Page 69 of Ezra
I place an order for one pepperoni pizza and one veggie supreme pizza, and soon enough Bridger strides into my new kitchen with the food and a six-pack of bottled AstorLite. Zoey’s a lightweight, and where she stops at one, I have three. Before long she’s happily singing a love song on the radio while Bridger and I laugh.
“Only Zoey would get drunk off one AstorLite,” he says wryly, taking a swig.
“It’s like beer for babies,” I tease. “You’re going to have to keep an eye on her.”
“Trust me, I already do.”
“We should play some music!” Zoey declares a little louder than normal, then calls to my AI device through the speakers, “Hey Alice, play...mmm...play oldies!”
“From which era would you like me to play oldies?” the smooth, artificial female voice asks. In a passing thought, I wonder how many people in Humanity First use technology like mine, but outwardly hate on androids.
“Y2K!” she declares. “My grandmother loved that music.”
“Mine too,” I agree as synthetic sounds and beats come through my speakers. Zoey’s already dancing around Bridger, who’s trying not to choke on his own drink, and before long I’m swaying a little too. We all know the words and belt them out—until there’s abrupt knocking on my door.
I swing it open and find a mature woman staring daggers at me. “Would you mind keeping it down?” she demands. “I live beneath you, and I work nights at the hospital.”
“Oh. Sorry! We’ll turn it down. I’m?—”
She storms away before I can ask her what her name is or introduce myself.
Bridger laughs. “Making friends already?”
After ordering the volume down, I cringe. “Yeah. Something like that. Off to a great start.” I turn to them, shaking that off. “Anyway. Thanks so much for your help today.”
“Don’t mention it,” Zoey says. “Anytime!”
“We should probably get moving.” Bridger checks his holo-watch. “I got work early in the morning. My car’ll take care of the driving. You ready, Zo?”
Zoey hugs me tightly. “This was fun! Don’t be a stranger, m’kay? We should hang out again before the museum reopens.”
“Sure.”
I accompany them to the door and see them off. Once they’re gone, I order the music off completely and look around my new place, breathing in. Charlie crosses the floor and playfully circles my feet in a figure eight, beeping. It still smells a bit like new paint, and since there’s no rain to speak of, I open a few windows to air it out.
Trying to find something to do with myself isn’t quite as easy as forgetting my cares with someone as chatty as Zoey. After lazing about on the couch and tuning out the evening news, I scroll through my emails and messages. We’re nearing two hundred thousand dollars with the online fundraiser, but it still isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. I can’t put a number on losing someone. I’m a human being, not a life insurance company.
With the museum at the forefront of my mind, I send off emails to Arnold and Diana. Arnold’s is a bit more professional, inquiring if we can get together before opening to discuss what he’d like me to focus on when we get back. For Diana, it’s personal. I really miss her, and I hope she’s doing okay. I tell her as much before I resort to sketching.
But missing a friend inevitably turns into missinghim. I draw Ezra from memory, sometimes without even realizing I’m doing it. I power my tablet down and set aside my digital penwith a sigh as I sit alone at my granite kitchen bar. He always comes into my mind, unbidden. Just when I think I’ve got a handle on my thoughts, they always trail back to him somehow. I’ll be minding my own business, getting things done, keeping myself busy. My thoughts inevitably wander.
It’s worse when I’m in bed. When I touch myself, it’s okay,but the only time it ever comes near to being satisfactory is when I think of Ezra, reliving what it was like to have his fingers hilted to the knuckle inside me, playing me like an instrument. Even then, when I do it myself, it’s still nowhere near as good. I have my vibrator to try to get me there in similar fashion, but it’s like buying a knock-off of your favorite brand or being crammed in economy when you’ve experienced first class. It’s just not the same.
That’s not even the worst of it.
I’ve started having nightmares. The setting is almost always the march or the museum, one or the other. I relive those bombings in terror, unable to stop them from happening, even though I have this sense of dread and I’m lucid enough to know what’s coming. When it happens, I look desperately for Ezra, knowing he looked after me twice. That he kept me safe and saw to my injuries.
But in my dreams, he never shows. I’m left to wake in a cold sweat, shooting up in bed and gasping for breath as I’m assailed by menacing androids with no synthetic skin or semblance of humanity. Only metal.
The word “purify” carved into their foreheads.
Charlie always trills and peeks at me from his spot when I wake up in the middle of the night, nestled near my pillow. Now, he skitters into view from my bedroom, happily beeping and crawling up my body to perch on my shoulder. He shyly hid while my friends were here, which was probably a good thing. Zoey might’ve tried to kidnap him with how cute he is.
I shake myself out of thoughts. I won’t be tired for a couple hours yet. And even though I’m dreading going to bed, I need to find ways to distract myself. I could bury it all with more Humanity First, upload my intentions to social media, but I haven’t really touched it since it all happened beyond trying to raise money. I’m planning on going all out after the gala. That has to go off without a hitch before I reveal this new leaf I want to turn over, or I might negatively impact the money we’re trying to raise for the bombing victims. I want to talk to Dad about it too, try to get him on board, but it hasn’t happened yet.
I toy with my phone. Sifting through my contacts, I pull up Ezra’s number. I’ve done this a dozen times since he gave it to me, but I always stop myself. He made it clear that reaching out to him was for emergencies. If I felt unsafe, or if I needed help. Besides, anything could’ve happened in the past few weeks.
I force myself to be honest. I want not only to talk to him now, but all the time, and I should’ve said as much. I’d like to be connected with him, knowing my messages could come streaming across his vision, that he can answer without a second thought. I’d like to see him again. Hang out. Okay, more than that, but it’s notjustabout sex.
