by Ross Buzzell
“It’ll get you anywhere you need to go for a week. You should find your guy then… you be safe now.”
Natalie leans forward as a wave of gratitude hits her like a tidal wave. She throws her arms around the old man and squeezes him tightly.
“Thank you so much, Stan.”
He returns her embrace, giving her a tight squeeze. She can tell he is savoring the moment, as this could be the last time he sees her, so she does not let go. After a few moments, he reluctantly releases his arms from around his surrogate granddaughter and leans back against his door.
“Your world’s ‘bout to get a whole helluva lot stranger… You enjoy it.”
Natalie nods. She reaches back and opens the noisy car door before hopping out, her boots kicking up dust as she lands.
“I’ll send you a postcard!”
Natalie holds her bag close to her side as she walks to the bus, taking in the sounds of the desert night as she does. She finally gets to the bus. Standing at the steps, she pauses. She looks back over to see Stan smiling wide. He waves goodbye to her, and she does the same. A soft prick of sadness strikes her heart, and with a soft sigh, she moves her attention to the bus driver, a gentleman in his late forties with greying hair and a beard. He looks down at Natalie. His voice is monotone and bored.
“Heading east? Final destination New York with service through St. Louis, those sound like you?”
Natalie pauses. She glances back to Stan but only sees taillights disappearing into the darkness.
“Miss?”
The driver’s voice is slightly agitated. Natalie nods. Holding out her ticket, she traverses the stairs into the large bus.
“Yes those are me.”
she responds, handing him her ticket in the process. The driver stamps it and nods behind him.
“Take a seat. We’ll leave in five.”
Gradually, she walks down the aisle, her eyes jumping from one cheap fabric, stain-covered seat to another, until she finally finds a seat that does not look like she would catch something from it. She sits down against the window, leaning her head against it as she stares at the bored ticket attendant. His face is something she all too often sees in her town—boredom and agony—and she used to be one of them but not anymore. She takes a deep breath, the fake scent of pine filling her lungs before she lets out her breath accompanied by a wide smile. The loud roar of the engine rattles the metal structure awake. Natalie glances around as the bus starts. She is the only one on. The driver shuts the door, and with a tug on the gear shift, the bus lurches forward as it begins its journey. Natalie’s heart flutters in excitement as the truck pulls onto the highway and begins to drive. Finally, sitting still, her body begins to calm down, something it has not done for hours, not since the landing. As it does, the level of exhaustion that she was enduring finally hits her and she passes out in the uncomfortable bus seat, her head against the glass window.
Chapter 3:
Emma’s Flight
Golden makeup falls into a sink as warm water is washed over Emma’s face. The convention this year had been amazing and showing off her makeup talents as an up and coming makeup artist has always been a passion of hers. This year, she showed people how to apply makeup to appear as a golden robot. Almost three times as many people had shown up this year to see her work as they had in years past. She wipes off the makeup; some gold streaks still smear down her face. Her crystal blue eyes scan her own reflection, her face having flushed from the friction of cleaning off the heavy makeup. A smile falls on her face, her plump pink lips parting just enough for her pearly white teeth to peek through. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest as the excitement of the crowd that gathered continues to course through her.
Gold makeup drips from her chin and into the porcelain sink of the make-shift green room that was set up for all of the cosplayers and famous/upcoming makeup artists like her. Individual desks with white lighting that surrounds the edge of the mirrors fills one of the lesser ballrooms of the hotel. Cheap carpet with tacky designs covers the floor, only to be matched by the wallpaper. Massive chandeliers hang overhead, but their light is drowned out by the light bulbs specifically designed to light a person. Her hand grips tightly around the once white washcloth in her hand. Warm water tented in gold oozes from it and over her fingers. She takes the cloth back to her face and continues to wipe the makeup away. Her hair is tied up behind her head to keep it out of her face but only falls about halfway to her shoulders. Some of the paint drips onto her black shirt, smearing over the words “Heroes Rule” before she can quickly wipe it up.
After a few minutes of scrubbing, Emma manages to get all of the makeup off of her face. She sits down in her cloth-backed chair and gives off a sigh of contentment. Closing her eyes, she lets her head fall back and allows for her hearing to venture to the bustling sounds of the convention going on right on the other side of the hotel’s thin walls. Her face hot from the friction of washing it, Emma takes a few slow, deep breaths to gradually slow her heartrate and calm her nerves. The question and answer is next and she does not want to be jittery for that. After about five minutes, her face begins to cool down and dry off and her heartbeat slows to its natural rhythmic pace. Emma opens her eyes and sits forward, grabbing her everyday makeup palette and applies a quick foundation base before adding some eyeliner. She keeps it simple. Standing up, she grabs her purse, slinging it over her shoulder as she walks through green room and into a connecting room that hosts a panel discussion of other makeup artists. She creaks the door open, a cool breeze gently kissing her face as the lights in the green room have caused it to grow quite hot.
