VOLT: YA Fantasy

by Dawn Brazil

  "Sorry," Ferris exclaims, rushing over to give me a huge, unwanted hug. "Sorry for doubting you." My hands stay at my side but I don’t pull away.

  "That's okay, Ferris, I understand," I say. He releases me and I limp forward.

  Ferris and I walk ahead, together. I don’t feel relief that he understands, though. It’s another lie, on top of another lie, on top of what some would call a life, but what I call a horrible joke. Someone needs to cut the strings on the puppet-master ruining me. But not even the evil puppet-master could go a round with my nothing. Just as the desolate thoughts spring forth, they are snatched, blown away like dirt on the ground.

  "I don't buy that shit for a minute," Joe comments from behind us. Ferris and I turn to stare at him. "Who do you think you’re dealing with, Dumb and Dumber?”

  I blink at him. If I’m honest, he’s dumber.

  “Who’s Chris? We aren’t stupid, Sam. I saw your face when old dude said his name. You looked like you saw a ghost. You recognized that name and I wanna know who he is to you. He must have been important for you to come to VOLT to find him. Maybe you can't remember ever coming to VOLT, but VOLT sure as hell remembers you. So, I’m only going to ask one last time. Who the hell’s Chris?"

  I don’t feel like fighting.

  The nothing stretches and hums beneath the surface of my mind. I speak the first words the nothing puts in my mind. “Go ahead. Leave if you want. I don’t care.”

  I turn back around and keep walking.

  Chapter 24

  "Leave her alone, Joe. I believe her," Ferris says, coming to life beside me.

  "You would believe her. You're too smart to be so damn gullible."

  "Come on, let’s drop it," Ferris pleads. He rushes over and halts my next step. I don’t fight his touch, but bile rises up the back of my throat. Taking a step back, I pry his fingers loose. I swallow hard and watch as Ferris yells to Joe. “Let's keep going before you say something you don't mean."

  "Something I don't mean. No threat there; I rarely say things I don't mean." Joe turns and looks at me like I made the shot that put his team out of the finals. "She’s an ungrateful, spoiled princess. She’s been lying to us. Now you think you can do this on your own?” He laughs out loud. “You can’t. Are you going to spill your guts, or are you okay with never finding your dude? Without me, you won’t find him."

  "She won't be on her own. I'll stay with her." Ferris positions himself by my side, between Joe and me. His hands are balled into fists at his side, and his knuckles are pulled so tight his hand is changing shades of colors—like a rainbow.

  "You don't care that she’s been lying to us? That she’s a deceitful little princess who thinks she should always get her way? She cringes when you touch her, Ferris.” He turns toward me. “Why do you do that? Who told you you were better than everybody else? Who told you you were better than Ferris and me?"

  I smile, then stop. That’s not an appropriate response. "I don't owe you or anyone else a thing. I appreciate you saving my life, but I would have rather died back there than tell you anything about me I don't want you to know.” Joe squares his jaw and stands taller, like my words have no effect on him. “My business is my business. Leave." I fling my hands to push him out of the way.

  "Go on, leave.” Heat flames my face as I talk. The nothing is subsiding and anger forms. No. Stop. Don’t go… San Diego. I want the nothing. Take a deep breath, Sam. Do something to stop it from leaving.

  I take another deep, steadying breath. No matter how hard I strain to keep it, I feel it slipping away… chipping away, as if someone is taking an ice pick to it. San Diego. Why?

  My blood boils beneath my skin. I have no choice but to settle into the anger. “Neither of you have to help me find Ryan. I’ll do it on my own. And I’ll never tell you who Chris is." The words fly from my lips before I can stop myself. Ferris and Joe look up, surprised at my last words.

  The words leaving my lips stun me. I want to shove them down my throat and let them cut me like the shards of glass they are. I can't. They aren’t going to dismiss them as ramblings from a twisted girl, either. I push past them and rush for the deserted sidewalk.

  My jumbled thoughts collide, dangerously close to my delicate emotional state.

  Alone. This is what I need. This will be my forever, anyway.

  Alone. Most people seem to have a profound distaste for being alone. Once, I was one of them.

