Author's Note: Reviews are like fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies!
Unit 5: Independent Practice
He's going to walk down to that corner store for real this time. He's going to cross the street and not get killed, and he's going to use the goddamn debit card. He's going to do all these things and he's going to live to tell about them. This is what he tells himself as he threads his way through the crowded sidewalk, past the coffee shop that is advertising "Mocha—$3.95". He's had a mocha before, in Italy from a little old lady who melted the chocolate in a pan in the fire. It was velvety and delicious, but there's no way in hell he would pay almost FOUR DOLLARS for one.
When he gets to the corner, he looks longingly across the street at the mini-market. The open sign in the window is bright green neon like Times' Square, and other lit-up signs advertise beer and different brands of cigarettes. He can see a shelf that holds snacks, including some he recognizes (Reese's Peanut Butter Cups! Oreo cookies! His stomach is grumbling just thinking of it). He doesn't have to stand on tiptoes to count out pennies on the counter. He can get anything he wants, because his debit card is like a magic money machine. How about that Bucky, he thinks, trying to work up the courage to cross that street. I can get all the penny candy I want! I can even buy a peppermint stick or a jar of Oreo cookies!
He looks left and sees no cars, looks right and sees no cars, looks back to the left and right again to check for bicycles or other pedestrians, and sees nothing. Heart pounding, he puts a foot out into the street, just as a bright yellow sports car comes careening around the corner. He jumps back to the safety of the curb just in time to avoid becoming a red, white, and blue smear on the pavement.
Chewing his lip, he turns and walks down to the next block where there is a traffic light, crosses when it turns, and walks back a block to the mini-market. Maybe tomorrow he'll cross the street, but for now he'll focus on the next step: shopping by himself. Even though the store is small, there are still so many choices, half of which are a complete mystery to him.
He avoids everything that says "Flaming hot" or "jalapeno-flavored", which mainly leaves sweets. He picks up a package of Twinkies, which look familiar although they don't appear to be banana-filled like he remembers. Oreos are now packaged in plastic instead of a glass jar. He picks up a package of those as well, and a couple of candy bars that he recognizes the names of even though the packaging looks very different. While he is standing in the aisle with his hands full of snacks, he hears "excuse me" coming from his right. He looks that direction, and there stands the cute girl from the coffee shop, carrying a basket.
"Oh. Um. Sorry. Um," he stammers. As he backs up to get out of her way, he runs into the shelves behind him, knocking off several bags of chips with his elbow. When he turns to try to catch them, he drops the package of Oreos. The girl scoops it up and holds it out to him, expressionless.
"Oh. Thanks. Um." He shifts the other items trying to free up a hand to take the package. He can feel his cheeks heating up as he fumbles around, almost dropping a candy bar in the effort. After a few seconds, she just sets the Oreos on top of the disorganized pile in his arms, then squeezes past him without a word and heads toward the next aisle. Now he's thoroughly embarrassed, and as long as she's in the store, there's no way he's going to be able to pull himself together enough to figure out how to use the debit card.
As soon as she rounds the corner out of sight, he carefully and quietly returns all the items to their spots on the shelves and ducks out of the store. And then, of course, he finds himself back out on the crowded sidewalk with a busy street in front of him that he has to cross again. Car car truck car. . .(GO! Nope, motorcycle, jump back like a moron) car truck jeep car car. It never ends!
While he is standing there dithering and hoping for the road to miraculously clear so he can cross, the girl from the coffee shop comes out of the mini-market carrying a plastic bag. Without even stopping at the curb, she strolls across the street, threading her way easily through the traffic to the other side, where she pauses and glances back at him with a questioning look on her face. She's definitely wondering why he's standing there like an idiot when he obviously wants to cross, but he can't. He just can't. He ducks his head and backs up, then turns and heads down the sidewalk to the safety of the traffic light and striped crosswalk at the next block.
When he passes the coffee shop on the way back, the girl gives him a funny look through the window. He knows his ears are turning bright red, but he just keeps walking. What does he care what she thinks of him? He's got a hot date with a book.
Steve stretches out in his mother's chair, with a cup of tea and his hundred dollar (!) blanket on his lap and starts reading The Fellowship of the Ring, which is indeed a sequel to The Hobbit. He finds it much more enjoyable than any of the books Hill had brought him, and he keeps reading without stopping until the end, by which time it's nearly dark outside. He doesn't even realize that he hasn't eaten dinner until he finishes the last page, and his stomach suddenly informs him that it needs food RIGHT NOW or it's going on strike, and taking the rest of his internal organs with it.
