Going Anonymous Page #3

Staria Visits the Prairies, Part 1

• Science fiction

								

But she knew why. 

In one short day, it felt like everything had changed. “Those stupid HALO rooms,” she muttered to no one but looked directly at Fig, who was now showing her father how they were double-jointed and could flex their finger nearly all the way back to their wrist. 

“That’s some talent,” she heard her father remark. Fig beamed. 

“That’s nothing. Look at this!” they said, flipping their eyelids up to a sticking position. Staria’s dad laughed. 

“Your parents must be so proud,” he said.

“Well, Mom is,” they said. “Dad…I don’t know. He’s hard to please.”

“I’m sure they both love you very much, Fig. We all do,” he said, patting Fig on the back. 

“Stars, better get over here. Your dad is trying to adopt me,” they said.

Staria wandered towards the others, watching them with each step. Her dad was so much more relaxed than usual, so patient. Not that he was typically rushed, but there was something about his demeanor with Fig that was just…different. With Staria, he always seemed worried, like she might break at any moment. When Staria was very young, Stuart wouldn’t leave her alone with anyone, even her grandparents. He refused to bring in the town caregivers for a night out with friends, which was common among younger parents, especially grievers. And it took several therapy sessions and a lot of coaxing from the local Guides before he was comfortable sending her to school. 

“She needs to be around other kids her own age,” the Guides had told him when he sought their counsel. “Your grief is unimaginable, but you cannot let that dictate your child’s wellbeing.” 

It was better now; he gave her space and let her grow, but there was still a feeling between them that at any moment Staria might dissolve into a million pieces if he wasn’t careful. When he looked at Fig, Staria could see pity in his eyes, but not the same kind of worry. He was lighter with Fig, more carefree, and Staria wondered if this was the father she might have had if her mother hadn’t died. 

Anger wasn't the right word; neither was jealousy. But watching the two of them together, Fig blabbing on, their feet moving faster than a millipede, her father wistful and gentle, taking time to reply to each inquiry, his voice cheerful and his smile open, Staria’s chest tightened again. She took in a deep breath, but it got stuck in her ribs and she swallowed it down. She was glad Fig could connect with him, of course she was. Fig always had such a hard time with their own parents, and Staria knew it was good for them to have an adult outlet. But why him? Why couldn’t Fig befriend some other kid’s parents? I only have one, after all. It was an unpleasant thought, and Staria cringed for having had it. 

The mile-long walk was taking more time than anticipated, in part because her father kept stopping to point out how something from his past had changed over the years. Plus, Fig’s rapidly drifting focus made the journey take unexpected turns. 

“I can’t believe it,” said Stuart. “This used to be a book collective.”

The three of them looked through a vine-covered and rusted gate to see a mostly empty lot, save for a handful of vendors selling artisan goods out of their personal pods. The pods were clearly past their prime, each laden with shoddy repairs made from what looked like scrap metal and recycled goods. One of the pods was making a rumbling and hissing noise. Most of the vendors were, presumably, inside their pods. Only one of the people was visible, an older woman with thick, sun-leathered skin and blindingly white hair who was reorganizing her wares and humming softly. 

“Let’s have a looksee,” said Fig, pushing open the gate and wandering into the lot before Stuart could stop them. 

The moment they entered, the sellers emerged like dogs to a bone, ready to attend to their every need. There were more people than she realized inside the pods; they seemed to be living in them. In one, Staria saw several children of varying ages, all with withered features, huddled together around one HALO device. They barely acknowledged Staria or the others, so immersed in their show. In another, a teenager and his dog were asleep on a seat which he’d turned into a makeshift bed. Staria counted at least 6 other people by the third pod: a younger woman who was pregnant standing beside a young man who seemed to be her partner, another middle-aged couple, and two toddlers. The elderly woman they’d seen earlier approached them. Everyone was thin, even the pregnant woman, and the whole area smelled of urine and smoke. The pods were circled around a fire pit, with a large sign next to it that read: May the Divine Light feed your Soul.

The old woman was dressed in worn overalls, and she held out one of her items in front of her. Staria had never seen anything like it. The object was long, about a foot or so, and it had many colors on it, none of which seemed to go together. It appeared to be made from a mixture of clay and hemp plastic, and the woman cradled it in her hands like it was something precious. As Staria looked closer, she saw that the object had a simple face painted on one end, and that the hemp plastic had been shaped into rudimentary arms on either side. It was a doll, the strangest and possibly ugliest doll she’d ever seen. The old woman’s hands shook a little as she held the toy out to them for further inspection. 

“You’re a pretty child. You would like this,” the old woman said. 

Her voice was thick, like she’d been smoking recently, and her hair was matted, uncombed; she definitely hadn’t used a salonbot in a while. Staria was frozen; she’d never seen people living in this kind of poverty before. She felt repulsed and tried not to show it on her face, as to avoid insulting the woman. But her vision was tunneling, and she could feel her stomach trembling. Suddenly, her body temperature rose dramatically, and she knew she was going to be sick. She pulled back away from the lady, hiding behind her father, something she hadn’t done since she was a very young child. Though mildly surprised, Stuart knew his daughter well enough to recognize her anxiety and quickly adjusted his stance to give her privacy. Staria opened her bag and grabbed an ice tablet, which she popped into her mouth. Instantly, her body temperature returned to normal, and the nausea subsided. Her father thanked the woman, handed her all the spare credits he had on him, touched Fig on the shoulder and turned them away from the sellers back to the main road. 

“Are you okay, hun?” Stuart asked. Staria nodded her head but didn’t speak. 

The three walked silently for a while, the air of emotions thick between them. Not surprisingly, it was Fig who broke the ice.

“I didn’t know people lived like that anymore. I mean, why wouldn’t they just get help from the Prairie Services?”

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