Think I Want to Twist the Plot This Time

Part 4

That's what the family did for her first anniversary as a human—her human birthday, she supposes. They took a sunset ride up in the Hills, where Barbie could see the entire city: its low smog layer, the hues of pink and orange littering the cloudless sky, how all the problems of human life seemed trivial from up there, among the rocky roads and drying grass. Even Sasha, who usually wore frowns to any outing, couldn't hide her smile once they looked over downtown and beyond, and then out toward the endless Pacific Ocean.

"Besides the stars and lack of city landscape?" He's probably right, of course; it would be a million times better. Still, she'd like to hear his reasoning. "Endless desert sky, mountains scaling for miles. Nary a soul in sight, nor the oppressive sounds of a bustling city. It's simply nature at its zenith. It's physical perfection. An ocean sunset boasts beauty, sure, but I've yet to see a sunset comparable to clear hues bleeding into bright stars."

Barbie can picture it all so clearly, the way the buildings and electric lights outside melt away and she can see that sky, those stars, the desert plants. He paints with his words, as beautifully as any audiobook she's listened to. In fact, she might as well be riding a horse out in that crisp, clean air she can practically smell. "Do you secretly moonlight as a poet?"

"I scribble in notebooks when I find the inspiration," Oppenheimer says, and she feels his thumbs, rubbing assuring, gentle circles against her shoulders. She leans against him, feeling more of his support.

"Is there anything you can't do?" Barbie shoots back, recalling when he asked her the same thing earlier in the night.

He laughs, again hiding it in her hair. Of course, to feel that laugh is to know it so much more intimately than just seeing or hearing it. "I'm no artist," he admits, "but I enjoy analyzing and collecting art. Much as I could study the techniques of the masters, there's that disconnect between brain and body that could never recreate any of their works."

"Inherent talent," she concludes, nodding. They stand still for another moment, just staring out the window to the quiet cityscape. His hands are still on her shoulders; she moves one of hers up to play with the ends of her hair, twirling some strands around her finger.

"What do you call your ranch?" she asks, deciding to break the silence once again. "I know people like to name land sometimes, when the area's large enough."

She feels Oppenheimer laugh again, and this time it's like he's really trying to hide his smile, like it's embarrassing, almost. "Perro Caliente," he says sheepishly.

Barbie snort laughs, bringing her hand up to her mouth to act a little more politely. "Sorry, sorry..." She's not expecting a name so funny, and she's still trying to talk through her giggles. "You named your ranch 'Hot Dog'?"

"Well, not just me—it's what my brother and I exclaimed when the place went for sale," he explains, as if it makes the situation any less humorous. "In my defense, I was there recovering from a small bout of tuberculosis at the time."

It's wild to think about all these diseases that sound so far away and distant when it comes to the advances of modern medicine. It's even more wild to think the revolutionary polio vaccine hasn't even been invented yet—and people still have these terrible bouts of illness that will soon mostly be eradicated. The place sounds like it has such sentimental value to he and his brother, given it seems the desert air obviously did him some good. It's certainly selling Barbie on the idea of visiting, once she gets back to her own time.

Besides, it was a common expression back in the day, even if it's inherently a funny name. "I suppose that changes things," she sighs, once her laughter finally subdues. "You know, those were Mickey Mouse's first spoken words." It's an odd bit of trivia, but given nearly everyone in LA seems to have an annual pass to Disneyland and act like some sort of pseudo-Disney historians, and she's picked up a couple of facts. It's just the first thing that crosses her mind.