Wavefront: Chapter 1
Defensive
Nothing is more real than this: Alex creates worlds from nothing. To her, being a developer means being a world creator. She can be a mouthpiece through which creation speaks. She wants to make worlds that connect with the common element in the shared souls of humanity. Alex mulls over this concept as she dons her paint-encrusted apron. She feels this would be a more accurate description of herself if only she could remember to take her brushes out of her water cup when she finishes painting. The last time Alex painted any signs was a couple of weeks ago. The water has long since evaporated, leaving her brushes stiff with dried paint water. As she pries one of them loose from the bottom of the cup, she makes a mental correction: they're more than stiff; they're rock hard.
She puts her brushes in a fresh cup of water and hopes that they'll soften after a few minutes. She begins mixing her paint into the colors she'll use next. A little bit of red into the yellow, with a blue touch to create the brown she needs. She takes a wide, flat paintbrush from the water and starts blocking in the background. As she fantasizes about having more time to work on her virtual worlds, she applies some blue paint in a thin stroke, followed by a little white to outline it.
She's suddenly ripped from the depths of her meditative state by a thunderous buzzing sound. Realizing it's her phone vibrating on top of her computer, she relaxes. She heaves a momentous sigh, seeing that the reason for all that noise is an alarm reminder for her Defensive Driving class this afternoon.
She wraps some Saran Wrap around her painting palette, disappointed that she barely got a base layer finished before being interrupted. She plunges her brushes into the water, takes them out to wipe them on a rag, and then repeats the process until they're clean and malleable. She resists the urge to leave them in the water and continues to do this for all four brushes she's been painting with today. Brushes in order, she unties her apron and dramatically pushes her rolling chair back into the center of the room, stomps her feet on the ground, and hoists herself out of the chair. She searches for her giant green purse and is pleasantly surprised to find her car keys in their designated bowl on her happy, sunshine-colored table near the front door. She steps outside, pulling the door shut behind her and—wait! She feels a nagging sensation in the back of her skull. Are the other doors locked? She goes back inside and checks every door and window in the house, making sure to say aloud that each one is secured. That way, when she goes outside, she's not tempted to come back and check all the doors yet again.
She's not entirely sure when this door-locking phenomenon started. She doesn't remember ever worrying about locks so much when she was younger. Is it just something that happens to everyone when they move out of their family home into their own place? When you're the sole person responsible for lock safety?
Her ancient SUV sputters as the engine attempts to turn over. Pulling out of the driveway, she can't help but reflect on her time here in Centerville. When she tried moving away from this town, she had dreams about the hill she drives over every day. It is even more momentous in her dreams. Inescapably big. She is always a tiny little girl in the back seat of an egg-shaped van in these dreams, with her stomach in her throat as they drove down the hill. Like a roller-coaster, impossibly fast, the momentum carries them up the other side of the mountain and launches them over the top. The van then begins to free-fall, and she is weightless inside it, hovering above her seat. The sensation is so intense that she feels it in real life and always jolts awake at this part.
She manages to arrive safely at the Defensive Driving location, despite revisiting her dreams during the drive. The sudden silence around her as she turns off the intermittent sobbing of her car is immediate relief. She knows this feeling won't last for long. Partly thanks to her vivid waking dreams, Alex managed to acquire many speeding tickets. After recently earning her 5th one, it is now mandatory for her to attend Defensive Driving at Mercedes Deiz High School every evening for the next couple of weeks.
Alex briefly checks her phone for navigation instructions for locating the correct classroom inside the high school. She absently brushes dog hair and paint flecks off her shirt while she reads. Glancing at the time in the upper right of her screen, Alex knows there's less than a minute left to navigate the halls and complete her journey. Running would be too embarrassing, so she power walks, cutting each corner closely. At last, she arrives at a classroom with a whiteboard posted outside that states:
Defensive Driving 5 PM Class
Instructor: Ms. Cross
She can feel in her bones that it's 5:03 PM. She thought her quick pace would make a difference, but only one seat was left upon her arrival. She smiles awkwardly in Ms. Cross's direction, silently apologizing for her lateness. Her shins protest as she weaves her way through the occupied seats, narrowly avoiding piles of purses and backpacks in the aisles. What high school has concrete floors?
With the measured precision of a college student, she slides into her seat, putting a hand on her lower back to ensure that her skin isn't exposed when her butt and back meet the chair. She briefly remembers the embarrassment that can ensue from a classmate announcing that her crack has made an appearance.
"...and I am also the basketball coach for Mercedes Deiz." Ms. Cross resumes her introduction. "You may have noticed that this course is cross-listed with our Driver's Ed class. It turns out, I'm the only one available to teach after five, so here we are." She sighs and gestures to the whiteboard. She has written her name and pronouns with a misshapen, pock-marked basketball drawn next to them.
Alex looks around, realizing that Ms. Cross speaks the truth. The classroom is a mix of thirty-somethings, twenty-somethings, and about ten sixteen-year-olds. Alex is young enough that the thirty-year-olds might think she's a teenager and old enough that the sixteen-year-olds look like children to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the person immediately to her right is staring at her. Alex doesn't want attention from another human today and decides to gaze fixedly at Ms. Cross instead of acknowledging the staring person. Cross's short, wavy hair bounces as she animatedly slumps forward, feigning disappointment that the class will not get to watch Red Asphalt.
