M. T. Anderson (12 page)

My father took me to test-drive upcars on Saturday. I had tried a lot of them in the feed-sim, but it’s not the same as actually driving them, and you should always test-drive a vehicle before purchasing it, because you never know what unexpected factors will come into play. For example, I discovered that the Illia Cloud had a windshield that was kind of the wrong height for me, and I didn’t like the dashboard arrangement of the Dodge Cormorant.

We picked Violet up at the mall and took her with us. Both she and me were really excited by the whole thing, and we were chatting really fast the whole time, about what color to get, and whether the red was too cheesy, or whether it was autumnal, which is what she said.

We took them out to test-drive, with my father sitting next to me. He’d be chatting with someone somewhere else while I drove. He’d be looking out the window, and wincing whenever Violet or I talked out loud. He had trouble thinking and hearing at the same time. When he was done chatting, he’d ask me a question out loud, like, “How’s she feel?”

Violet would tell me, “Resist the feed. Look into ox carts.”

“Yeah, thanks, Violet,” my father would say. “We’re having serious decision flux here.” He’d ask me, “What do you think?”

I’d tell him about the handling or the lift.

Violet would say, “How about a howdah?”

Dad asked, “What’s a howdah?”

“A seat on elephant-back.”

“Great. Great. Thanks.”

Me and Violet walked up and down the rows of upcars. I was thinking about the Swarp and the Dodge Gryphon.

The Swarp didn’t have as much room in the back. It was a little sportier.

The Dodge Gryphon had the larger back seat for your friends and shit, but it was a little lumbering.

So here was the decision: Dodge was bannering me with me driving, and all of these people in bikinis stuffed into the car with me, this big party, and with a beach ball, too, like I could be the scene; and Nongen, who made the Swarp, was showing a romantic drive through the mountains with just me and Violet, who they got pretty much right, except they made her taller and with bigger boobs, and they made her cheeks kind of sparkly in a way that, if it were really happening, I would try to wipe off with a facecloth.

I didn’t know which to choose, because if I got an upcar that was too small, then Link and Marty might be like, “We’ll take my car instead. More of us can fit in,” and then I would have spent these hundreds of thousands of dollars for nothing. But if I bought the Swarp, it was a little more sporty, and that might be brag, because the Dodge Gryphon was maybe too family.

“So you’re getting this as a reward for being in the hospital?” Violet asked.

“I guess.”

“A little present from Mommy and Daddy?”

“Yeah. They’re buying it.”

She thought about this for a minute. Then she shook her head. “You’re lucky.”

“Are you saying I’m spoiled?”

“No.”

“It seems like that’s what you mean.”

“No, that’s not it.”

I thought for a second, and said, “So what is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Look, it’s like a reward. I’m going to turn in evidence in court and everything. I mean, you are, too, but we’re going to have to go to court against that guy. We should get something for that. We deserve it.”

She looked at me strangely.

“What?” I said.

“No one’s told you?”

I waited. Her eyebrow was arched. Finally, I gave in and said, “No. No one told me what?”

“We’re not going to court.”

“We got out of it? My dad was trying to get us out of it.”

“He didn’t need to. The guy was dead.”

“What? How?”

“He died a day after we went into the hospital. Contusions. Broken skull.”

“What are contusions?” I looked it up. “Oh.”

“He was beaten to death at the club. We saw it. The police, remember? They beat him over the head.”

She reached out and took my arm.

My father walked toward us across the pavement, waving. The plastic flags were flapping in the artificial wind while Muzak came out of heaven.

I bought the Dodge.

That night we all had dinner together, my family and Violet. My dad was real proud of me, and was all, “He drove home behind me. Can you like believe this shit? Our own son with his own upcar?”

I couldn’t stop smiling. “Yeah.” I was like, “It’s meg brag.” My mom smiled at me.

Smell Factor wasn’t listening to anything. He had some crappy kids’ music show blasting in his feed so loud his aud nerves were probably shot. He had a bunny plate and was making something with his burrito.

“Are you going to take Violet out in it?” Mom asked.

“Tomorrow. She and me are driving out to like the country. She wants to go for a walk. I’m picking her up.” I couldn’t help grinning like a shithead again.

Violet smiled back at me.

“There’s a forest,” said Violet. “It’s called Jefferson Park. We’re thinking about going either there, or out to beef country.”

My dad nodded. “It’ll have to be beef country,” he said. “The forest’s gone.”

“Jefferson Park?”

He nodded, then squinted while he like clawed something off the roof of his mouth with his tongue. He told us, “Yeah. Jefferson Park? Yeah. That was knocked down to make an air factory.”

“You’re kidding!” said Violet.

“Yeah, that’s what happened,” said Dad, shrugging. “You got to have air.”

Violet pointed out, “Trees make air,” which kind of worried me because I knew Dad would think it was snotty.

My father stared at her for a long time. Then he said, “Yeah. Sure. Do you know how inefficient trees are, next to an air factory?”

“But we need trees!”

“For what?” he said. “I mean, they’re nice, and it’s too bad, but like . . . Do you know how much real estate costs?”

“I can’t believe they cut it down!”

Mom said to Smell Factor, “Hey. Hey! Stop playing with your food.”

