by Travis Borne
Oddly, Felix didn’t look happy to see them, rather he looked disappointed. Jim noticed the mood between the others at the table as well. When he’d first glanced upon them, they were eating, smiling, even laughing—having a good time; another sunny day for Felix in the Old Town map, to which their arrival seemed to shadow.
“Señor Jim, I see you brought her along. Hello, Amy,” Felix said. He looked at her curiously; standing up, he extended a hand.
The others at the table acknowledged her, as if she was, royalty perhaps. A special circumstance? Jim thought it strange that Felix knew her. His curiosity twitched, but Amy quickly interrupted his thoughts with her lively personality.
“Hi, everyone,” she said, with a smile and a wave. Her upbeat demeanor seemed to elevate the mood at the table. “How may I ask did you know my name, sir?”
“Amy, this is Felix. He—lives in this map,” Jim said.
“Lives in the map?” Amy giggled, then followed up with a dose of serious curiosity.
“May I, Señor?” Felix said, noticing Jim’s apprehension. Jim nodded. “Mucho gusto, Amy. Tambien, I introduce my wife Rosita—” Felix stood behind each of the others at the table as he politely introduced them. “—and this is Greg—” The gringo stood up, acknowledging with a how-do-ya-do smile. “—and this is Eddie.” Eddie did the same, rising from his seat and nodding politely.
“Nice to meet everyone,” Amy said. And with her usual impatience she got straight to the point, ignoring the weird details to save time. “We’re here to break down the walls, get everyone into the same map, and try to—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Greg interrupted. She was taken aback, her quick and sure words clipped. Jim noticed by the look on their faces, something wasn’t right, as though he and Amy were bad news. Their arrival ruined the meal, the day? Looking somber, Felix put his head down.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked. “How do you know what we should be doing? And how do you know Amy?” Felix pushed his unfinished plate of tacos aside and lifted his head.
“Greg, it’s time,” Felix said, turning to him. Greg nodded.
“Have a seat, please, Amy, Jim,” Greg stated with an educated and crisp voice. “Would you like anything to eat?”
More weird details, Greg obviously didn’t fit in. The town was old-school Mexico, a little pueblo in the middle of nowhere, the Wild West even, and he looked like he just finished a shift in the—actually he looked like Ron—sort of, but taller. Jim could picture him working in a broadcast room, or a control room, somewhere. He had a thin build and an equally thin face, and the whitest skin for miles, probably, with thick wavy brown hair and an unbuttoned, loosened, just-got-off-from-work collar. His hair was clean around the edges, a little messy, but in a stylish way.
“We don’t have time, things outside are bad. The town’s under attack,” Amy said sternly.
“Siempre lo mismo,” Felix mumbled. He shook his head slightly.
“Time is a little different here, Amy,” Eddie interjected, looking up to her. “We arrived from a higher-level map.” She stood, still neglecting to sit, right next to him. He sat directly across from Greg and straddled the bench to face her. “It is because we are here now. Time has merged to, meet us in the middle I suppose you can say. It’s all relative, works together. So, we do have plenty of time, please, trust us. Order something if you would. Greg has a lot to tell you—I suggest a drink, something with extra tequila.” Welcoming her to sit, he gestured by patting the empty seat beside him. Eddie looked like Greg’s counterpart, as black as Greg was white, and just as out of place. He wore the exact same clothes, and just the same, he looked as if he’d just finished a shift, all day behind screens. He was shorter than Greg, but no more brawny, just less lanky. His sleeves were rolled up, probably to beat the heat.
The place was beginning to fill up. Felix motioned to the waiter who was hustling about the twenty or so tables under the shade. He was a Mexican boy, surely less than thirteen with dusty, worn clothing, but dressed to impress.
Amy finally took a seat, the idea of food enticed her. She sat directly across from Rosita beside Eddie. Rosita’s welcoming eyes melted her tension. She was beautiful, a good bit younger than Felix and wore a red flower in her hair. A matching band wrapped her waist. It was tight, catering to her healthy figure, and divided the black and white of her long, elegant dress. Jim took his seat next to Amy, bringing a pressed and irritable smile to the table.
