about how he looked. How his eyes flashed when he was angry and how they glimmered when he was happy. How his mouth changed from a hard straight line to a soft lopsided curve when he smiled. It’s as if his image has been downloaded to my brain and is now a screensaver on the backs of my eyelids. Every time I blink, I see him in my mind.
I wonder if this is what it feels like when people find a dynamic interpersonal connection in the Procreation Pool. Except I’m only 17. Finding a person to love outside the Pool, without the help of algorithms and avatars, only happens in fiction when two people are so compatible that their desire to be together busts through the hormone barriers meant to save us from ourselves and keep the population in check. They have a word for this kind of thing in the movies. It’s called romance , and until today I thought it was a total crock of crap.
Now I’m not so sure. Maybe it was fate that I stumbled into Flav-O-Rite on a night when Basil was mixing scents. And maybe it was kismet that allowed us to sit next to one another, look each other in the eye, and let our fingers graze one another’s skin. Maybe somewhere he is thinking all the same things about me. And if he is, could this be what the Procreation Pool system is meant to re-create with its algorithmic meet-ups and synthetic hormone boosters? That thing Grandma talks about when she talks about love. My skin tingles at the thought.
No, that’s not tingling. It’s my Gizmo buzzing in my hand, pulling me out of my reverie. Who needs a virtual life when you can have this heady feeling in reality? But the feeling is fleeting. It’s already skittered away into the night sky, leaving me staring down at the directions to my Smaurto that Astrid is showing me. I sigh then shoot a quick text to Yaz, telling her that my mother wants me home and I’ll see her tomorrow at our ICM.
I focus my attention on the map, which leads me back past vacant buildings I vaguely recognize and retraces my steps up the alleyway I remember. Everything around me is beginning to seem familiar, but I feel different. Like I’ve walked through a time warp, only I’m not sure I want to go back to my life. Part of me wants to stay in this old part of town, caught in the past while searching for my future. That’s silly, though. The future is unknown until you get there. But I won’t leave it to something as false as fate to ensure that mine includes Basil.
Basil? Could that really be his name? It dawns on me just then how little we really know about each other. I close my eyes and silently say the words he had written on the paper.
Analogs … Friday … 6:00 p.m.… 1601 South Halsted
* * *
The minute I walk in the door to our house, my mom is all over me. She’s standing, Gizmo in hand, firing questions before I even have my shoes off.
“Where were you? I couldn’t locate you! And what on Earth were you doing? Your vitals were all over the place. Heart rate up and down, your metabolism swinging, and your calorie burn skyrocketed!” She shoves her Gizmo in my face as if the graphs and numbers on the screen mean anything to me.
“God, Mom. I just walked in the door.” I push her Gizmo away and head into the living room, where Dad is engrossed in a 3-D historical docudrama about the invention of some old thing called an iPhone. “I was out with Yaz. We went to a new PlugIn. I was probably playing a game or something that got my heart rate up. Then I got bored and took a walk.” I feel a little bad for leaving out some of the truth, but not bad enough to tell her what really happened. I plop down on the sofa beside Dad. “How do you know that stupid patch is accurate, anyway?”
Mom stands in front of us, hands on hips. “Of course it’s accurate!” she says. “I invented it and your father made it.” My dad shifts so that he can see around my mom.
“If this is how you’re going to treat me…” I lift my shirt and try to rip
I wonder if this is what it feels like when people find a dynamic interpersonal connection in the Procreation Pool. Except I’m only 17. Finding a person to love outside the Pool, without the help of algorithms and avatars, only happens in fiction when two people are so compatible that their desire to be together busts through the hormone barriers meant to save us from ourselves and keep the population in check. They have a word for this kind of thing in the movies. It’s called romance , and until today I thought it was a total crock of crap.
Now I’m not so sure. Maybe it was fate that I stumbled into Flav-O-Rite on a night when Basil was mixing scents. And maybe it was kismet that allowed us to sit next to one another, look each other in the eye, and let our fingers graze one another’s skin. Maybe somewhere he is thinking all the same things about me. And if he is, could this be what the Procreation Pool system is meant to re-create with its algorithmic meet-ups and synthetic hormone boosters? That thing Grandma talks about when she talks about love. My skin tingles at the thought.
No, that’s not tingling. It’s my Gizmo buzzing in my hand, pulling me out of my reverie. Who needs a virtual life when you can have this heady feeling in reality? But the feeling is fleeting. It’s already skittered away into the night sky, leaving me staring down at the directions to my Smaurto that Astrid is showing me. I sigh then shoot a quick text to Yaz, telling her that my mother wants me home and I’ll see her tomorrow at our ICM.
I focus my attention on the map, which leads me back past vacant buildings I vaguely recognize and retraces my steps up the alleyway I remember. Everything around me is beginning to seem familiar, but I feel different. Like I’ve walked through a time warp, only I’m not sure I want to go back to my life. Part of me wants to stay in this old part of town, caught in the past while searching for my future. That’s silly, though. The future is unknown until you get there. But I won’t leave it to something as false as fate to ensure that mine includes Basil.
Basil? Could that really be his name? It dawns on me just then how little we really know about each other. I close my eyes and silently say the words he had written on the paper.
Analogs … Friday … 6:00 p.m.… 1601 South Halsted
* * *
The minute I walk in the door to our house, my mom is all over me. She’s standing, Gizmo in hand, firing questions before I even have my shoes off.
“Where were you? I couldn’t locate you! And what on Earth were you doing? Your vitals were all over the place. Heart rate up and down, your metabolism swinging, and your calorie burn skyrocketed!” She shoves her Gizmo in my face as if the graphs and numbers on the screen mean anything to me.
“God, Mom. I just walked in the door.” I push her Gizmo away and head into the living room, where Dad is engrossed in a 3-D historical docudrama about the invention of some old thing called an iPhone. “I was out with Yaz. We went to a new PlugIn. I was probably playing a game or something that got my heart rate up. Then I got bored and took a walk.” I feel a little bad for leaving out some of the truth, but not bad enough to tell her what really happened. I plop down on the sofa beside Dad. “How do you know that stupid patch is accurate, anyway?”
Mom stands in front of us, hands on hips. “Of course it’s accurate!” she says. “I invented it and your father made it.” My dad shifts so that he can see around my mom.
“If this is how you’re going to treat me…” I lift my shirt and try to rip
Similar Books
