The Floating Room

by Brian Olsen

  “I miss you. We both do. I wish you could explain this to me.”

  He’s talking to my mom. She calls him every day. Never me, just him.

  “Come off it, Neve. This isn’t about needing space. There’s a better reason than that…What does that mean, I don’t really know you? You’re my wife! I know you!…Okay, if it’s about finding yourself, whatever that means, why won’t you talk to your son?…It is about Chris. I know you two had a fight the night of his party, right before you left. He won’t tell me what it was about either…Look, he’s up getting ready for school right now. Can I put him on with you? Just for a minute?…Tell our son you love him, for god’s sake, Neve!” He pauses, listening, then exhales a long, slow breath. “All right. Okay. I wish you’d tell me what’s going on but I trust you and I trust that you’ll work through whatever this is and come home to us. I’m here for you. You know that, right?…I love you, too. Come home soon…Okay. Bye.”

  I swallow back the lump in my throat and step into the kitchen. My father’s leaning against the counter, just ending the call. Dad’s basically a bigger, older version of me. Blond hair, square features, upturned nose. He’s not dressed yet, wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He sees me and slaps on a fake smile.

  “Oh, hey, hero.” He puts the phone down. “That was your mom. She had to run, wanted to talk to you but…yeah, she had to run.” He goes to the fridge, turning his back to me. “She said to tell you she loves you.”

  No, she didn’t. Even if I hadn’t overheard, I’d know that wasn’t true.

  My mother is a logomancer, too, and Mr. Miller restored her memories to use her against me. She wasn’t my mother in the world before. She was my subject. And she wants her king back as badly as Miller does.

  “You want some eggs?” Dad asks.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  There’s no point asking him any questions about Mom. I know more than he does. I could tell him, I guess. Or show him. Prove it all to him by doing magic. He didn’t experience the Moment, which means there’s no chance he’s one of the logomancers programmed to attack me.

  But that would mean telling him he didn’t exist before a few weeks ago. That he was created by a spell to be the perfect father to me, to help me live so happily that I’d never question my life as Chris Armstrong, never wish I were someone else. That I’m not really his son. That he was meant to be more jailer to me than father.

  And that his wife isn’t his wife. That she’s an evil woman, a cruel woman, who has no interest in the life she was written into. That she doesn’t love him. That she wants me erased, my mind and memories replaced with those of a monster.

  So, no. Not going to have that conversation. Not while there’s still a chance I can get my mom back. Get my life back.

  I pass him at the fridge as he moves back to the counter. He leaves the door open for me and I grab the orange juice.

  “You’re up early,” I say. “You want juice?”

  “No, I’m gonna make coffee.” He starts cracking eggs into a bowl. “I couldn’t sleep. Hey, what’s going on at that school of yours?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I got a letter. Your headmaster, your drama teacher, your history teacher, and your lacrosse coach are all going on sabbatical at the same time? Right before the end of the school year?”

  I put the juice back in the fridge and take my glass to the table. “Oh, yeah. Weird, huh?”

  “Weird?” He tips the bowl over a hot pan and the eggs sizzle as they hit. “It’s ridiculous. How come you didn’t mention it?”

  I take a sip. “I don’t know. Didn’t seem like a big deal.”

  “Really?” He frowns. “That Mr. Liefer’s a cold fish but I thought you liked the other three.”

  “I do.”

  “Mr. Miller’s always been great with you. Did he tell you what was going on? The letter didn’t give a reason.”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Are they all going to the same conference or something?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. I’m not invited to faculty meetings.”

  He pushes the eggs around with a spatula. “Don’t get smart. What’s happening with your lacrosse team? And with Drama Club? And wasn’t Mr. Pala…what is it?”

  “Palakiko.”

  “Palakiko. Weren’t you doing private coachings with him? Shakespeare?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So?”

  I take another sip. “So, what?”

  He turns off the burner. “So, who’s taking over your classes and your after-school activities?”

