Parallax

The Night:

My cloth napkin sat neatly folded in my lap. I carefully sawed at the side of a grape with my knife. I kept it pinned with my fork, holding my face away to keep from having any of its juices squirt onto me. I didn’t like sticky things. I’d seen grapes that were nearly half my height before, but this one was only a little smaller than my head.

Edward bit down into the bun of a double cheeseburger. A long line of grease ran down his chin. He licked his lips. A cup of soda sitting beside him was almost a third of my height. “You could have ordered something if you wanted,” he loudly belched.

“This is fine,” I finally cut a small enough piece. I used my fork to cautiously lift it up. “I don’t like meat.”

“Yes. I told you there’s more on their menu.” He took another bite and started speaking with his mouth half-full, “Youf gotshcha jusht chill out shometimesh.”

Mina carried her plate in from the kitchen. A fried chicken sandwich dripping with honey mustard. “Edward, gross.”

He swallowed, “I’m just giving my little sister some advice.”

“How’s that going?” She looked at me, “Did you see Nurse Var today?”

I shook my head, “I didn’t feel like it.”

“Attagirl!” Edward threw his arms up behind him like he’d just won a sports game.

“God, would you shut up?” Mina flipped him the bird.

He smiled cheesily, “I loooove you.”

“Alice, you’re supposed to see her once per month,” Mina pushed her food aside, “you didn’t see her all summer.”

I leaned sideways on my chair, letting my head over the ground, “Whatever. She just talks about stupid things anyway. How have your friends been? What are your classes like? She can see my grades, anyway.” I grumbled, “How does that make you feel?”

Edward smirked to Mina, “See, she doesn’t need a shrink. Alice is just fine.”

“Nurse Var is one of the only magical healers in the world,” Mina spoked through her teeth, “or do I need to remind you what she’s done?”

“Waited five days to do her one job?” Edward rolled his eyes, “Talk in circles, going right back around painful stuff? Sorry, I forgot, Mina’s the only person in the world with nothing wrong in her life.”

“Come on then, help us look for stuff about Mom. Make my little life perfect,” Mina snarled. Edward tried to look away, but she leaned over the table to forcibly maintain eye contact.

“She’s…” he struggled to get the word out of his mouth, “Mina…”

“We don’t know that. Not yet.”

Edward pushed his food away from himself, “You can have the rest. Either of you. I’m going to the movies.”

“Oh, which one?” I asked

“I don’t even know what’s playing,” he grabbed a bowler hate that had been lazily tossed onto the couch and put it loosely over his head, “you can come if you want.”

“She has class in the morning,” Mina volunteered, “don’t you?”

Edward pretended to cough, “I’m a bit sick, still.” Mina stood up, her eyes silently glued to him until the door slammed shut behind him. Finally she sat back down.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“No… Alice…” she sighed. “At least, I’m willing to admit it.”

I pressed my chin down against the table, “I don’t even know what he wants.”

“Your guess is better than mine,” she shrugged, “it’s sad, Alice. It’s just sad.”

“I know you’re talking about me, too.”

“He can eat the food he wants. He isn’t claustrophobic. He doesn’t panic when it’s too hot outside, or when big people got too close to him, or when his hands get wet,” she flicked her braid, “that makes him more infuriating. I don’t understand him, sometimes. He thinks he has it the worst.”

“What if he does?” I asked.

“You’re too generous,” Mina took a deep breath. She yelled, “God damn it! God damn it! Sorry.”

I tried to say something, but stopped before any noise came out. I just just exhaled. There was a pause that stretched longer than it really lasted. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know, Alice. He’s just impossible,” she whined, “he does that, but you’re not supposed to need to talk to anyone? It’s offensive.”

“I love him.”

“I know you, do. I can’t help myself, either,” Mina leaned over, resting her arm against my shoulder, “He didn’t used to be this way.”

“I didn’t used to be this way. He became like this after me.”

“He’s a senior. He’s supposed to be the one to grow up,” Mina looked up at the buzzing, ceiling lamp, “you’ve figured that part out already, and he’s almost twice your age.”

I nodded. I flew across the room and took the landline off its dock. My fingers pressed an order of ten buttons I knew by heart, I didn’t even think about the buttons as I pressed them. It buzzed, and I listened to it ringing until I heard a click on the other side, “Hey?” I heard. There was my father’s quiet voice. It was nearly midnight on the East Coast, and he sounded groggy.

“Did I wake you up?” I asked quietly.

“Oh, uh, Alice. Hey, Champ, how you doing?” He cleared his throat, “Do I sound tired?”

“Really tired. My classes have been good. Mina is here.”

