extra minutes. Her one variable was a set of train tracks that could delay her for well over ten minutes; One evening she slammed her car into Park while three commuter trains and two freights clogged up the crossing. She hoped today was not that day. When she cleared the tracks, she pumped her fist triumphantly and turned up her car stereo. She banged her palms happily on her steering wheel as she sped toward the office.

  No sooner had she slung her jacket over the back of her chair and started logging in to her work computer, when Jaime came around the corner with a concerned look, clutching a large envelope.

  “Hi. Hey, remember that time we said that there might be ‘other duties as necessary’ during your interview?”

  “Um, yeah, why?”

  “Normally I’d have one of the guys do this, but nobody is available right now. Could you possibly drop something off at a job site? One of the GCs needs this stuff, and somebody forgot to send it out yesterday.”

  Cathy emerged from the restroom. “I said it was an accident.”

  Gracie made a face that apparently asked this, but being new, she didn’t feel comfortable saying it aloud. Jaime picked up on it and waved the folder at Cathy. “Yeah, why don’t you take this crap out there? Why is the new girl cleaning up your mess?”

  “Bobby’s takin’ the car in a couple hours. I won’t be back in time.” She gestured to Gracie. “Besides, she don’t want to answer phones, she wants to get out of the office, don’t ya?”

  Gracie nodded, hesitantly. Jaime rolled her eyes and dropped the folder on her desk. “Whatever. This place is in Bellwood. Do you know where that is?”

  “I think I’ve heard of it, but maybe that was back home.”

  Jaime gestured to her cell phone. “Use your GPS. Here, put this address in there.”

  Gracie punched in the address. The estimated travel time was 30 minutes. Gracie held up the screen so Jaime could confirm she did it right, and to privately note the estimated round trip. It wasn’t going to take any two hours to run the errand. Gracie shrugged and put her jacket back on. She scooped up the envelope and headed for the door. Cathy called out to her.

  “Take a coffee for the road, at least. You just got here.”

  Gracie shot her a grin and served up a quick coffee to go, which she regretted minutes later when she remembered that her car’s cup holders could barely contain a thimble. She set the coffee down awkwardly and got situated with both hands before driving one-handed, clutching her hot coffee cup and swearing.

  As advertised, the job site was less than 30 minutes away. She pulled up to the curb along a strip of stores that seemed familiar, but many of the streets and buildings looked the same to her nearly everywhere she went. Things weren’t spaced apart like they were back home. She heard voices overhead, and she stepped away from the building to try to spot somebody on the roof. She just made out a white construction hat and she waved the envelope over her head and called out.

  “Come around the back,” someone replied. Gracie nodded and turned around. She turned left and headed into the alleyway. A ladder was propped against the building and a utility van was parked nearby, advertising FRANKLIN AND SONS, GENERAL CONTRACTOR. Gracie was greeted by a grizzled man with a red nose, decked out in work wear. He was straight out of the home improvement shows her mother always watched.

  “Thanks, kid.” The man nodded as he took the envelope. “Tell them I’ll let Steve know when I get back to the office.”

  Gracie waved and started to re-trace her steps, then decided the other end of the building was closer. She turned left once more and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She looked down the street and spotted her car. Then she did a double-take, as she spotted a familiar landmark across the street: The Green Submarine sandwich shop. Gracie gulped, and turned to her left. A woman with a Bettie Page hairdo wearing a black dress looked up from a sign that now read SORRY, WE’RE OPEN and put her hand to her mouth in surprise.

  CHAPTER 8: DISCONNECTED

  Agnes heard Gracie rap on her bedroom door. In fact, she heard Gracie get out of bed, get dressed, make coffee, pour a bowl of cereal, get ready for work, rinse her dishes, and place them in the dishwasher. All the while, Agnes laid on the floor with her face pressed into the scratchy carpeting. She felt her hip rise and fall with each breath. She watched the room slowly brighten as the morning progressed, and she felt the urgency to visit the bathroom rise incrementally as the hours ticked away. But despite this internal prodding, she couldn’t move. Not because she was physically restrained or paralyzed. She just didn’t want to.

  Nothing mattered anymore, Agnes decided. Marc could carry on doing whatever it was he was up to with Inanna and Tobias. She had zero interest in ever laying eyes on the warehouse, or factory, or whatever they had set up in the city. Agnes listened to her slow breaths in and out, and occasionally blinked while watching flecks of dust swirl above the carpeting and come down to land at rare intervals.

  A single tear slid down her nose. She didn’t understand why—she didn’t feel sad about anything. In fact, she didn’t feel at all. She felt disconnected, internally and externally. She glanced up at the door and observed how the painted door nearly met the painted door frame, leaving a thin dark line in-between. The door did not meet the frame, and Agnes didn’t care. Nothing mattered.