  “We got a sub for history,” I say. “Drama Club was winding down anyway. There aren’t any more plays this year. And the monologue coaching was because Mr. Palakiko wanted me to go to a theater school, but I don’t want to.”

  He scrapes the eggs onto two plates. “And lacrosse?”

  “I guess Mr. Finlay took over.”

  He brings the plates to the table. “Do I know him?”

  “Biology teacher. I had him last year.”

  Dad looks at the small servings of unseasoned scrambled eggs he’s put in front of us. “Uh. You want some toast or something?”

  I reach for the salt and pepper. “No, thanks, Dad. This is good.”

  He nods and tucks into his own breakfast. “Did you say you guess Mr. Finlay took over? The letter said they left two weeks ago.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I quit the lacrosse team.”

  “What?” He puts his fork, a chunk of egg still on it, down on the table. “Why would you quit lacrosse? I thought you wanted to try for scholarships? Play in college?”

  “I do. I’ll pick it up again next year.”

  “But why quit at all?”

  I shrug. “It’s just…you know. Like you and Mom were telling me. I was taking on too much. Getting too stressed.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You have a lot going on too, Dad. I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Didn’t want me to…?” He squeezes his temples. “Chris, I appreciate that. But this thing with your Mom, we’ll work it out. I don’t want you to worry about me, okay? That’s not your job.”

  I finish my juice. “Okay. Sorry, Dad.”

  He reaches across the table and touches my wrist. “Is there anything else going on? Anything at all you should tell me about?”

  “No.” I can’t look him in the eyes. “No, Dad, honest. Everything’s okay. I just needed to slow down a little.”

  He stares at me for a long moment. I know he knows I’m lying. I know he doesn’t understand why.

  He sits back. “Okay.” He shakes his head. “Okay.”

  A car’s horn comes from outside. “That’s Nate,” I say. “Sorry, no time for breakfast. Gotta get to school.”

  He doesn’t look up, or say anything. He just nods.

  I hurry out to grab my bag, and leave my dad there, eating his eggs alone.

  Four

  Nate’s car vibrates from the blasting classic rock. I slide forward in the back seat, leaning between him and Jasmine in the front. “Can you turn it down a little?”

  Jasmine beats him to it, and the music fades to a dull thump. “It’s so strange,” she says. “Where did this music come from?”

  I think I know what she means, but Nate replies, “Kansas, babe. It’s right there in their name.”

  She laughs. “No, but I mean, where did it come from, really? The world didn’t exist when this was written. Or it did, but it was all Dungeons and Dragons or Game of Thrones or whatever and they were probably listening to, like, lutes or something.”

  “It came from the Moment, Jaz,” I say. “The world changed into what it would be if there was never any magic. That includes what music would be.”

  “I know. I just think it’s crazy, is all. Like, did Mr. Liefer and Mr. Palakiko and Mr. Ambrose have to write all those songs before they cast the spell?”

  I laugh. “I think it happened automatically. I have a hard ti
me imagining Mr. Liefer jamming out.”

  Jasmine laughs with me. “Or TV shows. Mr. Liefer, writing every episode of Law and Order to save the world.”

  “Or those gross recipe cards from the seventies,” I offer. “Like Jell-O with pieces of ham floating in it covered in cottage cheese. Did they really need that for the spell?”

  “Oh!” She claps her hands. “What about porn?”

  “Oh, no. Don’t.”

  She covers her mouth but the laughter bursts through. “Do you think Mr. Liefer knew he’d be making all this creepy porn, like, pop into existence out of nowhere?”

  I laugh again. “Oh, my god, Jasmine!”

  “What if Mr. Liefer had to think up all the porn that’s ever been made!”

  “Oh, damn.” I cover my mouth. “Now you’ve got me thinking about Mr. Liefer behind the camera of every dirty clip I’ve ever seen online.”