Gently, Emma puts some weight against the door. It slowly creaks open. Before her is a stage with a long table and a series of women and men, all well-known makeup artists; some have even worked on movies. The crowd has already filed into the ballroom and PAR can lights point at the stage. Emma’s eyes are locked on the crowd as she hears the mediator call her name. The people before her begin to clap as she takes her first step on the cheap wooden stair, which creaks under foot. She traverses to the top of the platform and finds her seat close to the edge of the group.
“Okay, we will now respond to any questions you might have for our panel. Just raise your hand and one of our ushers will bring you a microphone.”
The mediator calls out, and immediately, a few hands shoot up and the assistants begin to make their way to the audience members. The first audience member asks one of the other panelists a question, Emma is so enthralled by the sight of the crowd before her, even though she can only see the first few rows due to the intense lights of the PAR cans, the heat of them causing her to begin to warm up as her nerves begin to set in. She glances down as a nervous tic begins to settle in. She begins to pick at her nail beds; the hot water and makeup remover causes her nail beds to dry out and fray, making her pick at them when she is nervous. She hears a few more questions asked passively to the other panelists, glancing their direction as they respond. “Look engaged, look engaged… don’t show them your nerves, Emma. You got this!”
“Yes, my question is for Emma.”
The second she hears her name, Emma stops picking at her fingers. Folding her hands over each other, she directs her attention to the disembodied voice as the crowd is completely blacked out from the lights at that distance. A portion of her raven hair falls free from behind her ear and into her face. With a quick swipe, she places her dark locks back behind her ear.
“Yes?”
A young female voice echoes through the cheap speakers:
“I have seen some of your earlier makeup work and it seems like you have such a talent for it. Did you take any classes or did you teach yourself?”
Emma lets off a smile; she nods a little bit as she remembers back to the days before social media and before she would document her progress, where no matter how hard she tried, she ended up looking like a clown.
“Well, to be honest, I taught myself. Makeup is something I
’ve always had a passion for and I was brought into a few movie sets by a friend of mine to introduce me to the world of how film makeup is done in hero movies. That just deepened my passion for the art and I just kept working on it. Those posts you talked about, I had been doing makeup for years before those were put out. If it is something you are passionate about, you can easily make yourself good at anything. If this is something you are interested in pursuing, after the panel, I will give you my card.”
That was the only question that was aimed at her for the remaining twenty minutes of the panel, and honestly, she is okay with that. She wanted to slowly wade into the pool of QnA and not be thrown into the deep end like she had when her father was teaching her to swim. As the panel comes to a close, Emma follows the other panelists off the stage, where most of them have fans asking for pictures or autographs. At the end of the lines, there is a girl in her mid-teens standing on her tiptoes in anticipation, looking eagerly to see where Emma is. The moment her eyes met with Emma’s, she throws up a hand and waves and Emma makes her way over to her, squeezing past the other artists as they speak with fans.
As Emma approaches the girl, she opens her purse and begins to fumble through it, not breaking stride as she does. Seeing one of her cards tucked away at the bottom, she quickly grabs it as she approaches the eager blond teenager who has a worn out makeup bag slung over her shoulder. Emma holds her card out as she gets within handshaking distance of the girl.
“I am assuming you are the one who had the question for me?”
She smiles and nods; she is brimming with excitement as she takes Emma’s card, looks at it, and flips it over. There is the name of a makeup kit on the back.
“That is the same kit I used to get started, if you are just getting into this and want to pursue it I would suggest looking into that kit first. It’s simple and it’ll help you get the basics down pat rather quickly. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to email me, and if you bring that card to my studio, I will give you and one of your friends a free lesson with my Thursday evening class.”
The girl holds the card tightly as she bounces in jubilance, as if she has just met her all-time hero. A wave of joy sweeps over Emma. Bringing happiness to others always makes her feel at peace, having grown up with an inexplicably slightly tormented soul, as if everything she did was not what she was meant to be doing, what she was born to be doing. Being able to bring a smile to people’s faces would calm that slightly unsettling storm within her for at least a little while.
“Oh my God, thank you so much! I will get this kit and you can count on seeing me in your next class.”
She holds out her phone.
“Do you mind if I get a picture?”
Emma laughs. She shakes her head as she positions herself behind the girl. Both pose. Emma throws up a peace sign as the girl’s phone flashes, capturing the picture.
“You let me know how that turns out. I have to get going, but I look forward to seeing you in my class!”
Emma calls out as she begins to make her way out of the ballroom, her fan clutching her phone tightly and staring widely in disbelief. Emma puts earbuds in and starts to play music through her phone from when she was about that girl’s age. It brings a smile to her face as some of her favorite classics begin to play. Riding down the escalator to the ground floor, Emma looks around to see people dressed as heroes and villains. Some are just quick tossed-together costumes that were done just for fun. Others are so intricate, so realistic, they look like they could be from the movies themselves.