“Yeah? Keep her around, you can put her on when you’re done,” he said, “I could go splash some water in my face.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back,” there was a pause. I could hear running water through the buzzing phone. It echoed slightly, enough for me to tell it was on speaker. “Okay, okay. I’m up now,” he yawned.

“What have you been up to?” I asked.

“Since Wednesday?” He thought out loud, “Let’s see… Dealing with party officials, with investigators. I don’t get politics. I don’t know what your mom saw in this new Arcana Party. My whole life was Red and Blue, and now I need to figure out all these Purple people and their president.”

“It’s just a party for magical people.” I answered half-heartedly. It was for everyone else. The Arcana Party was more controversial among people at school than it was among people who had no idea what magic was. But Dreammaker was the president, my mother had been a Representative, and the Two-Party system died with the Veil.”

“I’m dealing with one staffer asking me when your mother will be back,” he expressed, “one is asking me to get her to vote for war in Central Asia, another is trying to get her to vote against it.”

“She’d vote against it,” I said.

“You think so?” He asked.

“She voted against the Middle East thing last year,” I went on, “so I think it’s an easy choice.”

“Kyrgyzstan doesn’t have WMDs,” he said, “they’re starting a new magic program.”

“We have a magic program.”

“Yeah? I had no idea,” he laughed to himself, “but, this is different. The Speaker said this is different. If they start a magic program, then Uzbekistan might, or Afganistan, then what about Pakistan and who knows what comes next then?”

“Or Mexico, or Canada?”

“We helped to set those ones up,” he said defensively.

I held the phone away from my ear, “You mentioned the investigators. Did they…”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Kiddo.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

He sighed, “Not knowing is hard. It’s been months. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. I’m still getting used to that.”

“It’s not that strange.”

“I’m used to you looking at things a bit differently from me, Alice,” he paused, “we’re all made by our experiences, right? Mine are shockingly mundane. I’m not a man of stories.”

“Dad…”

“Errr,” he slowed down, “Alice, you know what I meant. You kids are so smart, and you’re doing such amazing things. I’m just an old man.”

“You’re breaking up,” I lied, “can you hear me alright?”

“Oh, really?” He loudly slammed something against his phone, “Is it working now? Can you hear me?” I hung up. I walked toward my room.

“Really?” Mina grabbed me from behind.

“The connection just dropped,” I tried to push her arm away.

“What’d he say?”

“He won’t just say what he’s really thinking.”

“Alice,” she stood straight up, towering over me, “there are things we have to walk on eggshells around you with.”

I turned and started walking away, “I’ll fix that.”

“I’m not done talking to you.”

“What, Mina?” I spun back around quickly.

“Alice,” she raised an eyebrow, “I know it’s not just something you can wish away.”

“He tried to pretend he wasn’t talking about that.”

“Aren’t you pretending? This, that, the other thing? That hour,” She demanded, “That’s what you always say. If you want us to put it into words, so can you.”

I looked down, “I didn’t mean…” I held my breath, “I just wanted him to be honest.”

“I’m not going to talk to you actually want to, Alice,” Mina stepped back, “not right now.”

“The hour Bruno killed me,” I whispered.

“So what did you want Dad to say? To say that?” Mina asked, “Why, you’re even downplaying it now. Imagine what it’s like for him to say.”

“I’m not downplaying it.”

“Oh?” Mina poked me, “Should I describe it for you, then? Every tiny detail.”

“I don’t need you to,” I shook my head, “I know what it was like.”

Mina frowned, “So, what do you want, then?”

“I don’t know,” I walked away, “I don’t know, Mina. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Later:

It shakes. There is the falling ground. The sand, quicksand, mud. I kicked it off my feet, and it was still there, so I kicked it off my feet again, and it stayed. That parasite that wouldn’t leave. Festering. I didn’t want to look at it, I don’t want to look at it. I tried to shut my eyes, and I shut my eyes again and again and again, but they were still open. My wings weren’t behind me, but I felt them spread out wide. They were buried in the mud. I clenched me teeth shut so tightly that they split through each other. My molars shattered like glass and dribbled bloodlessly out of my mouth. I wasn’t afraid of blood.

I jolted awake, breathing heavily. My forehead was covered in sweat. There was a little cup of water beside my bed, it was half-full still. In the darkness, I thought I saw a face in the curtains for a second. A pointed, watching face. It was gone once my eyes adjusted. A door slammed somewhere down the hall. I stepped out of my room to refill my glass.

Edward looked down at me, “Oh, hey…” He said, “why aren’t you wearing your pajamas?”

“I just fell asleep in this,” I couldn’t be bothered to change before I went to sleep. “What movie did you go to?”

“Oh, movie?” He thought for a second, then shook his head, “I didn’t. I was hanging out with Jan.”

“Why’d you say you were going to a movie, then?” I walked past him.