  Jasmine sweeps the front of her hair back tight in a copy of Liefer’s slicked-back style, stretches her mouth into an over-exaggerated frown, and in a deep voice dripping with sarcasm says, “Dirk Hardbody, I believe, if I’m not mistaken, that bell means you are late for your gang-bang. I’ll see you in detention!”

  Jasmine and I laugh, but Nate’s voice cuts through harshly. “Can we not?”

  His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

  Jasmine and I look at each other. She bites her lip and turns to face front.

  “Sorry, babe,” she says.

  “Can we not talk about what did or didn’t exist in the world before three weeks ago?” he continues. “Or do you want to make a joke about Mr. Liefer making me, too? Since that’s exactly what happened.”

  Nate didn’t experience the Moment. He was one of billions of people created by the spell. Everybody in the world has false memories, but those of us who experienced the Moment at least had real lives before, even if we don’t remember them. People like Nate had nothing. They literally didn’t exist.

  I rub his shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. You want to talk about it?”

  He pulls away slightly. “What’s to talk about? The facts are the facts. Nothing anyone can do.”

  Jasmine says, “I’m in the same boat, you know.”

  “Maybe.” Nate moves into the highway’s fast lane. “You were asleep when the Moment happened. You might be one of the lucky ones.”

  “I don’t know that I’d call the rest of us lucky,” I say.

  Nate meets my eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Yeah. Okay. I guess.”

  I let the topic rest and look out the window. We left Charlesville about a half hour ago, and it looks like we’re on the outskirts of Hartford, so we’re not far. A voice from Nate’s phone interrupts the music, telling him to take the next exit.

  “Thanks for doing this,” I say.

  “Eh.” He shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve never cut school before.”

  “You, too, Jaz,” I add. “You didn’t have to come.”

  She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me. “I wanted to! I don’t want to be left out anymore. And this is important.”

  Nate takes the exit. There’s not much there, except for two gas stations, some fast food places, and a big office park. Nate pulls into the office park’s lot and finds a space. It isn’t even eight yet, so there aren’t a lot of cars.

  I look at the squat building. I’ve been here a bunch of times.

  Nate opens his door. “All right. Let’s find your mom.”

  “She gets in at eight usually. Her assistant knows me. He’ll let us wait in her office.”

  As we get out, Jasmine says, “What if she freezes us with her cold powers?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” I say. “Someplace public where she won’t want to call attention to herself.”

  “Are we sure she’ll be here?” Nate asks.

  “I called her office on Friday. She took the week off after her memories got messed up, but she came in last week.”

  There are multiple entrances into the sprawling building, but I know the way. I lead us in and up to the third floor, to the offices of Splash Design. They do graphic design for businesses, for logos and websites and ads and stuff. Mom’s not a graphic designer but she’s a vice president there and she deals with the clients. Not sales exactly but she does get new business for them, and then she makes sure the customers are happy all the way through the design process. Or something.

  I’m not the only person who isn’t sure exactly what his parents do for a living, am I?

  “Do you think she’s here already?” Jasmine asks.

  “I didn’t see her car in the lot.”

  The elevator door slides open. Splash has the whole floor of this wing of the office park, so we step out directly into the lobby. The exterior of the building is all industrial and boring, but Splash’s offices are sleek and black and cool. There are video screens everywhere showing ads they designed, and a cooler of water with little slices of cucumber floating in it next to the receptionist’s desk.

  “Oh, my goodness gracious, is that Chris?” Sally, the woman who works the front desk, is just coming back from hanging up her coat. She drops her purse down on her desk and comes around to greet me. Sally’s nice. Mom said she was going to retire this year, but I guess not yet.

  “Hey, Sally. These are my friends Nate and Jasmine.”

  “Well, hello! Oh, my goodness, look how tall you’ve gotten! You look just like your father but you’ve got your mother’s height. Do you kids want something to drink or eat? I have to change out the water but you can help yourself to what’s in the kitchen.”

  Jasmine’s eyes light up. “Ooh! Do you have little boxes of cereal?”

