like that game, don’t you?”
“It’s full of hiddens.”
“…hiddens?”
“Vallumtime showed me.” She waved the screen at him, not quite so Paul could see it; at six, Aliyah hadn’t quite mastered the concept that just because she could see it didn’t mean everyone could. “These pipes lead to a new level, but you have to squat in them. If you break this brick, then a vine goes up, and that’s a new level. That’s why Vallumtime fell in love with videogames. She wants the world filled with hidden doors.”
Paul frowned. He didn’t remember Valentine saying that the last and only time he’d been here with her. Yet somehow, Valentine’s words resonated with him.
“There should be something unpredictable around every corner, shouldn’t there?” Paul tried the thought on for size, adored it.
“I like it when you visit. Mommy makes me put the Nintendo away.”
It was petty, Paul knew, but he loved any indication that Aliyah’s affection for him was greater. Eventually, Aliyah would start playing them off each other; his little manipulator. Already, she’d figured out that as the sick girl, she could charm the nurses into bringing her fresh batteries because – in a phrase that Aliyah had memorized word-for-word, though Paul doubt she understood it – “the fine motor control these games requires is a form of physical therapy.”
“I like watching you explore,” Paul allowed. “So, what are you doing?”
“Mario wears costumes. Now he’s a ‘nukey.” Paul craned his neck to see a tiny Mario, bouncing around in a raccoon suit. “He flies, see?” Mario bopped a turtle with his tail; the turtle’s shell went flying. He bounced off, landing on a bright orange flower, taking on its color.
“ No! ” she yelled. “ Not the blossom! ”
“What’s the matter, sweetie?”
“He’s a stupid ’mancer now. See?” She jabbed the B button; Mario spat fireballs that bounced across the screen. Then she hopped Mario into a chasm. “So I have to kill him.”
----
P aul ambled down the rows of vans in the Avis parking lot; checking a pink sheet, he looked for its matching license plate. The roar of ascending airplanes rattled the cheap tin roofs that kept the rain off the cars; rain-slickered employees huddled inside shacks, looking miserable.
Paul squeezed his temples. The flux made his head feel like a balloon animal, with a small child squooshing him. The distraction vexed him, because he wasn’t sure the car he was looking for even existed.
Sure enough, there was the plate: ENF 106. A white Dodge Grand Caravan, as promised.
He piled the equipment into the back, sure the security guards would come running. But no; nobody cared he was stacking alchemical glassware into a van he’d never signed for. Paul started it up, pulling out to the big orange SEVERE TIRE DAMAGE – DO NOT BACK UP sign.
An old black man with a pleasant grin leaned out into the rain, hand extended.
Holding his breath, Paul handed over the pink slip that was proof he’d rented the car. Well, not him. The car was in someone else’s name. And he’d never actually gone to the front desk; as he’d envisioned all the steps involved in renting a car – the insurance signoffs, the gas contracts, the car inspection – the blank white paper he’d scribbled on had blushed pink, the vehicle ID numbers indenting the page to the meaty chunk of invisible dot matrix stamps.
He was about to rent a car he’d conjured from blank paper.
The attendant noted his concern. “Rough flight?”
“Family business.”
The attendant nodded. “They’ll get you every time.” He licked his fingers and thumbed through the paperwork. He took the green sheet that had appeared underneath the pink sheet sometime in between the time Paul had handed it to him and the time he’d thumbed through it, then handed the pink sheet back.
The attendant waved him through with a smile.
Paul was certain the van would dissipate as he turned onto
“It’s full of hiddens.”
“…hiddens?”
“Vallumtime showed me.” She waved the screen at him, not quite so Paul could see it; at six, Aliyah hadn’t quite mastered the concept that just because she could see it didn’t mean everyone could. “These pipes lead to a new level, but you have to squat in them. If you break this brick, then a vine goes up, and that’s a new level. That’s why Vallumtime fell in love with videogames. She wants the world filled with hidden doors.”
Paul frowned. He didn’t remember Valentine saying that the last and only time he’d been here with her. Yet somehow, Valentine’s words resonated with him.
“There should be something unpredictable around every corner, shouldn’t there?” Paul tried the thought on for size, adored it.
“I like it when you visit. Mommy makes me put the Nintendo away.”
It was petty, Paul knew, but he loved any indication that Aliyah’s affection for him was greater. Eventually, Aliyah would start playing them off each other; his little manipulator. Already, she’d figured out that as the sick girl, she could charm the nurses into bringing her fresh batteries because – in a phrase that Aliyah had memorized word-for-word, though Paul doubt she understood it – “the fine motor control these games requires is a form of physical therapy.”
“I like watching you explore,” Paul allowed. “So, what are you doing?”
“Mario wears costumes. Now he’s a ‘nukey.” Paul craned his neck to see a tiny Mario, bouncing around in a raccoon suit. “He flies, see?” Mario bopped a turtle with his tail; the turtle’s shell went flying. He bounced off, landing on a bright orange flower, taking on its color.
“ No! ” she yelled. “ Not the blossom! ”
“What’s the matter, sweetie?”
“He’s a stupid ’mancer now. See?” She jabbed the B button; Mario spat fireballs that bounced across the screen. Then she hopped Mario into a chasm. “So I have to kill him.”
----
P aul ambled down the rows of vans in the Avis parking lot; checking a pink sheet, he looked for its matching license plate. The roar of ascending airplanes rattled the cheap tin roofs that kept the rain off the cars; rain-slickered employees huddled inside shacks, looking miserable.
Paul squeezed his temples. The flux made his head feel like a balloon animal, with a small child squooshing him. The distraction vexed him, because he wasn’t sure the car he was looking for even existed.
Sure enough, there was the plate: ENF 106. A white Dodge Grand Caravan, as promised.
He piled the equipment into the back, sure the security guards would come running. But no; nobody cared he was stacking alchemical glassware into a van he’d never signed for. Paul started it up, pulling out to the big orange SEVERE TIRE DAMAGE – DO NOT BACK UP sign.
An old black man with a pleasant grin leaned out into the rain, hand extended.
Holding his breath, Paul handed over the pink slip that was proof he’d rented the car. Well, not him. The car was in someone else’s name. And he’d never actually gone to the front desk; as he’d envisioned all the steps involved in renting a car – the insurance signoffs, the gas contracts, the car inspection – the blank white paper he’d scribbled on had blushed pink, the vehicle ID numbers indenting the page to the meaty chunk of invisible dot matrix stamps.
He was about to rent a car he’d conjured from blank paper.
The attendant noted his concern. “Rough flight?”
“Family business.”
The attendant nodded. “They’ll get you every time.” He licked his fingers and thumbed through the paperwork. He took the green sheet that had appeared underneath the pink sheet sometime in between the time Paul had handed it to him and the time he’d thumbed through it, then handed the pink sheet back.
The attendant waved him through with a smile.
Paul was certain the van would dissipate as he turned onto
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