He fixes himself a ham sandwich and a big glass of milk, then after he takes a bite, he decides he needs to make bread because the loaf from the store is too soft and almost tasteless. While he eats the sandwich at his table, he looks around at the empty chairs and tries not to wish Bucky and Peggy were sitting in them. Hell, he'd even take Dum Dum at this point.
To take his mind off the wave of loneliness, he gets out the ingredients and makes bread dough, then sets it in the window covered in a tea towel and methodically cleans up.
Well, now what? Desperate for something to do, he sinks back down in his chair and grabs the second book in the series. As he's settling in, he notices his phone sitting on the little table beside the chair and realizes he could thank Agent Hill for taking him to the library. He wouldn't even have to talk to her (and maybe interrupt another date); he could send her one of those text things.
He picks up the phone and hits the code to turn it on (0704—he still doesn't know why she picked that number for him). Now how. . . oh, right, the little. . . icon. . . that looks like a talking bubble. When he taps it, the nonsense he texted her earlier pops up in the window, along with a typewriter and the little box to type in. Now he has to type—ugh. Or wait, he could do the talking thing!
He clears his throat and taps the little microphone. The phone beeps and a line appears at the bottom of the window.
"Agent Hill, thanks for the book recommendation. I really enjoyed it. From Steve." he says.
He taps the window and hits the send button, and then reads what he sent her.
Agent he'll thanks for the book recommendation i reedy annoyed it I'm Steve
Well, that's not what he said! Now she'll think he's an idiot (even more than she already does, of course). He tries to tap on the X to make it go away, but it won't erase. So he tries again, speaking more clearly this time.
"I meant Agent Hill. I really enjoyed the book. From Steve."
The words pop up in the box, and this time he looks at it before he hits the send button. It says
I mint agent hill I really enjoyed the book from Steve
That's not right either, but he doesn't know how to fix just the words that are wrong, so he erases the whole thing and laboriously pecks it out, one letter at a time. It takes nearly ten minutes before he finally has it like he wants it, and then after he hits send, he realizes he typed "Seve" instead of "Steve." He hates this century so much, even though it does have nice things like new books by Tolkien and soft blankets and machines that wash your clothes and even wring them out for you.
His phone dings, and message from Hill pops up in the window.
What did you read?
He replies Lord of the Rings, checks it carefully, and hits send. Almost immediately her response comes through.
All 3 of them?
No just the first one
Glad you liked it. :-)
He squints at the funny punctuation at the end of her message. What does it mean? Did she type it by accident?
While he has his phone in his hand, he remembers about that library thing (Fishing net? The Network?) where he can look up anything he wants to know. Now that Hill isn't looking over his shoulder, maybe he can find out more about this century without worrying about accidentally ending up somewhere inappropriate. And if he does, he can just erase the record, right? He's not sure he believes her that no one else will know what he sees, but what choice does he have? There are certain things he doesn't feel like he can just ask someone, at least not without sounding like a complete moron.
The first thing he wants to know is a question that has been bothering him ever since he skimmed the first books Hill gave him: was there a World War III, and if so, what happened in it? He hopes it isn't real, because that would mean that Bucky's sacrifice, and that of all the other good men and women who died, were in vain. Fury's scant "briefings" that he left at the safe house didn't mention anything about it, but he's finding that they were woefully incomplete in most things. For instance, they never mentioned eyebrow piercings, cell phones, or FOUR DOLLAR coffee either.
With trepidation, he taps the rainbow G to open Google, then holds the phone up to his mouth. "Ok, Google," he says, feeling a bit ridiculous even though his heart is pounding. "Please tell me about World War Three."
The phone beeps, then the voice says "Searching". A few seconds later the results show up in the window. The first one says
World War III (North Korea)
Wikia/future-wiki/World_War_III
World War III (often abbreviated to WWIII or WW3) also known as the Third World War, was a multi-national war that lasted from. . .
His heart drops. So it did happen? How many dead? When did it start and end? How could the entry just end there? Desperate to know more, he slides his finger up the screen like Hill did, and finds another entry. This one says:
World War III - Wikipedia
wiki/World_War_III
World War III (WWIII or WW3) and Third World War are names given to a hypothetical third worldwide large-scale military conflict subsequent to World War I and ...
Hypothetical, which means it didn't really happen? Well, which one is right, and how does he know? He can't quite breathe, a familiar sensation but not one he's felt lately. Google is lying to him. Libraries aren't supposed to lie to you, but apparently in this century they do.
