VOLT: YA Fantasy

by Dawn Brazil

  I don’t cry in front of strangers. So being in here with so many people in tears is claustrophobic—like someone placed my head inside a plastic bag.

  Once I emerge from the building, I bend, clasp my hands to my knees, inhale a deep breath, and gulp my disappointment. The pain of loss penetrates to the core of my existence.

  I still refuse to shed a tear.

  A picture of a toy robot plastered on the shop window draws my attention. It’s a wanted poster. The kind that hangs in the post office and has criminals’ pictures splashed on them with a reward for their capture. The toy robot, named MegaHex, is wanted awake or asleep.

  A flash of jet-black pigtails dancing around in a circle slams into me. Pieces of metal machinery lie beside her. They laugh and talk and watch as he takes the hot glue gun and melds two metal pieces together. They’re happy.

  The scene unfolds in my head like a Hallmark card, but it’s really battery acid to my heart. Ryan. Right now, I need to focus on him. I glance at the poster and frown at the chuckle that rises out of me.

  My own laughter sounds foreign. Yet, in my short time in VOLT, I’ve had plenty of humorous moments. Laughing isn’t enough of a reason to remain in this strange place. If I’m not meant to find my “lost thing,” I need to leave. Right?

  I need to leave. I need to leave right now.

  The idea of being this close to seeing Ryan, though, at least once more, forces me back to a crouch. When you have nothing left, you accept scraps. VOLT is my scraps.

  I inhale and exhale to regulate my quickening heart. Think logically, Sam. You have to go.

  If I trek back thru the forest to the entrance of VOLT, maybe I’ll wake. It won’t hurt to try. It will definitely hurt to stay. It will be a chainsaw to my fragile mind, hacking away at the minute sensibilities I have remaining. I straighten from my slumped position, ready to leave. I can do this. I will do this.

  I have to do this.

  “Excuse me,” a feminine voice says. A woman who looks to be about the same age as my mom stands behind me. She’s petite with short, spiky auburn hair, but unlike everyone else, she wears a gray pantsuit. I stare at her attire much longer than is probably appropriate. Why does she dress differently?

  “Can I help you?” she asks. “You appear to be lost. Am I correct?”

  I’m not certain I want guidance. I can make it back to the line outside VOLT; I haven’t strayed far from it. Maybe I should keep with my plan to leave.

  What if Ryan is here somewhere, waiting for me? Even if this is a dream, don’t I owe it to myself to try? Don’t I owe it to my heart to make every effort?

  Yes. I do.

  “Yes, I’m lost. My name’s Sam. Can you help me?” Without asking, she takes my hand into hers and beams at me. Parts of me want to pull away from her touch and parts of me linger in the contact. Her hand is warm, smaller than mine, and mom-like. A pain I can’t explain rushes my chest and I nearly snatch away from her touch again. But I don’t.

  “Mom, leave her alone. She’s fine on her own.” I recognize this voice. He’s behind the woman but doesn’t make his presence known. I lean around her to peer at the guy who seems irritated at my presence. It’s the same guy from the line. The one who explained what ‘lost thing’ meant. He’s sitting at the bench outside the shop. His large muscular frame seems odd, squished into the tiny seat. It’s like seeing a fully-grown adult in a tiny kindergarten desk at school.

  I can tell he has a problem with me by the slant of his mouth and the coldness in his eyes. Especially since my situation might rob him of time with his mother. I don’t want to be a burden to another person. I’ve been that plenty already. Plus, I am better alone.

  “That’s fine. I can manage on my own.” I understand his feelings. I would’ve reacted similarly if someone interfered with my time.

  “You are not a bother. My name is Jocelyn, and that is my son, Joseph. Welcome to VOLT,” she says. Her smile is soft and warm but he looks anything but welcoming. “Come here Joe, don’t be rude. I raised you better than that.”

  Joe slumps to his feet and strolls over to stand beside his mother. He soars over her with broad shoulders and large biceps, like the linebackers on my high school’s football team. His eyes are a shade of brown that reminds me of melted caramel. He looks like a model—not a whiny momma’s boy. He extends his large hand to me. “Hey.” His mouth is drawn into a frown the whole time.