“You know your sister. Are you just going back to bed?”

I nodded and walked past him to refill my glass. He shrugged, “I might go to a movie now if you want to come.”

The little flashing, digital clock over the microwave read half past two, “No. We wouldn’t get back until five.”

“Well, to each their own. I’ve already seen everything, so if you’re not going…” he said, “I’m going to bed, then.”

I lay back in my bed. I still felt sluggish, and I knew memory spells took a lot of Dames to cast. It didn’t matter, at the worst, I’d just be groggy in the morning. Ms. Snowfox had told me about a good cafe near campus where I could try getting some kind of coffee. I set my alarm slightly earlier to be safe. I put my finger against my temple, it was always a funny gesture in that my outstretched finger resembled a gun. The present faded, and I fell asleep within my memories.

September 22
The Morning:

I had one of those fancy alarm clocks that started buzzing with a song to wake you up. I slowly opened my eyes to a crackling voice singing, “On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…” I lay flat listening to the song for a few seconds until the chorus started, “Welcome to the Hotel California… Such a lovely place…” I trudged across my room to shut it off. For a moment, I stood by it, just letting the lyrics play, “Some dance to remember, some dance to forget…” I clicked it off. I’d moved the clock away from my bed back in the Spring since I’d been too easily turning it off, then falling back asleep.

This dress was slightly too small for me. My mother made it more than a year ago, but it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable yet. I could still fly in it. I slipped a pair of socks on, but didn’t bother with shoes. Shoes were like earrings or ribbons, purely aesthetic. I often went without socks, as well, I liked the feeling of my feet being cold. Yesterday hadn’t been nearly as hot as it had a week ago, out my window I could see it was overcast and windy. Today, the summer was officially over. It couldn’t have come any sooner.

Edward was passed out, strewn across the couch in the front room, a bottle of Jack Daniels toppled but not spilled beside him. The radio he left on was loudly playing American Pie. I didn’t bother asking if he wanted to move to his bed. I walked out the door as the song continued, “...I saw Satan laughing with delight the Day the Music Died.”

I passed by a gas station on 2nd Street, and I’d heard the coffee shop was beside it. The sun had hardly come up, and they were just opening. I asked first for a caffeinated tea, and they were out of it. Instead, they gave me coffee; I’d never had coffee before. The bitterness struck me, my tongue shook and my shoulders quivered. I didn’t like it, but I sat there in the coffee shop and forced myself to choke it all down anyway. The last sips were better than the first, they stopped making me shake, and I thought I started to sense something deeper than just bitterness.

A car on the road was loudly playing Bohemian Rhapsody from its stereo as I went to campus. It drove faster than I flew, and the sound of the song distorted as it disappeared down the Pacific Coast Highway. “I sometimes wish I’d never…” I couldn’t make out any more of the words as they got lost in the Doppler Effect.

The moon was yet barely visible in the extending pinkish blue of the morning sky. It’d be full in less than a week. My eyes tried to avoid the harsh light of the sunrise, it its sharpest, blinding. But as I flew along, the moon stayed perfectly still, opposite the rising sun. It wouldn’t be lost below the Pacific Ocean for at least another hour.

Fifth Period:

Ledoric’s had more than three times as many classrooms as it had teachers. That became painfully clear to anyone who saw the amount of deserted rooms at any time of the day. Each class needed its own exceptional supplies and decorations, so it wouldn’t make sense to condense at all. The biology room was only used for a couple of different classes per week. Large plants were kept in pots along the walls. I always stayed far away from the venus flytraps. There were lines of microscopes on the desks in the back, little, sterile sewing needles kept with each if such experiments were necessary. Ms. Verdant kept the room dimly lit at all times, with only a few warm lamps kept on at all.

Of the science classes offered for middle school, I imagined Terrance would have taken something other than Biology. Then, I watched him wander into Ms. Verdant’s class. She was Mina’s homeroom teacher and the advisor of the Chess Club. She also taught the hiking class I was taking, and I’d been in some of her classes in the past.

She had her swiveling deskchair spun around the opposite direction so she could sit on it backward, leaning over its back. Her wavy gray hair hung down in front of her wrinkled eye and magenta lipstick-covered mouth. “Who did the required…” a beat, “reading… from last week?”

Terrance held his textbook up proudly, “I read chapter seven! Mitosis!”

“Did I say chapter seven?” Ms. Verdant yawned. She didn’t seem to even notice that he hadn’t been in this class a week ago, “Chapter seven… seven?”

I raised my hand calmly. She seemed to stare at it for a long moment, then finally, halfheartedly addressed me. I flipped open the first page, “You said chapters one and two.”