  She felt herself nearly give in to the urge to pee, which prompted her to attempt to get up from the floor. She got as far as onto her hands and knees, and she drooped her head down. Her hair hung down in a brown mop in front of her face and she couldn’t work up the energy to brush it aside. Agnes began to slide forward onto her stomach, when she forced herself up onto one knee, then up onto her feet, and staggered toward the bedroom door. She shuffled into the bathroom and managed to make it to the bathtub
. Agnes stripped from the waist down and lowered herself into the tub. She slid along the wall until the back of her head was cradled by the edge of the tub and relieved herself. She heard the drain begin to gurgle and she closed her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to clean up after.

  Agnes looked around the blackness behind her eyelids. As her training with Image had progressed, she learned to do all sorts of things after closing her eyes. She sent a portion of her consciousness out to different places on Earth in the present, then in the past, and then out to nearby places in the solar system. Not requiring comforts like air and food, let alone gravity, she enjoyed the sight of Jupiter from Ganymede, and Saturn from Tethys. She couldn’t interact with her surroundings on Earth or anywhere else when she projected, but she found the experience enriching and at times, exhilarating. Scientists argued about the best path forward to Mars, and the cost of a manned mission. She stood upon the “face” of Mars and observed the lethal landscape as a diver would view the Mariana trench through a porthole. She sent a part of herself there as well, once, but preferred above-ground locales.

  Now the blackness behind her eyelids was simply that. No tugs from somewhere beyond requesting her to make contact. No possible destinations to explore. No visions to decipher. Nothing.

  In fact, the thought that there ever was a thing called “Image” began to seep from her mind. Agnes clutched at random scraps of memory, of the day when she first made contact, or the time when she successfully turned a plastic button into gold. Now these memories were shrouded in a dreamy haze, and try as she might, she could not cling to the specifics. “Image” as a name, more accurately, a placeholder for a much more complex concept that the layman might reduce simply to “God”, completely inaccurately but perhaps forgivably, became harder to recall. As Agnes sat in the tub, she found it increasingly difficult to recall the name at all, or its significance.

  She nearly forgot that she had a brother named Marc, but that memory was not so easily blotted out. She did think his name was “Mike”, or “Neil”, but after giving up trying to remember his name, it would rush forward from the darkness and she would recall a memory. Agnes remembered waking up on the floor in the front room of her family home, and seeing Marc digging through the contents of her knit bag, looking for something urgently. She found her tea mug lying beside her, and she set it aside on a shelf after she got up from the floor.

  Marc was holding… something… something flat, something important to her, something she didn’t want him to… something flat, something important. She couldn’t remember the detail. It irritated her, and she prided herself on being highly resistant to emotional responses of any sort. She smacked her palm to her forehead. Hot tears slid down her cheeks as she strained to remember. Flat… important… take from him. What was it?

  Girlfriend. Marc had a girlfriend. Maybe she knew. Agnes shook her head. Secret girlfriend. Never met… friend. Friend of Neil’s. Neil Patrick Harris? Harrison Ford. Ford Fairlane. Fairlight Bowling Alley. Gracie worked there in high school. At least, Agnes thought she did. She worked the skate rental counter there. No, didn’t make sense. Maybe a movie about bowling starring Harrison Ford. Agnes didn’t watch movies. Maybe Gracie saw it with… girlfriend. Secret girlfriend.

  Agnes smiled with relief. Yes, Gracie’s secret girlfriend. They thought nobody knew about them. Agnes knew. Agnes minded her own business. Agnes had secrets too. Nobody knew about… flat thing. Important. Agnes pulled a fistful of hair, trying to force herself to remember the nagging detail. Fresh tears tricked down her cheeks.

  She let go and banged her fist down on the floor of the bathtub. She sniffed and choked back the urge to cry uncontrollably.

  “Remember!”

  She opened her eyes and looked at the shower head. Calcium deposits were caked up around some of the holes. She stared intently at the holes. Water. Water was important. Water and gold. Water washed away the gold. She shifted her gaze to the faucet. Wash away the gold.

  She closed her eyes and slept, instead.

  CHAPTER 9: REUNION

  Trixie pushed the salon door open. “Hey, stranger.”

  Gracie looked her up and down, trying to think of something clever to say. She managed a simple, “Hey.”

  Trixie ran her fingers through her own hair and gave Gracie a thin smile. “Quick cut?”

  Gracie looked over at her car, and back at Trixie. “I… I can’t. I’m working.”