Smell Factor was head-banging with the feed music and turning his bunny plate around and around with his little pudgy fingers.

My father told him, “This is dinner together. That means family networking and defragging time.”

“They cut down Jefferson Park? That is so like corporate —”

My father nodded and smiled at her with this meg condescending smile on his face, and was like, “Dude, I remember when I was like you. You should grow up to be a, you know. Clean-air worker or something. Don’t lose that. But remember. It’s about people. People need a lot of air.”

For a minute, we all ate without saying anything. Violet looked either angry or embarrassed. I chatted her about being sorry for what Dad said, but she didn’t chat me back. I thought Dad was being kind of a jerk to Violet. I wanted to say something, like, something that would be, you know, something about how she was more right than he was. I said, “Hey, Violet told me we’re not going to court.”

“About what?” my mother said.

“We were like assaulted?” I said. “Remember? The thing on the moon?”

“Yeah, sure,” said my dad. “No, he’s dead. There’s no trial. We’ve all talked about suing. We’ll probably sue the nightclub, maybe the police.”

I said, “No one told me he was dead.”

My father chewed some.

Smell Factor was banging his head and singing along with the feed, “Intercrural or oral. Ain’t a question of moral.”

My father said to me, “There wasn’t any reason for you to know.”

“Yes, there was.”

“No, there wasn’t.”

“It’s my feed.”

“You’d just get worried.”

“I want to get worried. If there’s like some meg thing wrong.”

“Intercrural or oral! Ain’t a question of moral!”

My mom reached over and touched me on the wrist and said, “You’re safe.”

Dad said, “You have an upcar.”

“The lunatic is dead,” said my mother. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Violet said, “It was frightening for all of us.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Dad, dismissing her kind of jerkily, “but that’s no reason —”

“Intercrural or oral! Ain’t a question of moral!”

“Smell Factor!”

“That’s not his name,” said my mother.

“Intercrural or oral! Ain’t a question of moral!”

“What would you —”

“Intercrural or oral! Ain’t a question of moral!”

“Hey!” yelled my mother. “Hey, you! We don’t sing at the table!”

“You’re acting out of line,” said my father, pointing at me. “I’m really disappointed.”

“Doing what?” I said. “I’m just asking.”

“Dude, I just bought you an upcar, and you’re being a brat.”

You’re not being a brat,
Violet chatted.

“Stop chatting,” said my dad. “What are you saying?”

“Let them alone, Steve,” said Mom.

Suddenly, I saw Violet freeze, and her eyes stopped moving and her face got all white.

My dad was saying, “Look, we’re going to sue the nightclub. Okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “Whatev.”

“Quits?”

“Quits.”

“Now maybe you better take the girlf home. In the new upcar. With the keys I just held out in my palm like a gift. Oh, because it was a gift.”

My father got up all pissy and took the dishes into the kitchen. He rattled them against the rim of the junktube as he threw them away. They crashed down into the thing, the incinerator.

“You okay?” I said to Violet. “We should go.”

“It’s just, my foot’s fallen asleep.”

“Shake it,” I said.

She looked down at the table.
I mean my foot isn’t working. Don’t say anything. It’s happened a couple of times since the hack. Something just won’t work for an hour or two. My finger or something.

I was like,
Holy shit. Are you okay?

I’m fine.

Do you want some water?

Titus, don’t worry about it. It’ll go away in a minute. It was just the stress.

Try to move the foot. Just try.

She just sat there, smiling kind of sick, not moving while right next to her Mom and Smell Factor crinkled up the disposable table together and threw it away. Violet was still in her chair, near where the table had been. She was alone in the middle of the rug.

Finally, she moved the foot. She moved it slowly in circles. She breathed out really deep. Her eyes were closed, like it was sex.

I held out my hand and pulled her to her feet. She came to my arms like we were doing some kind of flamenco rumpus. My mom smiled, and my dad, who was still pissed, said, “Yeah. Cute.”

We left a few minutes later. I drove her most of the way to her house, and we met her father in a mall parking lot. It was a new mall, with lots of spotlights swinging through the sky and rainbows going up a giant pyramid. We had to wait a few minutes for her dad to get there. We just sat together, holding hands. In my new Dodge Gryphon.

I asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. It goes away.”

I leaned my head against the window. We were quiet.

She was looking at her knees. She asked me, “What are you thinking about?”

I looked behind us. I sighed, and I was drumming my fingers on the steering column and all. I said, “What if it really doesn’t handle as good? You know, it’s roomier, but what if it doesn’t handle as good as the Swarp?”

She nodded. She said, “Are you at least okay with the color?”

“It’s a good red,” I said. “I guess.”

“Autumnal,” she said. “It’s nice.”

“You’re sure it’s not like cheap?”

“It’s fall-like.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

She said, “I’m a peach.”

“Yeah. You’re a peach.”

Her father was landing. I couldn’t see him through the glare of his windshield. She got out of the car. She kissed me. I said I would see her the next morning.

She kept turning and waving as she walked away across the pavement. The spotlights wobbled over the Clouds™. The pyramid glowed. I rose up into the sky and turned the feed on to songs about people allowed to get out of the same bed, and to eat breakfast together, two toasts on the very same plate.