RoboNomics

Chapter 56 - 2016

The wind off the lake picks up discarded foliage, shuttling dead leaves down the road. The breeze does nothing to alleviate the heat from the blazing summer sun. 

As I walk down Wellington Street, dodging bits of trash and chunks of broken glass in the roadbed, I feel my fingers swell. The air is thick as bath water. My skin, hidden beneath layers of holey cotton, is clammy.

That's when I see it.

Flicking in my periphery: a moving human form. My adrenaline spikes, sending the sharp sting of fear through my body. 

I shouldn't be out like this. I shouldn't be out here on my own. But I have no choice. Austin needs food. He needs medicine.

I don't move my head as my gaze flits to the side. I'm surprised by what I see. A person who's dressed the same as me, walked along at the same clip I've set. 

When I stop walking, she stops. I turn to this picture of myself reflected in the sunlit windows of a corner coffee shop.

The summer sun is high. It peeks around the tops of dilapidated skyscrapers and reflects off glass buildings. Even the recessed windows at street level are one-way mirrors.

I walk towards the shop. Most of its windows are smashed in. Through the empty holes left behind I see the remains of a coffee chain. 

Stools and tables are upturned. The floor is covered with coffee grounds and bits of glass. It's dark inside: just a tunnel in the earth now that it has no power.

It's been years since I've looked at my own face -- really looked, and I want to see the changes etched into it. 

It's been what? Three summers now. Three summers since Austin and I owned a home. Three years since I had the luxury for vanity. Three years that we've been living on the street.

I whirl in a tight circle. There's no one around. I turn back to the window and slide my hands up under my head covering. I toss it back off my head and let it fall back over my shoulders. I gasp at the narrow shape of my reflection on the sunlit glass.

I've seen how Austin's face has changed over the past few years. He's impossibly thin. But worrying about his appearance does nothing to prepare me to see this image of myself. 

A stranger looks back at me: my black hair is tangled and shaggy, my round cheeks are hollowed out. My forehead is lined so deep it looks as though a wildcat has scratched me. 

There are dark circles under my eyes, and my face is grey. My lips are chalk white. The only features that haven't changed are my nose and chin. They are as sharp and thin as always, but they look too large for my gaunt face.

I still look human, but I don't look like myself anymore. In the three years that Austin and I have been living on the streets, Ms. Anderson the schoolteacher has disappeared. 

If only my students could see me now, I think. 

My curves have all disappeared. My body is now only lean muscles bound in rags.

"What do we have here?" A deep voice comes from behind me.

I've made a fatal mistake. I've been caught out in the open with my head cover thrown back over my shoulders.

I struggle to replace my head cover. I turn and see a man. It's as if he materialized from nothing.

"Andrea Anderson," he ventures. 

My eyes widen as I attempt to slow my pulse.

"What do you want?" 

My mask replaced, I turn to face him. My head cover is made from bits of greyed cloth stitched together. It shows only the strip of flesh around my eyes.