  Death came and forced my mind and heart into a warped, callous shell. If you think you’re crazy, then you’re not. Right? I read that somewhere. I’m almost certain I’m completely unhinged and I don’t care. What does that mean?

  No cars pass as I make my way. No store signs flash for entry. There’s no haven for my wandering mind as I limp silently on the empty street. My last statement reels in my head. Why did I divulge so carelessly? How could I have been so thoughtless? Joe knows precisely what to say to anger me, to get me talking, and I fell for it.

  I’m a fly to his stinking San Diego.

  Joe and Ferris exchange heated words behind me that I don’t understand because I’ve hobbled ahead. We continue in this manner for some time. I don’t glance back to determine what they say, and they don’t bother me as I navigate VOLT’s wobbly streets.

  "Sam," Joe says, walking up and keeping stride with me. "I’m somewhat of an ass at times. I can see whatever this is, who he was, it’s special to you. I’ll respect your need for privacy. But, you’ve gotta understand my point. I’m trying to help. I’d even venture to say I’m your friend.”

  I glance over at him. “We’re not friends.”

  He smiles, then looks at Ferris with an expression I can’t fathom. “You can trust me—us. You can tell us anything. You don't have to keep it to yourself. Keeping shit inside will only make you explode later. You don’t have to talk about it now, though. I thought it best for you to know, in case you doubted us. We're here and we're not leaving until we find Ryan for you.”

  I can’t find Ryan on my own. No matter how many times I lie and say I can, it’s not a convincing lie. I need them, but I don’t want to have to say that to them. When you tell people you need them, invariably they let you down. Or you let them down. Or eventually they leave, and you’re left with what you had before—nothing. I can’t do that to myself. Not again.

  Already, I’m becoming more and more attached to them than I want to be. And the way my heart reacts at Joe’s touch makes me want to vomit.

  "Yeah, Sam, you don't have to tell us anything you don't want. It doesn't matter if you've been to VOLT before, or who this Chris fellow is," Ferris adds. He walks over to me and grabs my hand. “We promised. We’re going to find Ryan. We’re going to find him together.”

  I don’t pull away like I normally would. It’s difficult to be cruel to Ferris when he’s so sweet to me—one more indulgence I’ll allow. A simple touch from him won't obligate me to friendship for life.

  Even if they can’t admit it, it’s clear they’re only still helping because they feel sorry for me and because I’m a conundrum. People have an innate desire to fix things they think are broken; they see me as broken. I am broken. I can’t be fixed, though. Many times, I’ve been pieced back together. But I always shatter, and the splinters of me get lodged in other people.

  They’ll find out soon enough. Or maybe I’ll force them away before I detonate.

  "How's your leg?" Joe asks. My limp has turned into a shuffle. The pain that rakes through me is a searing hot iron running up and down my leg.

  "I'm fine." I continue on. "Don't make a big deal out of it. Let’s keep walking. We've stopped so much already."

  "Well, Petty Officer Thickhead, I might overlook a little fatigue but this isn’t fatigue. If you don't rest that leg, it won’t heal properly. A couple blocks up the street, there’s a motel we can crash in for the night. Come on." Joe extends his hands. "Hop on." He motions to his back.

  I hesitate. Once in a playoff game, my foot was kicked from u
nder me in a hard foul. It hurt like Houston but I didn’t say anything. Still, Coach knew. He benched me for two games to let it heal. I was livid. In the end, it had been for the best, because I was back for our championship game.

  I need to rest this leg or I won’t be able to use it at all, and it’ll only slow us more if I don’t. I climb on without argument. I’m tired of dragging my wounded leg around anyway. I’m already dragging around this heart.

  Once I’m positioned on his back, arms locked around his neck like before, he takes off. He speed-walks the three blocks to the motel; Ferris does the same beside us. No one talks. I’m grateful.

  I close my eyes and search for the nothing. When the nothing leaves, I’m left running in a circle, going nowhere recklessly. I’ve developed a guaranteed method for getting it back, but it’s not an option now. Joe or Ferris would notice the cuts.

