22.
After the upload at Merc’s office, Milly arrives home, strolling into her apartment bathroom. She peels the Bruisex pad off her belly, revealing a faint yellow ring. She nods with approval, squeezes the fabric into a ball, and tosses it in the trash as she walks out. The ball settles amongst dirty tissues and makeup sponges, expanding in slow motion like a blooming flower.
The hum of a guitar string emanates from Milly’s living room.
Thin interior walls.
She’s pulled the red guitar off its hanger. Milly sits down, struggling to find notes with her fingers, and then plucks a single string.
The guitar needs tuning.
“🎵Bruis-ex, re-flex …” Her singing voice is but an off-key whisper, but Milly scrimps a wry grin. “🎵I just had—”
That’s not in the jingle. She’s ad-libbing.
Tucking her face in both hands, she chuckles. “Ugh, what a rhyme!” The guitar wobbles. As it falls off her lap, Milly’s hand snaps out, grabbing it by the neck before impact. She hangs up the guitar.
She speaks musically at times; making music isn’t her talent. Odd …
Milly types a text message.
— Not my worst birthday, by far. Hopefully my worst this year.
“Send to Sis.” The message slides off Milly’s phone.
At her table, she snaps pieces into the jigsaw puzzle until a corner forms together.
She missed one — there — right by Godzilla’s hand.
Milly’s desk drawer squeaks open. She removes a picture frame and flips it over, staring a while at her embossed paper diploma from the University of Utah.
The teacher announced, “Screen time!” with a French accent. The Homestead students cheered.
Surrounded by kids of all ages, teenage Milly was already too tall for her little wooden desk in the underground classroom. Old cursive letter stencils lined the wall near the skylights. Milly vanquished the mathematics game on her pad, then opened a worn paper book she’d read many times before. Milly ran her fingers silently across the words next to photos of lions.
— The female is the hunter. The male will sacrifice himself to defend his pride.
“C’est fini! Enough screen time.”
Milly continued reading.
“Mildred, question?”
“Yes, do lions still exist?”
“Humans have more important things to worry about now than counting cats.”
Milly slides her framed diploma back into the drawer. “A lot of good that did. Cat, where’d you run off to?”
“I’m here,” her phone replies.
“Set appointment for seven, one-hour reminder.”
“OK!”
Milly opens the drawer further. “At least I still have this …” She taps a glossy, black polymer case, labeled in terahertz — a computer core, then pulls down her bed for a nap.