Нэнси Кресс - The End Is Nigh

A cup of translucent coffee hung between my hands—I’d brought my own calorie-free sweetener—and despite the heat I took tasteless sips that burnt my tongue. Did I lock the door when I left home? I resisted the urge to leave, to go home and check. I’d already checked twice. Looking at my phone again, they were already five minutes late in starting. I was about to leave when a voice behind me said: “So, what do you think of these meetings so far?”

I strained to look around and found a man smiling at me.

A very attractive man.

I smiled back. “Um, well, I’m getting something out of it.” Swivelling sideways on my chair to face him, I noticed his hair was graying at the temples, just like my dad’s had. I hadn’t noticed this man at any of the other meetings, but then I usually had my social blinders on.

The man’s smile curled up at its edges. “Is that what you came for, to get something?”

Why else would I be here? But he was right. I shouldn’t just be here just to get something . “I mean, I’m here to try to make myself a more whole person.”

He nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.” Shifting in his chair, his coat fell to one side to reveal his right arm below a short sleeve shirt. The arm shone dully in the fluorescent light: smooth metal and wires. He saw me staring and pulled his coat back up.

My cheeks burned. Why did I have to say ‘whole person’?

His smile wavered, but only for a moment. “I was in the wars.”

I forced a grin. “Of course.” I’d heard the stories of veterans returning with mangled bodies mechanically reconstructed. If only my brother had been so lucky . I shook off the thought.

He extended his robotic arm. “Don’t be embarrassed. My name is Michael.”

I took his hand. It was cool and hard. “Effie,” I mumbled, wondering what his eyes saw when they looked at me. Fat and frump , answered a voice in my head. My body tingled as I touched his prosthetic.

“Very nice to meet you, Effie,” Michael whispered, still holding my hand.

The speaker at the head of the room announced the start to the session. “Today we will be discussing the role of original sin,” he said, and the murmur of conversation stopped.

I let go of Michael’s mechanical hand and turned to listen.

After what seemed an eternity, the meeting came to an end. People were standing and gathering their belongings, checking that they hadn’t left anything behind.

Even struggling to keep my eyes open, I’d been thinking about Michael the whole time.

Was I rude? I knew I should’ve worn something more flattering. I frowned. Did I lock the door? Resisting the urge to bolt, I pretended to check my pockets for something while I listened to Michael chatting behind me. I waited until he fell silent, and then turned as casually as possible.

“So what did you think?” I asked. I winced. I should’ve come up with something more intelligent . It never ceased to frustrate me how I could be so brilliant in the lab, yet so useless in a room of people I didn’t know.

Michael flashed his warm smile again. “It was” —he shrugged— “interesting.” In a hushed voice he added, “But I do have a hard time with the way evangelicals make such literal interpretations.”

“I know what you mean.” If he’d noticed me nodding off he didn’t say anything. I glanced around. “I mean, do they think Moses literally split the seas and walked along the seabed to freedom?” I felt guilty as the words came out, wondering if anyone else heard me. But then I realized this was why I’d come here, to find ways to talk about my over-intellectualized feelings about the Bible.

We began to walk toward the door of the now empty room.

“I love the Church,” Michael said, “but I have a bit of a problem with the way they’re selectively metaphoric.”

“How do you mean?”

Michael opened the door for me. “Like insisting on a literal interpretation of Moses splitting the seas, yet on Sunday mornings drinking wine and claiming it’s the blood of Christ.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that . I took another look at him as he held the door open. Good-looking and smart. There’s no way he would be interested in me , the voice in my head told me, but we continued chatting as we wound our way out of the building, my rubber boots squeaking across the linoleum floors while our voices echoed through the empty hallways.

It was dark outside. Snowflakes appeared in the conical pools of bioluminescent street lighting that glowed bright as we approached. I looked down at my footprints in the newly fallen snow. I used to love snow as a child, but now winter was just cold. I shivered. We stood and faced each other.

“Goodnight, Effie.”

A moment of silence was filled with the hum of automated car-pods sweeping down Second Avenue.

“Goodnight.”

Michael glanced away and then back at me. “See you next time?”

Warmth blossomed in the pit of my stomach. “Yes, next time.”

With a nod, Michael walked off into the thickening snowfall. I walked the opposite way to make for the subway home, and for the first time in a long time I watched the falling snowflakes and marvelled at their quiet beauty.

Then I did something I never did. Turning, I called out, “Michael, do you want to get a coffee or something?” Even in the cold my face flushed hot.

In the distance, Michael turned around. He didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

We found a coffee shop on Second. There was a line at the counter.

“Even a slime mold,” Michael said as I stomped the cold and nerves out of my feet, “even a single-celled organism can solve a maze to find food.” He pointed at some icing-laden muffins. “Speaking of rewards, want one?”

I shook my head. “I’m—”

“Vegan?” Michael finished my sentence for me.

I nodded. How did he guess? But more than that, the label under the muffins said four hundred calories. Four hundred .

“Don’t worry, they’re vegan muffins.” Michael was already holding up two fingers.

I hadn’t noticed the small print under the caloric label.

“Come on, it’s the holidays,” he added cheerfully.

The server had already pulled the muffins onto a plate. I shrugged okay, then peered through the window of the café as a heavy transport roared down Second Avenue. Not for the first time, I imagined how easy it would be to trip in front of one.

“You okay?”

On a video panel above and behind the counter, a news anchor was in the middle of a story, “ … unexplained disappearances continue throughout the five boroughs, police are now investigating what they describe as a cult… ”

I blinked, pulling my attention away from the video to look into Michael’s eyes. He glanced at the news report as well. “Yes, I’m fine,” I replied.

“You sure?”

Nodding yes, I smiled and took the coffees while Michael took the plate of muffins. We wound our way to a quiet spot in the corner, away from the noise and the holographic Santa sleigh weaving its way through the bustling crowd of shoppers. I disliked crowds of people, but then I also hated being alone—my life was a slow bleed on the knife edge between the two.

A simulated fire crackled in our corner, and we sank into armchairs. Pushing the plate toward me, he picked up his muffin. I leaned forward and began crumbling mine into pieces, taking a morsel to eat while grabbing my coffee for a sip.

My chest tightened. What should I say?

“So what do you do for work?” Michael asked.

I smiled with relief. Something I knew. “I’m a lab monkey. I work in research.”