Alternative Alpha

Chapter Twelve

This being the most modern city in the world is not an empty boast. Once called Stockholm, the word New was added during its rebuilding after world war three.

It was here in Sweden where a revolution began immediately after the war. The younger generation, upon hearing the claim that it was the war to end all wars, decided real change could only happen by getting rid of the old. Every country did the same, except for one. Which is why my parents moved away from where our people had always lived.

Flying cars are not a reality yet, but water powered vehicles are even better. For the environment, especially. A release of steam from the exhaust is preferential to the toxins that once polluted our atmosphere. Removing oil from the equation, although corporations crumbled, is what saved the planet.

With a major shift in monetary control, and especially the defending of the military, universal health care is a long overdue reality. Homelessness is no longer a concern and neither is hunger. Science and technology are the primary career paths, but working crazy hours for a paycheck is a burden of the past. Enjoyment of living is prioritized over working to death.

Capitalism went the way of the banking institution, extinct. Some people still hoard the coins and the papers, as though it is of any value, but they might as well be collecting river pebbles for all it is worth. As long as you work four hours a day, at least three days a week, there is nothing denied to the shopper. But with easy access to whatever you need, whenever you need it, wanting is a matter of the past.

As an aficionado of the social aspects of history, and a big fan of the learning process, years ago I decided on a career as a history teacher. The higher education of university is free and unnecessary courses have been removed from the career path curriculum. There have been more people happy with their jobs in the past ten years than ever before.

"Here we are," he says.

The first thing I notice at our approach, via the side of the building instead of the parking garage, is that my mother is waiting for me. Her eyesight at her age is still perfect, and I can see in her gaze when she sees me. A mother's concern is visible there.

"Thank you," I say as I reach for the door handle.

Placing a hand on my forearm, he holds me back and says, "One last thing. Theo was a part of something bigger, but I don't think his companions know about you yet. Try to make sure it remains that way."

With a nod, he releases me. Then moments later, as he drives away, my mom embraces me with a hug. She holds onto me for a good long time before she steps back and looks me over for anything that might be wrong.

While she does her motherly thing, I look at her and try to really see her. Unfortunately, we can only ever see what others allow us to see. The single expression my mother seems to know, or at least ever reveal, is one of kindness. Her voice may reveal worry or anger while the face remains compassionate. I imagine it takes a kind of fortitude for such a performance.

"I haven't been injured in any way."

She raises her gaze to my face. Dark as the irises may be, there is no darkness visible there. Staring into her eyes has a way of initiating a dizziness that I sometimes encounter when looking at myself too closely in the mirror. Tawa got dad's eyes and I got mom's.

"I want to know your perspective on what happened yesterday, but let's get upstairs first."

A taxi pulls up to the curb beside us. Mom loops her arm through mine as a peripheral view watches the back door swing open. Normally, I do not pay attention to the mobile activity of others, but his scent intrigues me at the same time a brief glimpse of a khaki color presents itself.

It is interesting how I know he is a he by the scent alone. And what a delicious smell it is that makes me want to lick him. This sensation makes me pause, and mom bucks at the unexpected stop. Ignoring her confusion, removing my arm from hers, I turn around to better see this guy.

A black boot slightly longer than twelve inches, an early indication that the guy is probably tall, on the pavement beneath the open taxi door. Rising above the door and out of the vehicle, a tan colored fedora makes an appearance. With the face still cast downward, hidden behind the brim of the hat, broad shoulders clad by an equally tan trench coat appears.

Definitely taller than me, he raises his head and looks around with pretty blue eyes that eventually make their way onto me. Our gazes lock, and everything around us fades.

The color of his eyes are the only aesthetic part of his older face, yet there is a magnetism toward which I am inexorably drawn. It is a homely face of a man who long ago made peace with it, because there is an alluring confidence in his stature and stoicism.

He blinks, but I do not. He moves toward me in slow motion as I remain as still as an infatuated schoolboy who has lost all sense of time and reason. Even when his gaze slides effortlessly away from me, mine follows his provocative walk into the building.

Everything around me comes back into focus and mom asks, "Do you know him?"

I shake my head, both in answer to her question and to clear the last vestiges of the fog in my mind. But I want to know him, in a carnal way so that his intoxicating scent is crossbred with mine. I want everyone to know that I am his, and his alone.