Chapter summary: It's Take Your Daughter to Work Day, where daughters are supposed to be interested in watching their parents not know what to do with them at work, just like at home. Boring! Except ... today wasn't boring. I suddenly wished it were.
"Ma!" I shouted, "I have to go!"
Mom and Dad were still asleep in bed. I had swim practice, God damn it! I can't be late. Not today!
"Uh!" Mom said, looking at me through slit eyes. "Ur not going to school today. Yer goin' ta work!"
She threw her head back onto her pillow next to Dad.
She had just made no sense at all. Again.
What happened to adults? Suddenly they stopped making sense. Maybe I had grown up, and maybe I had started asking questions adults didn't want to answer.
Maybe because they didn't have the answers, and that's embarrassing, isn't it? You get asked a question in class, and you don't know the answer to, and that's embarrassing.
But when your own kid does that to you, what do you do?
Get all ... adult-like, right? Get all angry and impatient with you, for asking questions that don't concern you, 'cause you're not old enough to understand.
Yeah, whatever.
"Mom, Dad!" I said, "Seriously! Let's go!"
Mom grunted again, and smacked Dad, hard, on the chest.
Her arm was as thick as my leg, and the sound it made when it hit him reverberated through his body echoed throughout the bedroom.
Dad eyes drew open, he looked at me blearily. "Take your daughter to work day," he said slowly, pronouncing each word precisely.
My jaw must have hit the floor. "You have ... got ... to be kidding me!" I shouted.
Dad pulled the alarm clock and put it in front of his bleary eyes, then threw it on the floor.
"God!" he moaned. "Just a half-hour, please, Chlō! Eat some breakfast or something!"
Then he, too, threw his head back on the pillow and was snoring, in, I shit you not, three breaths.
I turned to head downstairs to face this hell of a day. Take your daughter to work day?! GREAT! I get to sit around all day, not at school, and pretend like I gave a shit whenever one of Daddy's patients come into the waiting room!
Fuck!
And what if one of them want to make friendly and talk to me? Is 'crazy' contagious? I'm not supposed to even think that. Daddy's patients aren't 'crazy.' They just have 'difficulty' 'adjusting' to the difficulties they're facing in their lives.
In short: bat-shit crazy. So okay, your mom died or your dad was mean to you, or you lost your job, or you were in combat, or whatever! Well, I say, join the God-damn human race! And quit paying Daddy all this money to put me through college.
Fucking got my ride off all the crazy Daddy talked to every day. Fine. Whatever. But he wants me to follow in his footsteps and do a good turn for the world?
Fuck that. I'm like: why? Has the world ever done a good turn for me? For us?
Mom's voice called out to me. "An' you eat sommin', young lady, you ain't gonna get no boyfren' lookin' like dat, twiggie-stick!"
I almost fell down the steps. I put my hand on the rail, to stop me tripping over myself down the steps, then I balled my other hand up into a fist and shoved it into my mouth to muffle my scream.
Boyfriend? Boyfriend? I'm fucking fifteen, for fuck's sake! I'm gonna graduate high school and college as the valedictorian first!
Mom was worrying about me already, and I'm fucking fifteen! Just because I don't have a fucking boyfriend yet and every other girl does doesn't make me GAY! AND EVERY OTHER GIRL DOESN'T ALREADY, EITHER! SOME GIRLS care more about more than getting preggers at fourteen, Mom!
'Cause for your information, a condom doesn't always work. Plenty of proof of that, and no, I don't wanna have a baby nor an abortion in my frosh year of high school!
These conversations were so old, and so tired, I had screamed and cried myself out over them enough times already. I did not want to have this hum-dinger of a conversation, again.
Not today. Oh, God, not today, on fucking take your daughter to work day, of all days.
Fuck my life.
...
Sullen.
I looked the part, arms crossed, head down, and did I have phone ...
Okay: phone privileges? It's a fucking right! But no. Mom found I had snapchat, and is that a fucking crime? Everybody has snapchat! But she said no snapchat, because she didn't want me to look at boys' penises all day on the phone, because that was wrong but not having a boyfriend and concentrating on grades was wrong, too, so who was grounded for three fucking months? No phone! Three months? What happens if I get kidnapped, but no!
Dad looked in the rear-view mirror as we drove down the highway. "Cheer up, kiddo, this'll be fun!"
"Uh, huh," I whispered petulantly.
Mom's head snapped around. "Chloëssima Willow Sherman, don't you give your papi no sass, you hear me, young lady! You don't get a new and improved attitude right this second, I swear to God I will beat your ass until you do!"
