This Is Not Really Happening
Chapter 5: Precious Things

I was lying in the grass, the top of my head touching Mom’s and Heather’s heads as we gazed up into the night sky sprawled out on the lawn in Mom’s backyard. The Fiestaware dishes, greasy from Dominos pizza, were strewn about the yard. Mom didn’t have to pay for the pizza because she intentionally gave Dominos the wrong address so our pizza arrived after 30 minutes, thus according to their rules, it was free. Light pollution from downtown drowned out most of the stars, but there were still plenty to enjoy with Tori Amos playing on the boombox.

“She is so brilliant,” Heather whispered.

I nodded. “I can’t wait for ‘Under The Pink’ to come out tomorrow. Mom, you can take us to buy it, right?” Mom patted my head.

“Definitely, my sweet,” she said. “But we’re not going to Tower Records. Never support corporate overlords, you two.”

That was true. It was also true that Mom got banned from Tower Records a couple of months ago.

“Word, Ms. Wessinger.”

“Please, Heather, Wessinger is my dad’s name. Call me Barbara.”

Heather gave me a gentle head bump of affection as we gazed into the sky. “Rhiannon, your mom is so cool.”

We lay in the grass engrossed in Tori’s passionate retelling of her youth, something painfully recognizable to what I had been going through the last few years. Mom lit another cigarette from the embers of the old and flicked it towards the neighbor’s yard.

“Tori’s truly an artist. She reminds me of Kate Bush,” Mom said.

“Who’s Kate Bush?” Heather asked.

Mom sighed. “Oh, Heather, I have so much to teach you.”

“Oh, please do!”

God, I loved introducing my newest best friend to my world! I thought freshman year was gonna blow, but then Heather came into my life. I know I just met her and all, but she really gets me! When the crescendo neared, I knocked both of their heads with excitement.

“Ooh, here’s the best part!” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Heather and I screamed out, “So you can make me cum. That doesn’t make you Je..e..sus!”

Today the students were doing their presentations. I particularly liked Meredith and Abdul’s debate style presentation on Doctor Hameroff’s Orch O.R. theory of consciousness. Doctor Hameroff studied how when halothane, used in anesthesia for surgery, is introduced into the microtubules in the brain, the electrons decohere and return into a classical state of physics. Bottom line, Hameroff contends that consciousness is in a quantum coherent state. Meredith who, at her core, was a Cartesian really pushed that consciousness made us special with the quantum nature of consciousness supporting her belief while Abdul was a nihilist. Word had it that the two were dating sort of like a Socialist dating a Libertarian.

After class I was jogging around campus and decided to have Jimbo play more of the music as my therapist suggested. Every song held memories that I pushed aside long ago, some painful, some sweet. Precious Things came on and I felt like I was transformed into that freshman girl I once was. Memories can be tricky. I remembered being filled with self-loathing at the time and yet listening to it now, a small part of me couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for those days. I was in full stride when Jimbo interrupted.

“There is a news alert that I believe you need to hear, Rhiannon.”

That was odd. Jimbo never pushed news alerts when I was busy. I broke from my stride and caught my breath. “Okay, Jimbo, go ahead.” Jimbo pulled up the alert onto my watch and recited the text.

“Seven dead, a dozen in serious condition after Ecstatics attacked The Passage community in Louisiana.”

The Passage, Madeline...I staggered over to a bench, my vision got shaky.

“Rhiannon, are you okay?,” Jimbo asked with concern. “Your breathing is erratic. Should I call…”

“Shut up, Jimbo!”

For anyone else, it was just another day, another mass shooting, just as so many other senseless mass murders had been to me. And now I was the one frantically checking the news to find the names of the victims killed and injured. I called the Tangipahoa Parish Sheriff’s Office where The Passage commune was located, but the lines were overloaded. I tried texting Madeline with any of the profiles she might still have open to no avail. That evening I got the names of the victims, and I inadvertently smiled. Thank God. Madeline wasn’t listed among the dead or injured. I felt guilty feeling any relief, knowing that other family members were now receiving news of their loved one’s death, but as some Cartesians pointed out, the only point of view that really meant anything was your own.

Normally, a mass shooting wouldn’t warrant any news coverage; however, the circumstances were unusual. It wasn’t just a lone Ecstatic but a group of them who executed a coordinated attack against a nihilist commune. Up until now, Ecstatics had solely focused their ire towards scientists who uncovered God’s secrets. They didn’t care about hippie dropouts––they were harmless. Why The Passage?

Jimbo gathered the named assailants’ postings on social media. They didn’t say why they were attacking The Passage, just that they were protecting God’s algorithm. As for The Passage, they didn’t so much as a Facebook profile. Like half the ERMs I researched, they were secluded, disavowing social media, and public events. Most of what I knew about The Passage came from Madeline back when it was still called the Golden Horn. That was two years ago, shortly after she dropped out of college. I was livid. My own daughter who was smarter than I was when I was her age, had me as a mother, and here she was throwing it all away.

“You think you can stick your head in the sand and everything will be alright? Well, I’ve got news for you, young lady, it doesn’t work like that.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “Look who’s talking about sticking their head in the sand?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I said, aghast.

“Look at you. You act as if everything’s fine. ‘Go to school, go to pilates, pretend it means anything.’ But it doesn’t. It’s broken, Mom, all of it, the simulation and everyone in it! We tell ourselves we matter, that we have free will. But what do we do with it? We kill each other! We supposedly have the power to stop it, but we don’t change anything!”

I knew where this was coming from. Daniel. I should have sympathized with her, reached out and met her where she was.

Instead, in my anger I snarled, “You’re so superior to all us fools, missy, running away from the world, running away from Daniel! When was the last time you even bothered to see him? Do you ever think of anyone besides yourself?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I instantly regretted it.

Madeline pushed back tears, glowering at me. “Fuck you.”

Those were our last words we spoke to each other.

Since Jimbo broke the news I couldn’t sleep or eat. Eventually at some point, exhausted, I finally dozed off. And that’s when the phone rang. I jolted awake and answered. “Hello?”

“Mom?”

Thank heavens. It was my girl! “Honey? Are you okay?” I stammered.

“I’m okay, I’m…well, I’m okay for the moment.”

“Where are you?”

“I can’t say where I am. They’re still after us.”

“Honey, it’s fine. The assailants were caught. Just go to the police. They’ll protect you until I…”

“No, Mom, no police! They might be in on it!”

“In on what?” There was a pause. I feared that she hung up, but the random unregistered phone number was still connected. There was whispering in the background. “Honey, please, just tell me where you are and I will come and get you.”

More whispering in the background and then…

“Mom, I need you to meet me at––don’t say the name of it because they might be listening––meet me at the high school Daniel went to.”

I didn’t understand. Why didn’t Madeline just say the name of the high school that both she and Daniel went to? But in her paranoid state she might think that whoever was eavesdropping would know where she went to high school, but maybe not someone named Daniel. I didn’t want her to hang up so I went along with it. “The high school where Daniel went,” I reiterated just to be sure.

“Yes, Please, I need you.”

“Of course! I’m leaving now. Just stay on the line.”

“I can’t, Mom. They might track it.”

“Hon…”

Madeline hung up.

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