  I put a hand on Jasmine’s arm. “We’re all right, Sally, thanks.”

  She nods and goes back behind her desk. “Are you here to pick up something for your mom? Did she forget something?”

  “I’m going to wait for her in her office, if that’s all right. Is Tony here yet? He can let me in.”

  She sits and gives me a strange look. “Is she coming in today?”

  “Um. Isn’t she?”

  “Well, I didn’t think so. Her leave starts today.”

  “Her leave?”

  “Her leave of absence. For your family emergency.” She frowns. “Is everything all right? She spent all last week getting ready to be out for an extended period. It sounded serious.”

  “Right.” I nod. “Right. Sorry. Yeah, it’s all right. It’ll be all right. I guess I forgot that started today.”

  “Did you drive all the way up from Charlesville? Should I call her?”

  “It’s fine.” I back up towards the elevators. “Don’t call her. I’ll see her at home. Thanks, Sally. Sorry to bother you.”

  Sally wrings her hands. “Oh, gosh darn it. I feel like I said something wrong. Are you kids sure you don’t want to sit for a while?”

  “No.” I hit the button and the door slides open. “No point. Thanks.”

  We step into the elevator. The door shuts and I lean back against the wall. “Damn it.”

  Nate puts his hand on the nape of my neck and squeezes gently. “Sorry, bud.”

  “I should have done this last week.”

  “It’s all happening fast,” he says. “We’ll find her another way.”

  “I don’t want to go to Mr. Miller’s house, but I don’t know where else to check.”

  Jasmine gasps. “Do you think she’s living with Mr. Miller now? What if they were married before? What if Mr. Miller’s your real father? Can you imagine?”

  I shoot her a dark look. “Mr. Miller is not my real father, Jasmine.”

  “Oh.” She nods. “Right. He probably would have mentioned that when he was trying to tempt you into turning evil.”

  The elevator door slides open and we step out into the lobby.

  “She’s gotta be staying somewhere,” Nate says. “And they’d want to stay in Charlesville, close to you. I guess she might be at Mr. Miller’s house. I don’t
know how safe it is for us to go there, though.”

  “Not safe at all,” I say. “Even if we could get in, he can use his illusions to make them invisible. We’d never know they were there.”

  We step out into the parking lot. “Maybe we could stake the house out from a distance,” Nate suggests. “If he doesn’t know we’re there he won’t bother making illusions. There’s got to be a safe way to find your mother. Charlesville isn’t that big.”

  “There she is!” Jasmine waves. “Mrs. Armstrong! Hi!”

  Mom is across the lot, getting out of her car. She sees us, freezes, then opens the door again.

  I break into a run, Nate and Jasmine right behind me.

  Mom closes the door. She starts the car.

  Walls of fire. Walls of fire. Five feet high, five feet wide. One a foot in front of the car, one a foot behind. Not hot enough to burn.

  “Sun!”

  The flames appear, just as I willed them to. Mom hops back out of the car and fires a blast of snow at the flames in front, extinguishing them, but before she can get back inside I reach her. She turns to me and raises her right hand. A dagger of ice forms.

  “Wait, please!” I put my hands up. “I’m not here to fight.”

  She stares at me for a moment, then takes in Nate and Jasmine, who have caught up to us.

  “Hi, Mrs. Armstrong!” Jasmine says.

  “Uh, yeah.” Nate nods. “Hi.”

  Mom puts the dagger down and closes the door. Then she nods towards the back of the car. “You should probably take care of that, then. Before somebody sees.”

  “Oh.” I dissipate the remaining wall of flame. “Right.”

  “What do you want, Chris?” She says it sharply. Impersonally.

  “I needed to see you.”

  She leans against the car and folds her arms. “Why? What’s the point? We’ve had this conversation already. I’m not your mother.”

  “Don’t you want to see me?”

  “All I want is for you to remember who you really are. To put everything back the way it’s supposed to be.”