As her music plays, Emma walks out of the hotel and walks over the cobblestone streets to the water’s edge. The sun beams down on her brightly as a smile fills her face. She closes her eyes for a moment and looks up at the sun, letting its light bathe her in its warm radiance. After a few moments, she continues her walk back near some docks that are empty as the lake has only just finished thawing completely from winter. As she walks, her music cuts out for a brief moment. Emma glances at her phone. It flickers on and off, but then the music continues. She dismisses the minor glitch; the phone is old, as are the headphones, and she chalks it up to old electronics. She goes to take a step when she feels a powerful force hit her from behind but not like a shove; more like a wave. The force hits with enough strength to send her falling forward. She feels as if the air in her lungs is suddenly spread over the entirety of her body and a sensation of weightlessness grasps her for just a split second.
As she falls forward, Emma throws out her hands to protect her face and instinctively closes her eyes, awaiting the impact from the ground, but it never comes. After a few brief moments, she gradually opens her eyes to see that the ground is right in front of her, but she is not lying on it; no, she is hovering just above it, mere inches, in fact. Her heart skips a beat as her breath catches in her throat. Surely she could not be experiencing this; she must have hit her head on the ground and her body is just playing catch up. Ever so slowly, she moves her hand down and touches the concrete walking path directly below her. The hard, coarse pitch makes itself known to her fingers as she attempts to process the entire ordeal.
Emma glances down, looking at her feet, which are not on the ground either. She opens and closes them a few times like a pair of scissors. It is not until her fingers softly come in contact with the soft skin of her forehead to find no damage that she lets herself believe that this might actually be real. A huge smile forms on her face, one so wide she would fear it would rip her face in half if she were not distracted by the fact she is defying gravity.
“Åh jävla ja!”
she whispers to herself. All these years reading comic books, researching potential abilities humans could theoretically develop, and seemingly out of the literally blue, she is hovering. Emma puts her hands down to her sides. Pressing her heels together, she looks up at the fluffy clouds above her, as if by providence, her favorite song of all time begins to play. She begins to focus forward, almost leaning as she does, and immediately, without hesitation, she feels her stomach drop into her feet as she launches herself into the air. A tree stands in her way and rapidly approaches, so Emma quickly throws her body weight to the right and barrel rolls to the far side of the tree’s trunk, missing the lower branches by inches. As Emma comes out of the barrel roll, she begins to shoot up into the sky as she turns the volume all the way up on her music.
“WOOOOHOOOOO!!!!!”
she screams in excitement as the wind blows her hair back and her clothing flaps loosely in the wind. Her heart races as euphoria courses through her; never before has she felt such exhilaration grip her as if it has a hold of her by her very soul. She continues to fly. Approaching the large fluffy cloud bank, she holds the phone close to her, covering it as she enters the floating marshmallow of condensation. She anticipates getting soaked and is okay with the prospect, but something seems to prevent the water from making contact as she bursts out the far side of the cloud just as dry as when she entered.
Emma looks at the world below her. Never before has she seen such beauty: the city to the right, nature to the left, and the massive lake Malaren below her. She slows to a near stop, almost hovering as she takes in the breathtaking colors and geography that lies below and before her. She looks at her hands for a moment; they slowly touch her face. “Those speeds should have given me windburn,” She thinks to herself for a moment as she probes the possibilities of her new powers. As she hovers there, she begins to piece things together from the lore she has read mixed with the science she has known.
“I must have some sort of aura protecting me in flight,”
she whispers softly to herself. A grin forms on her lips as she leans back and enters a freefall towards the lake below. Keeping in a streamline position and her eyes wide open, she decides to test her theory. Her eyes do not burn, even though she feels the wind moving past her, over her, almost through her. Her skin feels no friction from the air as she begins to approach the speed of sound with only the roar of the wind a
s it passes her ears and the sound of her music keeping her company. Suddenly, a vapor cone appears in front of her for a brief second and everything goes silent except for her music. Emma leans back as the lake rapidly approaches. Her excitement quickly mutates into a need to push herself, to see how fast and how far she can go.
Emma levels out and finds equilibrium less than a meter above the water. She surges over the surface so fast it causes a vacuum behind her, forcing a trail of water to jump into the air behind her. “At these speeds, insects should be turning me into Swiss cheese. Protective aura confirmed.” A smirk forms on her face as she leans into the flight more, picking up even more speed. Ahead, islands become visible in the middle of the lake. Emma soars past one. Putting both arms out like an airplane, she throws her weight to the left, tilting her body as she does, causing her to make a wide circle around the island. She does not slow down; instead, she leans into the turn, wanting to push herself, testing her limits, all the time praying she does not pass out. She feels a pull on her body, and her phone starts to slip from her fingers. She tightens her grip as she continues to circle the island. Her free hand holds the base of her purse. Here, she takes deep slow breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth. She passes around the island, catching up to the spout of water that she kicked up before it falls back to the lake. She straightens out, passing a few kronor bills. She laughs as they fall to the water— she accelerated so fast, the cash ripped through her pockets. She evens out and begins to fly straight again, slowing down as she runs through what she has just done.