Thoroughly confused now, he taps the X to clear the box. He has so many questions, but now he's not sure he's going to get truthful answers. What's his other choice then? Ask Agent Hill? So she can laugh at him?
With even more trepidation, he decides to ask Google another question to see if he can get a straight answer on something else he's been wondering about: Freedom Tower that they saw on their way into the city. Hill curled her lip when she said the name, and he wonders why. Since she hasn't brought it up again, she obviously doesn't want to talk about it, so Google is his only option to find out more.
"Ok, Google, please tell me about Freedom tower."
The phone beeps obligingly, and the woman's voice says "Searching," then the results appear. He glances through and finds out it is the tallest building in the western hemisphere, almost 1800 feet tall(!). Its address is One World Trade Center and construction was started on April 27, 2006. All interesting information, but nothing that would relate to Agent Hill's sad expression.
One of the descriptions refers to "9/11 ground zero tours," but there's no further information other than they are offered at 10:30 a.m. and 2 pm daily, which doesn't tell him much. He slides his finger up the screen, and finds a reference to ". . . the events of 9/11/2001." What does that mean? The description trails off mid-sentence, like all of them seem to do, leaving him frustrated.
"Ok Google," he says. "What happened on September 11, 2001?"
The phone beeps again, and again the voice says "Searching." Then information starts to appear. The first one says
FAQ about 9/11 | National September 11 Memorial & Museum
www. /faq-about-911
For 9/11 Families. A dedicated section for the loved ones of those killed in the 2001 and 1993 attacks. Stay informed and plan your visit. More Information » ...
Attacks? What sort of attacks, and where? The next section has a picture of two tall towers, with a triangle in the middle of it. Oh, that's a film reel! He remembers that Hill touched the triangle, and it played a movie. That doesn't seem too hard. He taps the triangle, the picture expands to fill the whole window, and the movie starts.
One of the towers is on fire.
A huge airplane, the biggest one he's ever seen, flies into the scene from the right and crashes into the second tower, which explodes into flames, sending up a huge cloud of black smoke.
Steve stops breathing but the film keeps going. The towers are burning and bits of flaming debris are flying everywhere and tiny specks that might be people are falling from the roof and people on the street are screaming and running and Steve can't blink, can't breathe, can't move, can't look away. Is this real? Could this really have happened?
With trembling fingers he taps the window again and the flames go still, the running people freeze in place. Steve doesn't remember how to make the picture go away, so he hits the home button instead, taking him back to the window with all the cheerful little icons. That couldn't be real, could it? If someone could alter a picture of him and his men so it looked like they were naked-wrestling with an octopus, they could alter the movie to fake an airplane running into a building, right? Maybe, but that certainly seemed real. The faces of the running people were filled with very real-looking horror. He squeezes his eyes shut but he can still see their terrified expressions on the insides of his eyelids.
He can't look at any more. He is afraid to even keep searching for fear he will uncover fresh horrors that may or may not be true. Dropping the phone on the side table, he gets up and finishes making the bread, then sets it aside to cool. It's late, far past his bedtime, but he doesn't think he can sleep, certainly not in that too soft bed. So he sits back down in his chair, where his eyes fall on the file folders and sketchpad stacked on the side table. He doesn't think he can stomach reading about how all his friends died right now, and he doesn't want to find out any more unpleasant surprises about the modern world, so he picks up the sketchpad and one of his new pencils. Art supplies are safer. Art supplies don't fly into buildings and murder thousands of innocent people.
He starts by sketching Shauna, the woman on the street corner with all the hard angles. When he finishes, he notices even more than he did at the time her utter exhaustion, the weariness in every harsh plane. She looks very exposed, in her short skirt and sleeveless top, so he erases the angles of her upper body and redraws her with his jacket on. Better.
Flipping the page, he sketches Agent Hill as she looked while she was setting up the movie player, with a real grin crinkling her mouth and eyes and a lock of dark hair falling over her face and a smudge of gray across her cheek. He's not quite satisfied with it, so he flips the page and starts again, this time drawing her the way she looked when he first turned the phone toward her, the photo that is preserved in his memory even though he was too slow to catch it with the camera.
By the time he gets to the eyebrows, his eyes won't stay open any longer and the pencil falls out of his hands.
He is on the plane again, but this time instead of going down in the arctic, it's about to crash into a tall building. He sees terrified faces flash past the windows as the nose of the plane impacts glass and chrome and explodes into a million tiny pieces.