Alex looks down at her desk and sees a sticky nametag awaiting the ink from a nearby permanent marker. She quickly scribbles her name, she/they pronouns, and spends the next three minutes doodling a decorative design on top of the existing purple border. As Alex peels the nametag from its backing, it makes an irrationally loud sandpaper rasping sound. She quickly presses it onto her shirt, wincing and smiling as faces turn in her direction yet again.
She slumps in her seat in an attempt to hide, paying careful attention as to whether or not she can feel a breeze on her lower back. Ms. Cross is walking down the aisle, handing out booklets.
"What's your full name? Since you weren't here for the roll call," she stops next to Alex and waits for her to take the booklet from her hand.
"Alex Senter."
"She smiles weakly."
"What?"
"Just narrating. Please don't be late next time, okay? Lots of riveting information to cover."
Alex nods enthusiastically, a little disturbed.
Ms. Cross finally dismisses the class after an hour-long interactive discussion about "What Is Defensive Driving." Alex is putting her booklet and notebook into her purse when she hears a voice from her right.
"I'm Loch." Staring-person is a grown-up about her age.
Alex glances down at his nametag. "I see that."
"And you're Alex, right?" He offers his hand.
"Yes, obviously so." She does not take his hand. She prefers to avoid germs where possible. "It's nice to meet you, Loch, but I have to be getting to work." She is not lying.
"Okay, see you next time."
Alex quickly gets up and heads out of the classroom. What about her face betrayed her? Does she look like she wants to make friends? She doesn't.
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The ballpoint pen girls with dark circles around their eyes smile up at me from the toes of my converse. I kick absently at the dirt on the ground in front of me. I get up and walk to the yard's edge, trying to peer over the brick wall at the mountains on the other side. My black hair has hints of red now, after a long, dry summer. I pull a Kodak camera out of my oversized black hoodie pocket and hold it up to my eye. The orange sunlight on the gray, leafless trees and the vast sky watch over me through the viewfinder. I snap the photo and make sure to wind the reel right away before putting the disposable back into my pocket.
I walk left along the fence, thinking about all the friends I miss. I carefully measure my steps to stop my Linkin Park CD from jostling and skipping inside the CD player. I have tried to jog while listening to it, but my headphones have been messed up for a while. The metal slide is broken, making them too big and so loose they just fall off. The CD skips so hard and frequently that the music completely stops playing at all. I reset the CD player and cups it in my hand, feeling the pilling of the pocket material on my knuckles.
I stop to kick the old aboveground sprinkler. Before moving here, I had never seen one like it. It stuck up tall out of the ground, what seemed like 2 or 3 feet. It was a rusty-looking copper color, solid metal. It had a long arm that whacked the water. When it's on, it looks like the arm hits the water so hard that it propels the head around in circles. It doesn't work, though. Or, at least it doesn't do any good to have it on. There is no grass left in the yard, just dirt and rocks.
I need a little room to breathe
'Cause I'm one step closer to the edge
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Ariel’s house is out in the country, outside of town. When Alex finally arrives, it’s already 9 PM. She laughs to herself as she puts her car in park and swats away her waking dream. My favorite orange CD, so 2002. I wonder where it is? Maybe it's in the car somewhere. She can chuckle about it now because she thankfully doesn't feel the same as in that memory. She hops out of her car and slams the door shut. It sounds a little faint and hollow.
The garage is open, so Alex walks up the driveway, thinking her friend will come out of the house at any moment. She stands in the garage and takes out her phone, formulating a text message to let Ariel know she has arrived. Just then, the door into the house opens, and out steps Loch. "This sure is bizarre," squints Alex.
"Are you friends with Ariel too?"
"Where do you know her from?"
"Alex, you're here!" Ariel hops out of the doorway next before Loch can answer. "You two know each other, huh?"
"We only just met a few hours ago—"
"At Defensive Driving!" Loch cheers.
"Alex!" Ariel crosses her arms and walks up to Alex, leaning in close. "You got another speeding ticket?"
"Will y'all stop sharing all of my business?" Alex puts her phone away and smooths her hair. "Yes, I was going to mention that later. It's fine. Can I talk to you alone? I didn't come to talk to Loch, just you."
Ariel laughs. "Abrasive as ever! I thought Loch could help. I could probably make what you need, but I've been busy with the store. You know I have a life too!"
"Yeah, I know. I don't want to waste my time with an amateur, though."
"It won't be a waste of time! I know what I'm doing."
"Fine. I need a mahl stick prop. The shelf kind that wraps around the panel or whatever I'm working on, not the one that's just a stick."
"So you're a painter? You know you could buy one of those for thirty dollars or something." Loch scratches his chin.
"I work as a sign painter, and I know that. I was trying to pay a friend I trust to make it for me instead."
"Admirable," he nods. "Okay! I can have it for you in a couple of days. Do you know what size you want it to be?"
"Of course I do." Alex fishes out a piece of crumpled notebook paper from her pocket and hands it over to him. She is immediately aware of how warm it is from being close to her body. She cringes at the intimacy of handing something like that to a stranger. "I would like to have it by Monday. I work a long shift that day."
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Alex lies awake in bed, feeling her unfinished paintings stare back at her. The soft glow casts the shadows of her broken blinds onto the ceiling. Her eyes follow the lines, noticing how they get less crisp the farther they reach into the corners of her bedroom. She can't stop thinking about the sense of unease she got from being around that Loch person earlier.
"Well, if Ariel trusts him, it should be fine." She swings her feet out of bed and gets up to check all her locks one last time.
If you don’t want to wait for the release of the next chapter here, you can grab a copy of Wavefront now from Amazon or directly from the author on Etsy.