Going Anonymous Page #2

Staria Visits the Prairies, Part 1

• Science fiction

								


The tram conductor scanned their tickets and showed them to their seats. Staria settled in by the window, snacking on a piece of her dad’s homemade licorice. Fig was incapable of sitting still for more than 5 minutes. Much like Staria’s dad had been in the pod, now it was Fig’s turn to be annoyingly intrigued by everything. After the Ai gave a short presentation about safety requirements on the tram, Fig jumped up ready to explore. 

“Let’s go to the dining car,” they said, grabbing Staria and pulling her out of her seat. 

“We’ll be back in a few minutes, Dad,” Staria said, the words trailing behind her. They were gone before he had a chance to reply. 

The tram was several cars in length, each of which seated about 45 people. The seats featured reclining options and foldable tables, and every aisle had a minifridge filled with drinks and snacks. HALO seats were also available for an increased fee and included privacy projections and personalized sound systems. There were also free public HALO seats with 15-minute seat limits, but all of them were full when Staria and Fig whirled by. 

They passed a variety of interesting people, and Staria found herself snapping her neck back multiple times as she tried to observe all the different faces. There was a couple playing cards with their two small children, their baby beside them in a hover bassinet. There was an older man with large hands scribbling notes in a little book. As they passed the public HALO seats, Staria noticed a teenager about their age had a garden projection on and seemed to be swinging, as they kept pumping their legs off the chair. 

“I’m so hungry!” said Fig, moving Staria along. 

“Didn’t you eat like 80 scones at my house?”

“That was hours ago.”

They made their way through 4 different cars, each designed differently and with their own aesthetic, until finally arriving at the main dining car. The room was all windows in every direction, with a station in the middle for ordering meals and snacks from. Fig scrolled the menu and clicked on several boxes, saying, “We’re about to have a feast, Stars!” 

As they waited for the food to arrive, Fig walked around the car several times and kept touching all the surfaces so that the automation had to spray disinfectant on them before it would allow them to take their food once it had arrived. They returned to their original car, loaded with food trays, and the three of them sat quietly for a while indulging and watching the views. It wasn’t long before they had arrived at the end of the line and made their way to her parents’ old house.

The property was only about a mile from the station, so they opted to walk. While the originating station had been full of life, this stop was less so. A few locals here and there, with grass in every direction. It wasn’t that different from how Staria had pictured it after all, but she didn’t feel desolate, as she had anticipated. She felt safe. It was a warm day, with a small breeze that made the walk easy and light. Fig chattered on, pointing out bugs or pulling dead leaves off the bushes and plants as they passed. They asked Stuart endless questions, one after the other, sometimes without waiting to hear an answer. 

“Where is all the hay? I thought the Prairies had lots of hay. Does it rain a lot out here? Have you ever gotten lost in the fields? Were you and Staria’s mom farmers?” 

“Not at first,” he said, laughing.

“How did you end up here? Why would anyone come out to the Prairielands?”

“We had a group of friends, and well–”

“Did you hook up with each other like in those communes back in the day?”

“What?” Staria opened her eyes wide, her cheeks flushing red. “Please don’t answer that.”

Her father furrowed his brow. “No, Fig. It wasn’t that kind of community.”

Fig shrugged their shoulders. “Well, I saw it in a book in my mom’s library once, so...” They whispered into Staria’s ear, “I read that they’d hang things on their doors, like scarves or string, to let their neighbors know they wanted to make out.” 

“Gross,” said Staria, and they both laughed. 

There was so much open space in the Prairies. It was different from where Staria lived; here, she could see for miles because the land was so flat; there weren’t as many trees and very little AI in this area. Occasionally, a drone might fly overhead carrying supplies from one farm to another. But mostly, it was free from tech and the modern world, almost untouched. There were unfamiliar birds and strange smells that Staria couldn’t place; their music was sweet and the scents, comforting. Why had they never come here before, she thought. Why now? There was a part of her that wanted to ask these questions out loud. She could feel her chest tighten a bit and realized she was a little angry, so she practiced her mindfulness therapies and slowed her pace. 

Today, Fig was sporting a spiky hair style, jet black, with hints of blue and was wearing their usual assortment of multicolored layers, which reminded Staria of a character from an fantasy novel she’d read once about a pirate of the ancient seas. As per usual, Fig was hyperactive and constantly moving. Their many shades of fabric swirled about like living matter, creating a rainbow-esque aura of cloth around them. At one moment, they were walking beside Staria, then jogging backwards, then they made figure eights, looping around, then back to pestering Stuart with more questions. Staria wondered if Fig had a motor inside their brain. They could switch actions with no visible transitions, like an old-timey magician doing several tricks in a row. Usually, these behaviors amused Staria. She liked seeing her friend excited and curious; Fig was always a blast to hang out with because they could make even the most mundane activity fun. But today there was a deep voice inside Staria, a whisper that wanted everything around her to be quiet and still. The louder that whisper got, the more Staria pulled away from her father and Fig. She began lingering to seemingly take in a pebble or pausing to pretend to tighten her automatic laces, finding ways to create more distance from them, until they were almost beyond earshot. 

Her father was too busy answering questions, and Fig was lost in their own reality, as usual, so Staria stopped and sipped on a drink pocket. The lingonberry juice tasted crisp, and she downed the whole thing in one big gulp and then ate the pocket, which echoed the flavors of the juice but with a chewy texture, kind of like a gummy candy. For a moment, this juice was her entire world, and she focused all her attention on it, allowing herself to be consumed by a small physical sensation, a method her therapist had suggested for times when she was feeling overwhelmed. Why am I so wound up, she asked herself. 

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