To Perceive an Image

Forty-Three: Images of Gifted Gadgets

The Image World, September 30, 2040, 7:38 PM

"عيد ميلاد سعيد، حياتي."

Happy birthday, my life.

"Isn't it too early into whatever our relationship is to be calling me your life?" I craned my head up to look at Flynn's bright self. He greeted me with a somewhat lengthy birthday hug. Saying he needed a second for each year or something like that.

I've noticed his developed habit of patting my head at any inopportune moment. My inner child, who never received that type of affection from my parents, feels content swimming through her. My grown self, however, excuses the touches for some.

"We'll get there soon, might as well start now. I always go for jumping onto situations head first," the sureness in his words makes my hand rise to my chest in horror. "Oh, you're one of them," I sass, rolling my eyes. His eyebrows furrow in cute confusion, "what do you mean? One of whom?"

His use of the word makes me burst out laughing. What an old man thing to do, but at least he got his vocabulary right.

"The type of people I avoid," I begin, "but since you're Flynn, you have special passes." I give him a thumbs up to emphasize my hospitality.

"Glad I'm not going by Eugene today," he mutters, tilting his head.

"Good one," I end our discussion once his home comes into view. Thank God because ground-shaking dizziness is beyond me, and I need to stabilize myself. It must be the effect of sitting right under the sunshine for hours.

"Are you all right?" Flynn's worried voice asked, holding my elbow with a gentle grip. I'm glad he did because my legs chose that moment to give out.

I fall into arms that catch me by a second with great instincts. Flynn helps me come to a momentary stand before wrapping his right arm around my middle. The other takes hold of my bag, swinging it around his shoulder.

Stretching my hand forward, "I'll carry that, sorry." My fingers grace the surface of my bag before Flynn pushes my hand away. "No, leave it, I'll carry it. Lean on me- you're clearly not feeling well. Did you do something out of the ordinary?" He interrogates me like a doctor, but I shake my head in response. "No, I spent my morning getting ready with my friends, and afternoon with them also for the picnic. We had food and chilled, that was all." I retell the events of my day to him, trying to find cues of where I might have done something of a disturbance, as he said.

"This is the second time you've almost collapsed like this," his eyebrows furrow in visible distress. I feel my heart clench at his tightening grip on me. Damn, I'm the one feeling unwell, and I feel bad.

"You need to see a doctor, it could be something serious," he suggests. I wave him off, not fond of the idea. Although I know full well that I need to follow through with it.

"Oh, don't stress your pretty self out. I was in the sun all day, I'm not good with that," I sigh, looking ahead. "This could be the aftermath of that. One wrong rise or drop in temperature, and I'm fucked." I sigh again, remembering the sensitivity of my body. One wrong move from mother nature, and I'm bedridden for days.

Flynn doesn't look convinced; my words did nothing to ease the tension on his face. "Okay, but still go see a doctor. If not for yourself, at least for me, so I can be at ease."

Did he have to use that card?

My features soften, "fuck, you had to mention yourself in this." I shake my head at his successful tactics. "Okay, fine, I will go. Happy?" I look at him to get a live reaction, and the smile dissipating any distress brightens my evening.