"I said 'uh, huh'!" I whined.
Mamma's face went white. "You sassin' me? You ..."
"No, mamma!" I said quickly, scared. She did not mess around when she was beating. Fifteen didn't mean anything to her. I was under her roof, and spare the rod, spoil the child was her watchword.
I was not a child. So I put forward. But that didn't matter.
And I definitely wasn't spoiled.
The good Dr. Sherman, the man of the house, put his hand on Mamma's leg.
"Connie," he said mildly.
Daddy was always the peacemaker.
Mom looked at him.
"She's trying, okay?" he said. "Let's try, too."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. She quieted right down and faced front and became stone.
They didn't argue in front of me: it set a bad example.
But I knew, tonight, after I went to bed, there was going to be a 'discussion,' and it wasn't going to be nice around the house for days afterward, because Daddy would win. He always did.
But who's fault was it? Always?
Yeah. Welcome to my world.
"You work so hard, Clifford!" Mom said. "We work so hard, and this is the ..."
"Connie," Daddy said.
Mamma seethed.
"We do," he said diplomatically, "and she does, too, right? She's doing well in school and in swim and track. She's a good kid."
"Hmmphf!" Mamma snorted.
"Chlō," he said back to me, ignoring Mamma's own version of sass-back, "we're just wanting to show you a bit more of the world than High School. It's just one day, sweetie, and you may actually learn something, and you may actually have fun. Give it a try, sweetie, okay?"
I bit my lip, "Yes, Daddy," I said.
I did not say 'hmmphf!' just like Mamma did. I want that on record. I also want to point out that Daddy's definition of fun is, like, really different than mine.
But I didn't dare say any of this. I was already in the hot house. I didn't need Mamma to reach back and throw me out of the car ... with it still going 'fast' down the highway, that is: 'fast,' according to the old people driving up front.
You do know SUVs do go at least one mile per hour faster than the speed limit, don't you? You do know the speed limit is the slowest anyone drives on the I-5, don't you? Like, it's illegal to drive slower than the speed limit?
But no. I watched car after car whip past us like we were standing still, and I hoped to God none of my friends were in any of those cars and recognized Daddy's car. I hoped they were all at school now, but what if they were going to their daddy's and mommy's jobs for today, too. And, omg, what if ...
No, none of my friends' parents worked at Daddy's practice, thank God!
If I had to introduce my parents to my friends, I'd die of shame. I wonder if I could get a paper bag with holes for my eyes so I could hide my face today.
...
"Daddy," I said in a tiny voice.
Mamma snapped her head around and glared at me.
I guess today I could do no right.
"Where are we going? Why are we going here? Why aren't we going to your office?"
Daddy chuckled and Mamma turned back to face front, her whole body radiating pride looking up at the huge glass skyscraper we were disappearing into.
"Your papi has a real job now, Shug!" Momma declared proudly.
Daddy harrumphed. "The clinic is doing well," he countered defensively.
"Uh, huh," Momma said dismissively, taking in the glory of the building in front of us.
If you went to the top floor and accessed the roof and jumped up, I bet you would actually touch the sky.
It had its own parking garage.
It had badge-in drive through, which is normal, I guess, for a job, a real job, I guess.
But it had security people.
They were grey uniforms. With big, thick, black vests — bullet proof? — and they had guns. I saw two guys with machine guns. I saw another guy with a shotgun.
One of the guys was a girl. She looked fucking bad ass, as bad ass as the guys, and they looked totally bad ass.
Three guards at the point where you drove into the parking garage? And I was like ... seriously?
Daddy worked with the fruitloops and the nuts, and okay, the 'clinically depressed' and the ADDs and the Aspbergers (or, the PC term: "ASD" — "autism spectrum disorder" ... whatever) and the PTSDs and nobody who'd ever, like, open up with one of those machine guns and kill everybody in the office.
Like what happened a few weeks ago in the MidWest? Yeah, that.
But there were no security guards at the building that had Daddy's practice, because nobody cared about them, the fringe element; just Daddy.
Daddy should get combat pay, 'cause what happens to us when a psycho lets loose and kills him, and people think the Sixth Sense is just a movie. News flash: it's my fucking life, thanks!
Whenever Daddy comes home and says he had a really interesting or difficult case that day, I get, like, scared. Will that 'interesting case' find our address and come and hunt us down, because Daddy tried to straighten out somebody's fucked-up life?
People pity people with PTSD? What about me?
The security guards filled me with wonder and with dread.
The only reason why you have metal detectors at school? 'Cause there're kids with guns.