  “Hey,” I reply, embarrassed, because once again, he’s come to my rescue. San Diego, I’ve got to touch him. We shake. Quickly, I draw my hand back and rub it against my gown to free his touch from me. “I can’t find my boyfriend… he’s my lost thing.”

  “Oh. You didn’t see him in the frothy shop?” Jocelyn asks.

  I shake my head. “If you can point me in the direction you think I should go, I’d appreciate it. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

  Joe rolls his eyes and sits back at the miniature bench outside the shop. His head collapses to his hands and he keeps this position.

  He’s rude—and not as good-looking once he’s close. His eyes are spaced too far and are a bit slanted, and his hands are rough and enormous. They swallowed my hand when we shook.

  “Joe,” Jocelyn comments as soon as he sits, “why don’t you help Sam find her friend.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say at once.

  “Mom, come on. When did I become a philanthropist?” he quips at the same time.

  “Sam,” Jocelyn says, raising her hand for me to stop. “Come here, son.” He stands, pouting, and drags himself to her side. “You’ve been fortunate enough to be here for some time now. Let’s not be selfish. Others should have the opportunity we’ve had. You and Sam will go together to find her friend. You should have more than enough Zygos for the both of you. I’ll be here for your return.” Joe runs his eyes from my face to my feet then back up again. His frown deepens.

  So does mine.

  “That’s really not necessary,” I start. “If you can just—”

  “It’s settled. Joe will assist you in your search. He knows VOLT well and can help you find your way.”

  Joe’s face is a contortion of too many emotions for me to work through. His mother turns and looks at him. His face transforms into a smile that almost makes him attractive again.

  He pulls the lapel of her suit jacket until she stands in front of him. She sweeps a hand across his cheek and he wraps her in a massive hug. I should turn to give them privacy, but I can’t. I haven’t felt that level of intimacy with anyone in a long time. My whole body aches to be held, loved. Instead I have the lie I carry around with me like luggage.

  I smother the longing before it suffocates me. It’s better this way.

  “Come on. We’d better go so we can be back before night falls,” Joe says. He steps to the side and motions with his Frankenstein hands for me to follow.

  I steal a glance at Jocelyn before walking off. She smiles and points for me to follow Joe. I take a deep breath and get moving. Maybe I’ll find Ryan after all.

  I only have to deal with a semi-attractive, whiny momma’s boy for a while. No problem. I rub the scar on the side of my face. He’s worth this effort.

  Chapter 9

  Joe sets an arduous pace from the start.

  I love it.

  His long legs don’t slow because I’m following him. He refuses to acknowledge my presence. That’s fine by me. I walk in silence, scanning the area around me. I don’t need distractions, like talking pigs or crying socks or even temperamental jocks.

  We trudge through VOLT at a jogger’s pace in complete silence. Joe doesn’t look for me behind him, and I don’t care. Still, I watch out for disturbances.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Joe yells. I stop and stare. Not because he frightened me, but because this is the first time he’s acknowledged me since we left his mother.

  “I’m watching for weird stuff.” He grimaces. “You know. Talking socks… driving
animals… or whatever the Houston they’re called here.”

  He walks back to where I stand. His face is inches from mine. “Don’t fall behind again. Socks and driving humanimals are nothing compared to what I’ve seen here. Fall behind again, and I’m gone.” He stomps away, keeping his same pace. I don’t question him. I don’t need him to be my friend or even like me. I need him to help me find my way to my heart.

  We walk another five blocks before he breaks. I stumble right into him since he doesn’t give a warning he’s going to stop. “Watch it, Train-wreck,” he says. I bite my lip to stop from lashing out at him. “If he’s your age, he’ll most likely be in here.” He tilts his head at the entrance to what looks like an old-time arcade.

  I glance through the towering windows in the front. Rows of bulky black machines fill the space. Ryan wasn’t a huge gamer, but I’m desperate. I’ll take Momma’s Boy’s advice and check.

  I scoot around him and slide the hatch open. A rock song I don’t know blasts high above my head as I stride inside. Suffocating smoke fills the air. I cough loudly as smoke vapor fills my lungs. One more step into the dungeon-like space, and I stop. I throw the hatch open and march back out. Joe straightens as I step onto the sidewalk. “What are you doing? You didn’t even look.”

