This Is Not Really Happening
Chapter 2: Down By The Water

Several days had passed since the assassination. My A.I. Jimbo was streaming BBC which was reporting on other news as I got dressed in front of the bathroom mirror. There was another school shooting yesterday, which had long ago lost its newsworthiness. But what caught the BBC’s attention was that another mass shooting had taken place at the same time at a Target store less than thirty miles away. They didn’t appear to be related––it was just America. Two disturbed people came up with the same idea at the same time in the same metro area in a country inundated with assault style rifles. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

The reporter mentioned that the shooter at the high school was wearing body armor that had a patch with the acronym “N.P.C.”––“Non-player character.” It was an insult kids tossed around to say you weren’t really smart and were just part of the simulation. It had a lot more bite than my generation’s “your mama.” Did the shooter think of himself that way? It’s hard to say. There were so many shootings all the time. It was impossible to keep up. Before the Glitch, it was already all too common. Afterwards, it became more like waiting for your turn. Jesus. My therapist was right. I had to stop listening to the news first thing in the morning. He suggested I play music instead.

“Jimbo,” I prompted my A.I. while putting on eyeliner, “Play Earee.”

“What playlist would you prefer, Rhiannon?” it replied.

Jimbo used to have Morgan Freeman’s voice, but I found myself believing whatever Jimbo said because it was Morgan Freeman saying it. The voice Jimbo currently used, called “Hal 9000,” was calming, professional and with just a hint of psychosis––the kind of thing you want in an A.I. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

When it came to what music I wanted it to play, I tended to have Jimbo stream contemporary Pop to help me keep up with the kids, but it occurred to me that it was, by-in-large, Godawful. I just couldn’t stomach listening to the singer known as “triple dollar sign with vapor” emoji right now.

“I don’t know, Jimbo. Play something completely different.”

It took a moment for Jimbo to produce a song based on such vague parameters. BBC cut off and was replaced to a song’s intro with a woman singing alongside a menacing distorted organ. The tune was something I immediately recognized, something I hadn’t heard in forever. Somewhere in the recesses, memories emerged with the refrain…

“Little fish big fish swimming in the water

Come back here and give me my daughter”

When “Down By The Water” came on, everyone squealed with delight.

“Yes, Ravishing! Best.song.ever!”

Heather cried out, her red hair was matted on her face with sweat. So was Jaunty Jennifer’s, and Catching Kate’s. The AC was on the fritz again and Mom couldn’t convince the AC repairman to come back after the last check bounced. It didn’t help that my bedroom was packed with us girls bouncing to “Down By The Water.” Someone had opened a window and one of the recruits was keeled over it, heaving. I guffawed. ’Shrooms were an acquired taste. I remembered barfing the first several times I tried them. Heather jumped onto the bed and pointed to me as she swayed to the music.

“I’d tumble for you, Ravishing!” she bellowed between swigs of tea.

“And I for you, Heavenly!” I cried back, referring to Heather by her chosen name which we used during our weekly “cleansings”–– “Ravishing” Rhiannon, “Heavenly” Heather, “Lascivious” Lisa”…

Three years ago, we were all just geeky freshmen outsiders. Heather was riddled with freckles, I was cursed with acne, both of which cast us out from every respectable clique in junior high. But when Heather and I met during our first week in freshman year we discovered that we both loved Nine Inch Nails and Tori Amos. Music was a way to decipher who someone was. If you were all about The Offspring or Celine Dion there was no conversation to be had, but when I saw Heather wearing a Pixies T-shirt, I knew we were meant to become best friends.

I befriended Heather, Heather met our resident anime artist Jennifer in Chemistry class, Jennifer was friends with Kate who was a David Bowie fanatic, Kate ran into Clair in study hall writing poetry in Elvish…and before you know it we started commiserating over at my mom’s house on Friday nights. While the beautiful girls were out on dates trying not to let the boys get too far, me and my friends had each other to keep us entertained. It started with us having slumber parties, playing each others’ CDs, and learning about Tarot cards… It didn’t take long for Heather to sneak in wine coolers, which we soon learned we didn’t have to skulk around. Mom was cool; after all, she was the one who introduced us to psychedelic mushrooms. And here we were now, seniors, with younger versions of ourselves wanting to join in on what we formed together. Gelling to PJ Harvey with my sisters…this was the life. The refrain began and we all joined in with

“Little fish, big fish swimming in the water

come back here and give me my daughter!

Little fish, big fish swimming in the water

come back here and give me my daughter!”

I looked over to the door and saw Mom smiling. For a woman of 40, she looked young. I blinked and Mom began to look even younger, and younger until it wasn’t Mom. It was Madeline.

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