  “This is the place,” Joe says. Ferris helps me from Joe’s back while Joe goes in and gets a key for the room. I don’t talk for fear I might divulge more than I want. My insides feel sour, like someone’s tying them in sailor knots.

  The moment Chris’s name was spoken, I began to crumble away on the inside. Not that there’s much life has not already corroded. No matter how much I try to shake it, I can't. I slide to the ground and wait for Joe to arrive with the key.

  My insides hurt like someone is using me for target practice. All I want is for the nothing to take it all away. My wounds don’t want to heal, so the pain of life smoothers me daily. I’m not allowed peace, or life, or death. I die a slow and painful death each day, and as the darkness seems ready to rescue me from my torment, light blasts it away and resuscitates my old bones. My daily question is, but why?

  "Sam,” Ferris says. He’s squatted beside me on the ground and laces his fingers back and forth together. “I know I said it didn’t matter if you've been here before or not, and it doesn’t. But I kind of thought you might tell us who Chris was. Not right now," Ferris adds, quickly. "When you feel it’s best, or if you feel it’s best. No rush. I thought since we are your friends now, you can trust us with this."

  How many Denver times do I have to say it?

  The pity that stretches around me for him is endless. He thinks I'm his friend for real. People like me don’t have friends and don’t want them. I bury my head in my elevated legs to drown out the voices—Ferris', Joe's, Ryan's, my own, and Chris's now. Again.

  Hours, minutes, seconds later, someone plucks me from my makeshift bed on the ground. When I open my eyes, ready to be dazzled again by Joe's normal, everyday, nothing-spectacular-at-all eyes, I’m surprised to see Ferris instead. He grunts and pulls himself upright. He sucks in air at an alarming rate.

  I’m too heavy for him to lift, but he presses on anyway. I almost yell for him to put me down, except I don’t want to ruin this for him. What do I care if he drops me? I don’t want to be here anyway. I’ll let him have the satisfaction of thinking he’s as strong as Joe. So, I close my eyes and pretend to still be asleep.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Joe says. My eyes spring open, confused about what’s happening. Joe’s motioning toward me. Is Joe nervous about Ferris carrying me? I squeeze my eyes closed again. How interesting. "Give her over before you drop her."

  "No. I have her." Ferris confidently presses on, his grunts not as obvious as before.

  "If you drop her," Joe threatens. "I’ll clobber you right upside your big head."

  "I didn’t know you cared so much," Ferris grunts. I sneak a quick peek. We’re in a small, faintly lit room, and are almost to the bed.

  “I don’t… really,” Joe says. Something in his voice doesn’t match his words. He probably thinks we’re friends, too, like Ferris. How did I get in this situation? I warned them I wasn’t here to make friends. Ferris bumps the bed, I hear his groan as he stubs his foot against the rail when he reaches it. With shaking arms, he places me on the bed, on top of the blankets.

  I lie back, exhausted mentally and emotionally from the day's events. I fall asleep quickly.

  Much too soon, Ferris and Joe are talking and laughing so loud I can’t ignore it.

  I prop myself up using the two flat pillows at the head of the bed, and glance around.

  It’s difficult to determine the actual color of the walls with the amount of dirt and dingy hand prints on them. They may have been white once. Two queen-sized beds align along the wall, with matching floral-green-patterned bedding. A wall-mounted television is hung on the wall, facing the beds. Joe and Ferris are sitting on the other bed, gulping the drinks the bartender gave us.

  “Can I have some of that?” My voice sounds worse than my dad’s old truck starting. They look over at me like they forgot I was here. Joe grabs a can from the bag and tosses it to me.

  “Do you want some fried planters with that? They’re kinda like mushrooms.” Joe lifts a yellow and green bucket in the air. “It’s greasy, but good.” He extends oily fingers for me to see. My stomach growls at the delicious smell emanating from the bucket. I’m starving. Joe offers the container and I gobble four pieces of vegetables greasier than I’ve ever had, and a biscuit they call sticky loaf that’s light and fluffy. I lick my fingers after I scarf it down.

  “Yeah, Joe,” Ferris says. “You were telling me about your parents earlier, but we got cut off.” That sounds extremely random and terribly forced. I take a peek at them as they talk, only mildly interested in their farce of a conversation.