“He tells me one thing…” She thought about it, “Alice, I don’t know. It’s just a study hall today, then. Everyone… Everyone just get caught up on chapters one and two and seven, just to be safe.”

Terrance nodded to me from across the room, “Nice teamwork.” I flipped my book open to chapter seven as if he wasn’t even there. I’d already read the ones I was supposed to. I scanned over the bolded heading. Cell division, I already knew this. I flipped to the next chapter. Punnett Squares, then the next until I saw something less familiar.

Pippa pushed her textbook in front of me, “Can you do mine, too? Or can I copy yours or something?”

“There’s no written part. It’s just reading.”

“Come on, you’re better at science than me, especially biology.” she pleaded, “I’ll let you play on my Gameboy after school.”

“If you don’t want to read it, just don’t read it,” I shrugged, “it’s not like me reading it twice will do anything for you.”

She set a Gameboy Advance up on her desk, the loud music of a Pokemon battle carrying from it. I couldn’t help but glance over. Her Salamence squared off against Glacia’s ace, a suicidal strategy. I just watched.

Rather than attacking, she made the Salamence buff itself, accomplishing nothing before it died horribly. I winced as the screen shook with the dramatic Blizzard animation. The classically overpowered dragon had been named Fern. Pippa chucked in another large Pokemon next, this one, a Tropius named after Mina. It was over level ninety.

“Why not send in the Torchic?” I asked.

“It’s only level fifteen. I just keep it because it looks cute,” She giggled, “I’m lucky my team is this tough. I think I have a chance to beat the rival this time.”

“The rival?” I pondered, “The rival is already done. It’s Steven.”

She put her head down, “Alice… Don’t spoil it.”

I nodded blankly. The game’s sudden ending wasn’t exactly special, though it was surprising. It was much less impactful than the twist final bosses of the previous two entries in the series. I’d already finished the game at home on a console that was actually small enough for me to use. I had named all of my virtual friends after different dishes. My favorite was Cookie the Umbreon.

Ms. Verdant looked up at us. Her eyes washed over the device, “Is Bianca any good at that game yet?”

“I dunno,” Pippa said blankly.

“Shame,” Ms. Verdant cracked her knuckles, “I’ve been waiting for her to beat me. It seems the apprentice is far from becoming the master.” She looked over the room, mostly pretending to flip back and forth through pages they’d already scanned, “Pippa, I’ll give you extra credit if you can win against me.”

“What if I lose?”

“Good question.” Ms. Verdant smiled devilishly. Pippa narrowed her eyes on her fight against one of the game’s non-player characters. She shook her head sheepishly. Ms. Verdant seemed disconnected from everything until you remembered the shining trophy in her office, All Staff Trivia Contest Champion. And then, it became clear she was the advisor of the Chess Club. I had no idea what kind of things she must have had on her Pokemon team, but I’d have been more afraid if they looked useless than if they seemed obviously useful. She’d lost a chess game against Judit Polgar before, and she’d won a game against Bobby Fischer.

“Awwww,” Pippa reacted to something in the game.

Ms. Verdant began stacking papers on her desk, “Alice, how many Centidames would it take to project a video game into reality?”

“Depends how big the projection is,” I thought about it, “how big?”

“Life sized.”

“So like ten-feet tall at most? That’s probably a few cubic Dames.”

She pursed her lips, “The blood pressure drop would be too great to maintain for more than a few seconds, then. A full match would require several spellcasters rotating in and out.” The more Dames a spell used, the more significant the magic user’s blood pressure would drop for the next hour or so. Too much could go beyond critical danger.

Magical exhaustion was a combination of spell volume and time. Memory magic had almost no Dames of volume, its size being as small as tiny flashes between neurons, but it had to last for many minutes, so it required serious exertion. Writing with magic wasn’t as terrible, as the spell only existed as long as it took to write each character then stopped before the next. It wasn’t constant. Creating large objects was instant, but they had a huge volume. Moving those objects meant moving volume. Dames were used to cheat Dame’s law. Dames were non-linear such that each prime numbered Centidame was equal to a certain number of centimeters. Since 4 centimeters isn’t prime, 5 Centidames has to be the same length as 4 centimeters, allow magic to still work in a constraint of a prime number, just under a different unit. If a caster tried to create a spell in a composite measurement, the spell would divide itself into equal, prime segments, losing efficiency for the same cost in exertion. Poorly cast spells leading to overexertion was the leading cause of death among Ledoric’s students. Of course, only a minor setback that they would quickly recover from.

I wish I’d understood that better when I was younger. Kids were always told overexertion was dangerous. I theorized more recently that it was a quick and unpleasant way to fall asleep for an unusually extended period of time. A worst scenario resource that I didn’t consider, and hoped I’d never get the chance to. Some assumptions were best left assumptions.