The puesto had tubes strung throughout. A cool mist sprayed out from a dozen or so pinholes, the deal powered by what looked to be a pressurized pesticide tank with hand pump. The setup was well thought out and the mist, of water not poison, was gladly received. Makeshift, but effective, because it was warmer out now, later in the day than when Jim had first met Felix in Old Town only a short time ago—according to his perspective.
The boy waiter greeted the table in Spanish, again, because the others had obviously finished at least one plate. With alacrity Amy ordered some tacos—and extra cheese! Bummer, they don’t have cheese. So, she told the waiter, just surprise me. Felix ordered a round of margaritas, telling the waiter to bring an extra bottle of the best tequila he could find. He slipped the youngster a large bill after whispering something else into his ear. The boy rushed away. Then, an even younger boy burst out of the side of the food stand and zipped up the road toward the saloon.
Rosita reached her hands across the table, taking Amy’s. “Todo va a estar bien, Amy,” she confided. Her smile seemed to carry a frown behind it. Amy’s countenance dawned some worry, a look that said something was wrong, and Amy studied the eyes of those at the table. Felix put his arm around Rosita and nodded in agreement with her comforting Spanish words.
Spanish. Amy was surprised by how much she understood. Nobody spoke Spanish in the town, not anymore. She’d even spoken Spanish to the waiter, with a decent accent. She thought, where did I learn it? But she shrugged it off about as fast as most thoughts and anticipated the food, famished as usual.
“Maybe we should wait for the drinks,” Eddie suggested.
“We can,” Greg replied.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked. “Why are you looking at Amy like that? Now, I want to know.”
“It’s okay, Jim,” Amy said. She was doing her focus trick, looking deep into Rosita’s eyes. She saw honesty and compassion, and sorrow. “Like they said, there’s time. If this is bad news, and I feel it might be—I want a huge plate of tacos, and my drinks first. Alcoholic ones, Mister Jim!” They remembered, and shared a calm, uplifting smile.
“I think that’s a fine idea,” Eddie agreed. The other three nodded wholeheartedly.
Jim shook his head, hardly in agreement, but for now would play along. He would indulge Amy’s newfound patience. He would do, anything for her.
The Mercado bustled with people, hundreds. Where’d they all come from? Jim thought, managing his patience. He rubbed his knees. Their picnic table sat at the edge of patchy shade near lines of passing shoppers. The tables weren’t as tightly squeezed together like the competitor’s across the way. They were at the edge of the food section, which had at least eight different food stands: churros, flautas, burritos, even hamburgers and hot dogs, and all vendors had colorful hand-painted signs. Beyond the food area there must have been a hundred stands with colorful vegetables, merchandise, junk for sale, odds and ends, whatever could be sold; people trying to make a buck, a peso likely.
Everyone looked around at each other, wordless for a moment. An ellipsis with more than three dots. It nearly turned into an awkward moment of silence but the food arrived soon enough. And the boy came rushing back to the trailer, careful not to trip with it. He was guarding a glass bottle, a glistening gem, golden bling activated by the bright desert sun.
The waiter set the large steaming plate of tacos in the middle of the group. His little sister assisted, passing out some fancy plates; Jim looked around, others had paper plates. And there was more than en
ough food for the entire table—even enough to satisfy Amy. Felix and his secret whisper had likely modified the order—an impressive upgrade. The plate was de—luxe, and although it lacked cheese, there was plenty of everything else: fresh guacamole, grilled onions and peppers, cilantro, with frijoles and rice on the side. There were diced red chili-peppers and green salsa with tomatoes and onions. Amy wasn’t shy, the aroma alone annihilated her restraint, possibly her manners; hot off the grill and fresh! She reached across the table and seized three at a time, and after piling on the extras, dug in.