  “That place is full of smoke. I can’t see two feet in front of me.”

  “What the… Do you want to find the dude or not?”

  “I do, bu—”

  “Then get your ass back in there, Princess.” I hope the look I give conveys my loathing without me saying anything. I swing around and head back into the building. I cover my mouth with my hand and crouch out of the smoke clouds being produced by kids who don’t look old enough to drive. Ryan has never smoked, so the likelihood of him being here is reduced even further.

  A group of kids yell and jump near a machine and I have to dart out of the way before I collide with them. The space is separated by two areas—toward the back of the arcade are the big game machines. I squint into this part of the room and at the back, at a pinball machine, I see him.

  My heartbeat sprints ahead of me. “Ryan,” I say once. He doesn’t turn, but he might not hear above the roar of the music.

  I push through a crowd that swells at a game of mortal combats. Parts of me are shocked he’s here, and parts of me are terrified for a reunion I never expected. My hand shakes as I maneuver through the mass of warm bodies collected around multiple machines.

  I reach the pinball table and Ryan is right in front of me. He’s so close I can reach out and touch him. I don’t.

  I stare at the back of his head for a few seconds. My heart beats so loud at my chest, it drowns out the music.

  What can I say to him that will set my heart right? What can he say to make living without him bearable? Nothing. So maybe we don’t talk. Maybe we stare into each other’s eyes. Maybe we kiss until my stomach flutters and I’m light all over.

  I need to get out of my head and get on with this.

  I run my hand across the back of his neck. He jumps and turns. “Florida,” I screech.

  “Uh, you okay?” the guy I mistake Ryan for asks. I frown at him but don’t speak. “Uh. You wanna play?” Emotions—an old enemy—sneak up on me. I grit my teeth to push them away. I ball my hands into fists, pushing the anger back. I should be used to disappointment. “Uh, you can have the game if you want.” I shake my head.

  I should walk away, but my feet refuse to move. I stare at this stranger. The world slows its spinning, as I stand suspended in this moment. My heart thumps and I grab my chest to stop it from shattering.

  The Ryan lookalike reaches out a hand toward me. Maybe he’s going to pat my shoulder comfortingly. Maybe he’s going to rub my arm. It doesn’t matter. I have his arm pulled behind his back and he’s in a headlock before I can contemplate my actions.

  “Lemme go, you insane freak.” He’s hollering loudly, and thrashing beneath my tight clutch. I punch him in the face, hurting my hand. I’ve punched guys before, so I know it will most likely swell. I don’t care. Strong arms pull my grip loose from around the lookalike’s head.

  “Let me go!” I yell.

  “Shit. Sorry, dude. She’s crazy. My bad.”

  It’s Joe. He picks me up from the floor and carries me from the smoke-filled space. I wiggle in his arms, trying to break loose from his hold. His embrace tightens. When we reach the sidewalk in front of the building, he sets me on my feet. I scramble away from him—nearly falling to the ground in my haste to get away from his touch. “What kind of psycho are you?” he whisper-yells.

  I don’t look at him. “He tried to touch me.” I wrap my arms around my upper body and keep my eyes focused on the ground.

  He laughs. “What the fuck? What difference does that make, Sybil?”

  “Stop cursing at me.”

  “What?” He frowns.

  “I said, stop cursing at me.” I square my eyes with his.

  “Okay… you’re scaring me. Move your a—” He stops and takes a deep breath. He draws nearer to where I am positioned on the sidewalk, invading my personal space. When his eyes are parallel with mine, he whispers, “Move… now.”

  I don’t say anything. I spin around and trudge up the sidewalk. He scoots around me and takes the lead. Just like that, we’re back to where we were. He ignores me and I don’t have enough energy to care. We keep this same pace for another forty minutes or more.

  Tired of the walking, I yell, “Hold on a sec! I need a minute.” He stops walking but doesn’t turn. He takes a deep breath, rubs his fat fingers over his temple, and inhales another deep breath.

