After Mind by Spencer Wolf Page A

thousand axle pieces on a lathe. About yea big, finger to elbow. Started off square. I turned each down into intricate detail, layers of curves. As the lathe spun with the right amount of shop oil, my chisel ground away the corners and burrs to reveal the shaped axle hiding under the steel. And I only ever broke one. I pushed too hard with the chisel and that one axle broke through. The one I couldn’t fix.”
    “What’s the matter, wet wipe?” the older bully said as he zipped. “Ain’t you going to go like your daddy said?”
    “He can’t. Remember?” the other bully said.
    “Oh, yeah, that’s right. He probably goes like a girl.”
    “I do not.”
    “Don’t laugh,” Daniel said, “but his mother reminded me of all the beautiful, perfect parts you could make with the right amount of shop oil. And when she died, the thought of that one broken axle, the one I pushed too hard and broke, came back into my mind, like the burning smell of shop oil. She was broken and gone. And there was nothing I could do to fix it. Cessini doesn’t remember her, but sometimes I think he misses her more than he knows.”
    The older bully stopped at the sink, but he didn’t wash his hands. He jacked the knob five times with a hammer fist. He cupped a handful of water from the faucet and threw it at Cessini on the bench. Cessini flinched, drawing his head into his shoulders. The splash didn’t reach. He froze, afraid.
    “See you later, wet wipe,” the older bully said. He flicked his fingers with a splash of water as they passed and left.
    Cessini put on his bravest face, but only when no one was left to see. “My name isn’t wet wipe, it’s Cee—I have super powers,” he said. He touched his shoes to the floor then looked up at the sinks. “My name is Ceeborn. I can breathe and swim underwater and I’m so not afraid of you.” His watery eyes settled on the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling that hummed and the flying bugs that clanked on the tubes.
    Where was his dad when he needed him most?
    Then a muted flush sounded from the other side of the wall.
    He slipped down off the bench and stepped across the paved floor to the sink. The ScrollFlex’s screen had caught a few drops of water from the bully’s splash. He pushed the towel dispenser’s handle with the back of his hand and tore free a paper towel. He wiped the screen dry with care. He tucked the ScrollFlex under his arm and looked back at the empty room.
    The stall door was open. The bunker was his. But he didn’t have to go anymore. He was only seven, but already so alone. If Daniel wasn’t there when he needed him most, then when? No wonder he always missed his mother more.
    Outside the wall, Daniel and Robin were gone. They were already far away. They were standing by a cotton candy vendor in the crowded fair street. Daniel bought a swirl of candy, but at his distance, it didn’t look so good anymore.
    Meg exited from the other side of the bathroom’s dividing wall. Cessini’s handmade tablet with its side-mounted keys was tucked under her arm. With both their parents so far away, she came to his side, took his elbow with her hand, and led him away from the entrance.
    “Come on, Ceeme,” she said. “I’ll take care of you now.”
    She must have heard everything, he figured, so he let her hold his arm. She walked at his side as they made their way to the candy cart under the skies grayed with clouds. The vendors along the row raised their umbrellas in anticipation of rain. But the life of the Summer Festival and their play-date had already turned a painful corner.
    “Do you want your tablet back?” Meg asked as they walked.
    He wiped a sniffle before the tears fell. The lower lids of his eyes were red and started to sting. “No,” he said, “you can have it. My dad made it for me. I don’t want it anymore.”
    “I’d give you the ScrollFlex. But I can’t. It’s my mom’s.”
    “I know.”
    They reached Daniel and Robin at the cart and Meg