  “Yeah,” Joe says. “She was a child psychologist. The best mom ever. We’d argue like a married couple, though.” He laughs a laugh so melancholy, my throat fills with all the emotions I can’t display.

  “She was my lifeline. She was our lifeline. She got remarried after my sperm donor split. Had my younger brothers and sister with my stepdad.”

  “I always wanted siblings,” Ferris says. “It was so lonely sometimes. I used to beg my mom when I was younger for a brother. My mother said my father didn’t want any more kids, though. Both my parents were too busy for more kids, anyway.”

  “What did they do?” Joe asks.

  “My mother was a professor of English and my father was a professor, too. He specialized in biomedical engineering.”

  “Really,” Joe says. The tone in his voice makes my head jerk to where he sits. He works the muscles in his jaw, like he’s thinking hard about something. Ferris doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps talking.

  “Yes, my father’s tough. Traditional in some ways and then not in others. Before my mother passed, we tolerated one another. Now, I don’t even know what to call—”

  “Is your pop’s name Michael?” Joe asks.

  “Pops?” Ferris says, confusion clouding his face.

  “Your father, Ferris. Is his name Michael?”

  “It is,” Ferris says. “Just like my middle name. I asked my mother why w—"

  “Michael Ji,” Joe says. “Your pop's name is Michael Ji. From Beijing, and he specializes in Pharmaceutical Engineering.”

  Ferris stops talking and looks at him. He blinks a few times and I think he’s starting to realize Joe isn’t asking questions. He’s giving him information.

  “Yes. My father’s name is Michael Ji, and he’s a professor from Beijing who specializes in Pharmaceutical Engineering. How did you know?”

  Chapter 25

  Florida.

  Does this mean Joe and Ferris are related? How can that be? Ferris is clearly Asian, and Joe’s… white. They’re as different as fish and chicken. Still, I sit forward on the bed, curious.

  “My sperm donor’s name is Michael Ji,” Joe whispers. San Diego, no way.

  I choke on the soda-like substance I’m drinking. Spit flies across the blanket and dribbles down my chin. Neither of them look at me.

  “Yo homeboy, you's definitely wrong,” Ferris states. Joe and I exchange a look. Not again.

  “I’m not,” Joe says.

  “How the Florida are you two brothers?” I clasp my hand to my mouth and sit bac
k. I forgot. I’m not part of this conversation.

  Neither Joe nor Ferris move. They stare at each other. Not in a menacing way, it’s like they’re seeing one another for the first time.

  “Ferris, you’re a shitty liar. How the hell am I supposed to believe you on this? You said your last name was Wheeler. Remember, you don’t even know who you are. That’s what you told Sam and me.” Joe works his jaw muscles and runs his hands through his hair.

  Ferris and Joe don’t talk for a few minutes and the whole room feels awkward. Like the uncomfortable hand shake with your opponent you beat by thirty points at the end of a game. “If you are my brother, there’s no way you could be a middle-aged man outside VOLT."

  Ferris takes a deep breath and says, “I’m not.”

  I sit forward. “You’re not what?” I ask. San Diego, shut your mouth, Sam.

  “I’m not a middle-aged man. My father used to say I was, that I should carry myself like one at all times.”

  “Your father, Michael Ji,” Joe states. I want to throw something at the back of Joe’s head, because I’m certain they’ve already covered the fact that they both have a father named Michael Ji.

  “Yes. My father, Michael fucking Ji,” Ferris says. Silence descends on our little room once more. Ferris' face is all shades of red again.

  “Wow. Your father really is the douche you keep saying he is, then. Whatever he did to my mom, she wouldn’t even talk about him. I had to beg for his name, and she didn’t give me that information until a few months before she died. How fucked up do you have to be for someone to want to forget you ever existed? I’m trying to figure out if I’ve got to keep a closer eye on you now, seeing you’re the son he kept.”

  “I don’t care what you think about him. I’m nothing like him. I—"

  “Okay, that’s it,” Joe says. “Just stop. I can’t take anymore right now. Just… don’t say anything else about it. My mom didn’t want me to know. It was obviously a smart decision on her part.”