She had a voracious appetite and her eyes went round after tasting the food. Everyone smiled then copied her; she had determined the pace. They reached in and the feast began. It was second helpings for most but they ate with a craving. Jim ate a few. Surprisingly, the tacos had an entrancing effect—and he was able to set aside, for a moment, his nagging feeling of dread. But now he knew for sure, Amy’s arrival was a special occasion. Although, Felix was looking at him also, with different eyes, as if bowing to him, treating him with admiration and respect.
The food was every bit as good as it looked. Better, for its aroma, mixing with the cool mist, gassed the crowds, sucking others into the outdoor restaurant; more customers to the small family business—like other things, the more the merrier. In the rocking puesto, an old converted camper, the father of four took a break from the sizzling plancha and Mama took over. Now, he busied himself in preparing the drinks and operated with a different rhythm, as though he wanted them to be perfect. What had Felix slipped him? But regardless of the money, his family worked with passion and integrity. His wife carved more pork to feed the steadily arriving lunch crowd, and the kids—even the toddler helped—waiting tables or preparing ingredients. Things were getting busy, just the way the hardworking family liked and needed it, and after a few minutes the drinks were ready. Papa placed the golden bottle containing the rest of the tequila, in the middle of the tray, which included the margaritas, shot glasses, limes and salt. He carried this one out himself. The bottle appeared to be the finest, most expensive tequila the town had and he single-handedly balanced it like a pro. Served.
The tone at the table had already changed—especially after the drinks. But the alcohol didn’t get the credit this time. It was Amy with her genuinely positive and infectious personality. The feelings of dread, that something was wrong—gone. She talked to Felix and Rosita in Spanish, mostly about her adventures in the other maps.
Jim talked to Greg about the time difference. Greg didn’t know exactly how it worked, he said no human could understand it, but reassured Jim they had as much time as they wanted as long as he and Eddie were there. Jim tried to get answers; the alcohol kept his impatience in check. He wanted to know so many things: Who are you people, why are you both dressed like that, is Rosita a lender, plugged in somewhere, or is she also trapped in the map, but most importantly how had they recognized Amy, and what were they going to disclose, and ridiculously, why do we need tacos and tequila first? He asked various questions but Greg, who seemed to be the most knowledgeable, kept changing the subject. Eddie mimicked, dodging answers as well, and they both took a peculiar interest in Amy’s adventures. It reminded him about dream characters, regular ol’ DCs and their numerous quirks. Have I completely lost my lucidity, am I being taken for a wild ride inside my own mind? Jim thought. Then Felix stood up, proposing a toast. Was it finally time?
“To Amy,” he said, and everyone raised their glasses. Jim held up a shot. Even he was getting numb, it had been a while and the tequila had a hell of a kick in contrast to Felix’s mezcal. The last time he’d felt such a clean buzz—ah, that was a good day, he thought. He and Amy were on the beach, talking for hours at the bar. They talked and talked and he explained, and he felt like a teacher, a mentor, possibly more. He saw her differently then. His thoughts and mind had changed. He felt like he’d been riding a wave, since then. He turned his head, admiring her—in that moment she was happy, laughing. She lived in the moment. Felix thinned out two shots with some lime soda. Amy and Rosita turned ’em up and slammed ’em down. Jim smiled contentedly.
He loved her, but somehow, lost the physical attraction for her—it had once been so strong. As though he was on a roller-coaster ride, up, down, and through the loop. She was too young. She’s still too young. No, that’s not it. Jim’s thoughts were drunken, which could stir the pot, reveal some truths, even if it was only to himself, in his mind. The atmosphere at the table, buzzed, high spirits now, and everyone was having a nice time. The family-oriented taco stand at the mercado was packed, much like his thoughts. I know what I know. I love her. And I’ll never let anything happen to her. He realized what his thoughts told him while he beheld the beautiful girl beside him. His mind was a mess. A ball of multicolored yarn being stretched apart by madmen while a team of umpires clad in black-and-white uniforms were constantly trying to ravel it back together—as it had once been. They couldn’t. The yarn was mashed into new sequences, a new order, a completely different ball of yarn. No going back. And no, he would never be with her—not like that. Since the revert he had attained his natural self. Could it really be? No one is—not anymore, not since. But he knew he’d changed so much. Amy had a special effect on him and everyone else she lent with. The repairs, the changes back to a natural state, how everyone would have been. Jim’s thoughts played out like a film projector as the others had a fantastic time at the table. And he realized…he must be…gay. What else could explain it? His instincts were in knots. The revert twisted him around and he didn’t know how to deal with it. Okay, so what if it’s so? He thought. I’ll never forget my previous attraction to her, and my love for her will never go away. She is amazing.