The only reason why you'd have security forces at the entrances to your building? Because something inside is ... 'interesting' enough that you needed to shoot people outside from getting it.
That, or you have to keep what's inside ... inside.
I regretted indulging in oatmeal with my yogurt this morning. It was doing flip-flops in my stomach now.
...
I had to sign in, ... and then sign an NDA.
I didn't know what an NDA was.
Mamma signed in, and signed the NDA without reading it. When I looked at the piece of paper in Helvettica font-size 3 or something — the words were so tiny you needed a microscope, for God's sake! — I just looked at it, is all, for God's sake, Mom was all like, 'Hurry up and sign the damn thing, Chloë!"
At least she called me 'Chloë,' and not 'Chlō' like Daddy did. I haven't been called that by anybody in school in like years, okay?
So I just signed the damned thing. Signed my life away, for all I know, and don't people read what they sign anymore, but no!
You know you sign an agreement with google, right? Every search you do, every email you send, they track it and keep a record of it, and sell it to the Government. Did you know that? You'd know that if you read their EULA.
But does anybody ever do that?
No.
Welcome to the World, Chloë, leave your privacy at the door, just like everybody else does.
So glad I'm just like every other sucker out there.
But that's better than being a bad little girl and catching hell from Mamma.
If Mamma ain't happy ... well, it fucking hurts, and that's in the Bible somewhere.
She uses a Bible on me, sometimes, and not her hand, when I'm really, really bad.
And it doesn't matter if anybody's over, friends, relatives, the mayor, if Mamma's pissed at me, I get what's coming to me.
I don't invite my friends over. Ever. I hang with them after school. When I get permission. And I'm home by curfew. And Mamma wonders why I don't have a boyfriend. Like, what would I do with him? Would she chaperone?
Omg! Don't give her that idea!
Daddy brought out his badge, and badged in when we were on the elevator.
"This is where I work," he said, his voice filled with pride.
And the elevator went down, down, down.
...
More guards.
"I'm sorry, sir," one told Daddy, "your visitors are not on the authorized list."
Fine by me! I thought. Take me to school and get me the hell out of here!
Daddy seemed flustered for a second. He had the guard recheck. The guard rechecked. Our names weren't there.
Daddy wasn't the most organized person in the world. I bet he had to fill out some paperwork or something to get us here. Who wants to bet with me that he didn't do that in time? Or at all? Anyone?
"Call Dr. Weaver," he said to the guard.
The guard shrugged and started dialing a number at the security desk phone. Dad stayed by the desk.
"Daddy," I said quietly, "it's okay, really. You don't have to make a fuss on my account."
Daddy turned back and looked at me, confused. "Who's making a fuss?" he asked gruffly.
I rolled my eyes.
Why don't adults just get it?
"Daddy ..." I whined.
"Chloë," Daddy said tightly.
I shut up. When Daddy said my name, not my baby name, it meant he was getting annoyed, and he rarely lost his temper. Actually, he never did, but when he raised it voice, just a little bit at me...
Didn't that just send Mom on the warpath!
Speaking of which.
Her hand, like a vise, on my arm. "Chloëssima," she said curtly, "why don't we sit down while your father sorts this out," she 'suggested,' using her 'in front of company' voice she reserved for me when she was holding back what she was going to give me later.
"Yes, Mamma," I said humbly, and went with her to sit down.
And you wonder why I so looked forward to today when I found out about this.
Normal kids were in class now, bored to tears, or getting ahead on their grades!
Me? Treated like a child! I swear to God, a child!
The guard spoke a moment on the phone, nodded, looked up at Daddy, and handed him it.
This seemed to surprise both Daddy and the guard.
"Dr. Weaver," Daddy said.
His tone was one I hadn't heard before, it was filled with respectful deference. Daddy was always kind, patient, understanding, respectful ...
But deferent?
Who was this 'Dr. Weaver' that Daddy would defer to? Daddy was the smartest person in the World, as far as I could tell: he knew everything about everything and everybody, and that was annoying as hell, all the time, but it was something I just knew.
This was something I didn't know. Daddy didn't defer to anybody, because he was your equal, at least, if you were the best in the world, and if you weren't, then he was just better than you. He just never said that; even to himself.
This was new.
"Yes," he said, "I just wanted to show my wife and daughter my work here, if that's okay."
He paused a moment.
"Thank you, doctor," he said, "but you don't have to trouble yourself. I know how busy you are."
Then: "No, no, no!" he said quickly. "I don't mind at all, of course. I was just saying ..."
He waited.