  He turns and fixes me with a cold glare. I sit at a bench outside a random restaurant. It has the most amazing smells emanating from it. I don’t budge to move as I take in Joe’s annoyed stance. He arches his brow like he’s waiting for me. I turn in the opposite direction. He can stand to be more of a gracious host. After all, I’ve lost someone dear to me, too. He’s already had time with his mother. I didn’t even get to say good-bye to Ryan.

  Still, a pang of guilt that I’m keeping him from his mother inches through my mind. I shove it away. I need to find Ryan, because if this doesn’t work, I’ll be lost forever. Living is so unbearable, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to continue. Without him, I’m not even sure how to. Maybe that’s what I’ll do when I see him—ask how this living thing is done. I’ve been doing it wrong for nearly eighteen years.

  A woman and man stroll hand-in-hand across the street. Odd—I’m sure I know them. I noticed them a while ago, peering in shop windows periodically. Is it possible for me to recognize someone here? If I do know them, maybe they can point me in Ryan’s direction. I can let Joe go back to being a momma’s boy instead of a pain in my Alaska.

  I jump to attention as they walk by on the opposite side of the street. “Excuse me.” I wave my hands above my head to draw their eyes toward me.

  Out of my peripheral vision, Joe makes long strides toward me. “Stop that. Shut up,” he demands once he’s in front of me. He jerks me away from the bench and pulls me with him down the street.

  “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” I say through gritted teeth. “Let me go. Now.” I kick him in the ankle. He releases my shoulder and grabs my arm.

  “Stop fighting me. Are you stupid or something?” He seizes my other arm and swings me around until I’m standing in front of him. “Those aren’t people. They’ll snatch your scrawny ass up and you’ll never be able to find your boyfriend. And you’ll never be able to get back to VOLT, and that's if they don't kill you first. So, stop talking, start walking, and don’t breathe too loud without checking with me first. Do you understand?”

  I shove him in the chest to release me. “You’re an asinine douche. Don’t put your hands on me again. I’m no princess and I might not beat you in a fight, but we’ll both be on a stretcher in the end. You understand that, aye?”

  He glances over my shoulder and squints. I turn to see
what he’s looking at. “No,” he says. He grabs my chin into his hand and turns my head straight. I jerk to attention at his touch. His hand shouldn’t be on any part of my body; his grip is tight but not menacing. He doesn’t take his eyes off what he’s looking at. I assume it’s the couple I recognize. He glances at me. “You’re kinda cute when you’re mad, Psycho.”

  Unintentionally, I drop my frown. “Not that cute, though.”

  “You’re an Alaska.” I don’t care if he thinks I’m crazy. I might be a little mad. A fully committed grin stretches across my face because he won’t understand my words. The words were started for our use at home, but snowballed into part of my everyday speech.

  “What? Is that an insult?” He shakes his head. “Get moving. You’d be gone if it weren’t for me. A little gratitude wouldn’t hurt.”

  I stomp forward. “It might,” I say. He makes a noise with the back of his throat. “I should show appreciation, but not to you. To your mom, because you aren’t here of your own free will.” He starts around me, but stops shy of passing and walks beside me. “Let’s not mince words. I don’t like you. You don’t like me. Fine. Stay outta my way and I’ll stay outta yours. We find Ryan. Then you’re free to crawl into a black hole and get lost for all I care.”

  Of all things, he smiles as if he enjoys being told how much someone loathes him. “Whatever, Firecracker. Move it.” We walk and don’t talk or look at one another. I’m keeping him from his mom, and a tinge of regret surfaces again. I’m not heartless—I haven’t used it in a while. But maybe his mom needs time away from his rude mouth. She was quick to offer him, after all.

  The sky turns magenta as we walk along the storefront-lined streets. The air circulates better than when I first arrived. It’s not so much marshmallows anymore; it’s more like pudding. Joe keeps glancing at the suns, and I’m not sure if I need to be concerned. Of course, he doesn’t speak to me about any worries.

  He increases his pace so I’m jogging to stay close to him. He stops in front of a place that looks like it might have been a coffee shop, but it’s closed. The lights are out, and the neon sign in the front that should flash Open isn’t lit.