Jim stumbled to his feet, wobbling. He was plastered and the bottle had little but a swig left. He and Felix had kicked its ass. And he made a toast: “Amy. I love you, as a sister, family. I just realized—I’m gay and can never be with you—” He wobbled a little more, totally wasted. The cat was out of the bag, lured by some of the best, no, the best tequila he’d ever had. The other two toasted and cheered, as well as Felix and Rosita. There was no shame, not a hint of it anywhere.
Amy was, however, a little shocked—taken aback. She didn’t know what to think. He had so abruptly and drunkenly blurted it, out of the blue. The things that come out when you're drunk, she thought. But she noticed how he had changed, so completely. She loved him, even envisioned herself ending up with him many times—but after his revert, and it didn’t take long—she knew. She had already known—sort of though, sometimes, not others. He seemed to float back and forth. When she did the focus trick on him she saw storms, tornadoes in his mind, a roulette wheel with a marble that was about to land in a slot. No, this wouldn’t change a thing between them. Together they were a team—the best team.
“I think you’ve had enough, Señor,” Felix said, with his own, but very slight wobble. Felix was tough as leather and could have handled the entire bottle by himself. “We are all relaxed and have gotten to know each other a bit. We’re comfortable here. Greg, would you?” Greg nodded, then began to speak.
“Okay—and Jim, I’m happy for you, the revert has affected many that way. You’re returning to how you were born, your original DNA, 100%. But you still have quite a ways to go. Your fluctuations appear undefined, as if flying wildly—they are, but will soon land. Where? In time, you will find the truth and rediscover yourself. This is nature, life in all of its colorful varieties. I’m glad you are able to be open, that is what our society is all about, which you will soon learn.” Greg raised his glass. “To Jim.” Jim nodded a thank you, then hiccupped. “Jim, I do want to say, however, being gay does not mean the two of you can’t, or won’t end up together. A light is coming and it will shine objectively, transparently, and intensely. You will have a choice soon, and things will be quite different, if you take the chance.” Greg turned his attention. Felix nodded and he continued. “Now, Amy, you are here because there is a pr
oblem in your town, yes?”
“Yes, it’s under attack,” she said.
“And you are curious, you want to activate the purple status?”
“Yes, I thought we could get everyone together, combine the maps, more DCs and—”
“That is not how it works, Amy. You see, you helped design the purple status. It is a beacon, and if you trigger it a ship will come to help, and it will indeed, but only once, ever, and that will be it.”
“But how could I have—”
“I’ll try to explain,” Greg continued. “Please keep an open mind.”
Jim’s curiosity sobered him. It made his earlier news sound small, individual, but it had gnawed at him; he felt relieved letting it out, although slightly embarrassed. They sat at the picnic table of truths, he thought, and this was it, the big one, bigger than him, and he desperately wanted to know. Perhaps the tequila was a good idea after all.
“Your father searched for you for years, and a ship finally found you. You are very special, you always have been, more than you know, but in a way you do not. After you were reunited with your father in the largest and one of the last human cities you set out to finish his plan, together.”
“My father! What plan?”
Eddie turned to her, “I think you know who your father is. You’ve seen him in your dreams, haven’t you, Amy?” She nodded.
Greg continued, “And the plan, Amy, has always been the same—to save humanity—be it one person, or one billion. I’m going to put it right out there. Amy—” He faced her with the utmost sincerity and seriousness. “—you have to die to activate the purple status.”