"Certainly, doctor," he said. "We'll see you in a bit, then."
He handed the guard back the phone. Guard checked it, then hung it up.
Mamma pulled me out of the chair, and we headed to the desk.
"Okay, ..." Daddy said.
"I'm sorry, sir," the guard said.
Daddy stopped. "What is it now?" he asked.
"They can't go in until they're on the authorization list," the guard said.
"But Dr. Weaver just said ..." Daddy was working on maintaining his patience.
"Doesn't matter, sir," the guard said. "Nobody goes in unless they're on the list."
Daddy's eyes widened, and he stood just a little bit taller, and leaned just a little bit in.
Oh, brother! I thought.
Once he set his mind to something, that was that, and hours? That didn't matter, he'd get his way, come hell or high water, and I could just see this conversation going on until they kicked us out of the building tonight.
I bit my lip.
"Ah!" said the guard. "There they are. Can I see your badges, please?"
My own eyes widened. I was just about ready to turn around and head for the elevator and get the hell out of here.
To give up.
But I guess we just showed up in the system.
Daddy never gave up.
I never did, too. I just didn't like to cause trouble, you know?
We showed the guards our badges, which was silly, but you know how it is. School security is like that, too: you go through the metal detector clear or you get cleared, and that's that. Rules are rules.
The guard let us all pass.
Daddy put his badge to a plate, then ...
Then the wall pulled itself away, and we plunged into darkness.
...
"Daddy, ..." I said.
"Chlō, Connie," Daddy said, pleased as punch, "this is John Henry."
Daddy turned to the man sitting at a big table in the center of the dark room, lit by huge screens covering the walls. "John Henry, this is my wife, Constance Sherman, and daughter, Chloë."
The man ... he had cables coming out of the top of his head, and then went up to the ceiling and disappeared up into it.
The screens ... they lit up as the man looked at us. They lit up with numbers and letters and images of lines connecting dots in a huge mess of spaghetti: a network, a very, very complicated network of connections.
"Hello," he said pleasantly, and smiled.
His smile was ... not there. He wasn't there. He just sat there, looking at us blankly, like saying 'hello' to somebody was the be-all and end-all, like it was the neatest thing in the world.
I looked at Mamma. Severe retardation? I wondered.
Most people, okay, everybody Daddy treated or 'saw' were high-functioning individuals.
This guy ... you could plant him, and he'd sprout leaves, it looked like.
"Hello, John Henry," I said carefully. I hid, a tiny little bit behind Mamma's thick arm.
John Henry took in everything, everything I did and said. His eyes narrowed slightly when I held onto Mamma a little bit more.
You're not supposed to do that. You're supposed to act naturally around alternately-enableds because you're supposed to be natural and okay with them. If you're not, and you try to hide it, they can smell that on you a mile away.
But John Henry was just so ... different!
And something I noticed, as John Henry was noticing us.
Images.
Images were forming on the screens around us.
Of us.
Of me, looking, wide-eyed, at John Henry.
"Oh, my God!" I breathed out, and the images burst with colors and pixellation before being replaced with other things, then with images again, then with other things.
It was a brain-rush, looking at everything painted all around us, trying to take it in.
But I had just got it: a glimmer of it.
What John Henry was seeing, what John Henry was ... thinking? was going up on those screens.
"Dad, ..." I said. "Is he ... are those ...?" I waved to the screens. Two screens filled with numbers, two others burst with light when I waved.
Daddy chuckled.
Mamma was looking around, too, but she was quiet. I think she was surprised.
But she's not supposed to be surprised; she's supposed to know everything.
Dad turned to us. "This is what I'm working on," he said, his voice filled with pride, "John Henry is a piece of tech from ZeiraCorp. He's connected to a computer so powerful it's in its own liquid-cooled room. The computer thinks, and it's my job to help John Henry and the computer to interact with human beings. I'm teaching John Henry to be a person."
Daddy smiled. "I have the neatest job in the world!"
He looked at us expectantly.
I looked at Mamma. She didn't look at me. I looked back at Daddy.
I didn't look at 'John Henry.'
I tried not to.
"Uh, ..." I said.
A/N: Hello, my dears. I had this dream, yesterday morning, and it was complete, with Chloë and Savannah and everything, so, you know, I wrote it, and stuff ... well, this prelude chapter. The rest of the story to come. John Henry is ... 'nice.' Chloë is nice. Savannah is ... poor Savannah. Well, we'll find out about her, now, won't we, phfina, because this time I've got the whole story, and it's a shorter one than Ridden, so as I write, you'll find out. God, and ffn, willing.