  Trixie raised an eyebrow. “Working?”

  “I was dropping something off at a job site.” She jerked her thumb upward. “Roofing contractor needed something.”

  “Oh… you work for a messenger service?”

  “Um, no. I actually work in an office. They just sent me on an errand. And I… uh, have to get back.”

  Trixie pouted. “Not even a few minutes to come inside?”

  Gracie struggled to decide. On the one hand, Trixie was right there, talking to her, and inviting her inside. On the other, she really wanted to hold down this job and show everyone how responsible she was.

  Trixie slid her fingers through her hair, and let her arm drop to her side. “I see. Too busy. Got it.”

  Gracie’s heart sank. Trixie turned on one foot and stepped toward the salon door. As she grasped the handle, Gracie made her decision. “Trixie, wait.”

  Trixie trembled and froze. “So, that was you, calling from a blocked number.”

  Gracie looked down sheepishly. “Yeah, that was me.”

  Trixie looked over her shoulder. “Nothing to say to me? Just wanting to hear the sound of my voice?”

  Gracie scratched the back of her head. “Yeah… I mean, no… I mean… Trixie, I lied.”

  Trixie turned to face her. “Lied? About what, Marcie?”

  “Gracie.” She shook her head and took a deep breath. “Lauren. My real name is Lauren. My friends call me Gracie, but it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

  Trixie raised her eyebrows again, then gave her a devious smile. “Well, if your friends call you Gracie, I can too, yes?”

  Gracie smiled and nodded. “Uh huh, yeah.”

  Trixie waved her over. “Let’s go inside. Just a few minutes, working girl. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Trixie flipped the sign to the YES! WE’RE CLOSED side and turned the door lock. She led Gracie to the back of the salon, to a black door with a placard that read PRIVATE. She hesitated, smiled, then pushed the door open. She snapped on the light switch, revealing a black vinyl sofa covered in throw fabrics and assorted pillows. Trixie gestured for her to sit. Gracie obeyed. Trixie reached over and turned on a lamp that was covered with a piece of thin red lacy fabric. She snapped the wall switch back off and sat down beside Gracie.

  “Okay, liar, what else would you like to tell me?”

  Gracie gulped. “I just moved here. I was only visiting when I came in last time. And I don’t skate for any derby clubs.”

  Trixie frowned. “Tch. That’s too bad. I really have a thing for derby girls.”

  “I’m sorry, Trixie.”

  Trixie smiled. “Annabella.”

  Gracie cocked her head. “Huh?”

  “My real name is Annabella. Trixie is my play name.”

  “Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, you didn’t look like a ‘Marcie’ to me, either.”

  Gracie flushed. “Oh God, the card didn’t bounce, did it? Listen, I can make it up to you. I can—"

  Annabella put her finger to Gracie’s lips. “Shhhh. The card was fine. The tip was generous too. I like generous people.”

  “Um, me too.”

  “Give me your phone.”

  Gracie shot her a questioning glance, but decided it was okay. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and handed it to Annabella. She swiped the screen and tapped intently with her thumbs. “Tch, no password. You need to tighten that up.” She tapped once more and gazed intently at Gracie. She heard a ringing sound. A phone vibrated on
the desk across the room. She tapped the screen again, and the noises stopped. She handed the phone back to Gracie.

  “Now I have your number.”

  Gracie felt herself dampen. “Uh-huh.”

  “Now you have mine.”

  Gracie sucked in her breath. “Uh-huh.”

  “Maybe you’ll call me later and ask me out.”

  Gracie nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  Annabella pointed at the phone. “Seriously, use protection on that thing.”

  Gracie shook her head. “What for?”

  Annabella leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She held it there for a few seconds, then pulled back. Gracie met her eyes, and Annabella leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Because I’m going to text you all day with messages you won’t want anyone else to read.”

  Gracie nodded dumbly. “Uh-huh.” She hated to break the spell. “Oh crap, I have to get back. My boss is going to kill me.”

  Annabella sat back and smiled. “Kill you? Now, why would he do that?”

  “She, and because this wasn’t supposed to take more than an hour, round-trip.”

  Annabella leaned forward and took Gracie’s hand. “I want to show you something.”

  She led Gracie out of her private room, and through the back door of the salon. As they stepped outside, Gracie flinched when she saw the ladder leaning against the building to her right. Annabella led her around the corner and out onto the sidewalk. Gracie turned to look at her car but was pulled forward to face the opposite direction. Annabella stood in front of her and held both of her hands in hers.

  “You’re going to ask me out, right?”

  “Yes I am.”

  “Dinner tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Around 7 o’clock? You’ll pick me up?”